Single in Suburbia Read Online Free PDF Page A

good practice; a dry run of sorts.
    She drew a deep breath, but none of the words she knew she should say actually came out. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to spoil her parents’ cross-country trip; the one they’d been planning for as long as Amanda could remember.
    “Everybody’s fine,” she said in her perkiest good-girl voice. Then without meaning to, she repeated it in French, the translation popping into her head unbidden as if unleashed along with the memories she’d kept so tightly tucked away. “Ils vont très bien.”
    She’d just lied to her mother in two languages.
    “Goodness,” her mother said. “I haven’t heard you speak French in ages. Are you planning a trip?”
    “Not exactly,” Amanda heard herself say. “I just seem to have France on the brain right now.” This at least was true. Maybe she wouldn’t burn in Hell after all. “How’s your trip going? Where are you right now?”
    “We’re in Arizona, right outside of Sedona. We’re going to stay here for a few more days. It’s beautiful, Amanda, the sun setting over the red rock is just glorious. Your father’s been trying to photograph it for days.”
    Amanda could picture them there together, soaking it all in. Sharing the days and nights in the cozy motor home they’d purchased.
    “We thought we’d sort of work our way toward Atlanta. Maybe end up at your place.”
    “That’d be super, Mom.” Maybe by then she would have worked up the nerve to tell them the truth.
    “Hey,” her mother said as they began their good-byes. “Maybe Rob will surprise you with a trip for your anniversary. Maybe I need to put a little bug in his ear.”
    “Wouldn’t that be great?” Amanda asked as she bid her mother au revoir .
    It would certainly be a whole lot greater than the girlfriend he’d surprised her with for Christmas.

 

    chapter 4
    T rying to ignore the stares of the other adults she passed, Candace Silver Bernstein Sugarman picked her way over the gravel path toward the ballpark concession stand.
    She had to concede that the Prada jacket might have been a mistake. Ditto for the Italian calfskin demi-boots with the three-inch heels.
    “Damn.” Her ankle turned yet again and she windmilled to regain her balance as red dust flew and pebbles scattered around her. She was NOT going to land on her rear end in the middle of the Saturday morning crowd. A pint-size ballplayer with a bulging equipment bag slung over his tiny shoulder pointed a finger at her as he and his mother approached.
    “Look how fancy that lady is, Mommy!” He piped at the top of his voice. “How come she’s all dressed up?”
    The mother, who was dressed in jeans and sneakers like every other woman Candace had seen so far, shot Candace an apologetic smile and pulled her son along beside her. “I don’t know, honey. Maybe she’s going somewhere nice after this.”
    If only . Actually, Candace thought the child’s question a good one. An even better one might be: What was a nice Jewish divorcée with no children doing spending an entire Saturday afternoon at a Little League ballpark? And why would said divorcée offer to sell snacks while she was there?
    The answer was tall, dark, and Irish. And his initials were DD.
    By the time Candace reached the concession stand she had a red dirt smudge on the front of her jacket, a large chunk of gravel wedged inside her left boot, and absolutely no desire to explore this strange new world into which this Sugarman had never gone before.
    Too bad she couldn’t get Scotty to lock onto her coordinates and beam her up.
      
    Brooke Mackenzie also wished she was somewhere else. Like on her way to the East End Day Spa for her weekly mani and pedi instead of wending her way through a throng of Little Leaguers to a broken-down concession stand. But Hap was out of town yet again, and the former Mrs. Hap Mackenzie, who claimed to have the flu, had called to ask whether Brooke could take Tyler to the