Georgia on Her Mind Read Online Free PDF Page A

secretary, Alisa Bell, is a reminder to put the July Fourth weekend on our calendars and “if your address has changed, let me know!”
    Alisa has never given up the job of senior class secretary. In her mind, she was elected for life. In fifteen years I don’t think one of our Beauty High classmates has managed to come up MIA.
    “I can’t wait,” Lucy says. “Reunions are so fun.”
    Normally I’d agree with her, but in light of recent events, a reunion sounds dreadful. “I don’t know. I might skip this one. Wait for the twenty-year, where hopefullyI’ll show up married to a bazillionaire and running a Fortune 500 company.”
    “Macy.” Lucy picks up her purse and digs out her keys. “You’re one of the most amazing women I know.” She hugs me. “I know today was hard, but you have to believe God has a plan for you.”
    “I know. I know.” I spend the rest of my night getting ready to leave town. The laundry I meant to do over the weekend—but didn’t—has to be done. I load and start the washing machine, throw on my sneakers and drive to the office to pick up my computer.
    I’m dreading this new assignment—a week on-site with an antsy, uptight customer. I mutter to God all the way to the office and back about this new phase of my life.
    “Don’t understand what’s going on here…if You wanted my attention, You have it now…please, give me understanding…I promise to listen….”
    It’s late when I finally collapse into bed. My thoughts are all over the place, yet not thinking of anything at all.
    Just as I drift off to sleep, the phone rings. I toy with not answering. Who do I want to talk to at this hour? No one. But by the third ring, curiosity wins out.
    “Hello?”
    “Macy, sorry to bother you. It’s Elaine Woodward.”
    Elaine Woodward. Mrs. Woodward? Her first name is Elaine?
    “Hi.” I reach for the light.
    “Can you come over?”
     
    “Mrs. Woodward?” I call, cinching my pink robe and shaking water from my fuzzy green slippers.
    The front door’s ajar, so I peek inside and step subsequently into 1954. The furniture, the lamp stands, the doilies resting atop the easy chair, the entire scene straight from a ’50s Better Homes and Gardens. I find it comforting and warm.
    “Mrs. Woodward?” She’s lying on the couch, one hand over her stomach and one hand covering her eyes. “You okay?”
    “Macy, thank you for coming. I didn’t want to be alone.”
    “What’s wrong?” I ease down onto the edge of the sofa.
    “Pain,” she says with a deep breath. “Right here.” She presses her middle, between her ribs.
    Heart attack? Please, do not be having a heart attack. I am not EMT material. I faint at paper cuts.
    “I’m going to call 911.” Just the idea makes my heart palpitate.
    “No, no, I don’t want to bother them. I’ll be all right.”
    “Bother them? It’s their job.” What is it with the senior set and their preoccupation with bothering people?
    “No, let’s wait. I just didn’t want to be alone.” She sighs with a deep moan, her face pinched and pale.
    Do not tell me this is a clever ploy to get me over for a visit. If she asks me if I’d like a spot of tea, or a bowl of soup, I’ll—
    She moans again and I can tell she’s in real pain. I feel guilty over my lack of compassion.
    “Does your chest hurt? Arm numb?” I slip my hand under hers. If she says yes, I’m bothering 911.
    “It’s not a heart attack,” she mutters. “Could you get me a glass of water?”
    I dart to the kitchen, praying as I go. Despite the fact that I don’t know what to do for my ailing neighbor, it’s a relief to focus on someone besides myself.
    Mrs. Woodward’s hand trembles as she reaches for the glass, so I help her take a sip.
    I plead, “Let me call for an ambulance.”
    “No, it always passes.”
    “You’ve had these episodes before?” I take the glass and set it on a coaster. “What did your doctor say?”
    “I didn’t tell him.”
    “Mrs.