A surge
of nausea went through me so strongly, I had probably turned green for a few seconds,
at least. The way he was talking about the bride-to-be’s family sounded like the
Grandstone clan. Reggie had publicly embarrassed himself last spring, insisting
he and Doni Halliday were sweethearts. Until it finally got through his
egotistical rock skull that his elusive bride was less than half his age. It
was the Grandstone tactic to marry into power and wealth if they couldn’t lie
or sue or intimidate to get what they wanted.
“Are you
okay?” Daniel asked.
Maybe I had
turned green, and it wasn’t just my imagination?
I reflected
back on the few times I had thought how he and Sylvia Grandstone were perfect
for each other. Before I got to know him. Maybe I had imagined Sylvia around town
the last few weeks because I was being so mean to Daniel? A guilty conscience
making me hallucinate? I scrambled to get my brain back on track.
“So your
mother is trying to deflect things and having a hard time? Don’t suppose you’ve
thought about living in a castle with a really deep moat, stocked with piranha?”
That got
a sickly grin from him.
“The really
sad and kind of ironic part is that until this mess started, Mom was starting
to put the ‘when are you going to make me a grandmother?’ pressure on me.”
“So,
what’s this mail order bride like?”
He glared at me. Then
he must have seen the idiocy of the whole situation, because he kind of deflated
and slumped more in his chair and grinned back at me.
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