Read Online Adventures with Jane and her Legacy 01 Jane Austen Ruined My Life by Beth Pattillo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beth Pattillo
Tags: Jane Austen Fan Lit
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my dad asked.
"Dad?" Adam hadn't mentioned that my father was on the line as well.
"Not now, Howard," my mom said. "Honey, what do you need? What can we do for you?"
It's strange how even in your thirties, knowing your parents would still bail you out helps you feel better, even if you know you could never take them up on the offer, not without sacrificing every iota of adult independence.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"What about financially?" That was my dad. I could picture them, my mom on the portable handset and my dad in the kitchen, tethered by a fifteen-foot cord to the oldest functioning rotary dial phone in America.
"We can put some money in your account," my mom said. "If you need it."
And there it was. A way out of my difficulties, at least my financial ones. I was so tempted. But I was also a grown-up.
"No, thanks," I said, kicking myself for my stupidity even as the words came out of my mouth. "I'm fine. No problem."
"Well, if you're sure." My mom sounded relieved. "Call us every week, okay? Or e-mail."
"I'll e-mail," I said, seizing on the cheapest option. "Anne-Elise has Internet access here." A fact for which I was profoundly grateful.
"All right, then," my dad said. "Go to church, okay, honey? For me?"
"I'll do my best, Dad," I said, which kept me from adding another lie to my list of sins.
"Honey," my mom said, "why is Adam there? That just seems a little, well, coincidental."
I couldn't have agreed more. "Apparently Anne-Elise doesn't keep very good track of who she invites to visit, so we're sharing. No big deal."
"Still ..." My dad paused. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you being alone in a house with him."
"Dad, he's an English professor, not Frankenstein's monster." My parents were old-fashioned, to say the least. "Our bedrooms aren't even on the same floor. It's okay, really. And Anne-Elise should be back any day." This wasn't untrue. Just not precisely ... precise.
Dad harrumphed, which meant he wasn't happy with the situation, but he wasn't going to make a federal case out of iteither. Of course, I was a thirty-three-year-old woman who'd been married for years. It was a bit late to start lecturing me about my virtue. Besides, in my whole life, I'd never given them any reason to worry about my morals. It was Edward's morals we should have all been worrying about.
We said our good-byes, and when I hung up the phone, I expected to feel a huge sense of relief. Instead, I was swamped by another surge of loneliness and grief. At some point, I was going to have to tell them the truth about the breakup of my marriage, and how I was now unencumbered by gainful employment. How, in all likelihood, I might be moving in with them again in the near future.
But that would wait. For now, I had plenty to keep me occupied, like figuring out why in the world I had agreed to a rendezvous with Barry the next day. But mostly I needed to decide what in the world I was going to say to Mrs. Parrot, because I wasn't sure that my conjectures about the mysterious Jack Smith were what she'd sent me to Steventon to find.
My head now in as much turmoil as my heart, I bid Adam a quick good-night and climbed the stairs for the refuge of my bed. With any luck, things would look better in the morning.
After all, they could hardly get worse.
F ortunately for me, my return trip to Mrs. Parrot's house included an invitation to lunch. I thought of her home, crammed to the eaves with books and furniture and bric-a-brac, and wondered where she possibly had room to store any food. But these days I was grateful for anyone willing to feed me.
"Very well done. You're right on time," she said when she greeted me at the door. This time, she didn't take me into the lounge but led me farther back into the house.
"I hope you don't mind if we don't use the dining room." She ushered me into a small sunlit room barely large enough to hold a table and chairs. "Once upon a time, this was a butler's pantry, but I find it does well for my
"Dad?" Adam hadn't mentioned that my father was on the line as well.
"Not now, Howard," my mom said. "Honey, what do you need? What can we do for you?"
It's strange how even in your thirties, knowing your parents would still bail you out helps you feel better, even if you know you could never take them up on the offer, not without sacrificing every iota of adult independence.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"What about financially?" That was my dad. I could picture them, my mom on the portable handset and my dad in the kitchen, tethered by a fifteen-foot cord to the oldest functioning rotary dial phone in America.
"We can put some money in your account," my mom said. "If you need it."
And there it was. A way out of my difficulties, at least my financial ones. I was so tempted. But I was also a grown-up.
"No, thanks," I said, kicking myself for my stupidity even as the words came out of my mouth. "I'm fine. No problem."
"Well, if you're sure." My mom sounded relieved. "Call us every week, okay? Or e-mail."
"I'll e-mail," I said, seizing on the cheapest option. "Anne-Elise has Internet access here." A fact for which I was profoundly grateful.
"All right, then," my dad said. "Go to church, okay, honey? For me?"
"I'll do my best, Dad," I said, which kept me from adding another lie to my list of sins.
"Honey," my mom said, "why is Adam there? That just seems a little, well, coincidental."
I couldn't have agreed more. "Apparently Anne-Elise doesn't keep very good track of who she invites to visit, so we're sharing. No big deal."
"Still ..." My dad paused. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you being alone in a house with him."
"Dad, he's an English professor, not Frankenstein's monster." My parents were old-fashioned, to say the least. "Our bedrooms aren't even on the same floor. It's okay, really. And Anne-Elise should be back any day." This wasn't untrue. Just not precisely ... precise.
Dad harrumphed, which meant he wasn't happy with the situation, but he wasn't going to make a federal case out of iteither. Of course, I was a thirty-three-year-old woman who'd been married for years. It was a bit late to start lecturing me about my virtue. Besides, in my whole life, I'd never given them any reason to worry about my morals. It was Edward's morals we should have all been worrying about.
We said our good-byes, and when I hung up the phone, I expected to feel a huge sense of relief. Instead, I was swamped by another surge of loneliness and grief. At some point, I was going to have to tell them the truth about the breakup of my marriage, and how I was now unencumbered by gainful employment. How, in all likelihood, I might be moving in with them again in the near future.
But that would wait. For now, I had plenty to keep me occupied, like figuring out why in the world I had agreed to a rendezvous with Barry the next day. But mostly I needed to decide what in the world I was going to say to Mrs. Parrot, because I wasn't sure that my conjectures about the mysterious Jack Smith were what she'd sent me to Steventon to find.
My head now in as much turmoil as my heart, I bid Adam a quick good-night and climbed the stairs for the refuge of my bed. With any luck, things would look better in the morning.
After all, they could hardly get worse.
F ortunately for me, my return trip to Mrs. Parrot's house included an invitation to lunch. I thought of her home, crammed to the eaves with books and furniture and bric-a-brac, and wondered where she possibly had room to store any food. But these days I was grateful for anyone willing to feed me.
"Very well done. You're right on time," she said when she greeted me at the door. This time, she didn't take me into the lounge but led me farther back into the house.
"I hope you don't mind if we don't use the dining room." She ushered me into a small sunlit room barely large enough to hold a table and chairs. "Once upon a time, this was a butler's pantry, but I find it does well for my
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