Free Bittersweet Surrender by Diann Hunt

ear against the door, Carly listened closely, heart thumping in her ears, adrenaline surging through her at the speed of light. She heard the sound of the doorknob twisting and looked down. Just as she took a step backward, the door swung open and thumped her hard against the floor, sending her and the iron sprawling.
    A loud crackling noise scattered against the floor, and Carly prayed if those were bones breaking, they didn’t belong to her. With a groan, she looked over to see the iron had splayed a couple of broken pieces across the floor. The cord was in a tangle near her feet, but her bones were still intact, so that was good. Moving her neck just right, Carly got a full view of the frightening intruder.
    She wished she hadn’t.
    There stood Magnolia, gray hair fanned across her shoulders, her face so slicked up with grease Carly wanted her nowhere near anything flammable.
    â€œCouldn’t you sleep, dear?” Magnolia asked.
    â€œMagnolia—” She started to ask Magnolia what she was doing, but Carly couldn’t get past the shine. “What’s on your face?”
    The old woman reached for her cheeks as though she couldn’t remember. She chuckled. “Oh, this is my facial cream. Olive oil.”
    â€œOlive oil? You wear olive oil on your face?”
    â€œOh yes. Didn’t you know? It’s one of the best kept secrets of the stars.”
    â€œI can see why,” Carly grumbled.
    â€œWhat, dear?”
    â€œI said, ‘Oh my.’”
    Magnolia reached down to help Carly stand up. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” No thanks to you. Carly brushed herself off. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing down here?”
    Guilt flashed over Magnolia’s face like a neon sign. She swallowed and looked down, scraping the floor with her toe. “I was practicing,” she whispered.
    Carly had to bend toward her—which hurt her considerably—to catch it. “Practicing? What?” Were they really having this conversation in the middle of the night?
    Magnolia mumbled something that sounded like thumbs .
    â€œThumbs? You were practicing thumbs?” That was the last time Carly would eat something spicy before bed.
    Magnolia looked up. “Drums. I was practicing drums.”
    Father, this woman is driving me to sugar. You promise not to give us more than we can bear, but do you realize just how dangerously close we are on this one? I lose my best friend, suffer through breast cancer, my husband walks out on me, my dad dies. Then this woman comes into my home, takes over my kitchen, forces me to eat charred vegetables, and now she tells me she plays the drums?
    Lord? We need to talk.

five
    â€œWhat happened to you?” Scott asked when Carly hobbled into the office.
    â€œI had a run-in with Ringo,” she said bitterly.
    â€œI’m afraid to ask what that means.”
    Her purse plopped onto the desk with a thump. “Magnolia plays the drums, did you know that?”
    It was a rare moment when something surprised Scott, but right now, it was happening. And Carly rather enjoyed it. She explained what had happened in the middle of the night—the heart pounding, the fall, the ugly threats of eating sugar.
    He shook his head. “She seems more a flute and piccolo gal to me. On the other hand, I have seen her drum side.”
    â€œI’m just too beat—pardon the pun—to think about that.” She cracked open a pistachio. “So, do you think there’s anything to that midlife crisis thing?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Scott said, staring at his computer screen. He looked up at her. “Are you telling me chocolate is your crisis?”
    â€œWork with me here. This is not about chocolate. This is about midlife. My brother hasn’t been himself for quite some time, and I just wondered if he’s maybe going through a midlife crisis or something. You ever have anything