And fell into sleep like a stone into a river.
Chapter Six
She woke disoriented, and for a moment thought she dreamed. The pretty room with all the soothing blues, the way the light slid through the windows, all seemed so strange and unfamiliar.
Then she remembered and had to fight the deep desire to just close her eyes, just escape into sleep again.
Not the way, she told herself. Hiding in sleep solved nothing. When she woke, Nina would still be dead, the life she’d built still in ruins.
She needed to move forward—somehow, somewhere. The only choice was to move forward. Move.
She got up, dressed. Out of ingrained habit she made the bed, fluffed the pillows before wandering downstairs.
Olivia sat at the kitchen island, wearing a black sweatshirt. Its white lettering said simply:
i dissent
She sipped from an oversize mug of coffee while she worked a crossword on her tablet.
Morgan pointed at the lettering. “To what?”
“Whatcha got? Let me fix you some coffee. We went for that fancy machine when we redid things around here.”
“I can get it. I’m a bartender—was,” Morgan corrected. “Coffee machines can’t defeat me. I’m sorry I slept so late.”
“After the drive you had, I expected you to sleep longer. How about some breakfast?”
“No, nothing now, thanks. Please don’t fuss over me.”
“Grandmothers are designed to fuss over their grandchildren. It makes us happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Coffee machines don’t defeat me,” Morgan muttered as beans ground, as coffee streamed into the mug she’d set below, “but grandmothers do.”
“Because we’re so wise, and wisdom hones sneaky. And I see you still take some coffee in your cream and sugar.”
“I thought you’d be in town, at the shop by now.”
“Your mother’s taking the morning shift. She only just left.”
Sipping, nodding, Morgan leaned back against the counter. “Meaning you’re taking shifts keeping an eye on me.”
“Looks that way,” Olivia said easily. “And I asked for this morning because I think it may be easier for you to tell your grandmother what’s in your heart and mind right now than your mother. If I’m wrong—though when am I wrong?—I can switch with Audrey.”
“What’s in my heart and mind.” Morgan closed her eyes. “I lost everything, most vitally my closest friend.” She opened her eyes again. “Nina’s mother told me you wrote her, so did Mom. It meant a lot to her.”
“We only knew Nina through you, but that made her part of the family to us.”
“After Nina … Well, I lost everything else. My savings—gone—my home—someone else’s now. My car, and I know that’s nothing really, but I loved that damn car. My plans, my goals, my pride, my sense of security and self. Poof.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “A year ago, just one year ago, I had everything under control, everything lined up. Now? I’ve got nothing, literally nothing, and I’m living in my grandmother’s house.”
“All right.” Olivia lifted her mug, sipped. “You’re entitled to feel all of that. In fact, in your place, I’d have myself a first-class rage party.”
Not pity party, Morgan noted. No self-pity for Olivia Nash. “I’ve had a few.”
“Good, that’s healthy. You deserve them. You’re entitled to feel all that,” Olivia repeated, “even when you’re wrong.”
“Where am I wrong?”
“You say you have nothing? You have Morgan Nash Albright, damn it, and don’t ever forget it. And this is not your grandmother’s house, this is the Kennedy-Nash family home. I’m giving your grandfather first billing on it.
“Now, you can take as much time as you need to wallow, to sleep late, to rage, to curse whichever deity works best for you. You were victimized, and for a strong, smart woman—and you’re both—that’s devastating as much as it’s a pure pisser. When you’re finished, you’ll figure out what to do next.”
“It is a pisser. It is a pure pisser. Why hasn’t anyone said just that before now?”
“Because no one else is your gram. Haven’t you said it yourself?”
“I felt guilty when I even thought it.” But she didn’t now, she realized, because Gram had said it first. “Everyone felt sorry for me, but—”
“Nobody got pissed for you—or showed it. Trust me, I’m plenty pissed for you. So’s your mother, in her more delicate way. I’d like to kick that bastard’s balls blue before I twist his dick off at the root.”