Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(9)

I packed away any notion that I might ever be able to be with her and asked, “When can you start?”



Annie

“I got the job!”

Everyone in the living room smiled—even Mama, a smile that was real and genuine even if it was a little scared—and Elle and Susan stood to congratulate me with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“The bookstore is amazing,” I said as I pulled off my mittens and coat. “It’s huge, full of romance novels and comic books, and the bar is a coffee shop too. The ceilings are a mile high with all the pipes and everything exposed, and the floor is brushed concrete with swoops that make it look like the pages of books. Oh! And they have coasters with literary quotes, and they do these singles’ nights where they try to hook the comic-book boys up with the romance girls,” I rambled. “I mean, what an idea. Books and booze and baristas. Genius. But I’m such a klutz. I tripped right into the manager and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me. I can’t believe he still hired me!”

“Ooh, a boy!” Meg teased, waggling her eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes and ruffled her sandy-brown hair, ignoring the rush of adrenaline I had at the thought of Greg—tall, handsome Greg with the nice smile and striking blue-green eyes who was way too old for me. “Psh, he’s my boss, and he’s old. He’s got to be almost thirty.”

Mama let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snuffle. “Practically ancient. Was it his cane or his bifocals that gave him away?”

“Ha, ha,” I sang. “They want me to start tomorrow! I can’t even believe it.” My cheeks so high from smiling, they ached a little. I barely noticed. “A real job. I’ll be working the cash register at the coolest bookstore I’ve ever seen.” I sighed and dropped into an oversized armchair.

Mama watched me, her face full of pride and trepidation. “I knew you’d get it. They’d have been crazy not to hire you.”

“Thank you, Mama, for giving me your blessing.”

She let out a sigh of her own, and it was anything but dreamy. “It was time. And this sounds like a nice sitting job, one without too much physical effort on your part. Did you tell them? About your heart?”

“I didn’t think explaining Ebstein’s anomaly to my new manager during an interview would get me any points, so no, Mama, I didn’t mention it. But I will, if I need to.”

“When you need to,” she corrected.

I looked to Aunt Susan, who had been quiet for the longest stretch I’d ever witnessed. “What have y’all been doing all day?”

She smiled, her eyes meeting mine for only a moment before turning back to the embroidery in her hands. “Oh, not much. Meg has been informing us of the wonders of Egypt.”

Meg lit up. “Did you know King Tut died because he was inbred, not in a chariot race like his sarcophagus said?”

My brows rose.

Susan laughed. “We’ve had nothing to do and spent the day rolling around in the luxury. Congratulations again, Annie. I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better. I know moving here hasn’t been easy for any of you, and I’m sorry if I’ve made it any worse than it had to be with my constant blather.” She paused, considering her words. “I’m one of those odd people who laughs when bad things happen—my children never found it amusing when they skinned their knees—and I tend to cover up my sadness with humor and happiness, sometimes when it’s not appropriate.”

Guilt slipped into my heart. “Aunt Susan, your cheer has been one of the best things about coming here.”

Her cheeks were pink and merry, but her eyes were sad. “I’m glad. And we’re glad you’re here.” She moved her embroidery to the small table next to her. “Emily has been telling me all day about how lovely your piano playing is, but I haven’t had the courage to ask you to play. Do you think you might like to? I would so love to hear.”

And I smiled, partly at the thought of Susan not having courage for something and partly out of sheer pleasure at the prospect of playing for an audience. “Of course.”

When I hopped up, my heart jigged dangerously in my chest. Black spots danced in my vision, my breath shallow and thin. Elle was on her feet, catching me as I teetered, staggering forward.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her concern weighing her voice.

“Yeah, I…I just stood up too fast; that’s all,” I answered with what I hoped was a comforting, believable expression on my face.

But I held on to her arm as we walked through the double French doors to the grand piano.

I took a seat at the piano bench and opened the lid, the toothy smile of the keys comforting, calming my heart, bringing my breath back to a steady rhythm.

“What do you want to hear? Mozart?” I made a snobbish face, my back ramrod straight as my fingers drummed the bouncing opening to Piano Sonata No. 11. “Tchaikovsky?” I banged out the dramatic ending of Swan Lake. “Maybe a little light Beethoven?” I dum-dum-dum-dummmmed the dark opening bars of Symphony No. 5.

Meg rolled her eyes so hard, I couldn’t see her irises. “Boring classical. Play Elton John!”

I laughed, my fingers finding the keys without looking, plinking the ivory to the ragtime rhythm of the bouncing saloon opening of “Honky Cat.” I sang—it was impossible not to sing along to it—roistering about the city lights and my redneck ways and just how good the change would do me.