The Belle and the Beard Kate Canterbary (reading comprehension books .txt) 📖

She'd spent enough time worrying over me and money. I didn't want her worrying now, not when she had a new car every three years and a month-long vacation on the Java coast. Not when things were finally good for her.

And that was one of the reasons I'd ignored her calls over the past few weeks and replied to her text messages with quick, vague nonsense like I have a lot of plates spinning right now. Talk soon! and Service is super spotty here! I'll check back in when I know I won't immediately drop your call, okay? and It's all good, just making some moves.

I couldn't keep that up much longer. Her last message had mentioned something about a fruit bouquet being refused delivery at my apartment building. She wanted to know where I was if I wasn't living in D.C. anymore and I supposed that was fair.

My phone pressed to my ear, I paced the front room while the morning sun streamed in, warm and so blindingly bright I had to shield my eyes. The call connected, ringing only twice before she answered with, "Hello? Hello, are you there? Hello?"

Through the line, I heard, "What's going on, Tawney? Who is it?"

I sighed. "Mom?"

"Jasper? Where in the world are you?"

Her pointed tone stopped me and I turned to face the window. I had to close my eyes against the sun's rays. "I'm at Midge's house, Mom."

I heard a door close and some rustling, and while it was early on the West Coast, I knew I hadn't woken her. She went to exercise classes first thing. Spinning, Zumba, Pilates. Things like that. Things that comfortably wealthy women enjoyed early in the morning.

"Will you tell me if you're all right? I've been trying to reach you."

The sun heated my face and neck. "I'm okay. I'm just taking a break from things."

There was a heavy pause where I could almost see my mother twisting her hair around her index finger. Eventually, she said, "So, you're in Massachusetts."

"I'm just taking a quick break," I said again. "I'll get back into the swing of things soon." When she didn't respond, I went on. "I wanted to leave Timbrooks, you know. I started planning my exit last winter."

That was true in the sense I'd sat on the floor of my bathroom and cried for twenty minutes before work one morning last January after waking up to a dozen rage-filled emails from a dozen different ragey people. I didn't know that wasn't a normal way to start the day. I figured everyone cried all the time. That was the definition of adulting, right?

"I know you always have a plan," she said, the uncertainty dripping from her words.

"Oh, I do. I definitely do. I'm looking at some consulting opportunities. I have a lot of interest from media outlets as well. I have a lot to choose from."

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course it is," I said quickly. I didn't recognize my voice. It sounded hollow. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. I'm just asking."

We were silent a moment, the sun still blazing over my face. I knew my cheeks would be pink when I stepped away from this window.

Then, "I'm all right, Mom. Really. I'm just taking a break."

"And Preston?"

Please don't go blowing that storm in. "Taking a break from him too."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I am. I'm actually really busy with projects here." I glanced at the ceiling, which needed several coats of paint. "Really busy."

"How's the house?"

"It's a little worse for the wear but I don't mind. It's amusing, you know, working on little updates, little projects. It's mostly painting, ripping up old carpeting, cleaning out the basement."

I didn't mention the bats. It didn't seem like a necessary detail. Neither did the husky woodsman next door. Didn't need to talk about him at all.

"I miss her," Mom said softly. "I wish I'd visited more. Called more. Letters and emails weren't enough."

I felt a sudden rush of tears stinging my eyes. "Me too."

"I regret it," she said. "Not spending more time with her. That's the shitty price of grief. You're always left with one regret or another and it never leaves you alone."

I didn't want to talk about regrets. "Mmhmm."

"I'm not sure I could do what you're doing," she said. "So many memories. I couldn't possibly go through her things. It's just too hard."

"I haven't started working on her room yet. Not more than pulling up the carpet because it was musty."

"It takes a lot out of you," she said. "You need to be ready for it."

My face was so hot. I knew I wouldn't burn from a few minutes in front of a window but it felt like I might. "Yeah, well, I have some calls to return today and I should probably get to that. There's a think tank looking to talk to me about some of their strategic priorities and I need to look over my notes."

"I understand," she said. "Call me, okay? Let me know if anything changes or…or you need anything."

I turned away from the window and headed into the kitchen. "All right, Mom. I will."

I wouldn't. I didn't need her or anyone else, and that wasn't about to change. Just like I wasn't about to stop thanking Linden for his generosity with some homemade goodies.

The oven was still acting fritzy so I was relying on my crockpot to cook two small pecan pies this morning. I'd never made pie dough before, not on my own, but what else was there to do after waking up at daybreak, yesterday's clothes plastered to my body and the memory of a breathtaking kiss buzzing on my lips?

I didn't have the exact ingredients required by the recipe but I knew enough about pecan pie to wing it. I'd seen it done plenty of times. After growing up on a three-hundred-year-old pecan farm, I knew a thing or two about making these pies.

Linden would like them. He looked like the kind of man