Sweet Caroline Read Online Free PDF

hippie beads, I hike my skirt to my knees and climb to my pew about ten feet up, wondering if the God of Andy might be available to talk.

DAILY SPECIAL
    Tuesday, June 5
Country Ham
Butternut Squash, Green Beans, Cheese Coins
Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits
Upside-Down Apple Cake
Tea, Soda, Coffee
$6.99
    5
    T o: CSweeney From: Hazel Palmer
    Subject: Carlos’s call
    Caroline,
    Carlos is extremely pleased you said yes. He buzzed into my office first thing this morning asking for your number. He’s calling you at four your time—TODAY. Be ready.
    Questions you might want to ask him are his expectations, job description and duties, your role on the team and with other projects. Think outside the box when you talk to him.
    He’ll probably ask you questions like your strength and weaknesses, expectations, give you a salary range. BTW, he realizes this is all new to you.
    This is muy fab, Caroline. Muy . Figure your arrival date for a week on the Mediterranean, in a villa, my treat, so we can have some fun together before work consumes your life.
    Love, Hazel
    CFO, SRG International, Barcelona
    Late in the afternoon, the Café is bathed in warm, sleepy sunlight that falls in speckled patterns across the thin threads of a weary carpet. The old walls and ceiling beams creak and moan, sounding every bit like an old man stretching as he rises from his favorite chair. Funny, I’ve been hearing the sounds for two years, but today I listen and am comforted.
    The old girl’s going to be all right. Get some new owners—by inheritance or sale—who have the wherewithal for an extreme makeover.
    Across the counter from me, Mercy Bea leans against Joel Creager’s table, telling him about her youngest young-son’s basketball shoes.
    “Two hundred dollars. Can you believe it? And he ain’t done growing.”
    Joel sips his coffee while shaking his head. “Glad I never had no kids. Who can afford them?”
    Smiling, I wipe down the ketchup bottles. I’ll miss afternoons like this once I’m in Barcelona.
    An electric flutter runs down my torso, causing me to draw a long breath.
    While sitting in the tree last night, talking to the stars, or perhaps God if He wasn’t otherwise involved—solving crime or formulating an eighth world wonder—this strange peace blanketed me. I’d felt some-thing like it once before—the night Mama died.
    When it persisted, I figured it to be my answer, climbed down from the tree, ripping my favorite skirt in the process, and called Hazel.
    The Café door’s Christmas bells jingle. Kirk Harris, Jones’s lawyer, walks in.
    “Kirk, hello.” What perfect timing. He’ll give me the terms of the will; I’ll give him my resignation. When Carlos calls—TODAY—I’ll be ready to talk start date.
    Mercy Bea abandons Joel and shoots over to Kirk. “Darlin’, we’ve been watching for you.”
    In his early thirties, the genteel lowcountry lawyer looks like a disheveled Ross Geller from Friends . Unruly dark hair, quirky, uneven manner. Today he looks as though he might have slept in his suit.
    “Caroline, you ready to see the will?” He starts for the large booth in the back with a quick step, shrugging to shed Mercy Bea.
    “Mercy, why don’t you get Kirk some coffee. Looks like he could use some. Bring a plate of biscuits.” I trail after Kirk, ignoring Mercy’s scowl. “How’d the inheritance case turn out?”
    Kirk drops his briefcase to the tabletop as if he’s just used up his last ounce of energy. “We settled it last night. Then celebrated . . .”
    “Party too much?” I ask, sliding into the booth across from him as he pops open his case.
    “I forgot I’m not in college anymore.”
    He passes a document to me. Jones’s will.
    This is it, Jones. Our final good-bye. For a moment, I entertain sadness.
    “Unless you love reading a bunch of legalese, just flip to the red sticky flags.”
    “Kirk, before we do this will thing, I want to give you my resignation. Of course, I’ll stay long