Belle Pointe. Karen Young

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СКАЧАТЬ He’d certainly managed that.

      His face brightened when he looked up and saw her. “Anne!” He rose from his computer and motioned her inside. “Bea called and told me you were headed this way.”

      “Don’t let me interrupt whatever you’re doing, Dad. I’ll just look around and get acquainted until you’re free to talk.”

      “You aren’t interrupting anything and I mean that literally.” He looked at the screen of his monitor with disgust. “I’ve spent the afternoon trying to write next week’s editorial. So far, I’ve deleted almost everything I’ve written.”

      He waved at a chair. “Bea suggested you might want to look at the Spectator archives. Curious about the Whitakers, are you?”

      “The Whitakers and other Tallulah history. The Mississippi Delta is a very unique place. Maybe I’ll write a book.”

      Franklin looked delighted. “Good idea. And I think you’ll find the Whitakers figuring pretty prominently in your research.”

      “I was kidding, Dad.” Unwilling to interrupt him, she lingered at the door. “Actually, I was thinking that since there’s a political campaign going on I might do something with that. I ran into Pearce as I was pumping gas and he gave me the idea himself. Of course, he suggested an article favorable to him, but I thought it would be interesting to put Pearce and his opponent in the same article, showing the contrasts in their platforms.”

      “Good idea. I’ll schedule it for next week’s edition.”

      She gave a small laugh. “Just like that? What if it doesn’t meet your standards?”

      “Then I’ll act like an editor and demand revisions,” he said.

      “Gosh, you make it sound like I have a real job.” But she was smiling. Just the idea of working again and her adrenaline was flowing. “By the way, who is Pearce’s opponent?”

      “Jack Breedlove, the current chief of police and a hometown boy who returned to Tallulah after a stretch in the army. He was discharged after an injury in the Gulf War. He’s about the same age as Buck, so I bet he could give you a few insights into Jack’s character.” He gave her a sly look. “Of course, you’d have to call Buck to pursue that source for your research.”

      “Give it a rest, Dad,” she told him. “I think I can research the article without Buck, who probably hasn’t seen Jack Breedlove since they both graduated from high school.”

      Franklin, still smiling, shrugged. “Just a suggestion, Annie.”

      “Okay, now I’m really fired up.” She gave two quick taps to the door frame and stepped back, ready to begin. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started.” Without turning, she backed into a person hovering in the doorway. “Oh, excuse me! I didn’t know there was someone there. Did I step on you?”

      “No.” The reply was terse, almost rude.

      “You remember Paige, don’t you, Anne?” Franklin asked.

      “Of course.” Somewhere beneath a mass of coal-black hair tipped with neon orange, Anne recognized the youthful and vaguely familiar face of Buck’s teenage niece. She had missed seeing Paige at Franklin and Beatrice’s wedding. The teenager had been away on a skiing trip to Colorado. “How are you, Paige?”

      Appearing utterly bored, the girl turned, exposing an ear pierced with no fewer than six tiny silver rings. “I’m okay.”

      In light of her bizarre appearance, okay was not the word that came to mind, Anne thought. Paige’s eyes were outlined in dark mascara, which matched the hideous purple on her lips and nails. Slim to near anorexic, she looked even more wraithlike in a long, straight black coat and boots, which appeared to be at least one size too large and more suitable for combat duty in a war zone than for the rigors of middle school.

      “You’ve grown since I was here last,” Anne said faintly, hoping her reaction wasn’t revealed on her face.

      “People grow.” She looked beyond Franklin to the window that framed a view of the town square. “Is Uncle Buck with you? Is he going to recuperate from his accident here in Tallulah?”

      “No, Buck stayed in St. Louis.”

      Paige frowned. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

      “He has tons of people helping him,” Anne said. “He won’t miss me.”

      Paige turned then and studied Anne briefly. “They said you were in the accident, too. Were you hurt?”

      “Not seriously.”

      “Paige,” Franklin explained, “is spending some time here at the Spectator after school to earn extra credits toward her grade in English.”

      Paige rolled her eyes. “He makes it sound like I volunteered or something,” she said to Anne. “It was do it or die. When my grades in honors English tanked, the Dragon spoke and the parents agreed, of course. I swear people in prison have more choices than I do.”

      “The Dragon,” Anne repeated. “That would be your…teacher?”

      “No, it would be my grandmother. My teacher is actually okay. Almost.”

      “Isn’t honors English a class for students with exceptional talent?” Anne asked.

      “I wouldn’t know since I don’t have exceptional talent,” Paige replied dismissively. “Which I tried to tell everyone, but when have they ever listened to me? When has anybody ever listened to me? It’s like I’m expected to turn into Maureen Dowd or Ann Coulter or somebody.”

      “Are you into politics?” Anne asked, trying not to smile at mention of the famous female pundits. It was remarkable that Paige even knew their names.

      “God, no! One person in the family with politics on the brain is already one too many.” She huffed out a disgusted sound. “That’s all my dad ever wants to talk about and it’s so, like, boring.”

      “You know, it occurs to me that Paige’s current project makes her the logical person to give you a tour of the archives,” Franklin said. “She’s organizing a shipment of records that came to me from the estate of a professor at Vanderbilt. Paige,” he turned to the teenager, “would you show Anne around down there while I try and finish this editorial?”

      “I guess so.” Paige wasn’t exactly gracious, but she didn’t refuse. As Anne followed her down the hall, she wondered why Paige chose to dress as if auditioning for a role in a horror movie. What she’d read about kids who were into Goth was that they were, for the most part, troubled teens. Certainly, Paige’s bizarre dress, grades that had tanked and open hostility to authority were danger signs. As much as she longed for motherhood, Anne wasn’t blind to the challenges of raising kids.

      “How is your mom, Paige?”

      “Claire?” A shrug and an exaggerated look at her wristwatch. “Hmmm, probably on her way home from Memphis about now. She goes there at least three times a week. She’s a shopaholic. But when I want something really, like, cool to wear, she flips out. Like my taste in clothes just sucks and her taste is perfect.”

      Claire СКАЧАТЬ