Balance, Episode 2 by Georgia Beers

Balance, Episode 2 by Georgia Beers

Author:Georgia Beers [Beers, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781310221477
Google: J7AGtAEACAAJ
Amazon: B00JCUYVXG
Barnesnoble: B00JCUYVXG
Goodreads: 22415939
Publisher: Georgia Beers
Published: 2014-03-29T03:00:00+00:00


*****

I hear him before I see him the next morning. My father. I stop mid-step on my way to the dining room, close my eyes, breathe deeply, and try to steady myself. He has a booming voice. People always hear him; he’s used to that. He expects it.

I walk in, head held high. “Good morning.”

“Well, hello there, darling daughter of mine.” My father smiles. He actually looks like he’s sincere, though—as usual—his smile does not reach his eyes.

“Hi, Dad.” I kiss his cheek, smell his aftershave. I take my seat to his left and Mrs. Jenner has my coffee cup filled before I can even ask. “Thanks,” I say to her.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods, Norah?” my father asks. “Business?” His tone tells me he realizes I wouldn’t just come to visit. I know him, and I know how his mind works.

“No, actually, I just thought it had been too long since I’ve seen you guys.” I thank Mrs. Jenner again as she spoons scrambled eggs onto my plate.

“How nice.” My father’s face says he doesn’t believe me for one second, but I dig into my breakfast and say nothing more on the subject. I’ve learned that best way to prove your point with him is not to bother trying to argue. He is a master debater. He can weave a net of words around you so fast, you have no idea he’s captured you until you realize you can’t move your arms. It took me years, but I finally figured out the best way to battle with him is not to engage at all. Makes him crazy.

For the first time since I sat, I turn to my mother and am astonished at how chipper and healthy she looks. I force myself not to gape at her and pull my eyes back to my plate as I ask, “So, Mom, what’s on your agenda for today?”

When I look back at her, she smiles at me, seemingly pleased that I asked, and lists her schedule. I only half-listen because I’m so stunned by the fact that she does not look exhausted or hungover or ill. Those three—or a combination thereof—are the only descriptors I have ever used to describe my mom in the morning. And yet today, she is bright-eyed, smiling, her pantsuit crisp and colorful. Her makeup is not smudged in a black smear beneath her eyes, but applied carefully and cleanly. She’s having coffee and orange juice and she’s eating breakfast. Wracking my brains does not help me remember the last time I saw her consume anything other than coffee in the morning. Today, her plate is piled high with eggs, toast, and half a grapefruit.

I catch a meeting for the American Heart Association and a pedicure, but that’s all I can recall of the list she gave me. Doesn’t matter. I already know I’m going to follow her.

“What about you?” she asks.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek for a moment as it occurs to me that I have no cover story.



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