Page 93 of Mountain Grump
I squeeze Tilda’s fingers. “This is it.”
We slow and turn to face a three-story building.
It looks like an old courthouse, complete with a wide stone staircase leading up to the front door, and is the current home to two dozen businesses. One of which belongs to Jack’s lawyer.
I wait for Tilda to take the first step, then I walk beside her up the stairs.
“It’s on the first level. Turn right when we get inside, then it’s on the left.”
Tilda nods, and I let go of her hand so I can open the door.
She takes the aviators off and puts them on top of her head, the earpieces disappearing into her hair. Then she walks in ahead of me.
We turn down the hall, the directory on the wall confirming this is the way to Richard and Son. Spaced out between the doors on either side of the hall are plain wooden benches. And our footsteps echo between the high ceilings and the marble floors.
Ahead of us, a door opens, and a woman steps out into the hall.
Tilda tenses, and her hesitation has me lifting my hand on instinct and placing it against the center of her back.
She straightens her shoulders and whispers under her breath, “Here we go.”
“There you are.” The woman snaps it like an accusation.
“Hello, Mother.” Tilda’s tone is formal and cold.
And her mother… is average.
Average appearance. Size.
Short brown hair dyed a shade too dark to look natural.
Clothing that is conventionally nice but not memorable.
She’s unremarkable.
Nothing like Tilda.
And I’ve never instantly hated a person more in my life.
“We’ve been waiting.” There isn’t a single shred of affection in her tone.
As our steps slow, I lift my hand and make a show of looking at my watch, letting the awful woman see me do it.
We’re ten minutes early.
She glances at the movement but just as quickly dismisses me.
Before something else can come out of her mouth, another woman steps out of the office.
Followed by a man. An older woman. And then a paired couple.
I must make a noise because Tilda hums an agreement. “There’s a lot of them.”
Together, we come to a stop before the crowd.
The woman standing next to Tilda’s mom makes a clicking sound as she looks Tilda over. “Yellow… With your complexion?”
“Watch your mouth,” I growl.
