Read Online Bike Week Blues by Mary Clay - Free Book Online Page B

European Studies? Darn it, she should have gotten a degree in
accounting and gone on to get an MBA. A good ole USA MBA. Maybe I
could still talk her into it.
    “What’s the temperature over there? It’s
going to be in the upper seventies here. Sunny, not a cloud in the
sky.”
    “Mom, what does that have to do with
anything?”
    “I was just thinking that England must be
awfully cold and dreary. You know, University of Miami has a great
MBA program. South Beach is the place to go.”
    “Momma, Patrick proposed.”
    I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Did you give
him an answer?” I finally managed.
    “I told Patrick he had to meet my parents
first.”
    I sighed with relief until the meaning sunk
in. “Parents, as in Zack and me?”
    Both brows went up as Penny Sue took a pull
of her java.
    “Well, yeah, you are my parents.”
    “You mean, us, together?”
    Penny Sue’s jaw dropped.
    “That would be nice.”
    “I’m not sure your dad will go for it.”
    Penny Sue nodded emphatically.
    “I’ll call him,” Ann said.
    “No.” I had to slow this thing down. She
barely knew Patrick—how could she consider marriage? “I’ll try to get your father.” I would try, I just wasn’t saying
how hard.
    “That’s great. Mom?”
    “Yes?”
    “Be happy for me.”
    “I am, baby.” I pushed the power button and
started to cry. Penny Sue plunked down her mug and rushed around
the counter to comfort me. At that instant Ruthie emerged from our
bedroom.
    “What now?” she moaned. “The humors in this place are clearly off. Leigh, do you still have that smudge
stick?”
    I motioned to the sideboard in the dining
area where Ruthie retrieved a Baggie containing the charred remains
of what looked like a bundle of broom straw, a feather, and a pack
of matches. She wasted no time lighting the mixture of sweetgrass,
cedar, and sage and fanning the smoke around the room. An American
Indian purification tradition, smudging was supposed to clear
negative vibes and invite the presence of good spirits. It hadn’t
worked all that well the last time. Ruthie said it was because we
didn’t use enough sage. Who knew? After the weird Zack dream and
Ann’s call, I was willing to give anything a try, even another
smudging.
    “Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Penny
Sue coughed as Ruthie fanned us with the smoke.
    “You know it won’t work unless I cleanse
your auras first.” We held our breath as Ruthie smoked us from head
to toe.
    “Whew,” Penny Sue snorted as Ruthie and
smudge stick moved into the hallway. “That stuff smells like
marijuana, doesn’t it?”
    “It’s the sweetgrass,” Ruthie replied.
“Grass is grass—it all smells about the same.”
    “I suppose you’re right.” Penny Sue turned
her attention to me. “Now, what’s wrong with Ann? Why in the world
are you crying?”
    I sniffled from the smoke as much as the
tears. “She’s in love with some old government employee. He’s
probably married and leading her on like Clinton did Monica. Ann’s
going to get hurt and humiliated. These old men preying on young
girls, they should be ... be ... have their privates cut off!” Then
I thought of Zack and his sweetie, a stripper who was clearly as
guilty as he was. “Well, maybe all the licentious old wieners
shouldn’t be whacked off—”
    Penny Sue went into hysterics. “They
wish!”
    “Mind in the gutter.” I shook my head. “You
know what I mean!”
    “Sorry,” she sputtered, clapping her hand
over her mouth.
    “Darn it, Ann is an innocent and, as far as
I’m concerned, this Patrick is a candidate for radical surgery ...
without anesthesia!”
    “Slow down,” Penny Sue said, finally calming
herself. “You’re jumping to conclusions, like Daddy did with
Sydney—” She grinned weakly. Sydney was the bisexual husband.
“Okay, a bad example. But, Patrick—that’s his name, right?—may be
sincere. Ann’s a lovable person. She’s sensible, too. Don’t you
suppose your values have