Getting Sassy by D. C. Brod

Author:D. C. Brod
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Adult Children of Aging Parents, Congregate Housing - Costs, Congregate Housing, Mystery & Detective, Race Horses, Crime, Fiction, Humorous, Costs, Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Theft, Humorous Fiction, General, Goats, Familial Behavior in Animals
ISBN: 9781935562214
Publisher: Tyrus Books
Published: 2010-09-21T07:00:00+00:00

As I dressed for dinner with Jack, I marveled at the turn my social life had taken in the past week. Since I’d moved to Fowler, I’d been something of a recluse, occupying myself with my work and my mother. I assumed there was a social scene to this town, but I hadn’t made much effort to find it. Most of my friends were in Oak Park or the city, and to tell the truth, there weren’t a whole lot of them. I’ve never been one of those people who can juggle a bunch of people in her life. I suppose it came from growing up an only child. Back then I had a few friends, but kept to myself a lot. Even my mother and I didn’t hang out together very much. And it wasn’t the teen angst thing that kept us distant. She was a beautiful, vivacious woman. A little overwhelming. I guess I always felt invisible in her presence, and she must have thought so too, because she didn’t usually ask me to tag along with her. The one thing we did do together was go out and buy me new clothing at the start of the school year. To see her today in her mismatched outfits that seem to attract food stains was hard; she’d always been so well dressed. Everything matched. And she had flair. Actually, I thought her taste in clothing bordered on the bizarre, and I think to this day I dress conservatively because of that. But I could remember more than once when she’d goad me into trying on an outfit I wouldn’t have given a second thought to on my own. And I’d find—to my surprise—that the short purple skirt really did make me look taller and my legs weren’t all that bad. She’d rag me about wearing baggy clothing—come to think of it, she still rags me about that—and tell me there’d come a day when my figure would either sag or turn thick, and I’d be sorry I didn’t show it off when I could.

These shopping excursions invariably included lunch, where she would indulge in a martini. Or two. She knew I’d never squeal to Wyman, and she had the whole afternoon to sleep it off. And I was easily bought off with a blouse or a pair of earrings. I was also someone who listened to her. She loved to talk about her childhood and the scholarship she received to college. But she was a little foggy about why she dropped out and downright evasive about the year or so before she met my father, but I guess I figured everyone was entitled to a few secrets in her past. So I nodded and listened, even when I’d heard the stories before, because I think I knew that Wyman wasn’t interested—or wouldn’t have approved. And my mother’s small circle of friends wasn’t as tolerant of the repetition. I guess I was her favorite audience.

Today I wore a fitted red jacket over a white shell and a khaki skirt.

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