Georgia on Her Mind by Rachel Hauck

Author:Rachel Hauck
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2006-06-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The Sunday night before I fly to New York, I pack with a steady, growing excitement. I hope it’s not too cold in New York for open toes.

It’s been a long two-week wait, but I’m ready for this interview. Peyton e-mailed me about a megabyte of Myers-Smith data and I’ve memorized a few choice pieces like the company’s brief history, names of their current officers and the branding of their main products.

I zip up my bag and hang it over my bedroom door just as the phone rings. It’s Dad. In a sentimental moment I confess my whole job mess to him. He’s not surprised, as I expected, and very supportive.

“I’ve always seen the Lord’s favor on your life, Macy,” he confesses, which bring tears to my eyes. “I am confident He’s working all of this for your good.”

“I have to believe that or go crazy.”

He chuckles and passes the phone to Mom, blabbing the news to her before she takes over the conversation. She fires off one question after another, drilling me about this New York company, asking what I plan to wear, advising me on hair and makeup.

“Don’t wear too much makeup, Macy. It makes you look cheap.” She whispers cheap as if it’s a four-letter word.

“Gotcha, Mom. I’m a little familiar with the business world.” I head downstairs to double-check my e-ticket and itinerary.

“Right. Right,” she says, a birdlike chortle chasing her words. “Guess you know more than I.”

“All your advice is right on, Mom. Thank you.” Kitty Moore will always want her little girl to need her.

“What does Chris think about this New York trip?”

Chris. Ah, yes, that news I haven’t broken yet. “Actually, he doesn’t know, Mom.”

“Why not?”

“We broke up.” There, now all my laundry is on the line, flapping in the breeze.

“Oh, Macy, when?”

“Couple of months ago.” Has it been that long?

“Why didn’t you say something?” Mom’s tone resonates with compassion.

“I just did. Chris and I broke up.” I find the e-ticket and itinerary in my purse safe and sound. Good.

“Be serious. Tell me what happened.”

“Simple. He met someone else.” Getting over Chris was probably one of the easiest things I’ve done in my life. I don’t know if that proves my fortitude or exposes my shallowness.

Mom fires questions like a seasoned Washington reporter. I flop on the couch, stare at the ceiling and answer like a seasoned Washington politician.

Around nine I wind up the conversation, slip into my pajamas and piddle around the condo.

I pause at the printed pile of Myers-Smith data lying on the dining-room table. Should I review it again? I flip through a few pages, but decide against. I don’t want to sound rehearsed.

As I wander to the kitchen for a little dinner Lucy calls on her way home from a movie with Jack. She gives me the “go get ’em” speech, then segues into a short, sincere prayer.

“Call me when you get there,” she says.

“Will do. Say hi to Jack for me.”

I browse the refrigerator for something to eat.

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