Page 20 of The Pretender

She gently pinches my cheek. “My boy is home.” Then she’s off to the kitchen.

I turn to Balt, smiling. “That wasn’t so bad. Not yet.”

“It didn’t look bad. They seem truly happy to see you.”

“I think they are.” I drag my hands down the front of his coat. “But the questioning isn’t over yet, and you haven’t met my nonna. She’ll have plenty to say.”

“I can handle it.”

My dad honks the horn of the truck just as my mom hurries over to me with a bag of goodies.

“I’ll see you soon, Mom.”

“I’ll let you know when Nonna’s home.”

“Perfect.”

Balt and I walk outside, bracing for the frigid wind again. My dad pops the tail of the truck bed and Balt lifts our luggage in, then the three of us cram ourselves into the cab of the old work truck. I have no idea how he keeps this thing running, but I think it’s been around as long as I have.

My dad glances at me more than once as he drives down the stone path leading to the house I haven’t seen the inside of in years. It always felt a little wrong for me to claim it when I had no intention of living there. Funny how things change.

Dad stops in front of the small building. It’s more like a cottage than a house, and I’m hit with a wave of guilt that I wasn’t more grateful for it. I wanted a posh urban apartment in the city, far away from the open fields and small-town existence I grew up with. How many people my age would kill to be gifted a house?

Balt glances out the windshield at the small house. I hope he’s not disappointed he came here. He probably has a very nice place, based on how he carries himself.

My dad hops out of the truck, but I notice him limping slightly on his left leg as he walks to the back.

“You okay, Dad?”

“Yep.”

“You’re limping.”

“Oh, that. Nothing big.”

“Okay.”

I’ll have to ask my mom about the real situation.

Dad sets our things down with Balt’s help, then walks over and opens the front door. As expected, it’s dusty, but the furniture is covered in sheets, which will help.

“Call us if you need anything, but there should be towels and basics.”

“Thanks, Dad. See you at dinner?”

“You will.” He claps my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

I nod, fighting back my emotions. “Me too.”

He leaves us and Balt pulls a sheet off the couch, waving his hand as dust flies up.

“Sorry. We’ll have to clean a little.”

“It’s totally fine. I’m grateful. In fact, this is perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Peaceful, tucked away. This will do just fine.”