The Thing About Home by Rhonda McKnight EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Rhonda McKnight
- Language: English
- Genre: Southern Fiction
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March 2, 2019
I stepped into my limousine and pressed the bottom of my wedding dress
flat. The scent of coconut and lemongrass filled the interior of the cabin. I
imagined if cream and sunshine had a scent, this would be it. Today, I
needed aromatherapy to do what it was supposed to do—relax me.
“Congratulations on your wedding.” The driver offered me a genuine
smile.
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“Thank you. It’s a vow renewal ceremony.” I hunched my shoulders like
an excited teenager. “Seven years.”
“That’s a lot to be proud of. He’s a lucky man.”
Drew and I were both lucky. That’s what I’d told myself just this
morning, but still an uneasiness rose in my belly and formed a knot dead
center. Something was bothering me, and I couldn’t put my finger on what.
A lingering shiver died in the heat of the warm vehicle. I dropped into the
plush leather seat and pushed the niggling thought of worry from my mind.
Heaven.
I closed my eyes and moaned like I’d taken shoes off after waiting tables
for twelve hours. This car was everything.
The door opened again. “I have your bag.” My assistant, Swella Avery,
was gifted in assisting.
I opened my eyes and squinted against the sunlight gleaming over
Swella’s shoulder. “As soon as I get back from my honeymoon, you are
getting a huge bonus.”
Swella’s green eyes bugged like glassy volcanic rock. Her luminous,
spiked red hair shot out like lava from a recent eruption. “Please let it be
enough for the new Valentino jeans.”
I laughed. “Done. Now, don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t anything me.
I need a few minutes of peace.”
“Peace is yours.” Swella poked her head in and inhaled demonstratively.
“I didn’t overdo it with the spray, did I?” Not waiting for my answer, she
snatched her head out. “We’d better get going.” She waggled her shoulders
and reminded me, “It’s almost over.” With a shove of the door, she
disappeared. I was sure she was just glad to get this day ticked off her to-do
list. It was seven months in the making, and I’d been running her all over
the city.
Guilt rushed in. I could have let her ride with me. That’s what she’d
wanted. That’s what the whole “I have your bag” intrusion was about, but I
didn’t owe her a piece of my space. Not today. I wanted quiet. I wanted to
be alone with my thoughts.
The car rolled forward, moving effortlessly through my Park Slope
neighborhood, past Prospect Park on the left. I watched the tops of bare
trees fly by. A light coat of ice from the sprinkling of snow we’d had the
day before decorated the limbs. I was hopeful they would have leaves soon.
A month ago, the groundhog forecast an early spring, but he was unreliable.
New York winters submitted to no authority, certainly not one steeped in
superstition and regulated by a rodent.
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