Chapter Eleven
Kate was bustling around the shop at five thirty on Monday afternoon, preparing to close up early to give her plenty of time to get ready for—and obsess about—her date with Jackson, when Gen called.
“Your dad’s here,” Gen said. She had once told Kate that with difficult news, it was usually best to just blurt it out.
“He’s where? Where is ‘here’?”
“The house. He’s here at the house. With his wife. And all their luggage. They said they’ll be staying with you. For … for a while.”
Kate closed her eyes and pressed one palm to the side of her head, as though she were in danger of having her brain fly out her ear. “What? What? ”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Gen sounded miserable. “I just got home from the gallery, and they were sitting on the front porch with this little dog in a carrier, and with a crap ton of luggage. They were waiting for you. I didn’t know what to do. I … I let them in.”
“You let them in?”
“Oh, Kate. Please don’t kill me, sweetie. Remember that you love me.”
“I do, but … Oh, jeez. I have a date with Jackson! In an hour and a half! I don’t have time to deal with … with my father and Angela, and their damned dog!”
“What can I do? What should I do?” Gen was near tears. “I already let them in, but I could … I could … Well, kicking them out would be really awkward. Maybe find them another place to stay? I could call around … ”
Kate let out a deep sigh. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right home. I’ll do … whatever it is I’m going to do. I don’t know yet.”
“Kate, I really am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. See you soon.”
On the drive home, Kate considered her options. She’d told her father that he and Angela couldn’t stay with her. She’d suggested a B&B. She’d just go with that. She’d find them accommodations for tonight—good ones, a place that made her house look uncomfortable by comparison—shove them out the door, and then make herself busy over the next few days so she couldn’t spend time with them.
Or she could just drive her car into the ocean.
She dismissed that last thought, because the car only had 42,000 miles on it. Seemed like too much of a waste.
She thought centering thoughts as she maneuvered her way along the winding roads that meandered through Lodge Hill, down toward Marine Terrace. This isn’t a life or death crisis. This is a minor inconvenience. I can deal with this. They’ll be here for a short time, and then they’ll go home. One foot in front of the other. Just get through it.
When she arrived in front of her house, she saw that an unfamiliar car was parked in the tiny, single-space driveway. The car made her do a double-take. It had to be Angela’s. There was no way her father owned a powder pink Cadillac with a Mary Kay logo on the back window. Looking more closely, she saw the car sported a license plate frame that said I
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