Page 10 of The Guest Cottage
When she turned away from her closet, a wave of dizziness caused a misstep and she banged her hip into the side of the dresser.
She’d forgotten to eat again. Seriously, that was a bad habit she’d adopted during all the strife with Dylan. She’d put it at the top of the list of things she needed to get over.
Thankful that she had some padding in that area, she rubbed the aching spot and started out of the bedroom to grab food—anything would be fine for a quick snack to take the edge off. The ringing of her phone diverted her again. Was Cort delayed? She hurried through the house, unsure where she’d left the phone while sorting through her things, and finally, on the fifth ring, she grabbed it off the dining room table, swiping her thumb over the screen a split second before she realized it was her mother-in-law.
Almost at the same time, a knock sounded on the front door.
Biting back a groan, she put the phone on speaker and managed to sound pleasant when she said, “Hello, Sandra.” No way would she let anyone, especially her mother-in-law, know that she was still adjusting to all the change in her life.
Once she answered the phone, she opened the door to allow Cort in.
“Where are you?” Dispensing with any polite greeting, Sandra snapped out the question, then didn’t wait for a reply. “We went by the house and saw a For Sale sign in the yard. I know it has to be a mistake. Tell me it’s a mistake, Marlow!”
Hoping to end the call quickly, she told Sandra, “This is actually a bad time for me. I could call you back in thirty minutes—”
“Dylan loved that house, and you plan to sell it?” she shrieked. “He worked with the architect. He chose the fountain in the yard himself. He put his heart and soul into that house.”
“Sandra,” she said gently, hearing that the older woman bordered on hysteria. “I’ll call back in thirty minutes. I promise.” Giving Cort an apologetic smile, she gestured him in.
“You can’t be that heartless.” And then with another snap, “Where.Are. You?”
“I’ll explain everything when I—”
“It’s a simple enough question!” she shouted.
Never, even on a good day, did Marlow allow her mother-in-law to use that tone with her. Oh, the woman had tried plenty of times over the years, and after Dylan’s death, Marlow had given her a little more leeway.
No more. “I’ve relocated. The house is in my name, and I no longer need it. If it’s important to you, you and Aston are welcome to buy it. Now if you want to discuss this further, we can do so—in thirty minutes.” She disconnected the call.
Cort didn’t ask a single question about the conversation he’d surely overhead, saying only, “Guess I’ve caught you at a bad time?”
“No, it’s fine.” She welcomed the interruption. Limping a little, she led the way to the kitchen. “My checkbook is in here.”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Just clumsiness.” Indicating the coffeepot, she asked, “Would you like a cup?”
For several seconds, he hesitated, then shook his head. “I just had lunch but thank you.”
“Lunch,” she grumbled, then had to laugh. Grabbing her checkbook and pen, she sat at the table and then indicated the opposite chair. “Join me?”
Another hesitation . . . and he sat. “You haven’t eaten?”
“It’s the most ridiculous thing, but before my life changed, everything was scheduled. At work, we always had business lunches and dinners, and on the weekends, there were arrangements with friends, Dylan’s family, or other functions. I never had to think about food.” That sounded pathetic, so she laughed to prove she saw the absurdity of it.
Still, he said nothing, and she just knew she was making him uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry. Not your problem.”
“It’s not that.” Sitting back in his seat, he crossed his arms and gave her a long look. “Before my mother passed away, she got so sick that she wouldn’t remember to eat, either.”
How awful for him. Marlow wanted to ask him about it, about his life and his mother’s illness, but she wasn’t sure he’d be receptive. “I promise, I’m not sick. Just pampered and distracted by . . . things. But I’m getting over both, and so far, I’m not too disappointed with my progress.”
He gave her a genuine smile. “My problem is that I want to grab a frozen dinner from the freezer, nuke it, and set it before you with a fork.”
The question tumbled out of her mouth before she could censor it. “Is that what you did with your mother?”
One large, solid shoulder lifted. “It got her to eat, even when she didn’t have an appetite.”
