Because she was weary of hearing the same song, however the notes might vary, Grace turned and scrubbed at her already spotless kitchen counter. ‘‘I like working at the pub. It gives me a chance to see people, talk to them.’’ Even if it was just to ask them if they’d like another round. ‘‘The pay’s good.’’

‘‘If you’re low on cash—’’

‘‘I’m fine.’’ Grace set her teeth. She’d have suffered the torments of hell before she would admit that her budget was strained to breaking—and that solving her transportation problems was going to mean robbing Peter to pay Paul for the next several months. ‘‘The extra money comes in handy, and I’m good at waitressing.’’

‘‘I know you are. You could work down at the cafe, have day hours.’’

Patiently, Grace rinsed out her dishcloth and hung it over the divider of the double sink to dry. ‘‘Mama, you know that isn’t possible. Daddy doesn’t want me working for him.’’

‘‘He never said that. Besides, you help out with picking crabs when we’re shorthanded.’’

‘‘I help you out,’’ Grace specified as she turned. ‘‘And I’m happy to do it when I can. But we both know I can’t work at the cafe.’’

Her daughter was as stubborn as two mules pulling in opposite directions, Carol thought. It was what made her her father’s daughter. ‘‘You know you could soften him up if you tried.’’

‘‘I don’t want to soften him up. He made it plain how he feels about me. Let it be, Mama,’’ she murmured when she saw her mother preparing to protest. ‘‘I don’t want to argue with you, and I don’t want to put you in the position ever again of having to defend one of us against the other. It’s not right.’’

Carol threw up her hands. She loved them both, husband and daughter. But she’d be damned if she could understand them. ‘‘No one can talk to either of you once you get that look on your face. Don’t know why I waste breath trying.’’

Grace smiled. ‘‘Me, either.’’ Grace stepped close, bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek. Carol was six inches shorter than Grace’s five feet eight. ‘‘Thanks, Mama.’’

Carol softened, as she always did, and combed a hand through her short, curly hair. It had once been as blond by nature as her daughter’s and granddaughter’s. But nature being what it was, she now gave it a quiet boost with Miss Clairol.

Her cheeks were round and rosy, her skin surprisingly smooth, given her love of the sun. But then, she didn’t neglect it. There wasn’t a single night she climbed into bed without carefully applying a layer of Oil of Olay.