Читать книгу To Catch A Thief - Nan Dixon - Страница 15
Оглавление“I’M BORED,” CAROLINA’S mother complained. “I hate it here.”
“I know, but staying in the hospital is for your safety.” Carolina tucked a black tank top into her black skirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mamá closed her eyes. “I want to go home.”
She brushed a kiss on her mother’s fragile cheek. “Don’t you remember, you had another seizure this morning?”
And two last night. The neurologist was still trying to stabilize the dosage on her mother’s meds. It was already Thursday. Why couldn’t the doctors fix this?
“I don’t remember those...episodes.” Mamá refused to say “seizure.”
“It’s okay.” Carolina remembered for both of them. “I need to get to work. First night, remember?”
Her hands clenched into fists. She hated the idea of working for Abby, but she was counting on making great tips. Even after getting rid of her mother’s car lease, the credit card balances were staggering.
Mamá’s eyes went sly. “Bring me back something.”
“It’s a restaurant.” Carolina chose to misunderstand her. “Do you want a dessert or something else?”
The nursing staff had encouraged her to bring in treats, anything to get Mamá to eat.
“I want all the birds.” Rosa stroked the cardinal Carolina had brought to the hospital.
“Mamá.” She glanced around, but no one would understand what they were talking about. “I can’t.”
Her mother pouted. “I’m in the hospital.”
“I won’t be in the house,” Carolina whispered.
“But the restaurant’s on the property.” Her blue eyes drilled into Carolina’s. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you.” She glanced at the clock. “I have to go.”
At the nursing station, one of the nurses stamped her parking pass. At least she didn’t have that added expense.
As she headed to Southern Comforts, her body was as tight as a piano string. Every bump on the street made her vibrate. She hadn’t worked behind a bar in almost a year. Hopefully the customers wouldn’t ask for a cocktail she couldn’t make.
In the parking lot, Carolina wedged her small car between two SUVs. When she entered the restaurant’s kitchen door, it wasn’t quite three o’clock. A few people were in the kitchen, but it was a blonde woman who looked up and asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Carolina Castillo. The new bartender.”
“Cheryl Forester. Abby asked me to get you set up.” She held up dough-covered hands. “I’d shake your hand...”
