When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(17)

Three trips to the Goodwill later and she was ready for a shower, dinner, and bed.

Her phone rang while she was chopping vegetables for her salad.

“Miss Turner?”

“This is her.”

“This is Simone.” The social worker and Brooke had spoken many times.

“Do you have a discharge order yet?”

“Sure do. A week from Thursday. The wound should be good enough for a simple dressing, and the assisted living facility has agreed to accept.”

Brooke stopped cutting the food and rescheduled her week in her head. “Okay. Thank you. Let me know if something changes.”

She hung up the phone, growing tired just thinking about the work ahead of her. A quick call to her real estate agent put a deadline on when she needed to get the condo ready to show. She could use the garage for the piles of crap that would take a long time to get through while the place was on the market. Four days to pack and clean. Then a trip to San Diego to finalize her dad’s space at Autumn Senior Living. She’d drop off a few boxes on what would be several back-and-forth trips for the small things. After mapping out the new space for her father, she had decided it made no sense for her to rent a truck and lug any of his furniture into the new place. None of it would fit. He needed a twin bed and a tiny love seat. The condo furniture wouldn’t work, and sadly, it was trashed anyway. It was more cost effective to shop and have it delivered before her father arrived. She’d use familiar lamps and pictures to make the place feel like home the best she could.

It’s all she could do.

Brooke finished her dinner, cleaned the mess she’d made, and carried her second glass of wine to the living room.

It was strange to sit in a home she owned and yet feel like a stranger in it.

She and Marshall were always fluid, and home was wherever they landed. It worked, for a while. But she wasn’t happy with Marshall. There was no safety. No security.

Brooke needed something different. She wasn’t sure if San Diego was it, but it was the right place to start looking.





CHAPTER SIX


D’Angelo’s was a little quieter compared to the time she’d been there with Carmen. Understandable, considering it was between lunch and dinner. In Brooke’s experience, touristy places like Little Italy tended to stay busy most of the day, though.

Still, she had a seat in a booth with a couple of local rental magazines in front of her along with a newspaper.

She’d arrived in San Diego before noon, met with the director at the senior living facility, and wrote the big check to move her father in. Now she needed to concentrate on her move.

Her wish list was minimal. One bedroom would be ideal, but a loft or large studio would work. On-site parking . . . although once her dad’s car was gone, would she need a car? She could Uber to her dad. No. If he got sick again, and he would, she’d need to get him to and from doctor’s appointments. On-site parking was circled on her must-haves. Air conditioning?

Brooke glanced around the restaurant, saw all the open windows. A question mark on cooler air.

Dishwasher? Eh . . . it was only her.

Washer and dryer? Eh . . . schlepping her clothing to a laundromat wasn’t new. Ideal, no, but not a big deal.

Pool and on-site hot tub? Sure, they’d be nice, but a balcony with a view would be better.

Checks and balances.

“Ricotta and spinach ravioli,” the waitress said as she walked to the table, dish in hand.

“Oh, excuse me.” Brooke pushed her magazines and notes aside and made room for her late lunch.

“No problem.” She set the plate down. “Are you looking for a new apartment?”

“My first apartment, actually. Well, here.”

The woman smiled with her eyes. “How exciting. You’re going to love San Diego.”

“I hope so. I’ve had a rough couple of months.”

“I’m sorry.”

Brooke wasn’t sure why she said that to a stranger. “It’s okay. Uhm, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Of course not.”

“How hot does it get here? Do I need to have an air conditioner, or can I keep the windows open with a fan on?”

The waitress pointed to the floor. “Here, this close to the water, an open window and fan works for all but maybe two weeks of the year. Not in a restaurant, of course.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“If you go inland, you’ll want air.”

Brooke sighed. “I want to see the water.”

The sound of feet running caught their attention.

“Franny!”

Brooke laughed under her breath as the little girl slowed to a small trot through the empty tables of the restaurant.

“I see she still isn’t listening,” Brooke said.

“Ah, you’ve been here before?”

“A few weeks ago, with my friend. Francesca almost took out a waitress, and your cook graciously comped our meal. I felt it was only right that I return and pay for it this time.”

“Ahhh, yes. I knew you looked familiar. I’m Chloe, and my niece, Francesca, has the run of the place. Now that we’re busy again, she needs to find other places to play.”

“Poor girl.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll play your sympathy for all it’s worth. The baby in the family gets all. Trust me.” Chloe looked at the pasta. “I’m keeping you from your meal. I’ll leave you to it.”