Page 93 of Afternoon Delight
We sat down and chatted a little more. I tried to steer the conversation so Mom didn’t feel put on the spot, asking Isabella where she’d worked as a chef and how many grandchildren she had.
“Do all of those windows open? In the summer, I mean,” Mom asked, glancing back at the sunroom.
“They do, but I use the air conditioning,” Isabella said.
“Of course,” Mom murmured.
“Where in Kelowna—” I began.
“Do you get complaints about the hardwood from people below? When you walk around, I mean,” Mom interrupted.
“No. Never.” Isabella’s brows lifted in surprise. “I wear slippers, and the wood doesn’t creak.”
“You could also put down area rugs,” Barbara suggested.
Mom nodded thoughtfully.
“Will this baby be your first great-grand—” I tried again.
“There wouldn’t be enough room for you and Roddie,” Mom said with concern. “Unless you sleep with me. If Shelby visits at the same time, it’s definitely too small.”
“There’s a guest suite on the first floor,” Barbara said. “It’s a studio with a kitchenette. You have to book early if you want it for Christmas or summer months, but it’s very affordable. Bill and I have a spare bedroom too. We’d always be happy to have company.”
“How much are the monthly fees?” Mom asked Isabella.
I gave up trying to change the subject and let Mom run with it.
By the time we left thirty minutes later, Mom and Isabella had a handshake deal that gave Mom the right of first refusal.
Chapter 51
Zak
Meg texted me on Sunday.
Busy?
Feel like a visitor?
In the land of misfit toys.
Sure. Drop by.
I was in the front yard when she pulled up twenty minutes later and parked at the edge of the lawn. She brought a six-pack from Tap That and fish tacos from a food truck we both liked.
“I was hungry,” she explained as I popped open a couple of lawn chairs and gave her a brief kiss. “I should have asked if Dale can drink alcohol, though.”
“I’ll open a beer for him. He doesn’t usually finish it.” I’d already mowed the lawn and washed the car. We were only outside because it was a nice day. Dad was in the open garage, poking around on the shelves.
“Hello.” Dad came out with a pair of pliers in his hands. He smiled politely at Meg. “Are you selling cookies? Run get my wallet, Zak.”
“This is Meg, Dad. She works in the shop that used to be Debra’s. You’ve met her a few times. Meg brought tacos and beer. You want some? Come wash your hands.” I washed mine at the hose.
He did, then looked at me with confusion. “Where has Debra gone?”
“Retired,” I reminded him.
“Oh, that’s right. Debra’s a good friend.” He resisted when I tried to guide him into a chair. “I should call her. See how she’s getting on.”
