“August, the last two weeks before school starts. Jeff wanted me to have as much time as I need with you right now.”
“Very thoughtful.”
“He is,” she agreed. “I’m not quite sure why you don’t seem to believe it.”
I dropped the act and lowered my shoulders. “I was your age when I got married. So was my mom. It didn’t work out for either of us. I want so much better for you.”
“I know you do,” Camilla said. “But Jeff isn’t Dad or Grandpa, and I’m not you or Grandma. My mama taught me about my very high worth, every single day, and she showed me how much she believed it with her actions. I see you, Mama,” she said sweetly. “I saw you then, and I see you now. I hold everyone I meet to your standards. I will never accept anything less.”
My eyes misted, and I smiled. “I did okay?”
“You were exactly the mother I needed.”
And then the tears began to fall.
Chapter Nine
Camilla and I finished the kitchen and dining room before she left for yoga. Raisin stayed with me. If there was an upside to the out-of-control clutter at Mom’s place, it was that she owned at least two of everything under the sun, including a carpet shampooer I used to steam and scrub the carpets and throw rugs. I found enough bottles of cleaning solution to do the same for every home below the Mason–Dixon line.
I accepted Ilona’s offer to help with a yard sale via text message after dinner, and she said she’d let me know when the notice appeared in the paper.
I stopped working for the night when I found an unopened bottle of sauvignon blanc in a large vase with seven umbrellas. I carried the bottle with me to the trailer and finished half while searching online for Bastien Allard.
I came up empty yet again.
Raisin forced me awake in the morning, aggressively head bumping me until I thought we’d both suffer a concussion.
“Okay,” I said. “Stop. I’m up.”
He meowed and bit my toes where they hung outside the covers.
“Ow! Hey!” I burrowed beneath the blanket, wishing I’d switched to water after my first glass of wine.
Raisin bit my leg through the thin duvet.
“I’m up!”
I pushed onto my feet, wincing at the stiffness in my neck and back from the long day of scrubbing and moving things at the house. I reached for my toes, feeling every year of my age for the first time in a long while.
Raisin chewed my hair when gravity pulled it in his direction.
“No!” I swung upright and lost my balance momentarily, knocking my hip against the pop-up kitchen table. “Damn it!” A pathetic whimper crossed my lips as I straightened. “I can’t live in this trailer.”
I moved to the kitchenette’s countertop and removed the pot from the ancient coffee maker, then stuck the vessel beneath the faucet. The cold-water knob turned easily, and water dripped slowly for several seconds before coming to a complete stop.
I tried the hot-water knob. Nothing. “This cannot be my life,” I complained.
Raisin bit my calf.
“Stop.” I pointed at the cat.
He sat and stared up at me.
I gathered my things and pushed open the trailer door. “Come on,” I said. “I need coffee and a hot shower.” After that I had to find a way to save this house. Time was running out, and I still hadn’t made enough money to make a dent in the amount Mom owed.
Raisin trotted into the day, glancing over his shoulder every few feet to be sure I followed.
The morning air was dense and humid. A thick layer of fog clung to the grass like an apparition.
