The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (30 page)

He rested his folded hands on the reception desk. “Go ahead.”

“Susan obviously has a great deal of respect for you and relies heavily on your guidance.”

“I'm fortunate to have a daughter who isn't impulsive, as some young people her age are prone to be.” He dipped his head. “She's levelheaded enough to know when she needs someone with more experience.”

Millie chose her words carefully. “I wonder if she might be a bit too dependent on your experience.”

The pleasant expression chilled. “I'm not sure I follow you.”

“It's just that she seems unsure of herself. Her instincts and ideas are good, but when it comes to acting on them, she's unable to make a decision on her own.” She drew a breath. “About her business, and her personal life too.”

The eyes that bore into hers became rock-hard. “Is this about that construction worker?”

She'd touched a nerve, obviously. “Justin is a responsible young man, a business owner.”

“He drives a
motorcycle
.” The last word came out as a snarl.

“A very nice one. A collector's item, I'm told.” Never in a million years did Millie think she'd be put in the position of defending
a motorcycle, but the man's obvious disdain made her want to stand on the opposite side of the fence.
Any
fence.

“There is no place in Susan's future for a biker in a hardhat. She's worked too hard to throw it away on someone with an unstable profession.”

“Unstable?”

“Construction is seasonal and highly dependent upon the economy. She'll be much better off marrying an executive in the private sector, or a surgeon, or an engineer. And not just financially. She needs someone who is her intellectual equal.”

“Surely you're not questioning Justin's intelligence before you've even met him.”

He shrugged. “It doesn't take a high I.Q. to nail two pieces of wood together.”

At first she thought a phone was buzzing. Then she realized the sound was the buzz of her blood pressure rising. The sheer snobbery of the man rendered her speechless.

“Look, Mrs. Richardson. Millie. I know you're trying to be helpful, but believe me when I say I know my daughter better than anyone else in the world. I have her best interest at heart, and I refuse to stand by and watch her endanger everything she's worked for.”

If his expression were any more condescending, she'd be tempted to slap it off. In fact, her palm itched to connect with his face. If she weren't a Christian woman, she'd do it just for the satisfaction of seeing that smirk replaced by her handprint.

“In fact, I'm considering a change so I'll be closer. My bank has a branch in Lexington, and I might be able to pull a few strings to get an expansion. They need an executive on site in central Kentucky.”

So he could breathe down her neck. Pity washed over Millie for the poor young woman.

“I can't tell you how relieved I am, knowing Susan has friends who care enough to speak on her behalf. But rest assured, I won't let her go astray.” With a glance at his watch, he turned. “I think I'll run over to
Lexington and check into my hotel. Would you tell Susan I'll be back at six to take her to dinner?”

Robbed of her voice by a helpless numbness, Millie nodded.

“Thank you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you.”

Try as she might, she couldn't help but regard his parting comment as a threat.

A text. She'd ended their relationship with a text.

Susan rolled over on the futon, twisting the blanket into a knot, and covered her head with a pillow. But no matter how hard she pressed against her ears, she couldn't shut out her thoughts.

Coward.

Heartless, spineless jellyfish.

He deserved a phone call at the very least.

But it wasn't a matter of what Justin deserved. It was a matter of what she'd been capable of doing. And she knew without question that she would burst into tears the minute she heard his voice.

Daddy is right. I know he is.

But here, in her dark apartment with Puff as her only companion, it wasn't a matter of right or wrong. It was a matter of the heart, and hers ached in her chest.

The familiar
beep beep
of an arriving text pierced the silence like an arrow through an apple. Tossing the pillow aside, she scrambled across the mattress on hands and knees to grab at the phone. When she saw the sender was Justin, her fingers trembled so badly she could barely read the screen.

Trying to understand. Failing miserably. I miss you.

The words blurred as tears filled her eyes. For a moment she sat still, head bowed over the phone. Then she wiped her face on the corner of her blanket and returned the phone to the end table.

Why did doing the right thing hurt so much?

Chapter Twenty

A
n ancient brick building that looked to Al like a detention center housed Goose Creek Elementary School. All three of his children had attended kindergarten through fifth grade here. In all the years he'd lived in Goose Creek, he had never seen the school so crowded.

“I'm glad we walked,” Millie said as they turned the corner.

She might as well have said
I told you so,
since he'd wanted to drive. Turns out she was right, but he clamped his teeth against the admission. Parked cars lined the street, and a stream of slow-moving traffic crept along looking for a place to squeeze in.

A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the school, dozens of signs identifying them as Norman's protest group. Their number seemed to have doubled.

Al nodded in their direction. “He's gaining support.”

