Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “You can’t.”

      She positioned her cart to the left of the front door, then walked inside. The layout for all the bungalows was the same—a living room–dining room on one side, the bedroom-bathroom-closet on the other. There was a private patio with a couple of chairs and a small table. In Quinn’s case, the patio faced the pond with the paddleboats.

      Dan set down the lunch on the table, then left. Courtney crossed to the half bath by the door and washed her hands. By the time she returned, Quinn had cut the burger in half and split the fries. He stood by the minibar.

      “What do you want to drink?”

      “I’ll take the glass of water, if that’s okay,” she told him.

      “It is.”

      He removed a beer from the fridge. They sat across from each other.

      For a second Courtney felt strange. A guest had never invited her to lunch before—not that Quinn was actually a guest. Which probably made it okay.

      “Joyce said you live on the property.”

      “I do. I have a room on the fourth floor. It’s one of those badly placed spaces with too much noise and a tree blocking the view, so I don’t have to feel guilty when the hotel is full.”

      “Why would you feel guilty? The room is part of your pay.”

      “Oh, sure. Use logic. My mind doesn’t work that way.”

      She took a bite of her burger. Quinn had ordered the California special with avocado, bacon and jalapeños. Delicious.

      “I used to live here, too,” he told her.

      “With Joyce,” she said when she’d chewed and swallowed. “I remember hearing about that. What happened to your parents?” She reached for her water. “Am I allowed to ask that?”

      “You can ask me anything you want.”

      She told herself not to read too much into that statement. “Okay, where are your parents?”

      “I never knew my dad. My mom got pregnant young and he took off.” One broad shoulder rose and lowered, while his expression remained neutral. “She wasn’t into having a kid around and used to leave me here all the time. Joyce was great, but I didn’t take well to being ignored by my mother, so I acted out. When I was fourteen, I got caught shoplifting. My mother told the judge she couldn’t handle me and that I should be locked up. I spent a month in juvie. When I got out, she was gone. She’d taken off without telling anyone where she was going.”

      Courtney stared at him. “That’s so awful. I’m sorry. You must have been devastated.”

      The shoulder rose again. “Some, but it wasn’t a total surprise. She blamed me for pretty much everything that went wrong in her life. Joyce moved into the two-bedroom bungalow and dragged me along with her. It was tough for a while, but we made it work.”

      There was no emotion in his voice—it was as if he was talking about getting his car serviced. But she knew there had to be a lot of feelings. No one could go through what he had without feeling scarred.

      “Joyce loves you. You had to know that, even as a kid.”

      “I did.” He smiled. “She blames herself for my mom. She says she was too busy with the hotel to be there for her daughter.”

      Courtney reached for a fry. “My mom was too busy for us after my dad died. I guess a lot of parents have to wrestle with balancing work and family, especially if they’re a single parent.”

      “But?”

      “I didn’t say but.”

      “It was there in the subtext. But she should have done a better job?”

      Courtney leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I know, I know. I should get over it. But jeez, I was held back twice in school and she barely noticed. Do you have any idea how hard that was? How the kids tormented me? And then I got very, very tall. That didn’t help.”

      “I like that you’re tall.”

      She felt herself smile. “Really?”

      “Tall women are sexy.”

      Could she extrapolate from that? Probably not while dressed as a hotel maid, but maybe there was hope.

      “Joyce always said that I was her redemption,” he said. “I think of myself more as a do-over.”

      “No. Go with being her redemption. That’s way cooler. Who gets to say that about themselves? Of course, there is a lot of responsibility that goes with it, but it would be worth it.”

      “You’re an idealist.”

      “Mostly. You’re a cynic.”

      “You can’t know that.”

      “I can guess.”

      “Because I’m older and wiser?”

      “And you’ve seen the world.”

      He laughed. “While you’ve been trapped here in Los Lobos. Life happens everywhere.”

      “Yes, but it’s not exciting here.”

      “It’s not exciting anywhere. Don’t buy into the press reports. They’re lying.”

      She felt as if there was a hidden meaning in his words, but she had no idea what it was.

      “How old were you when your father died?” he asked.

      Talk about an unexpected shift in conversation. “Three. I don’t remember him at all. I don’t remember much about that time. I’m sure it was horrible, but it’s all blurry to me. I know it was tough for my mom. She worked as a secretary at my dad’s office, but she wasn’t an accountant like he was. When my dad died, a lot of people in the company quit and most of the clients left. There wasn’t any life insurance and my mom lost the house.”

      “What happened?”

      “Joyce took us in. Funny how she took you in, and then when you left for college, she took us in.”

      “I doubt the events are related.”

      “Probably not. Anyway, we lived in one of the bungalows. My mom studied accounting at night, hung on to the employees and clients she could and slowly built her way back. Over time, she became a CPA, bought a house, then a bigger house, put Sienna through college.”

      His gaze was steady. “You must be proud.”

      “I am.” The words were automatic.

      “But?”

      “There’s no but. I’m very proud of my mother. She went through something really horrible and came out the other side. Her three daughters are productive members of society.”

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