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I stared into the vanity mirror at my red-rimmed, tired blue eyes then down at my phone, debating whether I should answer Momma’s call. She may have cut off my funds, but she was holding on tight to the umbilical cord that had never properly been severed since my birth. Heaven forbid she give up any say in my life. Her last breath would probably be used to tell me what to wear to her funeral. I sighed. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night after my talk with Bobby Jay to deal with her, but with the final swipe of peach lip gloss, I decided I’d better answer; she would keep calling if I didn’t.
“Hello, Momma.” I put her on speaker.
“Hello, darling, are you getting ready for church?” She never went right in for the kill. Pleasantries always came before the lecture.
“Yes, Momma.” I smoothed out my white sundress, realizing I should have probably gotten some more sun before attempting white, but I’d been missing white since Labor Day.
“That’s a good girl.” She was ramping up. I could hear it in the pitch of her voice.
“I’m running a little late and I want to get a good seat,” I said, trying to play to her sense of order and decorum. According to Honey Duchane, you must arrive at least twenty minutes early to church. This way God, and most importantly, the pastor and the congregation, knew what a good Christian you were. You must also make a sizable and noticeable donation to the plate.
For the past several months, when I did go to church, I was usually five minutes late, sat in the back, and gave what little I could. But I made it a point today to get up early enough to go. If ever I needed Jesus, today was the day.
“A few more minutes, darling; we rarely get a chance to speak anymore.”
Whose fault was that? She had me on a yo-yo. When I did what she liked, she made the time to talk to me, otherwise I was of little consequence to her unless, like today, she needed to assert her all-knowing wisdom.
I sat on the edge of my four-poster bed waiting, holding in my desire to fidget. Why? Why did I always have to worry about appearances, even when I was by myself? I let my legs swing, releasing some of the tension.
“How are you and Daddy?” I tried my best to delay the coming assault.
“We’re beautiful.” I heard the lie in there, but she had to keep up appearances. “Daddy wanted to say hello, but he had a tee time he couldn’t miss.”
Montgomery Duchane always had something he couldn’t miss that was more important than me. Another reason I was so attracted to Ryder—he wasn’t obsessed with work, until the end. Perhaps even now he was. The thought pricked my heart, though it shouldn’t. I was more furious with him now than when I left last year. That liar needed to get himself some Jesus.
“Lovely. I should—”
“You know, your daddy is playing golf with Barrett Chapel today. You remember him, right?”
How could I forget? The man my parents had decided should be my intended. It was a match made in heaven—more like the stock market. Barrett’s family owned one of the most lucrative contact lens companies in the world. “Yes, of course. How is he?”
“Perfect, as always. He asks about you all the time. You two were such a gorgeous couple.”
“Momma, we only went out on a few dates.” That was all it took for me to see that the handsome older man was exactly like my father. Business would always be his first love. I would have only been an easy-in to an exclusive contract with Hobbs Inc., and someone to look good on his arm while we attended society functions together.
“You never really gave him a chance before that . . . boy came around.” The disgust was apparent in her tone.
“He isn’t a boy.” Ryder was five years older than me, and believe me, he was all man.
“Speaking of that boy,” she spat out, refusing to concede a thing, “I heard some ugly rumors about him starting a company and moving to Colorado.”
“Did you, now?”
“Don’t be smart with me. Arlene already told me that she sent you the same information.”
“What does it matter, Momma? We’re over. Ryder can do whatever he wants.”
“You don’t think his moving there has anything to do with you?”
“Why would it? He obviously didn’t want me,” I choked out. That was the worst thing I could have done.
“Don’t tell me you still have feelings for the boy after what he did to you?”
“Whether I do or not, it doesn’t matter. We’re over.”
“I’m happy to hear you say that, but be on guard, young lady. You’re a fool if you don’t think that boy didn’t come there for you. Have you seen him?”
