The Ghosts of Lovely Women Read Online Free PDF Page A

wrap-around porch. It was beautifully landscaped, and at Christmas it had been elegantly lit. P.G. and I had often walked past just so that I could admire the tasteful decorations.
    “Cute dog,” Derek Jonas said, ducking down briefly to retrieve his briefcase from the front seat of his car. He slammed the door. “Beagle, huh?”
    “Yeah. His name’s P.G.”
    He walked closer to scratch P.G. on the head. P.G., who is an attention whore, slitted his eyes with apparent ecstasy, holding very still so that Derek could do a better job.
    We both laughed. “He’s starved for affection, poor thing,” I said.
    Derek stood up after a final pat on the dog’s head. “Thanks for lunch today,” he said. “It was a lifesaver.”
    “I make a killer sandwich.”
    He smiled. He had nice teeth. “I’d like to return the favor. With dinner, maybe?”
    “Sure,” I said. “Just give me a call some time. I’m in the teacher directory. Did Anthony give you that?”
    “Yeah.” He paused. “I meant dinner tonight.”
    “Oh.” My inclination was to refuse, but my mind never provides a likely excuse when I need to offer one. All I could think of was “I need to spend time with P.G.” That was a bit too pathetic to say out loud.
    “Oh,” I said again. “Well — I mean—”
    “Just pizza or something,” he said. “It seems like you had a rough day, and I figure this will save you the hassle of having to make dinner.”
    That was very true. My creativity did not extend to making food, and every day was a new challenge. “Well… okay. What, uh—”
    “We could walk down to the corner. Jake’s. I assume you and P.G. live around here?”
    “Yeah. A couple blocks over. The Pines.” That was the name of my apartment building, which was flanked by several of those particular trees.
    “So maybe you could meet me here about six? We can walk there together.”
    “Sure, okay,” I said. He made it sound very natural and non-threatening, and yet my gut was clenching with the notion that this was, in fact, a date. I hadn’t had one of those in quite some time, and frankly I’d gotten used to life without the pressures of trying to impress a man.
    I sighed as I walked P.G. home. What a weird day. I just wanted it to be over; and yet sitting in my house brooding over Jessica (while I pretended to grade papers) would not be pleasant either.
    I washed my face and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater. The spring air had cooled considerably, and I hadn’t yet been foolish enough to put away my winter attire.
    Refreshed, I went into my little living room to scan the shelves; somewhere amongst my books was the paperback Jessica Halliday had given me. What had it been? The cover had been yellow, or gold… my eyes scanned for it, and there it was — at the end of the first shelf. It was a psychology book called
Embracing our Identities
, by someone named Dr. Janice Foster. The premise, according to the blurb on the back cover, was that all people had an “outer identity” and an inner one, and that few human beings could bring these two selves into harmony. Dr. Janice Foster had created a guide which “would help people to hear and respond to their inner voices so that their outer selves would have a clear life path.”
    It sounded like a re-hash of many other psychology books, a blend of common sense and creative writing. I flipped through it, sneering at chapter headings like “Put Blooms on Your Life Tree,” and “See With Your Inner Eyes.” Yuck. But to Jessica, this had probably seemed like a pathway to reinvention — a celebration of her burgeoning career. A card fluttered out of the book and in an instant I remembered what Jessica had said.
    “I’ll leave the bookmark in it, Ms. Thurber. You might find it interesting.” I saw her face clearly as she said this, even though it had been more than half a year. Her chin had lifted, her eyes a mixture of challenge and vulnerability.
    But I had been in a hurry by then. I