Georgia on Her Mind(73)

“Um, okay.”

“Meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

The image in the dresser mirror is not pretty. Hair ratted and frayed, ends flying away, mascara residue under my eyes as if I hadn’t bothered to wash my face before going to bed, which I did. Lovely. Just lovely.

My outer self appears to be in disarray, but in a strange turn of events, my inner self is at peace, sensing resolve. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but my answer is on its way. I’m sure.



Driving to church with Dad, I decide. Chicago. In the clear light of day it makes sense. Right? The Windy City. My kind of town, Chicago is. I’ll make it work. I’ll make time for friends, family and the beauty of the Lord.

How can I turn down Myers-Smith? Macy Moore, Director, Myers-Smith Webware. Yes, that is the Macy Moore I want emceeing Beauty High’s class of 1991’s fifteen-year reunion.

Holding my head high, I follow Dad into the sanctuary. Halfway down the aisle, I hear someone whisper my name. It’s Dylan. Oh, gag, I didn’t plan on seeing him here. I don’t need him mucking up my senses.

“Sit.” He jerks me down into the pew.

I have no idea where Dad snuck off to, but I’m betting he’s beseeching heaven on my behalf.

“You’re a million miles away,” he says, his eyes searching mine. He smells wonderful, like—I don’t know—the morning breeze. Fresh and clean.

“Chicago.” I dip my head, intent on praying and not furthering this conversation.

“Still Chicago?”

I peer up at him. “Yes.”

“Did your dad talk to you?”

I nod, but keep my head down.

“And?”

“Shh, I’m trying to pray.” I peek over and my gaze meets his. Bad move. Oh, bad move on my part. Orbs of greenish blue are gazing at me with an expression I can’t explain. My heart is moved and for ten or fifteen seconds I am clutched in his visual embrace.

I break the magic by bowing to pray again, but it’s too late. All I see is Dylan’s face. All I sense is the warmth of his presence.

He sits peacefully next to me. This feels like the stance of a seasoned married couple, mature in love, grounded in mutual admiration.

He leans my way. “Piper and Angus Purdy are selling off the second story of their old mansion. It’s gotta be 2500 square feet.”

I love the old Purdy mansion on Whisper Willow Lane. It’s an old place with high ceilings and hardwood floors. Chicago is slipping away by the second. Excuse me, Lord. Be right with You.

“Why are they selling?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.

“Angus says it’s too big, too much to keep up.”

“How much do they want?” I can’t believe I’m asking, but I am.

“You know Angus, Macy. He’d give it away if Piper would let him.”

Ack! I must get out of here. I press my hand on his arm. “See you.” I jump up and out of the pew.

Crystal Lake is a few blocks away, so I jog over, my mind reeling with the idea of Angus and Piper selling. They’ve talked about it for years, but never, ever actually put it on the market.

Until now.

I collapse on the bench under the oak, winded. I really do need to start exercising more.

“You hurried out of there fast.”

I look up to see Dad standing over me.

“Pressure,” I say, staring at the smooth surface of the lake.

Dad chuckles. “Decisions can be hard.”

“And this is a hard decision.”

Dad sits, resting his elbows on his knees. “Macy, if you truly feel the job in Chicago is for you, then take it.”

I pluck at the moss swinging from the trees. “It’s just that I’ve worked ten years for an opportunity like Myers-Smith.”

“I understand.” Dad is calm and collected, and it’s really irritating me. I’d prefer a lecture or sighs of disgust. Then I’d be justified in my decision.

We sit in silence for a minute, then Dad stands. “We better get you home so you can head out before I-95 traffic gets too bad.”

When we pull up at home, Mom meets us at the front door with an anxious smile.

“Well?” She’s clutching a dish towel and her eyes are alive with expectation.

“Chicago it is,” Dad tells her as if that is the answer they wanted.

“Good for you, Macy.” Mom kisses me on the cheek, but I can’t help but notice her death grip on the dish towel.

“Thank you, Mom.”

We stand in the foyer in awkward silence until I glance at my watch and say, “Look at the time. I need to get going.”

I run upstairs for my things. Below, Mom and Dad wait for me. I’m dazed by their demeanor. I’m saying no to Moore Gourmet Sauces. They will have to sell.

I sit on the side of the bed. Am I making them sell? Isn’t this their choice? I can’t build my life around them. Right?

Guilt. I feel guilt.

I definitely gotta get out of here. I grab my suitcase and sweep the bathroom for my toothbrush and contact lens solution.

“I’ll see you.” I pass Dad and Mom standing in the foyer exactly as I left them. Mom’s hand still has a vise grip on the dish towel. I’m not sure, but I think I see a few tiny threads break off and fall to the floor.