Changing Lanes: A Novel by Kathleen Long Read Free Book Online

behind the gleaming breakfast counter and poured a mug of her to-die-for coffee. She grinned as she slid the mug in my direction. “Have you seen the error of your non-clipping ways?”
    I gave a tight shake of my head. “Looking for Frank.”
    She pointed toward the far wall. “Careful. He’s on his third cup, and I’m not pouring decaf.”
    Super. Frank Turner was a fast talker—a ridiculously fast talker. I had trouble understanding the man when he
wasn’t
hyped up on Jessica’s famous high-test brew.
    I headed for the group of tables where the Clippers had spread their loot. The frenzy had begun. Members exchanged sale flyers and cut coupons with dizzying efficiency.
    I waved to Frank, but he shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together.
    “Time for the Booty Bonanza,” Mona called out.
    I reached Frank’s table just as Mona handed him a jar full of red tickets.
    “Not now, Abby,” he said. “It’s my week to call the numbers.”
    “But this will only take a minute.”
    “Step aside, landlubber,” Mona said.
    I thought about shooting Jessica’s grandmother my best death glare, but instead I leaned down close to Frank and dropped my voice. “If you could just bring me up to speed on the damage, I’ll—”
    “I heard it’s major,” said Polly Perkins, owner of the Paris Clip and Curl.
    “That’s what I wanted to talk to Frank—”
    Ted Miller, town pharmacist and the guy who had taken me to my first homecoming dance, interrupted me. “I heard they canceled your column.”
    “That’s just a temporary setback. I’m sure I’ll—”
    “I heard that accountant boyfriend of yours left town,” Mona chimed in.
    “I heard he left the country.” Frank made a
tsk
ing noise as he readied to pull the winning bonanza tickets.
    I pulled my cap a bit lower over my face and threw back a mouthful of Jessica’s brew to fortify myself. I stepped away from Frank. “Maybe you could just give me a call later on.”
    Jessica anchored her arm around my shoulders and steered me away from the group.
    “I think I hate those Clippers,” I muttered.
    She bit back a laugh. “Now, you know they have your best interests at heart.”
    “I don’t see how you can say that with a straight face.”
    She spun me toward the door. “Sorry to hear about your house. Any word from Fred?”
    I shook my head.
    Jessica tightened her grip on my shoulder, her features going serious. “Did you ever stop to think you didn’t give him much of a choice about living in Paris?”
    “Choice? I didn’t know anything about it.”
    Jessica shook her head. “Not Paris, France. Paris,
New Jersey
. Did you really give him a choice?”
    I knew she was speaking from experience, having been dragged down to Atlanta as part of her first husband’s scheme. Things between Fred and me had been different, though.
    “We had a plan,” I said.
    Fred and I had picked Paris as the midpoint between our jobs, found a house we loved, and paid a below-market purchase price. On the ledger sheet of life, our plan made sense.
    Jessica searched my gaze, her eyes softening. “You had a plan. Are you sure Fred did?”
    I drew in a slow breath, letting her question sink in. Truth was, I couldn’t answer her.
    “I’m going for a drive.” I handed her back the oversize coffee mug. “I’ll call you later.”

    The morning had turned a bit breezy by the time I fled the Clipper meeting. The sky had darkened, and storm clouds swirled to the west of town.
    I headed back toward my parents’ house, not knowing where else to go.
    A few pedestrians waved as I maneuvered Bessie through the streets of Paris. I waved back, buoyed by the kindness pervasive in Paris. Whether or not Fred came back, I was staying. Where else would people go so far out of their way to wave to you?
    I paused for a stop sign, glancing down at the polished wood dashboard and the gleaming trip meter box. Then I remembered the taxi sign on the roof of the car.
    The friendly pedestrians