The thought makes my heart do a somersault.
“You said they were coming to the wedding tomorrow,” I say accusatorially. “Why didn’t you tell me they were here when you picked me up? And what the hell—aren’t rehearsal parties restricted to family?”
“Rebels that we are, we’re breaking all the rules tonight,” Emma quips, opening her car door.
Ignoring her, I pull down the visor and check myself in the tiny-lighted mirror and immediately start rubbing mascara smudges from under my eyes. Then I catch sight of my hair. My brush is packed, so I make do with dragging my fingers through it, wishing it were still long enough to pull back into a ponytail, silently cursing Nina Stelleck, the fashion consultant I have on retainer, for talking me into cutting it so short. A bob is all the rage right now, she said. All the biggest actresses are getting one, she said. And with your thick wavy black hair, it’ll look gorgeous—professional, mature, and oh-so-nineteen-sixties-sultry. It’s perfect for your figure. Yes, my figure. My curvy, not-a-stick-person figure doesn’t seem to change despite the hours I put into training for marathons.
“You look fine,” Emma says.
Ignoring her, I reach for my bag on the back seat and dig through it, looking for my lipstick—my very red lipstick that Nina said was a must to add the “sultry” to the bob.
Emma groans. “Seriously? You’re going to do your makeup now? I need to pee. Hurry up.”
“Two secs,” I say with a rounded mouth as I smear lipstick on.
She steps out of the car. “You look friggin’ beautiful. Come on.”
I shove the lipstick back in my bag. “Hey, unless you know what it feels like to be the bratty little sister no one wants around, don’t judge.” I exit the car and scramble to get my luggage.
Emma makes a beeline to the powder room as I stow my suitcase in the hall and peek around the corner at the party. Looks the like the older crowd—the retired folk—have claimed the kitchen. There’s no sign of the cool gang, so I go in to say hello to my aunt and uncle from Toronto.
“Oh my gosh, Geri!” Aunt Janice yells as though I just surprised the crap out of her. She strides toward me with hands raised as if she’s about to praise the Lord Jesus. All eyes are on us, just like she wants them to be.
“It’s so good to see you again,” I say, clutching her forearms because I can’t hug her while she’s cupping my face.
“Oh, just look at you, all grown up.” Her hands drop to my shoulders, run down my arms, and stop at my elbows. She turns her head to give me a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “And so sophisticated. Our own little celebrity, working at Global.”
Her smile beams with pride, the rays going directly to my heart, and I stand a little taller. No matter how tedious I find writing the fashion column, I would be lying if I said I didn’t love the bragging rights.
“We’re all proud of you,” Uncle Jim says, stepping up to kiss my cheek.
Then I’m swamped with family reunions and introductions to some of the bride’s family and friends until Emma comes and extricates me so we can go find my parents. She precedes me through the house, out the back door, and onto the deck, where I have an overview of our backyard—the place where I made so many memories growing up. The expanse of lawn is still a little brown from winter’s snow, and the two old maples that stand sentinel between our little Cape Cod house and the rocky shore of Round Lake are in bud. The sun is low over the lake, the early spring evening cooling down quickly, and I know I’ll need my jacket when the sun takes its final bow. I pause to soak it in, this beautiful little corner of the world that will always be home.
“C’mon,” Emma says, misreading my hesitation. “They won’t bite.”
I start down the steps, my eyes roving over the mingling group. Even though they’re all older, I recognize their faces: Peter Boyd, the clown of the group; Michelle Ashton, beauty queen, bitch, and Sean’s old flame; Lacey Holmes, Michelle’s sidekick and ego-stroker; Helen Findell, Mark’s on-again, off-again girlfriend from high school; and in the center of the group is Mark with his arm slung around his fiancée, Shauna Richards.
It could’ve been a scene right out of my teenhood if it weren’t for Mom working the crowd with a tray of food in her hand and the few new faces in the crowd I don’t recognize—the tall well-dressed man resting his hand on Peter’s back, which may explain why Peter never had a girlfriend in high school; the bespectacled gentleman at Helen’s side; and the tall, muscular piece of eye candy Michelle has herself plastered against. Lacey appears to be on her own. And I don’t see Sean, which oddly helps soothe my frayed nerves even as it causes me disappointment.
