A slow burn started in her chest. Jade didn’t know who this low-rent lothario thought he was, but she would not allow him to swindle her bighearted grandmother.
“Now do you see why I need you there in person?” her dad pressed. “The only way to gauge if—or how— her mental state has changed is to live in the same house with her.”
“And protect her from her ‘protector,’” Jade murmured. “Mom is on board with me going to Wyoming?”
“She thinks it will be beneficial for you to spend some time reevaluating things in your life . . . especially after your break—”
“I had the flu, Dad. A really bad case of the flu. That’s all it was.”
He said nothing. He just looked worried, frustrated and a little sad.
Jade knew her parents were concerned about her. Six months ago her roommate had kicked Jade out so her boyfriend could move in, forcing Jade to move back home. It was humbling to be twenty-four years old and living with her parents. In the two years since she’d graduated from college, she hadn’t found a job in her field. So she’d had two choices: suck it up and work outside her field to support herself or return to school for a master’s degree. That option hadn’t made sense to her. Pay for even more education in an area of study where you currently couldn’t find employment? No, thank you. She’d rather work, even if her jobs kept her exhausted to the point she had no time to think.
Maybe that’s why you fill every waking hour with productivity; then you don’t have to figure out what comes next.
“How long would I have to be there?” she asked him.
“At least a month,” her dad said.
“A month? I can’t take that much time off.”
“Jade. Sweetheart. While your mother and I are both proud of your work ethic—you’ve been slaving yourself with three part-time jobs.”
Her chin came up. She knew it looked stubborn and didn’t care. “I told you when I moved back in that it wouldn’t be permanent. I’m saving as much money as I can.”
“And we told you we’d be more than happy to help you out,” her father said gently.
They’d had this discussion several times. Jade appreciated her parents’ generosity, but proving she could support herself was a point of pride. “Thank you. But as I’ve said before, you and Mom paid for my education and that’s more than enough. I’m grateful I’m not struggling with student loans too.”
“We’re not . . . discounting the work you do. But it’d be a good break for you, even for just a few weeks, not to work sixteen hours a day.”
She almost couldn’t fathom that. Not getting up at three thirty in the morning to take the subway to Midtown so she could clock in by four a.m. Then leaving the restaurant by nine thirty and walking to the office building where she answered phones from ten a.m. to six p.m. Monday through Wednesday. On Thursdays and Fridays she worked only until four p.m., allowing her to get to the quintet gig at the upscale restaurant that offered live classical music until the kitchen closed at eleven. Saturdays usually weren’t as hectic unless the quartet she played in had booked a daytime wedding and an evening cocktail party. The only day she took off was Sunday—unless their quartet scored a gig, which seemed to happen more frequently lately. Starving artists didn’t have the luxury of saying no.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” her dad said. “But do you have any questions?”
“What would I do all day in Wyoming?” she asked him.
“Besides keeping an eye on your grandmother and figuring out the cowboy protector’s angle?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. You could play it by ear.”
Jade laughed. “Hilarious. A musician’s reference that I can’t comprehend because you know I’m a planner and a list maker.”
“I’m sure once you get in that drafty old house piled with years’ worth of stuff that GG will have plenty to keep you occupied,” her father said dryly.
“When would I have to leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes. Giving notice at her receptionist’s job wasn’t a big deal since she worked for a temp agency. The restaurant had two other prep cooks, so that wouldn’t burn an employment bridge. Both the quintet and quartets had backup players for emergency fill-ins. So once she made the calls, she could load up her car and just . . . go.
But could she do it? She’d never been impulsive, so this was asking a lot.
This isn’t impulsive; this is a last-minute family emergency.
“I’ll do it. Under one condition.”