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Thank god my phone buzzed in my pocket just then. Sheila, right on time.

“Sorry, Fred,” I said, pulling it out.

I glanced at the screen, already tsking as if knowing the call would be important and I was sorry it would tear me away from this meeting.

But it wasn’t Sheila. It was Remy. My heart jumped. My girls never called me at work, only texted. It was after school hours—four-thirty. Visions of Remy’s car wrapped around a telephone pole danced in my eyes, sending adrenaline shooting through me. Or maybe she was calling to tell me something had happened to Hannah at school.

Panic wrapped around my throat. “It’s my daughter…”

“Go on,” he said.

I leaped up, heading to the back of the room while the mayor picked up his phone and began barking something at his assistant.

I stabbed my screen with my finger to take the call. “Remy! What’s wrong?”

“Hey, Dad.”

She didn’t sound mortally wounded. She was speaking anyway.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Geez, overreact much?”

I gritted my teeth for the second time that afternoon. “Remy, if you’re not hurt, why are you calling? I’m in a meeting with the mayor.”

“You should be thanking me then.”

I had to suppress the threat of laughter. I turned away from Fred.

“Seriously, why are you calling?”

“You told me to tell you right away when that lady called. For babysitting?”

Suddenly my heart went back into a full gallop.

Michelle.

I glanced over my shoulder at Fred, but he was guffawing into his phone now, probably talking to a golf buddy.

Michelle Franco had called my daughter. Which meant she hadn’t torn up my business card.

Which meant I might see her again.

I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. I was tightly coiled. “Oh, that’s great. Great,” I said.

“Dad… areyouokay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m okay. When did she want you to babysit?”

“Friday.”

“Great. That’s great.”

“Dad, what iswrongwith you?”