“I’m sure you two will figure things out as you go.”

Tess narrowed her eyes. “Who is it?”

“Quinn.”

“Quinn.” The name was like a physical blow.

“Arlie says he’s very good.”

“He wasn’t so good a few years ago.” Quinn had skipped town after an accident on a job site had put one of his crew in the hospital. “And he’s an alcoholic.”

“Recovered.”

Tess knew all about “recovered” alcoholics. Those in her experience had never managed to stay recovered for long, no matter how much the people who loved them might beg. She rose from her seat to prowl around the room, swamped with ghostlike reactions, trapped in a never-ending loop of helplessness and resentment, tempted to gnaw a fingernail as she used to. But the moment she’d raise her hand toward her mouth, Grandmère would click her tongue and shake her head. That, too, was part of the old patterns.

Geneva picked up her sherry and took another sip. “I’m convinced Quinn’s the right man for the job.”

“Because you have so much experience with this sort of thing.”

“Because I have a great deal of experience reading people, yes.” The woman in pastel pink straightened her spine and leveled a severe look at Tess. “Quinn has assured me he can complete this job on time and on budget. And I believe him.”

“You’ve met with him?” A dull pain layered over the shock of betrayal. Her grandmother had done this without consulting her, knowing how much this project meant to her. Knowing how many dreams she’d poured into her sketches and plans.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Tess stared out the window, watching the waves beating against the rocks. “It’s decided, then.”

“I’ve offered him the contract. I expect his answer by the end of the day.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the answer you want.” A job this size would provide steady employment through the entire building season-and plenty of corners to cut to pad the contractor’s profit.