No, we aren’t.
How was she going to get out of this? “It’s not about money. This just isn’t a good time.”
“Why not? Isn’t Christmas break the end of fall semester?”
Her mother couldn’t remember Peyton was teaching at a university, not a college. Irene couldn’t recall the name of the town or to which state Peyton had moved. But trust Irene Biery Harris to finally remember Christmas break was the end of fall semester when it benefited her.
“Yes, but I need to prepare for the start of NYU’s spring semester.” Peyton’s lies were adding up. Why didn’t she just tell her parents and Bruce the truth? Because I’m a coward.
“You can do that over the vacation.” Irene’s tone was dismissive. She’d made up her mind to have a family Christmas in Aruba.
“I’m sure that would be a lot of fun for me, pouring over syllabi in the hotel room while the rest of you frolic on the beach.” Peyton smoothed her left hand over her hair. She’d left it free rather than wrestling it into the tight bun her mother insisted suited a college professor better. After all, Irene couldn’t see her now.
Irene snorted. “It would be your decision to bring work on vacation.”
Peyton’s eyes slid over her glass-and-sterling silver entertainment center with the large, silver, flat-screen television, cable box, and DVD player. How could she end this nightmare?
“Why don’t we talk about this when I come home for Thanksgiving?” Would Irene grant her this reprieve? It was still sooner than she’d planned to give her parents and Bruce her news.
“Thanksgiving is more than a month away.” Irene was employing her whiny voice. “Your father and I want to make these arrangements sooner rather than later.”
Peyton understood Irene’s concern. Thanksgiving was November twenty-seventh. Today was October twenty-fifth. But she couldn’t allow her mother to pressure her.
She glanced again at her watch. It was almost ten-fifteen. Books & Bakery’s Halloween event would start at one this afternoon.
Peyton rose. “Mom, I need to get going. I’ll call Bruce later to discuss the trip with him.” More lies. How large would her web of deceit become?
“You do that, darling. You know, you’re lucky to have a man like Bruce. Men like him—wealthy, attractive—can have any woman they want. He chose you.”
“Yes, Mom.” In fact, Peyton’s parents had chosen Bruce. But what did Bruce really want—Peyton or a partnership in her father’s investment firm? Peyton suspected she knew the answer to that.
“All right, darling. I hope to hear from you. Soon. I’ll give your father your love.”
“Thanks, Mom. Good-bye.” Peyton recradled the phone.
Some of her enthusiasm for her day had waned. Her mother had just moved up her day of reckoning. Would she have enough time to prepare for it?
Darius tracked Megan McCloud’s progress from her office to where he stood with their friends near the front of Books & Bakery. The bookstore owner looked like a very irritated Robin Hood. It was the last Saturday of October, the day Books & Bakery hosted its annual Halloween celebration and children’s story time. For the event, Megan had chosen an archer’s costume. Her tall, slender figure was wrapped in a formfitting, long brown vest; loose white shirt; black tights; and boot tops. The white feather tucked into her black felt hat vibrated with temper as she pushed past him, Ean, and Jackson.
Megan settled her hands on her slim hips before confronting her cousin and business partner. “Ramona, you hired Stan for our children’s Halloween story time—again?”
Ramona looked toward the store’s entrance. “Has he arrived?”
Not for the first time, Darius wondered whether Ramona had chosen her costume—Star Wars’ Queen Amidala, complete with white jumpsuit and laser gun—as a tribute to her boyfriend, Quincy. Dr. Quincy Spates, who was now teaching at the University of Pennsylvania, couldn’t make this year’s Books & Bakery Halloween celebration. It was the first one he’d ever missed. But the Star Wars fanatic would have loved his girlfriend’s costume.
“No, Stan hasn’t arrived yet. Belinda told me you’d hired him.” Megan referred to Belinda Curby, the owner of Skin Deep Beauty Salon. “Ramona, why did you hire the town drunk to read to children again? Don’t you remember what happen
ed the last time you did this?”
Ramona waved a dismissive hand. “That was last year. Stan’s a changed man now.”
“That’s what you said last time.” Megan’s words were almost incoherent behind her clenched teeth.
Ramona seemed to consider the accusation. “No, I didn’t.”
Darius judged the risk of entering the fray and decided his odds were good. “Megan, I understand your concern, but maybe this time will be different. Let’s give Stan a chance.”
If it were possible, smoke would have billowed from Megan’s ears. “Last year, he sang obscene bar songs to my customers—including the children.”