if Linda had left any marks.
She hugged her son closer. “I’m okay, baby. Your grandmother was upset. She didn’t mean anything.”
“If you point me in the direction of your suitcases, I’ll start packing things,” Dusty said in a low voice, as if afraid to upset the delicate balance in the room.
She blushed, amazed she could find something else to be embarrassed about. “We don’t have any. There’s a couple of cloth bags in the hall closet, and there are garbage bags.” She smiled wanly. “We never go anywhere.”
She could tell by the way the vein in his jaw jumped that he was clenching his teeth again. “Garbage bags it is.”
“Are we really moving to Dusty’s house?” The fear on Sarah’s face was replaced by curiosity. Brendon crawled up on her lap, his thumb in his mouth.
“Yes.” As if a window had opened, her spirits lightened a bit.
“What’s it like there?”
A mess . She sighed and ran her hand through her son’s sleep-mussed hair. “It’s bigger than this place. I’m not sure, but you may each get your own bedroom. Maybe not right away, because the house needs to be fixed.”
Sarah stood up on the bed. “I can help him fix it. I got my hammer and saw.”
“Perfect. Okay, we have to figure out what you need for tonight and tomorrow, and then we’ll go to Dusty’s.”
“I hope I like it there.” Sarah climbed down off the bed and headed for the shelves that held her toys.
“Me, too.” Brendon drooled, a beatific smile lighting up his face.
Teressa held her baby to her chest and kissed the top of his head. “Me, too,” she whispered.
An hour later, her hands shaking on the steering wheel of her old minivan, Teressa and the children followed Dusty’s truck. She was leaving home. Really leaving. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Excited? Maybe. Definitely scared. What if Dusty decided he didn’t really want them? Nice went only so far, and then there was reality. He had to be as scared as she was right now.
There had always been a push and pull between her and Linda, and yes, from now on she was Linda, not Mother. Linda was headstrong, wanted things done her way, and she... Dear God, was she really like her mother?
She’d complained nonstop the whole time Sylvie had been remodeling the café a few months ago, not that it had made any difference. At least she’d been big enough to admit to Sylvie that she’d been wrong, something Linda would never do. People loved coming to the café now. They’d liked it before, but now they loved it, because Sylvie had painted the constantly changing wall mural on the back wall that chronicled their lives, and installed Wi-Fi and comfy chairs surrounded by stacks of books and newspapers. Sylvie nourished their minds and Teressa nourished their bodies with good food. So maybe there was still a chance that she hadn’t grown as rigid in her opinions as her mother.
She’d had to toughen up quickly when she’d gotten pregnant with Sarah. Lots of women had children by the time they were twenty-two, but she hadn’t been prepared for suddenly being cut out of the small social scene in the village. Although having Sarah had helped compensate for almost everything she’d lost.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed Brendon’s eyes were closed. Please let him stay asleep . Sarah looked wide-awake, her gaze glued to Teressa’s reflection in the mirror, as if afraid that if she took her eyes off her mother she might disappear.
“Hey, honey bun. Are you okay?”
“Grammy hit you,” she whispered, her eyes round with disbelief.
How to put a positive spin on that? She’d hoped Sarah and Brendon had somehow missed that bit. “Sometimes when people are angry they say or do things they don’t mean.”
“Why are we going to Dusty’s house?”
Great question. Her daughter was nothing short of brilliant. “Because Dusty’s a good friend, and he wants us to live with him for a while.” All true. She’d wanted to