“We’re working on it,” Vivien said weakly.
Little Timmy Sanders, the six-year-old with the severe nut allergy, tugged on his mother’s dress.
“Mommy, I’m hungry. When are we eating?”
His innocent question seemed to break whatever spell had been keeping the room politely quiet. Suddenly, everyone was talking at once.
“Maybe we should order pizza.”
“Pizza places aren’t open on Thanksgiving.”
“What about Chinese food?”
“With a six-year-old who has food allergies?”
“This is insane. We should have been told earlier.”
“Where exactly did Isabella go? How long have you known she wasn’t going to be here?”
Hudson felt the walls closing in around him. Thirty-two pairs of eyes, all looking to him for answers he didn’t have, solutions he couldn’t provide.
That’s when his phone buzzed with a text message.
It was from Isabella’s number.
The entire room seemed to sense his reaction as he opened the message. Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear what his missing wife had to say.
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