Midnight On A Mountaintop by Amy Dawson Robertson

Author:Amy Dawson Robertson [Robertson, Amy Dawson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fox In The Brush Books
Published: 2014-01-19T06:00:00+00:00

Ten minutes later, I stepped back inside, shivering. I’d gone out onto the deck for privacy after I’d heard Nic’s first words.

“Is everything okay,” Jo asked. I could imagine the expression on my face was alarming.

I exhaled forcefully. “Everything is mostly okay.” I shook my head and laughed then. “Nic just got out of jail.”

“What?” Jeanne and Jo said in unison. “What did that crazy girl do this time?” Jeanne asked.

I told them what Nic had related to me. That she had essentially bitched out a police officer while trespassing in a cemetery.

“What on earth was she doing in a cemetery?” Jeanne asked incredulously.

“And since when is it trespassing to be in one?” Jo said, chiming in.

“Some arcane North Carolina law about vehicles in a cemetery.” I raised my hands. “I have no idea. But it sounds like he was just teaching her a lesson for mouthing off to a cop. They set her bail at just a thousand dollars so she only had to come up with a hundred.”

“The poor thing,” Jo said. “She must have been terrified.”

Jeanne and I exchanged a glance. “I’m not sure if that is how I’d describe her emotional state,” I said.

I actually wasn’t sure how to describe it even to myself. I knew that Nic could be prone to getting herself worked up over things most of us would think of as, well, minor. But her tone made it sound as if she was just calling to let me know she’d been delayed by an impromptu stop at the grocery store that took longer than anticipated. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried about her sudden absence of worry.

“Does she have any idea what time she’ll be here,” Jo asked.

“She’s just leaving now.” I looked at my watch. “A lot later than I had hoped.” If nothing else goes wrong, I couldn’t help but think, feeling wistful and already regretting the lost hours.

“I’m sorry your reunion is going to be delayed, Suzy Q.”

“Did you just call me ‘Suzy Q,’” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Jeanne.

“I certainly did.” Jeanne smiled mischievously. “Jo won’t have the pleasure of your company this evening since she will be Skyping with her horrible book group, but I have to admit I’m pleased as punch to have you to myself for a few hours.”

“Why is the book group so horrible?”

“Ask that one,” Jeanne said, pointing at Jo.

I complied. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. What are you reading?”

“Phenomenology of Spirit.”

“See, look what you did to her, Jo. The poor girl is squinting in pain.”

I was actually. “Ouch. That does sound like pretty painful reading. Is that. . . Kant?”

“Hegel,” Jo said. “Even I will agree it’s pretty painful.”

“I’d rather have ground glass as a topping on my favorite pizza,” Jeanne said.

“Why do you put yourself through it?” I asked.

“The discussions make it worth it. And it’s a great group of women. We’ve been meeting for years.”

“I’d say it’s more likely the red wine and the gorgeous Mediterranean spread they always have that really makes it worth it,” Jeanne said.

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