Leaving Carolina by Tamara Leigh

Leaving Carolina by Tamara Leigh

Author:Tamara Leigh [Leigh, Tamara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christian Fiction, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
Published: 2009-09-15T07:00:00+00:00


“I don’t get it.” I sit near the lower shelves in the pantry and consider the ceiling, which is mostly in shadow due to the little bit of light coming beneath the closed door. “I’m usually so in control.”

“Um-hmm,” Mom says.

“So on top of my emotions and image.”

“Um-hmm.”

“But I’m losing my grip.”

“Um-hmm.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Mom sighs. “Why, there’s nothin’ wrong with you, Piper.” Her drawl, which has mellowed since we left Pickwick, kicks in on my name. “It’s simply easier to put on a face in a big city, especially when you don’t have time to let people get close to you. Now those people in Pickwick know you, and you know them.”

“Not all of them.” I catch the sound of Trinity’s humming from beyond the kitchen and lower my voice. “Not Axel Smith.”

“What did you say?”

I cup my hand over the mouthpiece. “Axel Smith doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him.”

“Why are you whisperin’?”

What would she say if I told her I hired Trinity to clean the mansion and that the only way to keep her from talking me up one side and down the other is to lie low—as in, on the pantry floor? It wouldn’t be difficult to avoid her if she thoroughly cleaned one room before moving on to another, but she’s constantly distracted by a particularly thick patch of dust, large cobwebs, or the husks of hapless spider victims. Always something more in need of cleaning.

“Sorry,” I say, slightly louder. “Anyway, Axel is the hardest one to get anything past, and he’s only a notch above a stranger.”

“And yet he knows you.”

“He thinks he does.”

She chuckles. “Sometimes people just click.”

“We don’t click, Mom.”

“But you click with Grant?”

Grant. And, no, I haven’t been able to get hold of him. He’s a busy man. “Grant and I are highly compatible.”

“Then maybe you should talk to him. As compatible as you two are, he should be able to offer insight into what’s going on and how to handle it.”

She says it without sarcasm. Not that she needs any, as I have plenty—as in, Right, I’d be happy to share my dilemma in all its Fourth of July glory with my conservative client-slash-boyfriend. When he calls me back. But for twelve years, my mother has remained unaware of what I did that night, and I won’t have her swooning now.

I clear my throat. “So tell me about—”

The humming is closer. I ease onto my stomach and look beneath the door. Begrimed ballet slippers. Are they skipping?

“You still there, Piper?”

“Mom, I have to go.”

“You’re whisperin’ again.”

Both slippers come down, one pivots toward the pantry, and the other follows.

“I’ll call you later.”

“All right, but make it after nine my time. Rufus is taking me out again.”

“I’ll do that.” Turn, slippers, turn! “Bye.” I end the call and press my palms to the floor to lever up—just as the door swings open.

Trinity’s eyes bulge. “I thought you were a mouse.”

Cinderella would.

“Gol, what are you doing in here?”

I scramble upright and turn my phone toward her.



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