“That you don’t want to drive a used Honda?” Chase drawled, borrowing her mother’s sweet-as-sugar Georgia accent. But in an ironic way. In a smart-ass, ironic way.
Lorna’s mouth went flat. “This is your problem. You trudge around like the walking wounded, and you have no cause to be. You had everything at your fingertips, and you tossed it just to hurt me. You think I don’t know you think I’m a shitty mother?”
“You are a shitty mother. You’re a good manager, but a shitty mother.” Chase shoved the plate away. “I’m going home. I’m not dealing with this right now.”
“You’re not going home.”
Of course. Lorna was making her go back to rehab, and Chase didn’t want to go to stupid rehab. None of the various ones she’d visited had worked anyway. Neither did therapy or angry judges threatening her with jail time. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to stop her behavior. Stop wanting to erase who she was. “Well, last time I looked, Lorna, I’m an adult. I can do whatever the fu—”
Lorna looked past Chase at someone who’d emerged from the living room, causing Chase to stop talking and turn. Her parole officer stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Okay, Tonya. Go ahead and arrest her,” Lorna said, before sliding her phone in her tunic pocket and walking out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia Han nuked her coffee in the microwave for the third time and walked across the tasteful waiting room toward her private office, which was situated steps away from the canals of Long Beach. She’d allowed the Blue Mountain blend she imported from Jamaica to grow cold while she tackled a towering to-do list that kept growing by the minute. Olivia hated wasting anything, but most especially good coffee.
“Miss Han, you have a call on line four,” Marina said, peeking out from behind the computer in the reception area where she rat-a-tatted memos and worked magic on the client database.
Olivia nearly stumbled. “Line four?”
Marina’s eyes were big as she shrugged one shoulder.
Line four was for personal calls only. Olivia rarely got personal calls. No, that wasn’t true. She got a personal call twice a month. Usually when the money ran out.
Olivia shut the office door and sipped the hot coffee. Not as good as fresh but better than lukewarm. She girded herself for talking to her sister, Neve, who would no doubt want to discuss the cabin and the bequest from their paternal grandfather. Olivia slid open the desk drawer and stared at the key. The key chain was a braided one she’d made for Grammy Rose at day camp one summer. Tender memories crowded her resolve. Once upon a time they’d all been happy there.
Be strong, Olivia. Be strong.
She closed the drawer and angled her ergonomic desk chair toward the window. Outside was the serenity garden she’d installed as a place to meet with clients when the confines of the office were too much. Lush hibiscus crowded the bluestone paths, prickly bougainvillea climbed the stone walls, and a large obsidian water feature provided the background for sleek outdoor furniture. The red glass hummingbird feeder had guests. She could have moved her office, but she’d started her career in social work in Long Beach and had a fondness for the ocean air and lush greenery.