Free Leaving Carolina by Tamara Leigh

cars at her eatery.
    She glances around the dining room. “Atmosphere, good food, and value for the money. Who can compete with that?”
    It’s said matter-of-factly, but it can’t have been easy to accept the progress that flattened her business. “I’m sorry.”
    She chuckles. “Actually, I’m happier—makin a better livin’, and when I clock out for the day, what’s left of it is mine.”
    I search her face to see if she’s downplaying her loss, but she appears sincere.
    “Hello, Piper,” Maggie drawls as she unfolds her nearly six-foot frame. As when I was younger, I wonder why God gave her the tall gene and me the short, her the svelte gene and me the not-so-svelte. Not that I want all of the eight inches she has over me. I’d be happy with an equal distribution that would raise me and lower her to five foot seven.
    Maggie doesn’t embrace me when Martha steps back, but she smiles, and what surprises me is that her mouth doesn’t tighten as it did years ago when she was forced into my company. If anything, there’s discomfort in her smile. Because she knows I overheard her argument with Seth?
    She raises her eyebrows, and I realize I’m staring. “Lovely to see you again, Maggie.”
    “Hardly ideal circumstances, though Uncle Obe appears to be doing fine.”
    That can’t be genuine concern. After all, her father went through his inheritance at about the same rate as mine, but he was able to supplement his dwindling assets with successful scams. Thus, Maggie’s father had less reason to “make nice” with his brother Obadiah than my father and Bart’s father. No, not genuine concern. Her inheritance is surely the issue—that Uncle Obe wants to spread the wealth around a bit more.
    I consult my watch. “I meant to leave earlier for Asheville, and here I am jabbering.”
    “You’re driving in to see Uncle Obe?”
    “Yes.”
    Maggie’s eyes brighten. “Maybe I’ll see you there. I’m taking my daughter, Devyn, to visit after Seth and I finish our meal.”
    Lovely. Becoming reacquainted with my uncle is going to be uncomfortable enough without adding Maggie and Mini-Mag to the mix.
Think something happy…
    Grant. Once everything lines up, we’ll be happy indeed. So why does my smile feel taut? “Well, if we miss each other, perhaps I can meet your daughter another time.”
    “Certainly. I know she’d like to meet you.”
    Oh, the pleasantries—people saying the opposite of what they feel. And Maggie has gotten better at it. I turn to Martha. “It was nice to see you again.”
    She nods. “Don’t leave town this time without saying good-bye, hear?”
    “I hear.” With a wave at Maggie and Seth, I head opposite. When the grouchy old neighbor lady catches my eye, I smile. When the lazy-eyed barber beams at me, I beam back.
    “You did it,” I congratulate myself as I slide into my car. “Made it through the fire.” Okay, I’m exaggerating, but there are bound to be fires to contend with in the days ahead. Where money is involved, the ugly side of humanity comes out to play. And since we’re talking Pickwicks, it could get exceedingly ugly. Or ridiculous.
    I turn the key in the ignition, but nothing happens. I try again. Nothing. And five minutes later, still nothing.
    “Great!” I smack the steering wheel, but the engine isn’t interested in solving our differences by violent means, leaving me with no recourse but to call the rental company. They apologize, but since they won’t be able to send another car until tomorrow, I’ll have to postpone my visit with Uncle Obe. Of course, that could be a good thing as I won’t risk running into Maggie or Mini-Mag.
    I brighten. Tomorrow
is
another day.

6

    S ometimes I think I’d rather be plump. Then I could indulge in double-cheese pizza rather than low-fat-dressing-spritzed salad, heavy-on-the-cream ice cream rather than nonfat frozen yogurt, and lounging as opposed to running. I hate running. But here I am pounding the pavement