Read Everything’s Coming Up Josey for Free Online

laughing. Letting the sun soak my arms, nursing a…slushy? Or maybe something more exotic?
    There would be music playing, something hip and upbeat, maybe a Duke Ellington remixed jazz tune, and around me birds chirping, the smell of summer, the sounds of unfamiliar speech—
    Wait, I have to speak another language?
    Don’t interrupt!
    The sounds of unfamiliar speech. Perhaps I’m picking at a Greek salad. I’m looking svelte in a sleeveless silk blouse and black capris. My hair is long, sun-bleached, straight and a hint of pink dots my nose. I’m chewing, noiselessly of course, when a shadow cascades over me. I look up.
    â€œHi, Jose.”
    I expected him and I push out the wicker chair with my foot. “Sit down, Chase.”
    He’s looking tan because he’s been spending all that time in the mountains. His blond hair is long, slightly tangled and he’s a little rumpled in an oxford and chinos, as if he’s been in a hurry to get to me.
    Of course.
    â€œAre you in town long?” I ask as he sits.
    He shakes his head, and there is definite disappointment on his face. “Just for an hour. But I had to see you.”
    Elizabeth, eat your heart out.
    â€œWhat do you want?” I’m buying. After all, the guy crossed an ocean for me. But he leans across the table, takes my hand. It is warm and strong, and for a second the touch sweeps the breath right out of my chest. Then he smiles, his blue eyes gleaming.
    â€œJust you.”
    â€œJosey, I’m going over to Red Rooster to pick up their grocery ad for the week. Can you man the office for me?” Myrtle hollers from the Java Cup doorway.
    I blink out of the moment. Chase’s hand dissolves in mine, leaving it cold. I’m staring at my screen, which has gone into saver mode. The Microsoft icon twirls around the page. “Man the shop. Yes, right.” I sigh, straighten my shirt and quickly exit the browser.
    Yeah, I can man the office. But not for long.
    I’m going to Russia.
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    H gave me two things when she exited Gull Lake.
    1. The name of her hairdresser in Minneapolis.
    2. Her AOL IM identity for future counseling purposes.
    I’m not quite ready to coordinate my hair color with my clothes, but I need a friend tonight at 2:00 a.m., as the moon slants across Jasmine’s empty single bed and crawls toward me. I’m in my jammies—an old T-shirt with the Tasmanian devil plastered on the front. I’ve had it since I was sixteen and my future mate will have to pry it off my cold, dead body before I’ll part with it. If he doesn’t like cotton, an oversized beast and a little rip in the sleeve, then I’m not his girl. He might actually like the rip.
    I’ve got my laptop on my legs, and a glass of water with lemon sweating on the bedside table.
    One good thing about having a friend who makes her living mixing margaritas and fuzzy navels is that 2:00 a.m. is her prime time. Besides, Jasmine is still on her honeymoon. H answers my IM query.
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     Hello, Jose! What’s up?
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     Remind me why I’m doing this.
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    I’ve spent the last two weeks tracking down references, talking to my pastor, fielding objections from my mother, answering questions like, “What do you believe about Baptism?” (I don’t let Myrtle see my answer), taking a mug shot and getting a physical. (And I didn’t appreciate the doctor mentioning that I’d gained fifteen pounds since my last one. Good grief, I was twelve! Give me a break!) The finished envelope is sealed and sitting on my dresser. Like a bomb.
    Tick tick, I can nearly hear it waiting to explode and change my life.
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     You want more from your life.
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     But I have a pretty good life. I like Myrtle. And I have a view.
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     Do you want to be Myrtle? I’m asking because if you don’t do this you’ll end up inheriting her cabin.
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