Georgia on Her Mind(44)

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, she’s lovely.”

“She thinks you’re pretty special, too.”

I pull into my garage. Exhausted, I prop myself against the kitchen counter and dial the airlines, hoping I can change my flight to the 7:00 p.m.

Fortunately, I can. With a stopover, I’ll arrive in New York in the early-morning hours, but I’ll make the interview.

With the excitement of emergency surgery waning, sleep beckons me. But there’s no time for a nap. I drag myself up to the shower, debating about calling a cab or leaving my car at the airport.

I condition my hair, which is in desperate need of a cut. Though I have plenty of time to drive to Orlando to get one of Michele’s masterpieces, I can’t justify spending the money these days.

I slip into a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and run down to Drag’s.

I knock three times, loudly. Once again he answers looking the way I feel.

“Macy…s’up?”

“I took Mrs. Woodward to the E.R. last night.”

“Dude, what happened?”

“Gallbladder.”

“Whoa, is she okay?” His uncombed, bleached-by-the-sun blond locks swing freely as he bobs his head.

“She’s fine, but I’m going out of town tonight. Can you look in on Mrs. Woodward again?” Waves of sleep surf over me.

“Absolutely.”

“My friend Adriane will pick her up from the hospital tomorrow, but you’ll need to look in on her until Wednesday when I get back.”

“No prob, Macy. I’ll watch out for the old lady.”

“Thanks, Drag.”

“Hey.” He leans against the door frame. “I’ve been reading about that dude King David.”

His declaration catches me off guard. “Really?”

“He was one bad dude, raiding and pillaging. Wrote a lot about God, though.”

“The Bible says he loved the Lord with all his heart.”

“He had a funny way of showing it.”

“Keep reading.” I’m curious how and when he picked up a Bible, but I don’t ask. It’s strange to think our pavement conversation had such an impact on him.

Back at my place, I call Adriane. “You’re on to pick up Mrs. Woodward from the hospital tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ve been praying for her all morning. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her tears when she was sitting in your car.”

“I know I won’t. Broke my heart. She called you lovely, by the way.”

“Isn’t she sweet? What about your flight?”

“I leave tonight.” I collapse on the couch. Maybe I have time for a quick nap.

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, good for me.” I say goodbye and drop the phone to the floor. Close…my…eyes…for…just…a…minute.

I wake up to the serenade of my cell phone. The condo is shadowy with the light of late afternoon.

I scramble to my feet. “What time is it?” I dash to the kitchen. Five-fifteen.

I dig my ringing cell from the bottom of my purse. “Hello.” I dash up to my bedroom, peeling off clothes.

“I thought you were going to call me?” It’s Lucy. “How’s New York?”

“I’m not there. I’m here.” I stuff myself into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

“What?”

I bust into the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Hold on, Lucy.”

Seconds later I toss my toothbrush and paste into my waiting toiletries bag.

“Why are you still here?” Lucy asks, wailing a little.

“I had to take Mrs. Woodward to the hospital. Emergency gallbladder surgery.”

“Oh, Macy, is she okay?”

“She is now.” I grab my purple sweater and thunder downstairs. Pick up my purse, click on a living-room light to low and with one last glance around, I’m out the front door.

“What about your interview?”

“I’m taking the seven-o’clock flight out of Melbourne.”

“You’d better hurry.”

“Can you meet me there with some dinner? I’m starved.” I toss my toiletries bag and my purse onto the passenger seat and speed away to the airport. I’m a dimwit. How could I let myself fall asleep?



Lucy and I polish off our sandwiches while I keep an eye on the time. Melbourne’s airport is small, but I don’t want to risk getting tangled up with security and miss my flight.

“Isn’t it amazing how emergencies come at night, or when you’re on your way out of town?” Lucy stands and takes our wadded-up sandwich paper.

“I’m just glad we were able to convince her to go to the E.R.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. I don’t want to miss this flight. “Thanks for the sandwich, Luce.”

“Any time.” She walks with me to security, then waves goodbye, smiling her best cheerleader smile. She won cheerleader of the year three years running when we were in high school, so she has the expression mastered. “You’re good to go, right? Got your chic Chico’s outfit…”

I whirl around to face her from the other side of security. “Lucy.” Oh, I feel sick. “No, I don’t have my chic Chico’s. I left my bag at home.”