Swiping through the remaining days, she made a mental checklist. One item she was ready to put to paper when a number she didn’t know popped up on the screen. It came from Ogden, Utah, and while the city sounded vaguely familiar, it was probably a telemarketer. She sent it to voicemail and settled over a notepad and pen.
Get copy—Fear of Flying.
Confirm book club time.
Find last year’s planner—i.e., Founder’s Gala.
Check in on Mrs. Copeland—plan time to visit.
Return Maxwell’s coat.
She lingered on number five, her pen making loops to turn the period into the center point of a small flower. Another phone’s ringing echoed down the hallway outside her closed bedroom door. She ignored it, too. Landline calls were always for Gran. Anyone trying to reach Talia called her cell. And because her mind wasn’t in its normal state it casually wandered to a crazy thought.
Will Maxwell’s number ever show up on my phone?
Not that he’d have a reason to call her outside of work. He was clearly involved elsewhere. But…maybe.
She picked up her phone, touched the email icon, and scrolled. Just to be sure. There could be a gala emergency. Only when she realized how insane she was to even think the thought, she puffed out a breath and tossed the phone aside. There were probably a hundred women thinking about him right now, and only one who had the favor repaid. The perfectly womanly art professor. Not a little kid.
Frustrated with the thought, she rolled over onto her back, only to have his coat confirm her insanity—kid. The shoulders seemed oversized, draped frumpily over a baby-pink hanger. Its drab color out of place beside the cotton candy–colored walls Gran had chosen years ago. Nothing in the room had changed since then. Curtains, carpet, furniture…her. Everything hopelessly stuck in the past. Not a single thing new since she’d practiced kissing on pillows and filled diary pages with flowery odes to her crushes. Lying there, things that had never bothered her before started to stack on top of one another. Until the pile was so high she lost sight of the top.
The next second, Talia was off her bed and at her closet door. It didn’t take long for her fingers to find what she was looking for—a sleek. black sheath dress with a plunging neckline, a belt at the waist, and a short bolero jacket—very Jackie O, minus the pillbox hat. Was that what a kid wore?
Brushing dried grass from the still-damp kitten heels, she put the outfit together, added a small pair of amethyst cocktail earrings, and admired the look. If she ever wanted Maxwell to think of her as more than a kid, she’d have to prove to him exactly what she was.
A woman on the edge.
“Talia? Honey, can I come in?” Gran’s voice on the other side of the door was as soft as her knuckles wrapping against it.
“Sure!” Talia called over her shoulder, still admiring her chosen outfit, when the door swung open behind her.
“Sweetheart,” Gran cleared her throat. “Your mama is on the phone. She’d like to talk to you.”
It was a word that turned Talia’s blood to ice. Caught completely off guard, she spun wildly around, her smile vanishing, her eyes closing and then quickly opening wider than before. Her face pinched, and she silently pleaded with Gran to clarify what she’d just said. Her mama? That was a four-letter word, for sure.
“Why?” When Gran offered nothing else, it was the only word she could get out. She hadn’t talked to Lucy King in years. And with good reason.
“I gave her your number, but she said you didn’t answer. She wants to catch up. It’s been a long time since you two did that.”
More like five years, if Gran wanted to get specific about it. Not since Lucy called with her condolences. So why now? What was Lucy up to? Better question—why had Gran given Lucy her phone number? Too many questions to process. Talia looked around for a way out. The notepad sitting on her bed was the first thing she saw.
“Yeah, um, I was just about to step out and run some errands. So…” Talia remembered the towel on her head, quickly removing it and finger combing best she could. Hair be damned if it got her out of there faster. Talia grabbed the notepad, the phone, and her purse. “Maybe later.”
Talia brushed a kiss on Gran’s cheek and slipped through the door as quickly as she could. She was outside and pounding the sidewalk like a punching bag. Fresh air was good. Until her thoughts settled and the confusion turned to anger.
For twenty-three years, Talia and Gran had made their home in a small carriage house tucked behind a larger house in the center of town. Just the two of them. Meanwhile, Lucy had carried on a nomad’s life. Traveling wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Calling when she needed money, or to complain to Gran that another dream had failed to flourish. Lucy had never been a mother to Talia, only a sterling example of what not to do in life.
After a short walk she’d made a million times before, Talia was in the local bookstore, browsing shelves. It relaxed her. Calmed her. Put a buffer between her and Lucy. Walls were good with women like that. Lucy was toxic. And Talia was determined to be everything Lucy was not.
Ogden, Utah. The city was familiar now. Last year on her birthday, Gran had received a postcard of a mountain sunset with the city’s name in bold print. The level of affection required to remember Gran’s birthday didn’t sound like Lucy, but maybe it was. Talia easily found her title and turned for the desk.
Scrolling through her phone, Talia pulled up the Utah number and blocked it. It felt good. Empowering. She couldn’t get her number back from Lucy, but she could make certain she never got through. There wasn’t anything Lucy could say that she wanted to hear.
She was at the checkout line when she paused, looking at the cover of the book in her hand. It was innocuous enough. Bright red with a zipper positioned between two white streaks. If you didn’t know the book, you could easily think it was a manual to overcoming your fears. If you did know the book, you knew the reputation it enjoyed and that the lines were a woman’s legs, with the zipper pull dangling right above her clitoris.
She could have grabbed it from the library shelves anonymously. Lucy had changed her plans. And now, Talia found herself so out of sorts that she simply didn’t care.
Without the slightest bit of emotion, she placed the book on the counter, watched the young clerk’s cheeks flush slightly when she saw the zipper pull for what it was, and quickly reached for a bag to cover it.
“Oh, I don’t need a bag.” Talia embraced her power, swiping her card through the machine and quickly signing. “Thanks.” She tucked the book under her arm and felt so emboldened by it all that she decided to sit at the café and read the first chapter. It was better than heading back home.