Under the circumstances, he guessed her distress made sense. That was her money they were talking about. And although he knew she was safe from him, she didn’t know that. He knew he wouldn’t kick her out with no place to go either, but she didn’t.
A burdensome sense of chivalry overcame him—brought on by his extreme fatigue and hunger, no doubt, because although he was a nice guy, he wasn’t that nice. He wanted her gone. Still, he had to make the offer. “Not exactly Miami out there, huh? All things considered, I suppose if you want me to stay someplace else, I could. And I guess I should call my mother.”
Chapter 4
“THERE HE IS! OH, CARL, come and say hello. You remember my oldest son, Grant, of course. And this is Elaine. She’s renting the house.”
It was nearly nine o’clock in the evening when Delaney and Grant arrived at his mother’s house. A couple of black Labrador retrievers bounced around and barked as if they’d never before seen people, and Donna was equally aflutter, her cheeks stained pink as she hugged Grant so enthusiastically his breath came out in an amplified gasp.
“OK, Mom. Glad to see you too,” he said, smiling and patting her on the back as if reminding her to let him go.
Donna’s manatee sweatshirt had been replaced by a peach-colored cardigan that did nothing for her complexion, and Delaney started to mentally make her over. It was a hazard of her job as a stylist, constantly re-dressing people in her mind. Grant’s mother had been pretty once. Delaney could see that in her delicate bone structure and the color of her eyes. With a just little effort, this landlady might even be attractive.
Delaney could not say the same for the house, however. This place needed a complete overhaul. It was faux–Swiss chalet on the outside, but inside it was Early American tacky. Cheap ginger-colored paneling, rust-and-avocado plaid upholstery on a gargantuan sofa, and salmon-colored shag carpet, circa 1975. Family photos in mismatched frames hung on every spare inch of wall, and where there were not pictures, there were stuffed and mounted animal heads. Deer, rams, rabbits, and something that looked very much like a garden-variety billy goat. Somebody around here liked to shoot stuff. Awesome. If the conversation about her money went south, Delaney just might end up on the wall.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Donna said to Grant. “You could’ve knocked me over with a two-by-four when I heard your voice on the phone!” She tugged his arm, leading them into the lemon-yellow kitchen. A big pine table filled much of the room, and a wilted poinsettia sat in the center. Leftover from Christmas, no doubt, although from the looks of it, Christmas five years earlier.
“We didn’t even know if you’d make it to the wedding,” Donna continued. “Your brother said he’d tried to call you weeks ago but couldn’t get through. Oh, he’ll be so glad to see you.”
Grant looked around the house as if taking in all the knickknackery of his childhood home, and Delaney found herself wondering just how long it had been since he’d been back to Bell Harbor. Judging from his mother’s behavior, it had been quite a while.
“I’ve been pretty deep in the jungle, Mom,” Grant answered. “Not much cell reception when you’re thirty miles from the nearest tower.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Now let me look at you.” Donna cupped his face with both hands. He was a good head taller so she had to reach up. It was a sweet moment, mother and son, and Delaney felt like an intruder, but Grant had been pretty insistent she come along. Probably so that as soon as she got her money, she’d leave.
“Look at that face,” Donna said, smiling, turning his head one way and then the other. “Oh, my, how I’ve missed that face. Except for the beard, you look just like your father.”
Grant caught her hands with his own and moved them away. Probably because his mother seemed just on the verge of pinching his cheeks. “It’s nice to be home, Mom. You look good.”
“Oh.” She reached up and fluffed her short blonde hair. “You’re sweet. Isn’t he sweet, Carl?”
Delaney turned to find a tall, lanky, white-haired man leaning against the counter, wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe over black-and-red flannel pajama pants. He lifted a can of soda by way of a greeting. “Nice to see you again, kid. Sure has been a while. Can I interest anyone in a sloe gin fizz?”
“Oh, Carl, don’t be so silly. No one likes those.” Donna waved her hand, shushing him.
He cocked a white eyebrow. “Amaretto sour, then? Phil Collins?”
“It’s a Tom Collins,” Donna said, then turned back to her son and Delaney. “How about coffee?”