Daughters Of The Bride(77)
“What are you two girls whispering about?”
“I was saying that Courtney’s doing a great job with the wedding. It’s nice to see.”
Joyce’s look was pointed. “Yes, it is.”
Courtney smiled tightly, then returned to the table. “Desserts should be here any second. We have six choices.”
Rachel groaned. “I’m already stuffed. I don’t think I can taste dessert.”
“You have to rally,” Maggie told her. “I need everyone’s opinions.” She looked at Courtney. “Did you think any more about that massage school?”
Everyone turned to look at her. Sienna frowned. “Why would you go to massage school? You’re working here.”
“She needs more,” Maggie said. “She’s a maid.” She held up a hand. “That’s not bad, but, Courtney, honey, you could be so much more.”
Neil touched her hand. “Maybe this isn’t the time.”
“I know.” Maggie shook her head. “I’m feeling the wine. I’ll stop. I promise. It’s just I worry about you.”
Courtney wanted to snap that she didn’t. Not really. What she worried about was being proud of her daughters. Of being able to say something other than “my daughter’s a maid.”
She told herself to take the high ground—to let it go with a smile.
Joyce walked over and set her cup of coffee on the table. “Tell them.”
Courtney held in a groan. Seriously? Her boss chose this exact second to break ranks?
Maggie looked between them. “Tell me what?”
“Nothing. Where are those desserts?” Courtney eyed the house phone by the door. “Let me check on them.”
“Courtney Louise Watson, what is Joyce talking about?”
Ack! What was it with mothers and that stern tone? Her stomach clenched, her throat tightened and she felt about ten years old again.
“Mom, I’m fine,” she said. “I love my job here. Let it go.”
“Mom, stop.” Rachel got up. “I’ll get you some coffee. Neil, talk to her. This is a nice evening. Let’s leave it that way. Courtney, you’ve done an excellent job. Congratulations.”
Courtney dashed to the phone and dialed the kitchen. One of the servers picked up.
“We know, we know. One of the trays got dropped and we’re trying to fix things.”
Of course, she thought grimly. Because life was always about timing. “Bring what you have. Quickly, please. I beg you.”
She turned back to the room, only to find her mother had cornered Joyce.
“What do you know?” her mother asked the other woman.
“We have a dessert crisis,” Courtney said quickly. “But we’ll have some samples to taste any second now. Mom, I know there’s mousse, assuming it’s not on the floor. Won’t that be good?”
She was afraid she sounded frantic, mostly because she was. It was one thing for her boss to not volunteer information, but to lie when asked directly was another thing. Courtney got that. She also recognized the trouble had started with Joyce’s comment, which left her in the unusual position of being angry with Joyce.
“There’s something,” Maggie insisted. “What is she keeping from me? What do you know that I don’t? Dammit, Joyce, we’re talking about my daughter.”
“Don’t try that tactic on me, Margaret,” Joyce snapped back. “I’m sure you care, in your way, but you’ve never really been there for Courtney and we both know it. Of course she keeps secrets from you. Why wouldn’t she? But in this case, I wish she wouldn’t. If you knew what she’d done, what she’s doing, you wouldn’t treat her like an idiot. Because she’s not. She’s a smart, capable woman.”
The room had gone silent. Even the canned music had faded to faint background noise. Courtney couldn’t decide if she wanted the desserts to arrive or if it was better that no one she work with witness what was going to be one of her life’s great disasters.
Her mother looked at her. Tears filled her eyes. “What’s going on? What are you keeping from me?”
Anger was easy to resist, but hurt was something else. She could tell herself she hadn’t done anything wrong, that they didn’t deserve to know, but she wasn’t sure she could make herself believe that. Not in her heart.
“I don’t want to be a massage therapist,” she said quietly. “Or a vet tech or any of the other jobs you’ve suggested over the years. I want to run a hotel.”
“Go on,” Joyce prompted. “Tell her what you’ve done.”
In for a penny, she told herself. “I got my GED, then my AA. I’m two semesters away from getting my bachelor’s in hotel management.”