Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(4)

Music was the conduit for the abundance of feeling I had been blessed and cursed with. For my heart not only contained holes, but was too big for its own good.

I closed the lid and stood, making my way toward the sound of my aunt’s voice.

Susan was sitting at the head of the table in the dining room with the Maltese in her lap and Mama and Elle on either side of her, each with a steaming mug in front of them. The table looked like a smile with a missing tooth where Mama sat, the chair gone to leave a gap for her wheelchair. She still hadn’t gotten used to it. Her hands were blistered from trying to navigate on her own, her body and soul smaller than they’d been before. And when I took the seat next to her, her eyes begged me to save her from pretending, from the false smile and small talk.

I reached for her hand in the hopes that she could read my intention to do just that.

“And tonight,” Susan said happily as she stroked the half-asleep dog, “John’s associate and his wife—the Ferrars—are coming by for dinner. We just couldn’t wait for Frank to meet you, though I must say,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “Fanny is insufferable. The woman wouldn’t know happiness if it crawled in her lap and purred.” She laughed pleasantly at herself.

I found myself smiling simply because Susan was so agreeable despite the fact that we were travel-worn and rumpled and in no state or mood to entertain.

Mama squeezed my fingers as if she’d been thinking the same thing, but Elle, with her ever-present smile of platitude and concession, said, “We’ll be glad to meet them.”

Susan smiled, pleased. “Wonderful!” Her plump fingers ran through the dog’s cottony fur. “So, what would you girls like to do now that you’re here? Anything in particular you’d like to see?”

“Only everything,” I said on a laugh, my smile spreading.

Susan’s chuckle was an echo of mine. “Yes, only that.”

Feeling momentarily brave, I added, “I think I’d like to find a job.”

It was one of the items on my list of things I’d never done, and I was determined to check them off once we made it to New York. Thus, now.

Mama’s face grew stern. “Annie, we’ve talked about this.”

If it was at the top of my list, you could be sure it was at the tippy-top of Mama’s list of nevers.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like I’m asking to run the New York City Marathon, Mama. There have to be a million jobs in the city that don’t require cardio.”

She huffed. “You have to be the only teenager I’ve ever known who wants to work.”

“I’m eighteen. I’m not a baby.”

“Eighteen is still a teenager.”

“Eighteen is when most people are moving out,” I said a little louder and sharper than I’d meant to. So I took a breath. “I’m just saying, it would be nice to have a little independence.”

“You worked at the library last summer,” she volleyed.

“I volunteered. It’s not the same, and you know it.”

Susan brightened up, her spine straightening. “Oh! You know, there’s a bookstore just straight across the park from here, near Columbia. A good friend of mine’s son owns it. I hear it’s quite the spot for people your age. It’s called Wasted Words, and it’s a bookstore that’s a bar! Can you imagine?”

My eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“It’s just a ten-minute drive from here.”

I frowned. “How long is the walk?”

She tottered her head back and forth. “Oh, maybe twenty minutes.”

I sagged in my chair when Mama gave me a look.

“Too far to walk every day,” she said with some finality.

And it was the truth. I couldn’t walk more than a couple of blocks before ending up winded and colorless and drenched in sweat.

But Susan, my newfound savior, waved a hand. “We have a driver who can take her if she really wants to work there.”

“See, Mama?” I gestured to Susan, as if there was no way Mama could possibly argue, my hope flapping proudly at the top of my flagpole.

If only.

She sighed with a note of impatience. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said, which meant, Absolutely not, and I’ll tell you why when Susan’s out of earshot.

“How about you, Elle?” Susan asked.

Elle blinked at her for a moment. “I…I don’t really know. I’d like to get a job too, but I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

“What kind of work do you think you’d like?”

“Well, since I graduated, I worked at a small insurance company in Boerne, mostly as a secretary.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Elle nodded. “I suppose so. I liked the order of it, the organization of dates and calls and files. It felt…safe. Is that silly?” she asked, laughing as if it were.

I laughed myself. “Safe because it’s boring. The Petersons were lucky to find anyone who could sit in that musty old office every day and file papers.”

“Well, I liked it,” she said. “There’s something comforting about routine and rules and repetition.”

Susan chuckled and reached for her hand. “Comfort of habit. Yes, I quite know what you mean.” She brightened up again. “You know, I’d bet John could place you at one of the magazines. They’re always looking for good executive assistants, and it sounds like you might just be perfect for the job.”