AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“So why are you here instead of out there with him?”
“He—I just—it …” I sighed. “It wouldn’t have worked out. Like you said, he wasn’t my type.”
“That’s a silly reason. Your type usually looks like some of the clients coming through our offices. In fact, some of your boyfriends have been clients at our offices.”
“Easy,” I told her in a warning tone. “Don’t backtrack on this touching moment.”
She tilted her head, and once again, I was grateful that I’d never been on the receiving end of Mom’s questions on the witness stand. “If you saw him again, what would you do?”
I grumbled into my pillow but eventually admitted, “Jump him.”
Mom sighed, clapping a hand over her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t share these things with me.”
“I know. That’s part of the reason I do it.”
I stayed up for most of the night, telling my mom about my adventures on the road with Collin. She couldn’t believe what I’d put up with, what I’d put myself through, just to keep a job. But I think it served to convince her of how badly I wanted to avoid coming back to Jason. She agreed that Collin sounded like just the sort of frustrating, fascinating man I deserved, and she spent the rest of the night trying to persuade me to contact him before he left town.
After unburdening my soul, I slept for at least ten hours. I plugged my iPod into the alarm clock and put my “Sleepy/Spa” playlist on repeat. I woke up with a slick of drool dried to my cheek and my hair in wild disarray. I stumbled out of my room, whacking my shoulder on the doorjamb on my way to the bathroom.
A full moon shone down on my parents’ yard. I went into the bathroom and splashed some cool water on my face. I peeled my hair back from my face with a headband and stumbled down the stairs.
“Mom, can we arrange an intravenous coffee system?” I mumbled, plodding down the steps.
I heard my mother’s tinkling laughter from downstairs. I hadn’t heard her laugh like that since Glenn’s wedding. It took all I had not to turn on my heel and clomp right back up the stairs. I would not be caught in one of my mother’s meetings, whether it was with members of the church bazaar committee or a potential date or employer for me. The last one resulted in our not speaking for days because I dumped a glass of iced tea over Leonard “Wandering Hands” Burton’s head.
“Miranda, is that you?” Mom called. “We have a guest, honey. Come on down.”
I was wearing a sleeveless flannel nightgown my brother had given me last Christmas. It was lavender, with pink kittens on it. Circa 1989 LA Gear slouchy socks completed the look. “Um, I’m not exactly dressed for company right now, Mom.”
“Oh, I think this visitor will be happy to see you, no matter how you’re dressed.”
Was my mom being held hostage? Was that why she sounded so sunny—and somewhat desperate? I grabbed a heavy walking stick from the umbrella stand and stuck my head into the parlor entryway.
“Collin?”
I dropped the walking stick with a clatter.
He was standing in my mother’s parlor, impeccably dressed in a slate-blue pinstriped suit, leaning against the mantel as if he’d been taking tea in the family parlor for decades. My mom was perched on the edge of her seat, entranced by the smooth vampire.
Collin smiled winsomely at me. “Miranda.” He eyed the stick on the floor and suppressed a grin. “Thank you for disarming.”
“I haven’t made up my mind about that,” I warned him.
“Oh, Miranda, hush. Don’t be rude to the man when he dropped by to give you flowers.”
“Flowers?” I glanced down at the elaborate arrangement of cream roses, lush orange calla lilies, and hypericum berries all bound together with a crisp orange taffeta ribbon. He placed the bouquet in my hands, fingers brushing against mine as he gazed down at me. “It’s a little unusual to tip your driver with flowers, don’t you think?”
“Well, my driver was rather unusual,” he said. “And I brought you this.”
He handed me my photo journal, which I’d apparently left at Ophelia’s when I huffed off. I grinned at him, opening the book. It seemed slightly heavier. New photos were taped onto pages toward the back. Pictures I recognized as shots I’d taken on our trip. The abandoned drive-in with its crumbling screen in the middle of nowhere. Collin at the diner booth, his eyes closed as if he was praying for strength. The Batmobile’s boobs. Me sleeping in the slanted bed at the Country Inn. My hair was tumbling around my face. My features were relaxed and untroubled. Despite the surroundings, I looked almost angelic.
“I was not aware that you took this,” I said, lifting my eyebrows and showing him the picture in question.
“I may have played with your camera a little bit while you were sleeping,” he admitted.
“My camera that was burning at the bottom of the ravine?”
“I also may have taken the memory card out of your camera while you were sleeping, so I could find a way to make copies of your photos,” he said, palming the memory card with a flourish, extending that hand to me, then snatching it away at the last minute. “You’re not the only one who’s good with sleight-of-hand.”
