liable for you two. So behave yourselves tomorrow."
They both agreed, but I didn't believe them for a second.
Ten
I skipped out of work early and let everyone else go home too, since everything was set for the mini at Lowther House the following day. Our schedules were often topsy-turvy, so we had to take time off when we could.
I headed home hoping to catch up with my mother. Any other day she would have been at my house, overseeing the construction. With the picketers, I doubted any construction was going on today.
Flipping on the radio, I realized the old me would have been angry with her. Okay, so I wasn't thrilled construction had been delayed . . . again. But the new me was easygoing, care-free. Zenlike.
Note to self: Look up Zen ASAP.
"Do You Wanna Dance" played on the oldies station, and I sang along until I realized I always listened to the oldies station.
Impulsively, I turned the dial. The car thumped with the bass of a rap song. I listened for a minute before changing it. The new me could only handle so much. I stopped on a pop station. Someone was singing about the pain of breaking up. It hit a little too close to home. Another spin of the dial and I landed on the local country station. I stopped, listened. A man was singing about tequila and how it made "her" clothes fall off.
This had potential.
I liked tequila.
Could use some, as a matter of fact.
Wouldn't mind my clothes falling off with Bobby around.
No, no, no! Wrong.
Still, tequila sounded good. The old Nina would never drink at three-thirty in the afternoon, but the new me? Why not?
As I drove along, I thought about Deanna. Should I call her? I hated leaving things as they were. I just wished she'd given me the chance to explain about Weekend Warrior. But that wouldn't have changed the fact that she'd already set up another interview . . .
I sighed.
My thoughts switched over to Hitched or Ditched . I hadn't seen last night's show and didn't know if I wanted to. Probably, I did. I know Riley had taped it for me—maybe I'd watch it when I got home. Alone. With my tequila.
Sounded like a plan.
If I turned into a lush, it would be all Josh's fault. Him and his crazy plan. From what I'd seen so far, sexual harassment wasn't all that far-fetched an accusation. Not that anyone had hit on me, but there was enough hanky-panky going around.
Had I just said hanky-panky?
Note to self: Stop watching reruns of the Newlywed Game on the Game Show Network.
I hadn't seen even the barest hint of impropriety from Willie toward his staff. Now, with Sherry—that was a whole other deal. One I shouldn't worry myself about.
Who they slept around with was their issue. Not mine.
Mine was finding out about the sexual harassment.
I held the wheel with one hand, flipped open my phone
and dialed Josh's number with the other. It rang twice before switching to voice mail.
"Josh, it's Nina. I just wanted to talk to you about Jessica. If you could give me a call, I'd appreciate it."
Snapping the phone closed, I wondered when I'd hear from him.
I left the radio dial on the country station and felt my eyebrows dip as I turned onto my street. Cars lined both sides, and I had to park four houses down, in front of Mr. Weatherbee's place. I'm sure I'd hear about that later. He hated anyone parking in front of his house, despite the street being public property.
Walking back toward my place, I stopped short next to the maple tree at the edge of my property, trying to take it all in.
The Dave Matthews Band blasted from speakers set up on my front porch. A buffet table had been set out on my front lawn. The two picketers had their signs propped on their shoulders. They each held plates loaded to their plastic edges. Several other men wearing hard hats, jeans, and thermal long-sleeve T-shirts standing on the other side of the table joked, laughed, and chowed down. All around, residents of the Mill joined in, laughing, eating. I spotted Mrs. Daasch doing the cha-cha
They both agreed, but I didn't believe them for a second.
Ten
I skipped out of work early and let everyone else go home too, since everything was set for the mini at Lowther House the following day. Our schedules were often topsy-turvy, so we had to take time off when we could.
I headed home hoping to catch up with my mother. Any other day she would have been at my house, overseeing the construction. With the picketers, I doubted any construction was going on today.
Flipping on the radio, I realized the old me would have been angry with her. Okay, so I wasn't thrilled construction had been delayed . . . again. But the new me was easygoing, care-free. Zenlike.
Note to self: Look up Zen ASAP.
"Do You Wanna Dance" played on the oldies station, and I sang along until I realized I always listened to the oldies station.
Impulsively, I turned the dial. The car thumped with the bass of a rap song. I listened for a minute before changing it. The new me could only handle so much. I stopped on a pop station. Someone was singing about the pain of breaking up. It hit a little too close to home. Another spin of the dial and I landed on the local country station. I stopped, listened. A man was singing about tequila and how it made "her" clothes fall off.
This had potential.
I liked tequila.
Could use some, as a matter of fact.
Wouldn't mind my clothes falling off with Bobby around.
No, no, no! Wrong.
Still, tequila sounded good. The old Nina would never drink at three-thirty in the afternoon, but the new me? Why not?
As I drove along, I thought about Deanna. Should I call her? I hated leaving things as they were. I just wished she'd given me the chance to explain about Weekend Warrior. But that wouldn't have changed the fact that she'd already set up another interview . . .
I sighed.
My thoughts switched over to Hitched or Ditched . I hadn't seen last night's show and didn't know if I wanted to. Probably, I did. I know Riley had taped it for me—maybe I'd watch it when I got home. Alone. With my tequila.
Sounded like a plan.
If I turned into a lush, it would be all Josh's fault. Him and his crazy plan. From what I'd seen so far, sexual harassment wasn't all that far-fetched an accusation. Not that anyone had hit on me, but there was enough hanky-panky going around.
Had I just said hanky-panky?
Note to self: Stop watching reruns of the Newlywed Game on the Game Show Network.
I hadn't seen even the barest hint of impropriety from Willie toward his staff. Now, with Sherry—that was a whole other deal. One I shouldn't worry myself about.
Who they slept around with was their issue. Not mine.
Mine was finding out about the sexual harassment.
I held the wheel with one hand, flipped open my phone
and dialed Josh's number with the other. It rang twice before switching to voice mail.
"Josh, it's Nina. I just wanted to talk to you about Jessica. If you could give me a call, I'd appreciate it."
Snapping the phone closed, I wondered when I'd hear from him.
I left the radio dial on the country station and felt my eyebrows dip as I turned onto my street. Cars lined both sides, and I had to park four houses down, in front of Mr. Weatherbee's place. I'm sure I'd hear about that later. He hated anyone parking in front of his house, despite the street being public property.
Walking back toward my place, I stopped short next to the maple tree at the edge of my property, trying to take it all in.
The Dave Matthews Band blasted from speakers set up on my front porch. A buffet table had been set out on my front lawn. The two picketers had their signs propped on their shoulders. They each held plates loaded to their plastic edges. Several other men wearing hard hats, jeans, and thermal long-sleeve T-shirts standing on the other side of the table joked, laughed, and chowed down. All around, residents of the Mill joined in, laughing, eating. I spotted Mrs. Daasch doing the cha-cha
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