Free 'Til Grits Do Us Part by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page A

off my big-city journalism course, I’d turn into double-wide-trailer material.
    And now that same worry churned inside me again like one of those ducks on the mirror-smooth pond, head under the surface and feet paddling in vain circles:
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I moved too fast, and Adam and I are too different. Too…
    Wait a second. I leaned forward, straining at something by a picnic table. Did I see…?
    â€œChristie?” I pushed off the tree as her smoky snout turned toward me, tail wagging at the sound of my voice. “What are you doing over there? Adam went after you that way.” I looked over my shoulder in the direction he’d gone, and seeing no one, threw up my hands in frustration and sprinted after her through the beaded grass.
    â€œChristie! Get back here!” I dodged maple and beech trees as she sprinted off again, her still-fuzzy puppy mouth laughing in openmouthed joy. “This isn’t funny! If you think I’m—”
    I didn’t finish my sentence because someone stepped around the side of a towering oak, making me blurt out a scream of surprise. I swerved. My heel snagged on a root and down I went. Elbows first, sliding to a stop on the wet lawn. Smearing dirt all down my chic, red-flowered dress. Soggy grass and stray bark particles stuck to my stomach like one of Tim’s shaggy, leaf-covered hunting coats.
    I tried to get to my feet and slipped again then clawed my way up by the tree trunk and practically bowled over one very horrified Ray Floyd. Who rushed to help me up.
    â€œMr. Floyd?” I gasped, wiping my palms on my soiled dress. I stuck one hand out in an awkward handshake, reaching down to pat Ginger on the end of her leash. She blinked blond eyelashes up at me in a friendly smile.
    â€œSorry,” I coughed, knees still smarting. “I didn’t mean to run over you.” Hello?
SUV?
What was I thinking? “I mean, I didn’t see you,” I covered quickly, straightening my red ribbon headband that had slid askew.
    â€œAre you okay? Are you hurt?”
    Ray reached out to steady my arm, but I’d already righted myself. “Yeah. I’m fine, thanks.” I rubbed my sore elbow and stuck my foot back in my shoe, which had flung itself across the grass. So much for playing the cool journalist now. “But my dog…” I strained over my shoulder to see. “Forget it. She’s gone again. At least yours stays put. Right, Ginger?” I reached down to pat her silky-smooth back.
    Ray tipped his curly brown head. “Sorry. I’m trying to remember…. You’re that reporter, aren’t you?”
    â€œShiloh Jacobs.” I flicked a leaf off my dress. “I interviewed you the night that SUV came through your bedroom wall.”
    â€œOh.” Ray closed his eyes. “I remember now. Jacobs.” He put his hands in his baggy pants pockets and rocked back on his heels, giving a wry laugh. “Wow. Talk about bad timing on that one. I should have stayed up and finished my movie rather than going to bed, huh?”
    â€œOn the contrary. I’d say you had pretty good timing. You’re still alive.” I started to remind him of what might have happened if he’d raised his head another six inches then thought better of it. “So what are you doing here?”
    â€œHere at the park? I live right over there. Remember?” Ray gestured through the trees toward his green-slatted house with its cozy, wreath-trimmed front door. Wooden shutters. Burgundy Volvo in the driveway. He squinted at me through artsy, retro-style glasses. “You sure you’re okay?”
    â€œI’m fine. Sorry.” I attempted a laugh. “It’s just been a long day.”
    Shouts mingled from across the grass, then voices, a dog’s cheerful bark, and Adam’s long laugh. I relaxed, resting my arm against the tree in relief. “Whew. He got her.” I shielded my