Georgia on Her Mind(13)

He pats the chair rungs. “I can still see you bumping down the stairs with, what, five or six suitcases, ready to move to Florida.” He skips the palm of one hand over the other. “Vroom!”

The idea of running away from home at the ripe old age of twenty-three sounds silly. But, oh, how desperate I was to bust out of Beauty and move out from under the shadow of the Moore family, and the legend of my third-grade Christmas solo.

Dad regards me for a moment. “Mrs. Riley still mentions your solo. She insists there hasn’t been another one like you.”

Can he hear my thoughts? “Yeah, I broke the mold.” How does she remember that night? If I were Scrooge, Mrs. Riley would be my Ghost of Christmas Past.

Look, Macy Moore, look. There you are, singing your Christmas solo, “Away in a Manger.” Such a sweet child.

I shake the image from my head. It gives me the willies. I sang off-key for fifteen minutes because every time the crowd applauded, I started the song all over again.

“So, how’s business?” I ask.

“Rhine Flagstone of The Food Connection is featuring our new barbecue on his show.”

“No kidding! Big time, Dad.” In fact, it’s huge. Good for Moore Gourmet Sauces.

“We’re talking with QVC, too.” He lifts a brow and waits for my reaction.

I love QVC. He knows it. Lisa Robertson is my favorite host. She could sell me a box of melted crayons and leave me with the notion I got a good deal.

But I give him a moderate reply. “QVC, eh? Interesting.” My heart palpitates.

“Yep. You know, there’s room for family….”

“How’d you manage to get in with Rhine Flagstone?” I ignore his thinly veiled hint.

I’m not ready to jump my corporate cruise ship for a dinghy in the middle of the Atlantic. Dad has a great business, sure, but I pined for years to get a life out of Beauty—I can’t imagine returning. It’d be like double-crossing myself. And there’s enough of that going on already.

Be true to you, I always say.

Dad outlines the details of The Food Connection deal. I smile, half listening and half analyzing my life up to now. It’s been a good life, so why do I feel so bland and beige? I have great friends. I’ve trotted the globe for Casper, managed a staff of trainers and tech support. I’ve stuffed my closet with designer clothes and parked a BMW convertible in my garage.

Other than my recent career smack down and breakup with Chris, shouldn’t I have some sense of achievement and satisfaction? What’s missing?

“We’re having a little launch party the first weekend in May. I’d love for you to come.”

I tune in to Dad. “Come? To what?”

“The launch party for The Food Connection and Moore Gourmet Sauces. Rhine will be here, along with some of The Food Connection executives.”

“Good for you.”

“You’ll come? May sixth.”

“I’ll check my calendar.”

Mom calls up the stairs, “Earl, it’s chilly tonight. How about a fire?” Her Southern lilt is intertwined with hints of her childhood in England.

Dad slaps his knee and rises. “Be right down, Kitty.”

“Macy, you want some hot chocolate or tea?” Mom calls to me.

“Hot chocolate, please. With whipped cream.”

“If I have any.”

“See you downstairs.” Dad tweaks my toes. “And think about coming May sixth.”

“Okay.” I flop onto my belly and rest my chin on the edge of the bed.

Peering into the present from the window of my past, I understand now that my problem wasn’t this house at 21 Laurel Street, the city of Beauty, or the state of Georgia.

Nope. The problem was me, Macy Moore, and my state of mind. I thought life’s answers were out there somewhere. Now I realize the answers are in me, in my faith in Jesus and His love for me.



Sunday afternoon Dad, Mom, Cole, Suzanne and I trail the after-church lunch herd to Sizzler. We’re last in line because Mrs. Riley caught me after the service and wanted to know all the latest news. She’s storing up so she can haunt me the rest of my life.

I gave her the view from twenty thousand feet: clear skies and smooth sailing.

She cackled, patted me on the arm and meandered down memory lane as if she hadn’t heard one fluffy word I’d said. First stop, my third-grade Christmas solo. Dad, talking to Pastor Gary, heard Mrs. Riley mention “Away in a Manger” and beckoned me.

“Time for lunch, Macy.”

So here I am, mooing my way down the Sizzler salad bar. Suddenly Joley McGowan, a former classmate, scurries over.

“Macy, I thought that was you in church this morning.” She wraps her svelte arms around me as if we were long-lost friends. I almost drop my plate into the coleslaw.

“Hey, Joley.” I regard her casually—you know, just to see if she’s sagging or bulging. Rats! She’s as gorgeous as ever.

“Look at you!” she gushes, and hugs me again. “A big-time career woman. You’ve heard about our fifteenth class reunion, right? Of course you have. Well, I’m on the committee this year.” Joley is animated and vibrant. I didn’t like her much in high school, since she dated Dylan Braun, my high school heartthrob. Think fabulous smile, gentle voice, athletic, blond and hunky.