Page 159 of Hang on St. Christopher
“You need to find an appropriate bakery.” Gram rummaged through the catch-all drawer and took out a pad and pen. “Better yet, we can send you muffins and other items like we used to when you were in college. Maybe once a week?” Gram waved her hand in the air again. “We can come up with a schedule.”
I never wanted to say yes to anything so much in my life. “If you do I won’t be able to fit into my apartment.”
Gram dropped the pen. “You worry too much about your weight.”
Not anymore... or not as much as I used to. I’d been trying to break theI’m not good enoughhabit I picked up in college. My fellow students had been blond and beautiful, which bycomparison made me look like an evil troll. The differences morphed into a defeatist attitude that pummeled me untilthe hair debacle. The day I looked in the mirror after dyeing my brown hair blond was the last day I wished for blond hair. Some people were meant to be brunettes.
It took most of my post-college years to silence the judgmental voice in my head. I decided my secret part-time job shouldn’t consist of fussing and worrying as I counted every calorie like I was training for an Olympic event. Even as the real world pushed and pulled at me to be dissatisfied with my size, my face, my hair... my everything, I fought back.
The whole weight topic annoyed me, so I pivoted. “I feel like we’ve gotten off topic.”
Gram snorted. The first of the day.
Celia slid onto the stool next to mine. “Which was?”
“Me helping out around here.”
Celia stopped in mid–coffee sip. “With what?”
Not the elated and relieved reaction I’d hoped for, but I was in the conversation now and not backing down. “Business stuff.”
Celia frowned over the top of her mug. “Which means?”
This sounded like an interrogation. “I don’t know. Computer input. Paperwork. Filing.”
This time Celia slowly lowered her mug to the counter. “Filing what?”
Gram delivered a fresh plate of muffins to the breakfast bar and put them in front of me. They were small. I could have at least one more.
Gram shook her head. “She wants to be our helper all of a sudden.”
That tone followed by the second snort of the morning. Not a great start to the conversation. “What’s happening right now? You two always wanted me to take an interest in the business and I am.”
Celia stared at Gram. Gram stared back. I could almost see the unspoken comments jumping back and forth between them.
Celia put her hand on my forearm and gave it a squeeze. “We want you to relax, honey. Eat some delicious, healing food and enjoy the sunshine.”
They wanted me out of their business. I didn’t need a law degree to figure that out.
I’d taken for granted they had the money they needed. As a kid I never thought about it. Everything—clothes, food, books—just showed up. As an adult, I’d assumed the business expansion paid the bills, but it made sense they might be struggling financially and vowed to hide that struggle from me. They lived in a huge house. There were two of them, two incomes, but they shared the same job and keeping the lights on in this place couldn’t be easy.
Whenever I’d asked about paying for the kitchen renovations or my undergrad education in the past, Gram changed the subject or shooed me away. I let her because she was proud and convincing... and it was easier on me not to know the details.
She’d once mentioned the inheritance she’d gotten from her terrible husband. That and life insurance. Sitting there, I questioned all of it. Would an abusive man really make sure the wife he regularly attacked had future financial security?
Celia and Gram stared at me now with their rosy cheeks and big eyes. Love wrapped around the kitchen like a warm blanket. But this time there was an underlying unease. These two were hiding something. Maybe they did need help and we’d all gotten lucky. NOI could swoop in and save the day... and my job... and their livelihoods.
The last time they hid something from me it was huge and nearly ended in a catastrophe.
We weren’t doing that again.
These two cuties possessed James Bond–level skills when it came to sparing me from what they considered to be bad news. That left me with few choices, the most obvious being snooping, which sucked. The only thing Gram hated near as much as crappy men was anyone touching her stuff.
Over the years, I’d been accused of being a bit dramatic. Totally unwarranted, of course, but even I could admit my currentnot rightfeeling might stem from a combination of stress and an active imagination rather than any real problem. So, no searching. For now. I’d listen and watch for the next few days. I had to be careful and focused.
Unfortunately, I lacked both skills.
Chapter Five
