The smell of burning toast caught Dana Sueâs attention just before the smoke detector went off. Snatching the charred bread from the toaster, she tossed it into the sink, then grabbed a towel and waved it at the shrieking alarm to disperse the smoke. At last the overly sensitive thing fell silent.
âMom, what on earth is going on in here?â Annie demanded, standing in the kitchen doorway, her nose wrinkling at the aroma of burnt toast. She was dressed for school in jeans that hung on her too-thin frame and a scoop-neck T-shirt that revealed pale skin stretched taut over protruding collarbones.
Restraining the desire to comment on the evidence that Annie had lost more weight, Dana Sue regarded her teenager with a chagrined expression. âTake a guess.â
âYou burned the toast again,â Annie said, a grin spreading across her face, relieving the gauntness ever so slightly. âSome chef you are. If I ratted you out about this, no one would ever come to Sullivanâs to eat again.â
âWhich is why we donât serve breakfast and why youâre sworn to secrecy, unless you expect to be grounded, phone-less and disconnected from your e-mail till you hit thirty,â Dana Sue told her, not entirely in jest. Sullivanâs had been a huge success from the moment sheâd opened the restaurantâs doors. Word-of-mouth raves had spread through the entire region. Even Charlestonâs top restaurant-and-food critic had hailed it for its innovative Southern dishes. Dana Sue didnât need her sassy kid ruining that with word of her culinary disasters at home.
âWhy were you making toast, anyway? You donât eat it,â Annie said, filling a glass with water and taking a tiny sip before dumping the rest down the drain.
âI was fixing you breakfast,â Dana Sue said, pulling a plate with a fluffy omelet from the oven, where sheâd kept it warm. Sheâd added low-fat cheese and finely shredded red and green sweet peppers, just the way Annie had always liked it. The omelet was perfect, a vision suitable for the cover of any gourmet magazine.
Annie looked at the food with a repugnant expression most people reserved for roadkill. âI donât think so.â
âSit,â Dana Sue ordered, losing patience with the too-familiar reaction. âYou have to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal, especially on a school day. Think of the protein as brain power. Besides, I dragged myself out of bed to fix it for you, so youâre going to eat it.â
Annie, her beautiful sixteen-year-old, regarded her with one of those âMother! Not againâ looks, but at least she sat down at the table. Dana Sue sat across from her, holding her mug of black coffee as if it were liquid gold. After a late night at the restaurant, she needed all the caffeine she could get first thing in the morning to be alert enough to deal with Annieâs quick-thinking evasiveness.
âHow was your first day back at school?â Dana Sue asked.
Annie shrugged.
âDo you have any classes with Ty this year?â For as long as Dana Sue could remember, Annie had harbored a crush on Tyler Townsend, whose mom was one of Dana Sueâs best friends and most recently a business partner at The Corner Spa, Serenityâs new fitness club for women.
âMom, heâs a senior. Iâm a junior,â Annie explained with exaggerated patience. âWe donât have any of the same classes.â
âToo bad,â Dana Sue said, meaning it. Ty had gone through some issues of his own since his dad had walked out on Maddie, but heâd always been a good sounding board for Annie, the way a big brother or best friend would be. Not that Annie appreciated the value of that. She wanted Ty to notice her as a girl, as someone heâd be interested in dating. So far, though, Ty was oblivious.
Dana Sue studied Annieâs sullen expression and tried again, determined to find some way to connect with the child who was slipping away too fast. âDo you like your teachers?â
âThey talk. I listen. Whatâs to like?â
Dana Sue bit back a sigh. A few short years ago, Annie had been a little chatterbox. There hadnât been a detail of her day she hadnât wanted to share with her mom and dad. Of course, ever since Ronnie had cheated on Dana Sue and sheâd thrown him out two years ago, everything had changed. Annieâs adoration for her father had been destroyed, just as Dana Sueâs heart had been broken. For a long time after the divorce, silence had fallen in the Sullivan household, with neither of them wanting to talk about the one thing that really mattered.
âMom, I have to go or Iâll be late.â A glance at the clock had Annie bouncing up eagerly.
Dana Sue looked at the untouched plate of food. âYou havenât eaten a bite of that.â
âSorry. It looks fantastic, but Iâm not hungry. See you tonight.â She brushed a kiss across Dana Sueâs cheek and took off, leaving behind the no longer perfect omelet and a whiff of perfume that Dana Sue recognized as the expensive scent sheâd bought for herself last Christmas and wore only on very special occasions. Since such occasions had been few and far between since the divorce, it probably didnât matter that her daughter was wasting it on high school boys.