Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,41
scary.
Her pulse stuttered as the answer strobed across her mind, and she backed up a few steps.
Hesitated.
You’re being selfish, Jeannette. Your neighbor is in a bind, and your idea could solve his problem.
That was true.
But she could pass it on by phone. That would be far safer.
Decision made, she pivoted and hurried back toward her house.
“Jeannette!”
As Logan called out from behind her, her step faltered—as did her heart.
Too late to run.
She swiveled toward him as he jogged down the path from the porch.
Halfway to her, he stopped and plucked a lavender ribbon from the grass.
Holding it aloft, he grinned. “Never mind. Crisis averted. I thought I might have lost this at your place and was going to ask you if I could look for it. Come on over, if you can stand Toby’s barking.”
She was stuck.
Smoothing a hand down her jeans, she joined him. “I’m a little later than I expected. I wanted to change first.”
“That’s fine. Toby was not happy about being confined in a cage while we were gone, and he’s been barking and running around the house like he’s possessed since we liberated him. He’s calmed down some, but why don’t we sit out here while Molly plays with him? It will be less chaotic.” He motioned toward the front porch.
“Works for me.”
He let her precede him, pausing at the front door as she moved toward the mesh folding chairs the former owner had left that had been there for as long as she’d lived in her house. “Let me give this to Molly and stave off a meltdown.”
By the time he joined her, she’d moved the two chairs farther apart and claimed one of them.
If he noticed the wider separation, he gave no indication of it. “Molly loved the tea—and we both appreciated the animal-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you added to our tray.”
“I figured she’d like them better than the smoked salmon rosette and the marinated shrimp skewered on the lavender stem. Besides, that left more of the gourmet food for you—not that it filled you up, I’m guessing.”
He shifted in his seat. “Everything was delicious.”
“A diplomatic answer. But I have a feeling you’re in the same camp as one of my male guests from Texas, who said, ‘Mighty tasty, young woman—but where’s the main course?’”
“Can I plead the Fifth?”
“Not necessary. Most women can’t finish everything I serve and tell me they’re full at the end, but their male companions don’t consider my teas a meal. So you’re not alone.”
“Where did you learn to make all that fancy food, anyway?”
Not a subject she wanted to discuss—but she couldn’t ignore the question.
“My mom was a wonderful cook. Most of the elaborate fare is self-taught, but she was my inspiration.” Jeannette folded her hands in her lap and steered the conversation back on course. “Would you like to hear my idea?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did you happen to notice how Molly and Elisa Shabo clicked at the farmer’s market?”
“Yes.”
“It occurred to me that both girls could use a friend. Given their instant rapport, I wondered if Mariam—the grandmother—might be interested in watching them in your home. That would give Molly personalized care in familiar surroundings, along with the companionship of a child she already likes.”
Logan leaned forward and clasped his hands together, faint furrows creasing his brow. “Have you asked her about this?”
“No. I wanted to run the idea by you first. But I imagine the family would welcome another source of income. They came here with nothing, and Thomma isn’t earning much working on a fishing boat.”
“Does Mariam have any kind of childcare credentials?”
“I doubt it—but she raised two sons, and she’s very loving with Elisa. Given the circumstances, it will be impossible to do any of the typical due diligence, but you could always talk to Father Murphy. Get his read.”
“What’s your take on her—and the family?”
“I don’t know them that well.”
“You know them better than I do—and I’d appreciate your input.”
Jeannette knitted her fingers together in her lap. Back in her more sociable days, she’d been an excellent judge of character. But those skills were rusty.
As if sensing her reluctance to offer an opinion, Logan spoke again. “Whatever insights you have would be appreciated—and I won’t blame you if anything goes wrong.”
Given that caveat, how could she not share a few topline impressions?
“I think they’re good people.” She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “Thomma is angry, which is understandable. Mariam is trying hard to be the glue in the family and present a brave front,