She shrugged. "I don't know."
He raised his brows. "A fight, huh? So you threw your clothes in a suitcase and ran away."
She met his stern gaze archly. "I didn't run away."
He shrugged. "Why don't you try calling your family again?"
"I was calling my friend."
He frowned. "Would this friend be a boy?" He paused, obviously struck by another thought. "Was it your parents' car?"
She shook her head. "No, it's mine. I really don't want to talk about it."
It was his turn to shrug. "Suit yourself, but I hope you're not using your absence as a ploy to make your parents worry."
"They won't be worried,' she snapped. His moods flipped back and forth so fast it was hard to know how he would respond to anything. Not that it mattered. None of it was any of his business, and coming to her rescue didn't make it so - grateful as she was.
"Hmmm." He shook the newspaper and said nothing more until Sarah announced that supper was ready.
Sarah was an excellent cook. It was hard to believe a simple hamburger could taste that good. Maybe it was hunger or the pleasant company. Throughout the meal, Giddon was amiable, keeping his questions and comments to benign things like the weather and geography. Both he and his mother seemed well informed and intelligent. Since neither looked old enough to retire, one of them must drive a long way to work.
After supper Lisa helped put away the leftovers and wash dishes. Giddon put his daughter to bed and then left the house.
Sarah talked endlessly about her flower garden, the weather and anything else that came to her mind. Lisa had no trouble believing she seldom had company. For the most part, though, her conversation was interesting and helped keep Lisa's mind off her own problems.
Sarah abruptly stopped talking and smiled meekly. "I've been going on and on. I must be boring you to death."
"Oh, no. You're a very interesting person."
"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself," Sarah asked with what seemed to be genuine interest. "You said you lived in Fayetteville . . ." Her expression became thoughtful. "Lisa Anderson," she mused. "Are you related to the family that . . ." She hesitated, her expression pensive. You must be the daughter who . . ."
"Stayed at home instead of joining her family for a birthday dinner." Her voice was unsteady.