But maybe this would work to Hope’s advantage. If her mom had already launched her crusade to sing during the wedding, that would become her focus, and she’d be less likely to throw a monkey wrench into things by revealing the secret that could upend everything.
So, Hope decided to leave well enough alone. She stole quietly toward the main house and slipped in through the front door. She found Grandmother Margaret in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for a crudité tray. She’d tied an apron around her waist and wore a pale blue cardigan, which brought out the color of her deep blue eyes.
Margaret glanced up from the cutting board, where she chopped carrots and celery. “If you’re looking for Brent, Derrick’s taken him to collect his SUV.” She held Hope in her gaze an extra moment. “I hear you had quite an adventure.”
“Yeah.” Hope produced a little laugh. “Memorable for sure.” She perused the kitchen, which still managed to appear pristine, even as it was evident there was a meal in preparation. Something baked in the oven, and a couple of pots simmered on the stove. “Can I do something to help?”
“Dinner’s pretty simple,” Margaret said. “Oven-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and collard greens.”
“I love collard greens,” Hope said, thinking she’d recognized their distinctive scent.
“Do you, now?” Her eyebrows rose. “I always found them hard to come by in Boston. Of course, now with farmers markets and produce services, things are changing. It’s a greener planet, I suppose. In more ways than one.”
Hope grinned at Margaret’s attempt at humor. “It could get greener.”
“It could indeed. That’s one reason Chad’s so pleased with Brent taking over Albright Enterprises. He’s proposed so many green initiatives. Brent’s very special.”
“Yes.” Hope felt her cheeks color, so she changed the subject. “Can I prepare the mushrooms and radishes, maybe?” she said, seeing them washed and ready to cut on the counter.
“That would be great, if you don’t mind.” She nodded toward a drawer by the sink. “You’ll find extra aprons in that drawer.”
Though Hope didn’t normally wear them, she didn’t want to break protocol in Margaret’s kitchen, so she selected a fun one that contained a blueberry appliqué. Of course. “This is an amazing kitchen. What a great place for baking.”
“Oh, I don’t bake often,” Margaret answered. “But I do love to cook. Full dinners, lunches, yes. I also don’t mind a big country breakfast once in a while. But I’ve never had much patience for timers and ten-minute cookies. That’s Elsa’s purview.”
“She does a really great job of it, too,” Hope said, guarding Brent’s mom’s secret. Then, she recalled she was Jackie and not big into carbs—although she was actively working to change that impression. “I mean, her muffins look so good. I can’t wait to try them.” She hesitated before adding, “I normally don’t eat much bread, but I’ve decided to make an exception for this week. There will be wedding cake, after all.”
Margaret handed her a small knife and another cutting board, then returned to her task of mixing a vegetable dip with a whisk in a pretty pottery bowl. She seemed to be looking at Hope in an odd way, which made Hope feel self-conscious. “Jackie, dear?”
“Hmm?”
“I know.”
Hope’s heart beat a million times per minute. “Know?”
“Don’t think I don’t have eyes and that I can’t see it.”
The knife came down so hard on the far side of the radish Hope nearly nicked her finger. She kept chop-chop-chopping without looking up, perspiration forming at her hairline. Was it possible Margaret had figured her out?
“I saw you, Jackie,” she said softly. “You and Brent.”
Hope raised her eyes to Margaret’s, not understanding.
“I was up in my bedroom earlier, grabbing my sweater, and…” She tilted her head to one side. “He was carrying you through the mudflats.”
“Oh, that.” Hope’s cheeks heated as Margaret continued.
“I may be in my seventies, but I haven’t forgotten.” She gave a wistful sigh and stared at the ceiling. “Young love. All those outrageous things we do.”
Hope sent down her knife to listen.
“Oh yes,” Margaret said, reading her expression. “Chad and I had our adventures, too.”
“Yeah?” Hope asked, utterly intrigued.
Margaret placed her bowl on the counter, whisk still in it. “I was a flower child.”
“You?”
“Product of the sixties.” She smiled. “Chad and I went out to San Francisco. I wore a flower in my hair.”
Hope blinked. Of all the things Margaret might have told her, she definitely hadn’t expected this. “Was this after college?”
“Before,” she corrected. “We ran away to be hippies, which drove our parents nuts. My parents more than his. Chad just had his father, and his father was pretty laid back.”
“And your parents weren’t?”
“Oh, no. Very conservative. They didn’t approve of my choices or of Chad.” Grandmother Margaret actually giggled. “He had long hair then and hadn’t yet made his way, but I knew he would. He was always very smart and talented.”
“Was his dad in the hotel business, too?”
“He owned a gas station,” Margaret supplied evenly and without judgment. “Chad worked there in high school, and that’s how we met. He checked my oil and washed my windshield.”
Hope chuckled, trying to envision this scene based on how Chad and Margaret were now.
“When the glass cleared,” Margaret went on, “he gave me the most unbelievable grin, and well…that was kind of it for me.”
“That fast? Really?”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” she explained. “Sometimes it takes longer to discern our heart’s desire. At other times?” She shrugged. “We can know in an instant.”
Hope recalled Brent’s lips brushing over hers, and she grew weak. “Yeah.”
“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this,” Margaret said with an earnest gaze. “It’s because I’m afraid I owe you an apology.” She set her chin before continuing. “When we met in Boston, I got such a different impression of you. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. Perhaps I hadn’t given you enough time…but I didn’t really feel that you loved my grandson.”