Free Georgia on Her Mind by Rachel Hauck Page A

locking my front door and flipping off the porch light. Such an odd visit—no purpose, no reason. Just for company.
    My heart is content as I wash my face, slip into my nightshirt and crawl into bed. Thinking of the Single Saved Sisters, my grocery-aisle epiphany and Mrs. Woodward’s visit, I’m reminded of the good things in life. I’ve been missing them for too long. I poured everything I had into Chris and Casper. Now I’m emotionally and spiritually bankrupt.
    Clicking on my bedside lamp, I reach for my Bible. It’s covered in dust, an embarrassing discovery. I run for a damp cloth.
    Has it been that long since I read my Bible? That’s like Christianity 101. I hop back into bed and flip to the verse Pastor Gary used Sunday morning at Beauty Community Church.
    Isaiah 61:3. “To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes.”
    I close my eyes and slip down under the covers. Change is in the wind. What, when, where, why and how? I’m notsure. But I’m ready for the path of beauty. I set my Bible aside and click out the light.
    “Thanks, Lord, for Your love and patience, and that I still have a job. Thanks for my home and car.” I close my eyes, fading. “For the Single Saved Sisters, for Mrs. Woodward and for simple things like food—”
    I bolt up in the darkness. Food. Supermarket. I scramble out of bed and tumble to the floor, my foot caught in the sheets. My groceries are still in the bags on the counter. And I bought ice cream!
     
    Mike pops his head around my office door. “S-o-o-o, Macy…”
    I eye him over my laptop. Nothing that starts out “S-o-o-o, Macy” is ever good.
    Several weeks have passed since my Atlanta trip and I’ve adjusted well, if I say so myself, to my new role at Casper.
    Not much has changed, really, other than that I report to Mike and he reports to Roni. Since he’s so clueless about how to manage anything but his TiVo machine, much less a customer service team, I graciously assist. I could be pigheaded about it—he and Roni deserve it—but in the end that will only make me look bad and there is enough of that going on already.
    People stop talking when I pass by in the hall. Sometimes they meet my gaze and smile with sympathy. I hate that expression the most. I’d rather be the target of their gossip.
    But seeing Mike in my office makes me churn with suspicion. I haven’t seen him ride off with Roni again and I’m glad I don’t have any more of those scenes added to my arsenal.
    “What can I do for you?” I ask in my most professional tone.
    “I put a couple of trips on your schedule. Suddenly the sales team is frantic for W-Book installations.”
    “We knew it’d be a hit.”
    “It’ll put Casper & Company on the map.”
    “Kyle Casper gets what he wants.” I finish the e-mail I was typing and click Send.
    Kyle, a contemporary of Bill Gates, seethes to this day that Bill beat him to the market with his everyman’s computer company. Then he invested a chunk of change in search-engine technology and spent a night in hospital with heart palpitations when the Google guys launched their search engine six months before the Casper engine was ready. He had to scrap the whole project.
    “Check your schedule. Let me know if you have questions.” Mike pounds his palm with his pen.
    I double click on the shortcut to the company Intranet to check our schedule.
    “I might need some vacation days.” There’s Dad’s launch party, and the reunion, though I haven’t decided if I’m going to either yet.
    “Oh?”
    I glare up at him. “I still get vacation, don’t I?”
    “Um, well, I can check with Roni, but I’m sure you do.”
    I feel a little sick to my stomach as the schedule opens. I find my name and check out my assignments. Lovely. Just lovely. Two weeks in Smallville, Kansas, another two in Podunk, Mississippi, and a week in Desert Town, Nevada.
    I snap my head up. Mike continues to stand in the doorway. “And I get all the small towns