Man Of The Family. Leigh Riker

under a big oak tree. For the moment, he was off duty.

      Trying not to notice how Sunny kept her distance, he tucked into his dinner. The corn on the cob was sweet and juicy. Jack’s famous spareribs practically melted in his mouth, and the spicy yet mellow barbecue sauce was perfection. Kate’s homemade lemonade capped off the superb feast.

      By the time everyone finished, the sun was sinking low in the sky. Griffin bused plates and plastic cups to the kitchen, scraped bits into the garbage—there wasn’t much of the delicious food to be tossed—then ambled out into the yard again.

      Still at the table, Josh was enjoying a huge slab of watermelon for dessert, his chin dripping juice. Amanda was with the girls under the tree, examining someone’s bracelet. He hoped it didn’t disappear. Jack and Chris had snuck around the corner of the house to savor their cigars with a few of the neighborhood men, but Griffin wasn’t a smoker. He didn’t care for the pungent scent that filled the air and competed with the lingering aroma of meat and veggies from the grill. He needed to set a good example for his kids.

      Instead of joining the other men, he wandered to the corner of the back lawn for a rare moment alone. Feeling his spirit mellow, he gazed at the setting sun. Streaks of red and purple and pink spread out across the sky.

      “Nothing like a Florida sunset,” he said to himself.

      “Better than Boston?” Sunny’s voice brought his head around. She was bent over a nearby hibiscus bush with a pair of garden shears in her hand.

      When she spoke, Griffin’s pulse took off like a runner from the starting gate. It was one thing to help her carry food for the cookout, quite another to be alone with her.

      “Boston can be good,” he said, “but the show here is a lot more, well, showy.” Like the afternoon rains.

      She dropped the scissors, then picked up a bunch of blossoms from the grass at her feet. She was still wearing the red polish that peeked out from her sandals. “I’ll leave you then, to commune with nature.”

      “Wait.” Before he could tell himself not to, Griffin stopped her. And fumbled for an excuse. “Thanks,” he said at last. “I’m glad Amanda apologized. You were right. She did take your watch.”

      Sunny half smiled. “And you didn’t let her get away with it.”

      He shouldn’t care that she sounded proud of him. He shouldn’t be staring at that little uptilt at the corners of her mouth. “So, what am I missing?” he said, because nothing involving his daughter was ever simple these days. “Did she even sound sincere?”

      “She...tried.” Sunny hesitated. “But you didn’t welcome my interference before, and I doubt you’ve changed your mind. I’m out of the advice-giving business.”

      Ouch. Forcing his gaze away from her, he noticed the growing darkness. The sun had slipped lower in the sky, and the colors had bled into a deeper shade of almost burgundy that made her lighter shirt seem to glow. “I’m impressed, Counselor. Didn’t imagine you’d give up that easily.”

      “I have my moments.” She shifted the flowers in her arms. Her watch sparkled on her wrist. “I need to put these in water. They won’t last long—but I keep trying. Except with Amanda,” she added, then took a step away.

      “Sunny,” he said, “I owe you an apology myself. I didn’t exactly put out the welcome mat the other day. And, well—Chris told me—I was sorry to learn about your divorce.”

      “So am I,” she said.

      Griffin blew out a breath. “You already know about my situation.”

      Her face softened. “You don’t know where your wife is now. And—I’m treading on dangerous ground again here—that hasn’t helped Amanda.”

      “Or Josh,” he said. “She’s defiant. He’s fearful.” Griffin told her about the flat tire, the car rocking at the side of the road every time another semi blew past. “I think he equates Rachel’s disappearance with death itself, a concept he’s only beginning to understand.”

      “I couldn’t imagine leaving my children like that,” she said.

      His tone hardened. “Neither can I.”

      “But then, I don’t. Have children, I mean.” Sunny was all but strangling the hibiscus blossoms. “I see so many troubled kids in my work. Of course their cases usually involve violence, but the emotional damage is always severe. I wish I could help them more. But I’m rarely their lawyer. I’m on the other side of the issue—prosecuting the person who harmed someone they love.”

      “That’s helping, too,” he pointed out, trying not to notice how the fading light made her skin softly shine.

      “They break my heart, though. Young girls like Amanda,” she said, stumbling a little on the last, “having to deal with grown-up matters they can barely comprehend. Why would someone hurt them, their families, that way?”

      The raw emotion in her voice made him study her more closely.

      Yet asking probing questions was her style, not his, and Griffin didn’t know why he’d felt the urge to push. He could tell she wouldn’t like it.

      She clutched the flowers even more tightly. “But enough about me,” she said. “Or rather, my work. How do you like Jacksonville?”

      Griffin had been asked that very question at least a hundred times since the move. “I like it fine.”

      Sunny tilted her head as if she guessed he was lying. “You don’t miss Boston? And being on TV? Chris told me you’d only been in the anchor position for a year or so. You were their golden boy, he said.”

      “Until Rachel took off. Not to blame her for the job I have now—or the move.” He paused. “In Boston, I couldn’t afford to keep Josh in day care, or put Amanda in some after school program. I never finished at the station until almost midnight some days—most days—and then they were missing Rachel. I couldn’t have them missing me, which was way too familiar.”