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“Nope. Mom, my sister Ruby and I bounced around a bit. The houses were small. The apartments dingy. Not very many chicken casseroles.”
“Sounds interesting.” She removes the baking dishes from the oven with fat potholders and places them on racks on the large stove. “Was there love?”
“Yes. I just never knew how it would present itself.”
“Did your parents have a drug problem?”
“Mental health.”
Rosemary dips a tablespoon into the casserole, scoops out two generous helpings and clack-clacks them onto plates. “That’s tough, honey,” she says. “Look, I know coming here is a change in Dylan’s plans. Patrick intercepted you at the airport and laid some guilt trip on him. I wish I could tell you I wasn’t happy to see him, but honestly, I am.”
“He talks about you a lot.”
“I wish he visited more but he’s still uncomfortable and I don’t blame him. Do you know what’s going on with him, Evie? He doesn’t share all that much with me. If I poke the bear he’ll go into his cave and hibernate. Then I don’t talk to him for a month.”
“He’s definitely going through something. I don’t want to break his confidence, but if you ask him directly, I’m sure he’ll tell you.
“Do you think he’ll figure it out?”
A rush of sadness and raw need hit me like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Rosemary McAlister needs to make sure everything’s going to be all right.
“I think so. I’m doing my best to help anyway I can. I’d never bet against Dylan McAlister figuring things out.”
“Good. Keep helping him, Evie. He needs no bullshit people in his life. Did he tell you about his ex? Dixie?”
“A little.”
“What a fucking disaster she was. A gold digger with dollar signs popping out of her blue contact-tinted eyes.”
I cough, nearly choking on my chip.
“Oops, did I say the F word? My husband hates when I swear. But he’s not here, is he?” She sets two small plates of casserole on the table and sits back down. “I don’t know how much longer I get to be here. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around to make things right.”
“Mrs. McAlister …” My phone pings repeatedly.
“Dotting my I’s and crossing my T’s, honey. You take that,” she says. “Maria! Freshen up the cottage for Dylan and his girlfriend.”
I walk onto the patio, pluck my phone from my purse, and read my texts.
Madame: Call me. Now.
I dial her number and she picks up.
“I don’t even have the words to tell you how angry I am,” she says.
I walk away from the house onto the lawn. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re literally taking money out of Ma Maison’s pocket,” she says. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t fire you.”
Damn. “I’ll never do this again. I promise. This is a one time thing.”
“Oh, please, Evelyn,” she says. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Once a thief always a thief.”
“I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you? What can I do to make this better? Just tell me and I will do it.”
“Prove you still want this job. Prove you still want to work for Ma Maison.”
“I’ll be home in a few days. Book a client, keep my fee. I’ll do a freebie. I won’t take a dime. Will that make you happy?”
