The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(21)
“Give her my best wishes.” He stood again, suddenly in need of air that didn’t smell like Steffi’s shampoo. “Is Claire going, too?”
Steffi shook her head. “No.”
He nodded, unsurprised. Claire had lost a lot in her life, and he doubted much would make her willing to forgive and forget her friend’s betrayal. “Must be tough to be in the middle.”
“More so now, that’s for sure.” Steffi grabbed the final set of base plates and fitted them over another section of bolts between two posts. Once she’d slid them into place, she looked up at him and tugged at her ear. “I have something to tell you, but I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Oh?” His stomach tightened. No conversation that started that way ever turned into a happy surprise.
“I think Emmy’s having a hard time making new friends at school.” Steffi restlessly shifted her weight while waiting for his response.
He frowned. “Why do you think that?”
“During the past two days, she’s talked about how much better she liked her old school and friends. That seemed pretty normal, but then today she told me something that made it obvious she’s been eating lunch alone.” Steffi wrinkled her nose. “She’s got a strong personality and definite opinions about things. Her life in Boston sounds like it had a lot more excitement than this little town offers. Maybe she’s coming off as a little bossy or snobby to the others? I don’t know. You might want to check in with her teacher.”
“Or just talk to her.” Ryan glanced through the kitchen door but didn’t see his daughter.
“No! If you interrogate her, she’ll know I told you. Isn’t it better if she feels free to talk openly with me?”
“How about we keep our little détente going by you not giving me parenting advice?” He hoped that came out with less sarcasm than he felt at the moment. Her responding frown proved it hadn’t.
“I remember how much I liked talking to your mom when I was younger and didn’t want my dad to know everything. An adult ‘friend’ was an amazing gift. I’m pretty sure your mom was savvy enough to work back channels without my ever knowing.” She tipped her chin up with that challenge. Did she think him obtuse now? “But you do what you want. Emmy’s your daughter.”
He hadn’t ever analyzed Steffi’s relationship with his mom. He’d been too busy being infatuated by all the little things about her to care much about whether or not she got along with his parents. He might’ve even egotistically assumed she was nice to them only because of her feelings for him. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d had her own reasons for getting close to his mom.
As if her ears were burning, his mom poked her head outside. “Chicken’s here.”
“Coming.” Ryan turned to go inside.
“Can you join us, Stefanie?” His mom smiled, even as Ryan tried not to stumble. He couldn’t rescind her offer, but her heavy-handed meddling stopped his breath.
“Oh, that’s okay. You’ve got your hands full,” Steffi replied, sounding equally surprised.
“No, no. It’s fine. Mick’s upstairs in bed. He’s not hungry because of ‘the pain.’” She rolled her eyes. “Join us.”
Steffi looked at Ryan. He’d rather die than let her think he was uncomfortable, so he shrugged as if he couldn’t care less.
Unfortunately, she knew him too well. He saw the spark of a dare in her eyes right before she looked at his mother. “Thanks. Sounds nice. I’ll be in as soon as I finish cleaning up.”
Chapter Five
Steffi subdued the déjà vu of sitting at the Quinns’ dining table by watching Emmy pull the skin off her drumstick and then smother another roll in butter.
“Emmy, finish your broccoli before you eat more bread,” Ryan said.
That command raised his total word count for the past twenty minutes to a grand total of fifteen. Aside from “Pass the butter” and “No fries, thanks,” he’d kept his eyes on his plate for most of the meal. A stark difference in mood from the years when the two of them would lock feet beneath the table just for the thrill of touching each other. At the moment, she was tempted to run her foot up his calf just to shock him into sputtering another word or two.
“Claire called me today.” Molly sipped her iced tea, which she served in the same pitcher she’d used a decade ago. The plates were set on the same rooster-shaped place mats, on the same oak table, which sat on the same needlepoint carpet. So much familiarity, yet everything was different. “She’s coming over on Monday with some fabric samples for drapes and pillows and things. I admit, I can’t picture the room yet.”
“I’ll try to have the framing done by then, which should make it easier for you to start visualizing the space,” Steffi said.
“Good.” Molly then flicked her gaze to Emmy. “Is something wrong with that broccoli?”
Emmy nickered like a horse. Then she cast doleful eyes Steffi’s way, silently begging for help.
“Your dad never much liked broccoli, either,” Steffi said, that recollection coming from the far reaches of her mind.
“But I ate it,” he muttered, giving Emmy a pointed look and then saying nothing more. He took a long pull from his Bud Light.