Georgia on Her Mind(74)

“Drive safe, darling.” Mom kisses me on the cheek.

“Of course,” I answer, giving her a hug that lets her know this decision is nothing personal. When we break away, I point to the towel. “Be kind.”

“Oh,” she says with a simple laugh and releases the terry cloth. I regard her for a second, noticing how young she looks for fifty-nine.

“Bye, Macy.” Dad’s goodbye is loaded with emotion, and when he wraps his arms around me, tears flood my eyes.

“I’ll miss you guys when you go.” I step toward the door with a covert swipe at my tears. “But Chicago is a quick flight.” Forget I’ll be too busy to vacation for the first year or two, or five, or ten.

“Absolutely.” Dad takes my luggage and motions that he’ll walk me out.

I pause by the driver’s door, head hanging. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Dad.” My vision blurs with unshed tears.

“You haven’t disappointed me, Macy. Your mom and I took a chance in asking you. We knew that.”

I force myself to look at his face. “Don’t sell the business.”

“I don’t want to worry about the business while I’m away. We feel our life is in a new season and sauce-making is a part of the past. Time to press on.”

I acknowledge with a nod. “Now it’s your turn to run away from Beauty.”

He laughs. “Beauty is beautiful. You should try it.”

I open the car door. “On that note, I’ll say goodbye.” I kiss him on the cheek.

As I drive away, Dad stands in the yard, hands buried in his pockets, watching and—if I know him—praying.

I press a little harder on the gas.





Chapter Thirty-Two




“Steve Albright,” says the voice on the other end of my cell phone.

“Steve, it’s Macy Moore.”

“I thought I might hear from you today.” His tone carries a lilt and a confidence. A word comes to mind. Arrogant. I shove it aside. Why shouldn’t a man in his position be a little arrogant? He’s earned it.

“Are you still looking for a customer service director for the Chicago office?” I take the humble approach.

“Only if that director is you.” He’s pleased with himself.

“Then you have yourself a director.” As the words flow, panic hits me.

“Outstanding. We need you in Chicago on Monday. Midwest sales meeting and market planning.”

“Next week? I was hoping for some time to get my condo on the market and…” And say goodbye. Tie up loose ends. Get my mind wrapped around the fact that I’m moving. Perhaps make sure I’m sure? I’ve been expecting change, but now that it’s here, it feels overwhelming.

“Monday, Macy. I’ll e-mail the official offer letter today.”

“I don’t have a place to live.” I toss my first wrench to see if I can stop up the works.

“You’ll stay in the company apartment. We’ll sign a real estate agent to sell your Florida home. We have a contract with Century 21.” Ah, clever. He not only deflected my wrench tossing, but turned up the pressure a little.

One verbal “I will” and they own me. Just like that. And women complain about marriage and men “chaining them down”? The institution of marriage has nothing on the institution of corporate America.

“Time to hit the ground running, Macy. If you can’t handle it…”

I answer with what he wants. “Monday it is.”

“Good. You’ll have up to a year to live in the company apartment.” I hear desk drawers opening and closing. “Greta, where are my Tums? I need my Tums.”

Egad. My stomach curdles. “A year?”

“You’ll be pretty busy….” Steve is full of overwhelming information.

Who placed this call? Steve or me? Ah, yes, I did. Gripping the wheel until my knuckles turn white, I wonder if I just left the frying pan for the fire.

But this is what you want, Macy. Go for it, face-first. Any other way and you’re a coward.

“Arrange your flight for Sunday and we’ll reimburse you.” Steve is nailing down the details. He’s hooked his big fish and is twisting the barb deep. “I’ll have a limo take you to the apartment. It’s on North Lake Shore Drive, Macy. Stunning view of the city.”

“Fabulous.” I exhale and make myself relax a little, adjusting to the new pressure and pleasures in my life.

We exchange a few more details before hanging up. I toss my cell phone into the passenger seat. “I’m moving to Chicago.”



A little before six I arrive home, exhausted from two days of driving. Before going inside, I stand on the edge of the garage and survey my Gables community. There’s a light coming from Mrs. Woodward’s window, while Dan’s place is dark and barren looking. I’ve barely seen him or Perfect Woman since the night they drove me home from the Sun Shoppe.

I look to the spot on the pavement where Drag and I watched the stars, and where I met Lucy’s Jack Westin for the first time. Those are forever memories.

From inside I hear my house phone ring, so I end the reminiscing and run to answer.

It’s Lucy. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”