As soon as Mom sees me, she hands off the tray to the person next to her and marches toward me with a big smile and outstretched arms. Walking so as not to drive my heels into the soft ground prevents me from hurrying toward her, but that doesn’t seem to matter because now that I’ve been noticed, the cool crowd is coming to me.
“Geri,” Mom says, wrapping me in her arms. She’s slightly shorter than me now, her height stolen by the years. “You’ve lost more weight, haven’t you?”
“You know I’m training hard for a marathon next month.”
“Be careful that you don’t ruin your knees, dear. You remember your uncle Al? He had to have both knees replaced.”
Dad is suddenly right beside us, cutting in to give me a bone-crushing hug. “I’m glad you’re home, honey. I missed you.”
I was just home at Christmas, I think to myself, but I say to Dad, “I missed you too.”
He eases off on the hug. “How’s that job of yours?”
I make the slightest hesitation before I say as brightly as I can, “Great.”
His smile drops, his eagle eyes having missed nothing. “Doesn’t sound like it.”
I shrug. “It has its challenges sometimes.”
His expression turns serious, wise, and fatherly, and he gives me an all-knowing kind of nod. “Everything in life worth having usually does. Just focus on getting your head and your heart in sync and everything will work out.”
That’s my dad’s litany in life: The key to happiness is very simple. Get your head and your heart in sync. It didn’t matter what was going on in our lives as kids—trouble with our friends, trouble with schoolwork, trouble with relationships, whatever—he always gave that same one-size-fits-all answer, as if it was the formula to solving everything.
“They’re in sync, Dad,” I lie.
Emma’s loud voice suddenly cuts through the din of chatter. “Hey, who’s watching Evan?” She takes off toward the lake, where my eighteen-month-old nephew already has one foot in the water.
“Hey, little sister.” Mark hugs me quickly then proudly presents the woman beside him. “You remember Shauna.”
“Of course.” I give her a warm hug, the kind I usually reserve for family, even though I don’t know her that well. I met her last Christmas when Mark brought her home to meet the family and announce their engagement. She and Mark met ten months ago, when Michelle Ashton brought her to one of Mark’s hockey games. “Welcome to the family, Shauna.”
Shauna compliments me on my office attire—a Nina-recommended ensemble of a soft gray high-waisted pencil skirt with a thin black belt and a slim-fit, silk ivory shirt. I compliment her on her designer jeans, silently wishing I wasn’t so damned overdressed.
In his typical style, Peter makes a show of elbowing everyone out of the way so he can be the first to greet me. “Hey, kid,” he says with a chuck to my arm and a peck on the cheek.
“Good to see you again, Peter.” He hasn’t changed much since high school. I would know him anywhere.
His eyes assess me and then he gives me an approving smile. “You’re looking good.”
“Yeah, but she’s probably still a brat,” Michelle Ashton says, an intimate affection in her tone as though we’re long-lost friends. “How are you, Geraldine?”
I flinch—an automatic reflex to hearing my full name, as Mic
helle well knows. A witty retort is on the tip of my tongue, but when I look into the eyes of the man standing next to her, my mouth suddenly goes dry.
It’s Sean Eastman.
End of excerpt
Copyright 2015 by S. M. McEachern
Published by Clownfish Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express prior permission of the copyright owner.
Summary:
The conclusion of Sunny O’Donnell and Jack Kenner
as they find their place in the New World Order.
Young Adult (16+) Science Fiction/Dystopian
Cover Art and Design: Nathália Suellen
Edited by: Laura Koons, Red Adept Editing Services
Proofreader: Christina Galvez
Author’s blog site: http://smmceachern.com
Goodreads Reviews: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23463467-new-world-order
ISBN: 978-0-9917330-5-7
(eBook ASIN)
eBook Edition January 2015
Quoted in New World Order:
Pacem in Terris: Encyclical Letter of Pope John XXIII On Establishing Universal Peace
in Truth, Justice, Charity, and Liberty, April 11, 1963. http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_xxiii/encyclicals/documents/hf_j-xxiii_enc_11041963_pacem_en.html
New World Order Page 34
