She nibbled on another cracker, lost in thought. I waited, not wanting to push now that she was talking.
“When I was a kid he was always on the move, always looking for the next big score, the business deal that was going to make us rich. My mom loves him. She believes in him. He lets her down over and over, and she always thinks this time it'll be different. The way Grams tells it, my dad got a job offer when I was just a baby, and she was supposed to watch me until they got settled. They didn't come back for two years. By then, Grams didn't want to give me up.”
Daisy took another long sip of wine before she spoke again. “Honestly, I doubt they asked her. They love me. I know they love me. They're just not very interested in parenting. Grams was everything I needed.”
“I know all about being raised by someone who isn't into parenting,” I said. “Prentice was pretty much hands-off. He let his wife of the moment take care of us, and Miss Martha did her best, but Prentice didn't take much interest unless it was to berate us for something. My own mom barely stuck around after she had Avery and Tenn. Apparently, having twins wrecked her figure, and she wasn't going to ruin the rest of it raising us. Prentice wrote her a fat check, and I never saw her again. He married Darcy a month later.”
“And your mom just never came back? Mine wasn't around a lot, but at least I see her now and then.”
“She's married to some guy twice her age. They live in Palm Beach. And Darcy was a great mom while we had her.” I felt my throat close as the words left my lips. I looked down into my wine, not wanting Daisy to see the grief I knew was in my eyes. All these years later and I still missed Darcy like a hole in my heart.
“I'm sorry about your mom,” Daisy said. “And Darcy. Hope told me Darcy was wonderful.” Daisy shot a quick look at my face and changed the subject.
“I kind of always figured my mom stuck with my dad because he needed taking care of more than I did. And I'm grateful they left me with Grams. With Grams, I had hugs, and food on the table, and school. Grams taught me to bake and tucked me in every night. Grams taught me to dream like my dad, but she also taught me how to work hard and make those dreams come true.”
“She sounds amazing.” I wished we'd had a grandmother like Daisy's when we'd been kids.
“She is,” Daisy agreed.
I took her empty plate, slid her quiche onto it, and handed it back. “Finn complains about every cook we have, but I think this one's not too bad. Fingers crossed the quiche is good.”
“It smells fantastic,” Daisy said and took a bite. I took one of my own. Maybe the quiche wasn't as perfect as one Finn might have made, but it was pretty damn good. We ate in silence for a few minutes.
I wanted to ask about J.T., but I didn't want to push my luck and remind Daisy of her kind-of, sort-of, not-really a boyfriend. I'd save that for another time.
“So, Grams taught you to bake? Sweetheart Bakery has been open as long as I can remember.”
“She taught me everything I know,” Daisy said. “I wanted to go to school for it, the culinary program that J.T.'s in at Tech, but there wasn't money and then Grams needed more help at Sweetheart, so I never did. I did get an Associates in business—I did night classes at the satellite campus in town—and that's probably been more helpful in running the bakery than culinary school would've been anyway.”
“Do you wish you'd gone? Do you still want to?” It must be hard to watch J.T. chase a dream she'd wanted for herself.
“Kind of?” Daisy looked up at me through her lashes. Popping a bite of quiche in her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully. “When J.T. talks about his classes I want to know everything he's learning. But the schedule is a killer. I'd have to leave Sweetheart and Grams can't run the place on her own. I wouldn't want her to. And the truth is it's not practical. Even if I saved up for the tuition, it's not a program you can do part-time, and I don't need a fancy degree on my resume because I already have a job. Sweetheart Bakery isn't going to buy me a Ferrari, but we do a pretty solid business.”
She shrugged. “Culinary school is one of those things I dream about but I'm not working for. I think I'm too practical for that.”
“If he works for you, how did J.T. swing the tuition? Is he loaded down with student loans?”