Everything’s Coming Up Josey by Susan May Warren Read Free Book Online

my dusty closet, where I’ve hidden it behind two bridesmaid’s dresses.
    What is it with Jasmine and poppies? I can already feel my lungs bunching up.
    â€œIt’s too small,” I say, trying to deflect the truth and pretty sure I’m right.
    She shakes her head. “No, it’s a size bigger than I wear. I know it will fit you.”
    Oh, thanks, sis. I force a smile. “Right. Thanks.”
    â€œBesides, you look great in sleeveless.”
    She’s the one who looks great. Tanned, blond hair down her back and a glow in her eyes that hasn’t dimmed once since the honeymoon two weeks ago. Even when I told her that yes, I was for sure going to Des Moines. And Russia. She blinked a couple times, but the glow stayed.
    I don’t want to know why. Please, I’m not even going to wonder.
    Okay, yes, it bothers me more than just a little that I am the last remaining virgin over the age of eighteen in a sixty-mile radius. Not that I want the goodies without marriage, but the fact that my younger sister can sit over there and glow—well, see, I knew I was better off not pondering all this.
    I throw the dress on the bed, unsure what sisterly urge to pursue at the moment.
    â€œHow long will you be there?” she asks as I survey my shoe selection.
    â€œTen days.” I’m adding in the training session because I know they’ll accept me. But ten days is my limit because, being practical as well as confident, I only asked Myrtle for time off instead of quitting altogether.
    I return to my closet. I really like my black, high-heeled sandals, but I’m not sure I can afford a pedicure before I leave and well, my toes aren’t my best feature. I grab my old faithful leather closed-toe mules. (I’m sorry, but when in doubt, go with comfort.) Which then commits me to the capris, a few cotton sweaters and tanks. And I add in the floral shell (Jas is looking, and I’m past the petty moment) and a black shirt-waist dress that sheds a few pounds. Especially if people squint a little. You know, I’ve found that if we all just squinted more often, the world would be a much easier place to live. Blurry is nice.
    Reality hurts.
    Like the fact that I haven’t heard from Chase since he left, not a huge issue, but still the guy has my e-mail address. And I happen to know he has a cell phone. I helped him pick it out last summer when he was home for vacation.
    He hadn’t mentioned Buffy then. Hmm. Not even when I drove him back down to the Twin Cities for his flight out. Nor do I remember him looking as good as he did at the wedding. I do recall, however, grimy jeans, a torn flannel shirt and a battered Twins hat.
    I don’t want to know who his personal groomer has been.
    We listened to country music—his choice—and he crooned a few songs and told me about the assignment he just finished in Tuk, Alaska. He specializes in studying people. Which seems like a pretty strange profession for a guy who couldn’t figure out that half the Gull Lake senior class was in love with him. I mean, couldn’t he see the girls trailing after him like groupies, hanging out at the Dairy Queen (he did look kinda cute in that paper hat) and showing up at his baseball games? I practically had to fight the crowds as I brought him his chilled bottle of Gatorade!
    But now the guy contemplates humanity. He writes studies and reports on people groups, on behaviors, on marriage rituals. I wonder what kind of marriage ritual he’s preparing for him and Buffy.
    Do. Not. Go. There.
    I should have kissed him goodbye instead of the one-armed hug at the curb.
    There are a lot of things I should have done.
    â€œAre you flying?” Jas asks, reminding me that I have a future for which to prepare.
    â€œNo. It’s only seven hours. I can manage.”
    â€œBut can your Subaru?” She laughs. Oh, hardy har har.
    â€œI’ll be fine. Lots of Diet Coke.” I close my