Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel (A Chick-lit Paranormal book) (The Angela Panther Series) by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson Page B
Authors: Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Tags: Fiction, Chick lit, Women's Fiction, Paranormal Fiction, Relationships, paranormal chick lit, chick lit fiction, chick lit family, cheap kindle book, chick lit humorous, paranormal humorous, ghost whisperer, chick lit Atlanta, victoria laurie style books, paranormal ghost
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her car. She probably apologized profusely for my outburst, but I was too mad to care.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just take me back to my car, please.”
She did, and without saying another word.
Chapter Nine
T here’s a saying we live by in my house, ‘if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy’ and mama wasn’t happy. After I arrived home, I immediately changed into my workout clothes and drove to the park to go for a run. Exercise for me wasn’t just about staying in shape but about relieving stress, and I was stressed enough to run a marathon.
I’d barely worked out since Ma was diagnosed, and I missed the adrenaline rush. Even out of practice, I managed to run a full two miles, wimpy by my usual standards, but I wasn’t going to complain. I ran past the cows that always butted up against the greenway fence and smiled a fake smile as other walkers and runners came toward me. It felt good pounding my feet against the pavement, and I’d set the volume on my iPhone music so high I couldn’t hear myself think, which was exactly what I wanted – not to think. Just to run or walk, after those first two miles. I walked another mile to cool down, and because I didn’t want to go home and face Jake. We hadn’t really finished our conversation about Ma, and I wasn’t prepared to add this new information into the mix. I knew it would have to come out eventually, but I needed to process it myself, first.
The park was an eighty-five-acre sports park with five soccer or lacrosse fields, six baseball fields, eight tennis courts, a skate park and several pavilions scattered throughout the green space. It was impossible to get a parking space from March to November because of all of the county sport leagues, and cars were often lined up on the side of the entrance road. Today the park was especially crowded so I assumed there was a soccer tournament, given the socks up to the knees of every kid there. I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I decided to check out a game.
I’ve never actually watched a real soccer game. Both Emily and Josh gave it a whirl briefly when they were little but at five it was hard to understand the concept of getting the ball across the field without using your hands so it didn’t really count. At almost every game a child was kicked in the head. I used to giggle a little when a kid would go flying from a particularly strong roundhouse kick, until it happened to Emily. Then it wasn’t so funny. I guess it was true; what goes around comes around. Needless to say, she got over her interest in sports after that. Josh still played lacrosse, having given up soccer after one season. Lacrosse wasn’t any safer than soccer, in fact it was less, but I swallowed my fear and let him play.
I leaned against the fence on the far side of the field, just off of the path. The bleachers were center field, but a few extremist soccer fathers paced up and down the outside of the fence, sideline coaching the kids and screaming “bad call” at the refs. I’ve never understood why parents get like that. It was a children’s sport, not college or the pros, so why such anxiety? I couldn’t imagine it was good for the kids or the parents.
One man, dressed in black soccer shorts and a much too tight, white Under Armour shirt, was on the verge of losing it. He was screeching and hollering various curse words at the refs and other sideline coach fathers. Either they were so involved in the game themselves that they ignored him or they just didn’t see him.
Or they just don’t see him.
Well, crap. Could they see him?
I watched the man closely and checked to see if he gave off a ghostly vibe. Because, yes, I was so experienced and knew what a ghostly vibe would feel like. Truth is, I was clueless.
He didn’t look like a ghost. He wasn’t floating and from what I could tell, he was completely solid, not even a little bit transparent. I would have thought he was alive except his language was harsh enough
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just take me back to my car, please.”
She did, and without saying another word.
Chapter Nine
T here’s a saying we live by in my house, ‘if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy’ and mama wasn’t happy. After I arrived home, I immediately changed into my workout clothes and drove to the park to go for a run. Exercise for me wasn’t just about staying in shape but about relieving stress, and I was stressed enough to run a marathon.
I’d barely worked out since Ma was diagnosed, and I missed the adrenaline rush. Even out of practice, I managed to run a full two miles, wimpy by my usual standards, but I wasn’t going to complain. I ran past the cows that always butted up against the greenway fence and smiled a fake smile as other walkers and runners came toward me. It felt good pounding my feet against the pavement, and I’d set the volume on my iPhone music so high I couldn’t hear myself think, which was exactly what I wanted – not to think. Just to run or walk, after those first two miles. I walked another mile to cool down, and because I didn’t want to go home and face Jake. We hadn’t really finished our conversation about Ma, and I wasn’t prepared to add this new information into the mix. I knew it would have to come out eventually, but I needed to process it myself, first.
The park was an eighty-five-acre sports park with five soccer or lacrosse fields, six baseball fields, eight tennis courts, a skate park and several pavilions scattered throughout the green space. It was impossible to get a parking space from March to November because of all of the county sport leagues, and cars were often lined up on the side of the entrance road. Today the park was especially crowded so I assumed there was a soccer tournament, given the socks up to the knees of every kid there. I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I decided to check out a game.
I’ve never actually watched a real soccer game. Both Emily and Josh gave it a whirl briefly when they were little but at five it was hard to understand the concept of getting the ball across the field without using your hands so it didn’t really count. At almost every game a child was kicked in the head. I used to giggle a little when a kid would go flying from a particularly strong roundhouse kick, until it happened to Emily. Then it wasn’t so funny. I guess it was true; what goes around comes around. Needless to say, she got over her interest in sports after that. Josh still played lacrosse, having given up soccer after one season. Lacrosse wasn’t any safer than soccer, in fact it was less, but I swallowed my fear and let him play.
I leaned against the fence on the far side of the field, just off of the path. The bleachers were center field, but a few extremist soccer fathers paced up and down the outside of the fence, sideline coaching the kids and screaming “bad call” at the refs. I’ve never understood why parents get like that. It was a children’s sport, not college or the pros, so why such anxiety? I couldn’t imagine it was good for the kids or the parents.
One man, dressed in black soccer shorts and a much too tight, white Under Armour shirt, was on the verge of losing it. He was screeching and hollering various curse words at the refs and other sideline coach fathers. Either they were so involved in the game themselves that they ignored him or they just didn’t see him.
Or they just don’t see him.
Well, crap. Could they see him?
I watched the man closely and checked to see if he gave off a ghostly vibe. Because, yes, I was so experienced and knew what a ghostly vibe would feel like. Truth is, I was clueless.
He didn’t look like a ghost. He wasn’t floating and from what I could tell, he was completely solid, not even a little bit transparent. I would have thought he was alive except his language was harsh enough
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