“What’s intriguing?” Jillian repeated.
None of your business.I squelched down my irritation and forced a tone of nonchalance. “Oh—just some things Miss Addie is telling Hope about the past.”
“How interesting.” Jillian looked from my face to Hope’s. Now Hope felt on the spot. My irritation mounted.
“I wasn’t expecting you tonight, Jillian.”
“I finished with the school meeting early and thought I’d drop in to see if you and the girls were all right.”
“We’re fine.” The words came out curter than I’d intended. I knew she meant well, but damn it, it was just too invasive, her walking right into my home without ringing the bell, just assuming she was welcome. I mean, I’m grateful for the way she watches out for the girls and all that she does around the house, but there needed to be some limits. I felt my jaw tighten into what Christine used to call my Mount Rushmore face—the one she said was stony and cold. “It was nice of you to stop by.”
The color drained from Jillian’s cheeks. She visibly swallowed. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The thunder of feet rumbled again on the back stairs, and the girls burst into the room. “Aunt Jillian!” Zoey made a beeline to hug Jillian. Sophie followed suit. “Come see what Hope’s gonna do to our walls! An’ look at the pictures we drew today!”
“I—I’m sorry, girls, but I think I need to go,” Jillian said, stepping back.
“Why? You just got here!”
“Yeah. Don’ you want to see my pictures?” Sophie echoed.
Jillian put her hand on Sophie’s hair. “Of course I do, sweetheart, but I don’t want to intrude.”
Zoey looked at him quizzically. “You’re not ’truding. Right, Dad?”
Oh, for God’s sake.I ran a hand down my face and blew out a hot breath. “Of course not. I wasn’t expecting you, Jillian, that’s all.”
Sophie tugged at Hope’s hand. “Show Jillian the sketches, Hope!”
Hope complied. I stood there in the doorway, all too aware of the way Jillian’s presence had completely changed the dynamics, disliking both the interruption and my reaction to it.
Hell. I wasn’t all that happy about my reaction to Hope, either. She was a distraction I probably didn’t need right now—especially since she was going to be here every evening for the next few weeks. If I knew what was good for me and the girls, I’d keep my distance.
My phone rang. It was an assistant working on an important brief. Excusing myself, I went downstairs to my office, glad of the excuse to escape.
19
hope
The next day Gran was scheduled for a bath by an aide, then a doctor’s appointment, then a physical therapy session. We barely had a moment alone, and all of the activity exhausted her. She didn’t bring up the topic of Joe again the following day, or the one after, and I decided not to push it. I worked on packing up the china, crystal, and sterling serving pieces in her dining room. Sending photos to Eddie and Ralph and following up on their requests to save certain items, to sell others on eBay, or to request appraisals from antiques dealers kept me plenty busy.
On Saturday, Gran was scheduled for her quarterly perm at the beauty parlor. It would take all morning, so at her urging, I decided to let her aide drive her to the appointment so I could go to the Friends of the Forest planting.
“It’s a good cause, it’s always fun, and it’s a great group of women,” Gran said. “I’ve known most of them since they were small-fry. Knew most of their mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers, too.”
I felt a moment of trepidation when I walked into the coffee shop and saw a group of women chatting and laughing together. They all were obviously good friends, and I felt like the new kid at school.
Kirsten quickly put me at ease. “Hope, I’m so glad you made it!”She gestured toward the other women. “Everyone, this is Miss Addie’s granddaughter.”
“Oh, the artist!” exclaimed a pixie-faced woman in a green quilted vest. She reminded me of an elf, or maybe Peter Pan. Her strawberry blond hair was cut very short. Freckles danced across her nose, and her green eyes were bright and lively. “I’m Aimee.” She pronounced her name the French way—Em-may.
I shook her hand.
“Aimee is a high school English teacher,” Kirsten explained.
“And I’m Clarabel.” A middle-aged woman with platinum blond hair and rhinestone-studded eyeglasses grasped my hand. “I work at the Hair You Are beauty salon.”
“Oh, my grandmother’s going there this morning!”
