True to Me - Kay Bratt Page 0,12
property was empty. He told her he had done a walk-through and everything was fine! But she was human, too, and it sounded to her as though this woman—Maria of the many tears—was in a worse predicament than she was. Maria had nowhere to go, an absent husband, a mouthy teenager, and a young daughter to care for. At least Quinn could hop on a plane and go back to her organized and semisuccessful life. She had options.
But Maria . . . well, Quinn had yet to hear any options from her. And it sounded like another round of tears might be on the way. “Don’t cry. We’ll figure this out,” Quinn said, thinking quite the opposite as she visualized money being thrown out of a car window. “Have you filed a missing person report?”
Maria used the end of the dish towel to blot her tears. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, forcing the curls together and then wrapping it all into a twist behind her head and tucking the end inside itself. It made her look even older.
“I tried. But they said since he took clothing and toiletries, it appears he left on his own free will, and adults have the right to do that. I just can’t believe this is happening to us,” she said. “This is the only home my children have ever known, and now we have to leave? And my father. He’s too old for this.”
Quinn’s heart sank. “Your father? He lives here with you?”
Maria nodded. “Of course. Well, I mean, he’s not here right now. He’s at the beach. But he lives here, and my mother did, too, until she passed.”
The surprise must’ve shown on Quinn’s face, because Maria looked indignant.
“Here in Hawaii, we don’t send our elders away. Most families have multiple generations living in the same house. This won’t just affect me. I have a lot of people depending on me. It’s not going to be easy to just up and leave.”
Quinn sighed. That part she couldn’t help with. But she could be charitable. “How much time do you think you need?”
Maria looked around, taking in the kitchen area filled with things that made it a home. A spice rack hung on the wall, some bottles low on ingredients, proving that the display wasn’t just for show. A pot was on the stove top, the burner glowing softly beneath it, tendrils of steam rising from the top.
On the windowsill a row of small pots held a variety of herbs, the names spelled out in bright pastel paints in a child’s handwriting.
“I don’t even know where we can go,” Maria finally said, her eyes filling again. “I have no job. I have some family on the big island, but they had to evacuate to a smaller home after the volcano eruption and don’t have room for us. And Pali has to stay in this school district. His place on the football team is his only chance at a scholarship.” She lowered her voice to a whisper again. “My daughter, Alani, doesn’t even know anything about this. Her best friend lives next door. They’ve grown up together, seeing one another every single day. It’s going to kill them to be separated. I don’t even know how to tell her. I said you were a friend of mine from the mainland.”
Quinn felt dirtier than pond scum. She was probably the furthest thing from a friend right now, unless friends were known to swoop down and kick you out of your own home. “I know this is hard. But this was all done legally, Maria. It’s not my fault your husband didn’t tell you what he was doing.”
Maria’s eyes widened. “Legally? Wait, are you going to call the police?”
This was excruciating, and Quinn wished she could blink her eyes and disappear. But a lot of money was on the line. It wasn’t as though she could just tell them, “Never mind, go ahead and keep the house,” and she’d find something else. For a split second, she wished Ethan were here to step up and make everything fall into place.
“No, I’m not calling the police. I’ll come back tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to process this. I won’t just kick you out today, but we need to agree on a move-out date. Maybe by the weekend? I can’t stay in a hotel forever, and I have a lot of changes planned to the house. I need to start the remodeling while I’m here,”