Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel by Herta Feely Read Free Book Online

appointment book. “Mani-pedi with Thuy.” As she searched the long narrow room, she heard him say, “Pick a color, please.”
    Isabel nodded, finally spotting Thuy toward the back finishing up with another client. They exchanged a small wave. On occasion, Isabel brought Phoebe with her, treating her to a pedicure or manicure, and the two of them would sit on adjacent chairs and chat. In the shop, she now saw several such mother-daughter couples and a pang of envy stirred her. How long had it been since she was last here with Feebs?
    As she stood before the rows of nail polish, she tried to decide on her mood and match it with a color. She tended toward shades of pink, but today she felt like something different. It may have sounded silly, but whenever she left the shop, armored with perfect nails, she felt ready to battle the complexities of the world, of which there were plenty.
    A few hours earlier, a local DC politician, accused of misusing campaign funds, had shown up at her office. Most likely, news accounts were accurate; the guy was guilty. A charming man, really, she could understand the voters electing him, but now he was in trouble and he’d turned to her. She hadn’t said no, but her client list was full. Could she manage the case by passing it on to one of the new associates and overseeing her?
    The real problem was managing the success of her firm, something she occasionally felt Ron envied. He’d grown unhappy with his AP reporter’s job and aspired to more, perhaps in part because he was a descendant of the famous Edward R. Murrow. Never mind that she brought in nearly three times the income he did, which didn’t matter to her in the slightest, but on occasion she detected it bothered him.
    Relationships were fragile, she knew, and small fractures could develop into deep ruptures. Perhaps she ought to pay more attention, encourage him to move on. That’s when she remembered that she’d forgotten to call him to remind him of the evening’s event. First, though, she needed to pick a color.
    As she scanned the shelves, her eyes briefly rested on a row of polish worn by so many girls these days – turquoise, metallic blue, lime green, violet, yellow, puce, purple, black. For a fraction of a second, she toyed with the idea of painting her nails one of these rather exotic, youthful shades, until the vision of Jessie’s and Emma’s nails, invariably bedecked in black or blue, flashed through her mind.
    She didn’t really approve of these girls: Emma with her piercings and morbidly pale skin, and Jessie who exuded a kind of wild girl aura. They seemed to be on the fast track to trouble – Jessie overtly boy crazy, and Emma part of the “stoner” crowd, according to her friend Jane. Add to that the matter of drinking, which apparently Sandy had allowed at a party over the summer. Emma’s mother she didn’t know. She’d never attended a single Woodmont event. All these things, and more, made her uncomfortable. Perhaps Phoebe would find a new set of friends now that she was a freshman. Friends Phoebe would have for life, just as she had.
    â€œHello, Eesa-bell?” Thuy’s lilting voice called out, startling her.
    â€œBe right there,” Isabel said, examining a bottle with the name Key Largo. The name itself lifted her mood as she recalled a trip to Key West with Phoebe. They’d romped on the beach and built sandcastles. Phoebe’s five-, seven- and ten-year-old selves would be forever imprinted on Isabel’s heart, but what about this new, almost-fourteen-year-old version?
    What plagued Isabel now was how to keep her daughter safe. Especially after last year. Which again made her want to call Phoebe. “Oh, heck,” she muttered softly and dug the phone out of her purse. She tapped Phoebe’s name. The phone began to ring.
    What should she say? Just checking on you, honey? You’re not going to Adams