The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(80)

“I didn’t rip— What the hell is this?” Like the suspicious person he was, he’d unfolded the paper and started to read.

“Give that to me!” She tried to grab it from him, but he held it out of reach and read over her head.

“‘Reverse bucket list’?”

“That’s private.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” He scanned the page and grinned. “Frankly, I’d be embarrassed to.”

When he finally lowered the paper it was too late. He’d read everything.

REVERSE BUCKET LIST

Run away from home*

Dress like a skank*

Sleep around

Use f-word whenever possible*

Get drunk in public

Make out in public

Smoke a joint

Pick a fight*

Prank call*

Go to bed without taking off makeup*

Swim naked

Sleep late*

Scratch, burp, etc.*

“Go to bed without taking your makeup off.” He blew a long whistle. “That’s living in the danger zone.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of damage that does to your skin?”

“Any time now, I’m sure you’ll work up the nerve.” He jabbed the paper with his finger. “What do all these asterisks mean?”

Good Lucy would have tried to change the subject, but Viper didn’t give a damn what he thought. “The asterisks mark things I’d done by the time I was fourteen but sadly abandoned. I intend to rectify that, and if you think it’s stupid, that’s your problem.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Stupid? Make prank calls? Now why would I think prank-calling is stupid?”

“I probably won’t do that one,” she said innocently.

He took in her tie-dyed bra top. “You’ve got ‘dress like a skank’ under control. Not complaining, mind you.”

“Thanks. I had to order a few things off the Internet, but it’s working out for me.”

“Definitely.” He snapped his fingers at the paper. “Smoking pot is illegal.”

“I appreciate your concern, Officer, but I’m sure that didn’t stop you from doing it.”

He scanned further down. “You never swam naked?”

“Sue me.”

“You’ll let me know, won’t you, when you’re ready to try?”

“If I f*cking remember.”

“If you’re going to use the word, at least use it at the right time. You sound ridiculous.” He frowned. “‘Make out in public’? Not with me you won’t.”

“S’okay. I’ll find somebody else.”

“Like f*cking hell,” he growled. “And you can mark off ‘sleep around,’ since you’re doing that with me.”

“No way. ‘Around’ implies more than one partner.”

“Already forget about Ted?”

“Doesn’t count. He proposed.”

Panda looked like he had something to say about that, but didn’t. Instead he pointed to a doodle she’d made in the margin. “What’s that?”

Damn. She slapped on her new sneer. “Hello Kitty.”

He grinned. “Badass.”


THE BASIL PLANT ON THE baker’s rack was getting a little droopy. She hopped up from the chaise to water it, pulled some dead leaves off the geranium, and then resettled. She wiggled her pen between her fingers and started to write.

My mother’s dedication to children’s causes had its roots in her teenage years when she visited sick children in hospitals and refugee camps …

Something Lucy’s grandfather was writing about in detail and wouldn’t appreciate Lucy duplicating.

She tore up the page, pulled her reverse bucket list from her pocket, and jotted down a new item.

Blow off homework.

Then she added an asterisk.



BREE HAD NEVER FELT MORE out of place. It was fine for African-Americans to attend white churches—it gave white congregations a pleasant feeling of inclusiveness—but being the only white person in the island’s sole black church made her uncomfortable. She’d never enjoyed standing out. She liked to blend. But as the usher led them down the center aisle of the Heart of Charity Missionary Church, she didn’t see another face as pale as her own.

The usher handed them bulletins and gestured toward a pew in the second row. So much for her plans to sit in the back.

After they were seated, her discomfort grew. Was this how it felt to be a black person going solo into the white world? Or maybe her own insecurity was at play, and all her reading had made her more racially conscious than she needed to be.

Heart of Charity Missionary was the second oldest church on the island, a squat, red brick building that would never win points for style, although the airy sanctuary looked as though it had been recently remodeled. The walls were ivory, the high ceiling paneled in blond wood. A purple cloth covered the altar, and three silver crosses hung on the front wall. The congregation was small, and the air smelled of perfume, aftershave, and stargazer lilies.

The people sitting nearby smiled in welcome. The men wore suits, the older women hats, and the younger women bright summer dresses. After the opening hymn, a woman she assumed was the minister, but who turned out to be a deacon, greeted the congregation and announced upcoming events. Bree felt herself flush as the woman looked at her. “We have some visitors today. Would you introduce yourselves?”