her feeling so wretched inside.
Her eyes began to sting again and her vision blurred. Lately she’d made some pretty poor choices in her life. At the top of the list was her decision to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather. A close second was running from her wedding like a coward. But falling in love with John hadn’t been a choice. It had just happened.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped at it. She had to get over John now. She had to get on with her life.
What life ? She had no home and no job waiting for her. She had no real family to speak of, and her only friend probably hated her now. All of her clothes were at Virgil’s, and there was no doubt in her mind that he despised her. The man she loved didn’t love her in return. He’d dumped her on the curb without looking back.
She had nothing and no one but herself.
“Attention,” a female voice announced, “passengers holding rickets for Delta flight 624, Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, will begin boarding in fifteen minutes.”
Georgeanne looked at the ticket in her hand. Fifteen minutes, she thought. Fifteen minutes before she boarded an airplane that would take her back to nothing. No one would be there to greet her. She had no one. No one to take care of her. No one to tell her what to do.
No one but herself. Only Georgeanne.
Panic grabbed ahold of her stomach, and she lowered her gaze to the Seattle Times on the overnight case in her lap. She could feel an emotional overload just below the surface. In order to avoid a complete shutdown, she concentrated on the newsprint. Her lips moved as she slowly read the want ads.
The sign above Heron Catering hung awkwardly to the right. Thursday night’s storm had knocked it around until one of the chains had snapped. Now the great majestic bird painted on the sign looked as if it were about to take a nosedive onto the sidewalk. The rhododendrons planted on each side of the door had survived the heavy winds, but the hanging red geraniums were pretty much history.
Inside the small building, everything was in perfect order. The office in the front of the converted store had a desk and a round table. A large picture of two people with matching clothing and identical faces hung on the wall. Each held an opposite end of a dollar bill. In the kitchen an industrial slicer, grinder, and stainless steel pots and pans shined. A selection of menu samples sat on a tray in one of the refrigerators, while the owner’s doubler-decker air-flow oven dominated the opposite corner.
The owner herself stood in the bathroom with a blue rubber band clamped between her lips. A fluorescent light flickered and buzzed and cast a grayish tint over Mae Heron’s face. Her brown eyes studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she brushed her blond hair into a ponytail high on the back of her head.
Mae was the epitome of an Ivory Soap girl. She didn’t have any use for fruity skin cleansers or toners or fancy creams. She hated the feel of makeup on her face. Sometimes she wore a little mascara, but because she had little practice, she wasn’t any good at applying it, not like Ray had been. Ray had always been so good at dress-up.
Mae turned to look at herself from the side and raised a hand to smooth a lump of hair at her crown. She might have taken the ponytail out and started over if the bell above the front door hadn’t signaled the arrival of the customer Mae had been expecting. Mrs. Candace Sullivan was a frequent client of Heron’s, and she’d called Mae to cater her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Candace was the wife of a respected cardiologist. She was wealthy and Mae’s last hope to keep her and Ray’s dream alive.
She looked down to make sure her blue polo shirt was tucked neatly into her khaki shorts and took a deep breath. She wasn’t very good at this part of the business. Kissing ass and schmoozing customers had been Ray’s forte. She was the accountant.
Her eyes began to sting again and her vision blurred. Lately she’d made some pretty poor choices in her life. At the top of the list was her decision to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather. A close second was running from her wedding like a coward. But falling in love with John hadn’t been a choice. It had just happened.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped at it. She had to get over John now. She had to get on with her life.
What life ? She had no home and no job waiting for her. She had no real family to speak of, and her only friend probably hated her now. All of her clothes were at Virgil’s, and there was no doubt in her mind that he despised her. The man she loved didn’t love her in return. He’d dumped her on the curb without looking back.
She had nothing and no one but herself.
“Attention,” a female voice announced, “passengers holding rickets for Delta flight 624, Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, will begin boarding in fifteen minutes.”
Georgeanne looked at the ticket in her hand. Fifteen minutes, she thought. Fifteen minutes before she boarded an airplane that would take her back to nothing. No one would be there to greet her. She had no one. No one to take care of her. No one to tell her what to do.
No one but herself. Only Georgeanne.
Panic grabbed ahold of her stomach, and she lowered her gaze to the Seattle Times on the overnight case in her lap. She could feel an emotional overload just below the surface. In order to avoid a complete shutdown, she concentrated on the newsprint. Her lips moved as she slowly read the want ads.
The sign above Heron Catering hung awkwardly to the right. Thursday night’s storm had knocked it around until one of the chains had snapped. Now the great majestic bird painted on the sign looked as if it were about to take a nosedive onto the sidewalk. The rhododendrons planted on each side of the door had survived the heavy winds, but the hanging red geraniums were pretty much history.
Inside the small building, everything was in perfect order. The office in the front of the converted store had a desk and a round table. A large picture of two people with matching clothing and identical faces hung on the wall. Each held an opposite end of a dollar bill. In the kitchen an industrial slicer, grinder, and stainless steel pots and pans shined. A selection of menu samples sat on a tray in one of the refrigerators, while the owner’s doubler-decker air-flow oven dominated the opposite corner.
The owner herself stood in the bathroom with a blue rubber band clamped between her lips. A fluorescent light flickered and buzzed and cast a grayish tint over Mae Heron’s face. Her brown eyes studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she brushed her blond hair into a ponytail high on the back of her head.
Mae was the epitome of an Ivory Soap girl. She didn’t have any use for fruity skin cleansers or toners or fancy creams. She hated the feel of makeup on her face. Sometimes she wore a little mascara, but because she had little practice, she wasn’t any good at applying it, not like Ray had been. Ray had always been so good at dress-up.
Mae turned to look at herself from the side and raised a hand to smooth a lump of hair at her crown. She might have taken the ponytail out and started over if the bell above the front door hadn’t signaled the arrival of the customer Mae had been expecting. Mrs. Candace Sullivan was a frequent client of Heron’s, and she’d called Mae to cater her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Candace was the wife of a respected cardiologist. She was wealthy and Mae’s last hope to keep her and Ray’s dream alive.
She looked down to make sure her blue polo shirt was tucked neatly into her khaki shorts and took a deep breath. She wasn’t very good at this part of the business. Kissing ass and schmoozing customers had been Ray’s forte. She was the accountant.
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