Page 8 of Hello, Summer
“Not at all,” Grayson protested. “I was shocked when I read thatWall Street Journalstory. I mean,Intelligentsiawas big league. I assume you’d already heard?”
“No.” She let that hang in the air between them.
Grayson sipped her coffee. “What are your plans now?”
“I thought I’d lie low out at the beach for a while, work on my tan, and send out my résuméand clips. I’ve already got a couple of irons in the fire.”
This was a lie, and she was pretty sure her sister knew it.
“That’s a relief,” was all Grayson said.
Conley sipped her coffee. “What’s up with G’mama still being in town? She told me last night you didn’t want her to open up the Dunes because it’s too much work for her and Winnie.”
“What’s that you say?” Winnie asked, her long-handled fork poised over the skillet.
“It’s actually G’mama I’m worried about,” her sister said, her voice low. “But don’t say anything to her about that. She’s fallen a couple of times. So far, the only injury is to one of Granddaddy’s highball glasses, but I don’t like the idea of them way out at the beach, fifteen miles away from town and her doctor, if something should happen.”
Winnie slapped the heavy ironstone platter of bacon and scrambled eggs down on the tabletop, followed by the basket of biscuits. “For your information, we can take care of ourselves,” she said. “Been doing just fine for a long time now.”
“Says the woman who needs a hip replacement,” Grayson retorted.
“Says who?” Winnie ferried the plates and silverware to the table, then sat down on the old, green, metal step stool that was her familiar perch in the kitchen.
“Says Jack Holloway, your doctor. He also happens to agree that G’mama needs—”
The door swung open, and Lorraine entered the kitchen. “G’mamaneeds what?” she demanded, glowering at her granddaughter. “According to who? Grayson, you know I despise you talking about me behind my back.”
“Somebody has to,” she said, shaking her head. “Jack says G’mama is prediabetic. He’s given her a prescription, but she refuses to get it filled, and she refuses to listen to her doctor.” She looked across the table at her sister. “But maybe she’ll listen to you.”
“Scoot over,” Lorraine told Conley.
Conley did as she was told. “G’mama, is that true? This is the first I’m hearing about any of this stuff. Sis says you’ve had a couple of falls. And what’s this about diabetes?”
Winnie brought the percolator to the table and handed a mug to her employer. Lorraine scowled at both her grandchildren.
“I tripped on the coffee table, whichsomebodymoved without consulting me.” This time, Winnie was on the receiving end of Lorraine’s ire. “It was dark, and it was absolutely nothing. I scraped my shin a little, that’s all.”
“She had a knot the size of a turnip on her forehead for a week,” Grayson said. “I had to physically force her into my car to take her to see Jack.”
“She lied and told me we were going to the liquor store,” Lorraine said. She placed a slice of bacon and a spoonful of eggs on the plate Winnie had provided and was about to serve herself a biscuit when Winnie deftly slid it out of her reach.
“Did you check your sugar this morning?”
“Not you too,” Lorraine said. “My blood sugar is perfectly fine. My diet is fine. Jack gave me a food plan to keep things in check, and I’ve been sticking to it.” She pointed first at Grayson, then Conley, then Winnie. “This topic of discussion is officially closed.”
Grayson rolled her eyes. “Hardheaded old mule.”
“Out!” Lorraine said. “Out of my kitchen. This minute.” Grayson grinned, grabbed for the basket, and helped herself to a biscuit, which she sliced open and mounded with butter and homemade fig preserves before topping her creation with bacon.
“I’m deeply wounded,” Grayson said, glancing at her watch. “Oops, I’ve got a phone call in fifteen minutes. Later, haters.”
After breakfast, Conley set her laptop up on the dining room table. She dreaded having to job hunt, but with the state of the industry, she knew she had to get her résuméout immediately.
“G’mama,” she said when Lorraine passed through on her way to the den. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”
“Oh,” Lorraine said. She wrinkled her forehead. “Grayson set it up. Now let me think. It’s something easy. Something obvious.”
“It’s the address here,” Winnie said, dragging the vacuum cleaner into the room. “Thirty-eight Felicity.”
