More Than You Know by Nan Rossiter Page B

the desk, set the arm of the needle on its stand, clicked the turntable off, and hurried to the kitchen.
    “Hey!” she said with a smile when she saw Micah standing in the kitchen with Flan sitting on his foot.
    “Hey,” he replied.
    “I see you’ve made a friend!”
    “Yup,” he answered with a grin, leaning down to scratch Flan’s blocky head. “What’s her name?”
    “Flannery . . . Flannery O’Connor,” Beryl answered with a smile.
    Micah chuckled. “Very appropriate.”
    “Uh-oh,” she teased, nodding to the glass of wine in his hand. “I see my sisters corralled you into joining them for cocktail hour.”
    “Yeah, sort of—they said you’d be joining us.”
    Beryl raised her eyebrows. “Did they? And I was hoping to get more work out of them.”
    “You guys deserve a break,” Micah said sympathetically. “I don’t envy the task you’re facing.” He paused. “Anyway, my mom thought you might need some sustenance.” He nodded toward an apple crisp on the counter. “She said it’s from a recipe your mom gave her years ago and she hopes she’s done it justice.”
    “I’m sure she has,” Beryl said. “It looks yummy. Please tell her, ‘Thank you.’ ”
    Rumer nodded. “It looks like a picture.”
    Isak looked up from filling a big pot with water. “Thanks, Micah—that was very thoughtful.” She put the pot on the stove top and lit the burner. “Can you stay for dinner?”
    Micah frowned and shook his head. “No, no, I couldn’t . . . I mean I can’t. I meant to come earlier—not at dinnertime—but Charlotte and I took Harp for a walk and it got late.”
    Beryl looked at the wine bottles, trying to decide if she wanted any. “Who’s Harp?” she asked curiously, looking to see what color Micah had in his glass.
    “Harper is my parents’ Lab.”
    Isak eyed him thoughtfully. “Hmm, seems there was a book your dad loved to teach by an author with that name—could there be a connection?”
    Micah laughed. “How’d you know?” He seemed to relax a little and took a sip of his wine.
    Beryl smiled, finally pouring a glass of the Free Range Red. “I think your dad and our mom shared that odd trait of naming their pets—and in our mom’s case, her children—after famous authors.”
    “Was your mom behind all your names?”
    Beryl looked at her sisters and laughed. “She claimed to be.”
    Micah nodded thoughtfully. “Beryl . . . Markham, right?” Beryl nodded, and he turned to Rumer. “And Rumer . . . hmm—Godden?” Rumer grinned, and he looked at Isak thoughtfully. “Isak Dinesen—of course!” Then a puzzled expression crossed his face. “But her real name was Karen. . . . in fact, her family called her Tanne.”
    Isak grinned, impressed by his knowledge. “It was Karen, but Isak is much more interesting, don’t you think?” She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know so much about all these women writers, anyway?”
    “Well, you have to remember, I owned a bookstore, and they were all remarkable ladies . . . and authors,” Micah explained. “They lived in exotic places, flew airplanes, loved passionately—and wrote books!”
    Beryl laughed. “I guess our mom had really high hopes for us.” She paused. “It’s funny that our mom and your dad both did that. I wonder if they got it from each other. . . .”
    “It’s possible,” Micah said. “They’ve known each other a lot longer than I realized. My parents remember the accident—my mom said it was . . .” He stopped in midsentence and shook his head. “I’m sorry—that is probably the last thing you want to talk about now.”
    “Actually, I was just reading about the accident,” Beryl said. She looked at her sisters. “There were some newspaper clippings in that drawer.” She looked back at Micah. “Our mom never talked about it, but I’d really like to hear what your mom remembers.”
    Micah nodded but didn’t say more.
    “I never knew anything about the other driver,” Isak said,