You Drive Me Crazy (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 2)

“Also? I’m an adult and—”

“We always have something good to eat whether it’s Lent or not.”

She gripped the steering wheel and took a moment. “That’s not even the point.”

“Then what exactly is?”

Regan exploded. “How the hell should I know? You’re the one who called, pissed off because I missed Sunday dinner.”

“That’s not why I called.” Her mother sounded as cool as a cucumber, and that just about sent Regan over the edge. She banged the steering wheel—several times—and the horn sounded each and every time.

“Shit.” She glanced outside and spied Lynn by her car. The look on her nurse’s face was comical, and Regan was going to guess she’d witnessed her mini meltdown. She gave a quick wave and watched her drive away.

“Language, darling.”

Oh. Now it was darling. That was somehow worse than the use of her middle name.

“Mother.” She counted to three. “Why did you call?”

“Well, let me see.” She paused dramatically, and Regan could picture her mother with a smug look on her face, perched on the edge of her off-white sofa. The one in the front room that no one was ever allowed to sit on.

“Aside from the fact that you did miss Sunday dinner, something that is not only a tradition in our house, but something that’s important to your father and me…” Again. Another dramatic pause. “I found out something that hurt, and I’m not happy about it.”

Seriously. Katherine Thorne could have been a politician. She talked in circles, and it took her forever to get her point across.

“Honestly, Mom. I need to be somewhere in ten minutes.”

“I bet you do.”

“Just tell me whatever it is you called for, and I’ll say I’m sorry, and we can move on.” Regan pointed her index finger to her temple and looked down at Bella. The dog cocked her head to the side, ears perked up.

“Okay. I’ll be frank.”

Hallelujah.

“I ran into Joanne Wheeler at the grocery store.”

This was not being frank, but Regan wasn’t about to point that out. It was all she could do not to hang up on her mother. She’d done that before—it only made things worse.

“Joanne proceeded to tell me that Susan Avery told her a black truck was in your driveway all Saturday night until well into Sunday evening.”

Busted. Her eyes slammed shut. Great.

“Mom.”

“Now, Regan, you know I’ve been after you to be more social. To put yourself out there and have some fun. There are a lot of eligible men in this town, but Wyatt Blackwell? I know he’s a handsome young devil, but he’s a race car driver, for God’s sake. NASCAR. He’s never going to stay here for you. Don’t you remember how he crushed you prom night?”

Wow. “Mom. Prom was over ten years ago. Can we not bring that up?”

But her mother went on, as she was prone to do. “Because I remember. I remember you coming home, crying and upset. And that pretty dress of yours ruined.”

Irritated was no longer even in the universe of words to describe the feelings that coursed through Regan.

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Regan.”

“No. My privacy is just that, private. I appreciate you’re looking out for me in your own special way, but my sex life is none of your concern.”