Becky readjusted the sofa pillow behind my back. She touched me on the shoulder. “Sit up.”
I sat up, and she rearranged the mound of pillows for the third time. She stepped back and cocked her head. “It still doesn’t look comfortable.” She took a step toward the sofa.
I held up my hand to stop her. “It’s fine.”
Now out of her plain Young’s uniform, she wore a neon pink sweat suit. She perched on the edge of our living room coffee table. “I’m sorry. I’m being a nuisance.”
“You’re not, but the pillows are fine.”
Timothy walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray of chicken soup and hot tea. Gig followed him expectantly. He loved Becky’s chicken soup. Becky moved from the table to the couch, and Timothy set the tray on the table.
I scooted up in my seat. “You two don’t have to dote on me like this. The doctor said I don’t even have a mild concussion.” Gingerly, I touched the goose egg forming on the back of my skull. “Just a nasty bump.”
Timothy stirred the soup and handed it to me. “I don’t think you should go to work tomorrow.”
The bowl warmed my hands. “Why not?”
His jaw twitched. “You’re not up to it. You should rest.”
I suppressed a smile, secretly pleased he was so concerned. “I’m up to it. The doctor gave me the okay to go. Tomorrow’s the last day before Thanksgiving break. There’s so much work to be done before the college closes for the holiday.”
Timothy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like it.” He blew on the cup of tea and glanced at his sister. “Becky, I forgot to bring a napkin. Can you go grab one?”
She jumped out of her seat like a shot.
Timothy watched her go. “Chloe.” He took the soup bowl from me. “I want you to be careful.”
I searched his concerned eyes.
“Whoever killed Ezekiel is dangerous. I couldn’t stand it if you were hurt or . . .” He swallowed. “When I saw you lying on the restaurant’s kitchen floor, I—”
“I got them.” Becky waved the napkins in the air.
No, no, no. Keep talking, Timothy. What did you think when you saw me lying on the floor?
Timothy stood. “It’s late. I’ll let you girls get some rest.”
I grabbed his arm. “There’s one more thing.”
A lock of white-blond hair fell over his eye. “One more thing?”
“Can you fix the window latch in my bedroom?” After my discovery in the pavilion, I would never be able to sleep in that room with a window that could not lock.
“What’s wrong with your window?”
I bit my lip and told him.
Timothy stepped back, and I lost my hold on his arm. “Dylan was in your house when you weren’t here?”
“He’s the owner.”
Timothy’s face was thunderous. “I don’t care if he’s the president. He can’t enter your home uninvited. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like the guy.”
“Chief Rose told him he needs to give us twenty-four-hour notice in the future.”
Timothy pursed his lips.
Becky folded the paper napkin in her small hands. “Sounds to me like he was trying to help.”
Timothy shot his younger sister a look. “Don’t defend him.” He sighed. “My toolbox is in my truck. Let me go grab it, and I’ll fix the window.” The door slammed after Timothy.
Becky handed me the napkin. “You know he’s mad about Dylan because he’s jealous.”
I stirred my soup. “Jealous of Dylan?”
“He saw how the professor watched you yesterday.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s no secret my brother likes you. I can tell. Everyone can.”
“Everyone?” A knot formed in my stomach. “How do you feel about it?” I figured it was a safer question than asking how her parents felt about it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know that just yet.
“Fine.” She said with a shrug and then grinned. “If you get married, we’d be sisters.”
“Who said anything about getting married?”
“The more important question is how you feel about it.”
The front door opened, which saved me from answering. Timothy went straight up the stairs, and Becky turned on a television cooking competition show.
I’d just finished eating my soup when Timothy came back downstairs. “I fixed it. Dylan sure did a job on that latch. He mangled it. Luckily, I had an extra latch in my box.” He blushed. “I’m sorry I blew up. I’m not comfortable with this guy coming around the house. Do you know anything about him?”
I shook my head. “I could ask around. Maybe Miller or Clark knows something. They’ve worked at Harshberger a long time.”
Timothy nodded. “At least Greta told him he can’t come into the house again without letting you know.”
Gigabyte bumped his velvety head against my shoulder, and I scratched him behind the ear.
Timothy set his toolbox on the floor. “Are you sure you are up to going to work tomorrow?”
I forced a smiled. “Yes,” I said not feeling sure at all.
“Rest when you get home. I want you to feel well for Thanksgiving.”
“For Thanksgiving?” I squeaked.
“Your father’s not flying you out to California this year.”
“No, he’s not.”
“That’s good news.” He grinned. “You can have a real Troyer family Thanksgiving. I already spoke to my parents about it, and they are happy to have you.”
“Even your dad?” Mr. Troyer followed the rules of Old Order district. Becky and Timothy left the Amish way during their rumspringas—running around time—and before they were baptized, which is why they weren’t shunned and the family can interact with them. I knew Mr. Troyer secretly wished his eldest son and daughter would change their minds and return. My friendship with the siblings was in the way of that wish.
“Even Daed.”
Becky scrambled to her feet. “Chloe, you have to come. You’re practically part of the family. The kinner would love to see you, and Grossdaddi would never forgive us if we show up without you.”
Did this mean that the Troyers weren’t going to Esther and Isaac’s wedding? I knew that Amish weddings were a big deal in the district, and typically, everyone attended.
“I’d love to go.” I settled back into the pillows. A Troyer family Thanksgiving is just what I need.
Becky clapped her hands. “Perfect. This year I’m bringing some dishes of my own. I’ve been watching all the Thanksgiving food shows on television and collecting recipes from the Internet. The hardest thing will be deciding what to cook. Will you make anything, Chloe?”
I laughed. “I don’t think anyone wants food poisoning this holiday.”
Becky shook her head. “Chloe, you need to get over your fear of cooking.”
“Why should I bother if you’re so good at it?”
There was a twinkle in her blue eye. “You may have someone to cook for.”
I stole a look at Timothy. He grinned, and a blush crept up the back of my neck.