They met back downstairs and stood on the porch discussing the place. “It’s nice,” Amber said. “Cute and cozy.”
“Can be made secure,” Paul added, scanning the street in his cop-like way. “Could even be expanded later, if you wanted to.”
“I like that idea.” Mary looked at the surrounding cottages. The one on their right belonged to the family who’d been outside earlier, but the tiny, royal blue one on the left she wasn’t sure about. She turned to Amber, who was looking in the same direction. “Know anything about that place?”
“The blue house? It’s a rental, I know that,” Amber said. “Want me to look into it? See who’s renting it and whether it’s long-term or short-term?”
“Perfect.” Mary loved having Amber in charge of this program. She was so competent. Made everything look easy.
“I like the area,” Paul said. “Safe, and I think it would be important to have any place we choose be fairly close to downtown. That’s been a lot of fun for me and Davey, being able to walk a few blocks to get dinner or ice cream.”
“One of Goody’s milkshakes could heal a lot of problems,” Mary agreed.
Amber did a silly little dance. “We may have a winner! I’ll get on the research this afternoon.”
Paul smiled, obviously enjoying Amber’s enthusiasm, and then looked past her down the street. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t look now,” he said quietly, “but there’s a woman who’s been lurking around. I think she’s coming this way.”
Mary’s heart did a great thump, and she felt her shoulders tighten. “What does she look like?”
“Dyed black hair, medium build, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. About fifty-five years old, and height of maybe five-six.”
Mary’s head started to swim as Paul described Imogene. Just thinking of her stepdaughter catapulted Mary back into the most awful time of her past. A time she didn’t want to think about, losses she tried to push out of her mind, but Imogene wasn’t going to give her any choice.
The fact that Mary couldn’t stand being around Imogene just made her feel more guilty. Imogene had lost so much through no fault of her own. It had all been Mary’s fault.
And it was Mary’s problem to deal with. “I’m pretty sure I know who that is. I need to talk to her. Can you two take it from here? And write up a little report on what you find out?”
“Of course.” Amber was studying her. “Are you okay? Do you want us to stay with you while you talk to her?”
“No!” Mary responded too rapidly, making them both stare. “I need to speak with her alone. But I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Amber put an arm around her. “I am worried. And I’m going to call you later, whether you want me to or not.”
“Fine, fine,” Mary said as she extricated herself from Amber’s half embrace. If Imogene saw Mary happy and close with someone else, it would just make her angry.
She sucked in a deep breath, turned and there was Imogene standing on the sidewalk behind them, closer than Mary had expected although not close enough to hear what they’d been saying. “Hello, dear,” she said, and walked toward her stepdaughter, determined to take the high road. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”
“You were hoping not, right?” Imogene said, her face—a face that had once been so pretty—twisting into a sneer.
Mary sighed. “Let’s go down to Beach Street and walk along the bay. We can talk there.” And hopefully, the serene water and fresh breeze would give them both a little more insight and compassion.
As they walked toward the bay, Imogene started talking and didn’t stop. “I’ve got to get some relief here,” she said. “I’ve been going under and it’s gotten really bad. I have a lot of bills due and I can’t pay them. I need your help.”
“Of course, dear, I can help,” Mary said, even as she wondered what she was getting herself into. If she helped out with a little now, would Imogene continue coming to her every time she had a need? “Just show me your bills and we’ll take care of the most urgent ones. And then I can help you figure out a payment plan for the rest.”
“I don’t need financial counseling, I need money,” Imogene said. “A lot, and soon.”
That didn’t sound good. “I can help you out with your smaller bills,” Mary clarified, “but I can’t give you a big sum of money.”
Imogene opened her mouth, obviously intending to protest.
Mary held up a hand to stop her. “That’s what got you in trouble before. It’s really what sent you down the path to using, and I don’t intend to facilitate that happening again.”
“I’ve changed,” Imogene whined. “And I’m flat broke.”
Mary needed a strategy. “I can give you a small amount now to tide you over,” Mary said. “But I’m not going to be able to support you. You need to get things figured out yourself. If you need money, you’ll have to find work.” Not here. Please, not here.
Imogene’s lower lip stuck out the same way it had when she was fifteen. “How much will you give me?”
“Let’s talk about it as we walk back to my place,” Mary said. “Or better yet, to the shop. I have a lot of work to do.”
“How would your customers like to know about your history, what you did?” Imogene said in a snotty voice.
Dread washed over Mary. Her ears seemed to ring with avid, curious questions from the neighbors, and her head hurt with the remembered effort to decide the least hurtful things to say about what had happened. All while she’d been coping with the loss of her precious daughter. Or not coping, really, because how could you ever cope with that? Even brushing up against the edge of that pain made Mary spiral down into the darkest despair.
She had escaped the past, just as she longed to do. That had saved her. Now the past was nudging her