“I think that's both sides. There's Pete.”

Al looked more closely. The throng was comprised of two distinct crews marching along the sidewalk toward each other. Pete's blond head was clearly identifiable among the throng. The sign he carried tonight looked more professionally constructed, with a sturdy wooden post and stenciled lettering that identified him as a Council supporter.

Millie scanned the area. “I'm surprised Franklin and Lulu aren't here. They certainly enjoyed the demonstration last week.”

“I didn't tell him about it.”

Al felt no guilt at the admission. Pete had called earlier in the week to try to enlist him in tonight's demonstration, which he politely declined. Now that he had publicly thrown his hat into the ring as a Council supporter, he would stand by his decision, but joining a protest march was entirely out of the question. Thacker, on the other hand, would have leaped in with enthusiasm, which is why Al purposefully kept the information from his coworker. In just over a week, the Thackers would officially become Creekers. After that he would have no way of escaping the man. He saw absolutely nothing wrong in preserving his privacy in the meantime.

As Al and Millie neared the building, Norman and Pete approached each other. Tension rode high among protesters and onlookers alike as the two exchanged glares.

“Oh, dear.” Millie's hand tightened on his arm. “I hope they keep their heads about them.”

“If they don't, they won't be here long enough to hear the announcement.” Al pointed out a line of uniformed officers standing near the front doors of the schoolhouse, watching the confrontation.

When a scant three yards lay between the two leaders, they halted. Glares were exchanged. There may have been mutters, which Al couldn't hear at this distance. At the same moment the two whirled and retreated, marching in the direction they'd just come. The Richardsons joined the rest of the onlookers in breathing a sigh of relief.

“Look, there's Violet.”

Their stout neighbor caught sight of them and hurried over. “We're gonna be packed like sardines in that gymnasium,” she announced. “Squashed like zucchini. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder.”

Millie tossed him a warning glance and replied before he could roll his eyes. “We'd better get inside, then. I want to get a seat.”

Rather than cross the picket line, Al made his way through the grass. He nodded a greeting at the stern-faced deputies, who did not respond, and joined a slow-moving stream of Creekers entering the
building. The familiar smell of pencil erasers and old books permeated the air, reminding him of PTA meetings when the kids were younger.

Folding metal chairs crowded the gymnasium floor, row upon row of them, set up to face the stage at the far end beneath the basketball goal. Most were occupied, though the first few rows on each side of the center aisle had been roped off. The bleachers had been pulled out along one side, and they were less crowded.

“There's Susan,” Millie announced, her voice relieved. She took off toward the bleachers, Violet in tow.

Al opened his mouth to protest. He didn't relish the prospect of sitting on a hard bench with nothing to lean against, but his wife plunged into the crowd. Unless he wanted to sit alone, he had no choice but to follow.

The veterinarian greeted them with a polite smile that failed to reach her eyes. Millie had told him about her father's arrival and her subsequent dumping of Hinkle. Looking at her tonight, she certainly didn't look happy about it. In fact, she looked downright miserable.

“I'm glad you came,” Millie told the girl when they'd settled themselves beside her.

“The more I thought about it, I realized you were right. Since I'm a new resident, I'd better put in an appearance.”

Violet leaned forward and spoke over Al. “A Creeker, dear. That's what we call ourselves.”

Susan nodded, her expression serious. “Creeker. I'll remember.”

“And where's your father?” Al glanced around the area, looking for a tyrant with an unkind gleam in his eye. According to Millie, the man might well have horns on his head.

“I forgot to tell you. He got called back to Paducah for an urgent meeting.” Millie offered the explanation in a distracted manner, busily scanning the gymnasium.

“He'll be back up for the weekend to go over the clinic's books,” Susan offered. “Accounting isn't one of my strong points, but it definitely is his.”

Her reply held neither sorrow nor relief, which stirred a sympathetic response in Al. Millie was right. The poor girl was being suffocated by her well-intentioned father, and she didn't even realize it. Millie interrupted her perusal of the crowd to flash him a knowing glance, and then returned her attention to searching the attendees. No doubt taking mental notes of who attended and who didn't so she could compare notes with her cronies tomorrow.

A commotion on the floor drew Al's attention. Norman and his followers filed through the door, led by a pair of deputies. They marched down the center aisle, signs held high. Little Norm had even donned fresh jeans, a collared shirt, and a tie, at which he plucked continually. Their guide led them to the reserved seats in the front.

“Is the mayor crazy, sitting them up front like that?” Al asked Millie.

When Norman's group had been seated, another pair of deputies led the opposition into the gym. They took their seats with many a glare exchanged across the aisle.