For All She Knows (Potomac Point #3) - Jamie Beck Page 0,8

Still, Grace was savvy and organized, and would come loaded with facts and figures tonight.

When she first told me that she’d be protesting the proposal, she’d credited me with giving her the courage. That made me proud of us both, and I’d wanted to be happy for her. But dang it, part of me had wished she would stand down and let my son and me catch a break for a change. Everything I’d ever accomplished had been hard-won since losing my parents at twelve. And here I was, closing in on forty, and still scrapping and fighting for any advantage.

Not that I could begrudge Grace doing the same for her kids. It’s not like she’d never tried to help Rowan and me. When Dirk first left, Rowan had been ten. Grace had watched him after school every day for two years so I didn’t have to pay for a sitter. She’d helped him with his homework, too. Even got Sam to toss a football with him and be a father figure from time to time.

I stepped back and chucked the near-empty spray bottle in my bag. “All done. You like?”

I held up the mirror for the last time.

“I love.” Agnes unsnapped her vintage beaded change purse and pulled out three dollar bills. “I know you don’t let us pay, but please take a little tip.”

Normally I wouldn’t accept the money, but who could deny a proud woman like Agnes the joy of doing me a kindness? The pocket change might also come in handy at the vending machine if I got thirsty at tonight’s meeting. “Thank you, Agnes. That’s mighty sweet. I hope you have a wonderful birthday dinner.”

It took her a while to push herself out of the chair, but I’d learned last year not to offer help. She needed to prove to me and herself that she could manage on her own, and I sure did understand the importance of those little wins. Sometimes little wins were all that got me through a rough day.

I cleaned up around the chair where I’d styled her hair before packing all my things, heaving my duffel over my shoulder, and saying goodbye.

“Good luck tonight, Mimi!” Agnes waved as I left her room.

I strolled through the lobby, saying goodbye to Clara—a care worker whose poor dye job made me suspect she did it herself—before zipping up my winter coat to brace for the arctic blast outside.

My legs froze on the run across the parking lot, so I fired up the heat as soon as the ignition turned over. The windows fogged while I rubbed my hands together before putting the car in reverse and heading home.

Even in the dark, you could see that our little Craftsman needed work. A combination of barren, overgrown, and dead shrubs surrounded the house. Warped roof shingles warned of another big expense heading my way. And a gigantic crack split the center of my driveway like a fault line. The one great thing about our house was its location, seven blocks from the shore. On breezy summer days, you could smell the salt water from the backyard. The other good thing about this tiny house was its walkout basement, which gave Rowan and me some necessary separation.

I made my way in through the side door, which led directly to the 1990s-style kitchen. Bland blond wood—ugly, to tell the truth—cream-colored appliances, and tile counters. I still hadn’t found the secret to keeping that grout clean. Grace could make it sparkle, though. I’d never forget coming home after my appendectomy three years ago to find my house cleaned and organized, top to bottom, with the laundry washed and ironed, and the fridge loaded with food. Grace had even put fresh hydrangeas in my living room and bedroom. No one had pampered me that way since my parents had died. The memory could still make me a little weepy.

Sadly, neither Rowan nor I tidied up as well as Grace, but neither of us was overly bothered by clutter, either.

Speaking of my son, he sat slumped over the small oak table in the corner, eating pizza and watching something on his phone. I tapped his shoulder to get him to acknowledge my presence.

He barely raised his gaze. “Hey, Mom.”

“How was your day?” I ditched my bag in the corner of the cramped space and arched my back with my hands on my hips.

“Fine,” he mumbled, his focus still on his screen as he lied. I didn’t need to see his