I really wish the babysitter—also known as my mother—wouldn’t insist on dropping off Melia an hour before I have to leave the inn. It’s the busiest time of day for me, and my daughter does not understand what working means. Also, I haven’t told my mother about Jessica working here.

“Jessica? Who is she?”

“The new front desk manager,” I say.

Amelia grabs her hand. “She’s pretty and smart and she and Daddy were in love once.”

My mother’s face pales. “Jessica Walker?”

“The same one.”

Her lips part and she sucks in a breath. “Grayson, why? Why would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Hire that girl,” she says through clenched teeth.

One day, I may see my parents as the kind, loving people who didn’t place value on material things that they once were, but today wasn’t going to be that day. My mother ignores my father’s indiscretions providing he keeps her dripping in diamonds and labels. After each of his “business trips,” he returns with some ridiculous gift that she fawns over and uses to prove to her friends how wonderful her marriage is.

It’s all fucking bullshit.

Dad fucks around. Mom drinks and pretends she’s the queen while my siblings and I watch in disgust.

The worst part of Eveline Parkerson is the way she looks down her nose at others.

“I don’t see why you care.”

“Her mother was once my friend, that’s why.”

“Yes, she was, and then she wasn’t, why is that?”

Mom clears her throat and looks around. “Is her mother still working here as well?”

She knows damn well that Jessica’s mother doesn’t. She quit around the time Jessica left.

“I don’t see why that’s your concern. You don’t work here anymore either.”

Amelia tugs on her hand. “Yaya, can we go see?”

For all the faults my mother has, and there is a list the size of Texas, she’s a wonderful grandmother to Amelia. She watches her three times a week for me, not because she has to but because she loves her and she’s the only grandchild.

“I would love to, Princess, but Yaya needs to get to work.”

Melia’s eyes squint. “You work?”

“Well, I help a lot of organizations in Willow Creek, and in two days, we’re having a dinner to help with the youth organization that helps people get their lives together.” My mother’s eyes meet mine. “We know people who have needed that, don’t we?”

She means Jess. “Thank God for the people who can help those when they need it,” I reply.

My mother stands a bit taller, pushing her shoulders back. “Yes, well, I guess you get your charitable side from me.”

“There’s no charity in work.”