Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 (29 page)

I
stood
on my mother’s front porch, my stomach a swirling mass of nerves and anxiety. I knocked on the door and stood back, prepared for rejection.

But rejection was something I had become accustomed to facing. Most of my adult life had been based on it. I could handle this one too. Or at least that was what I told myself as the front door opened.

Momma stood in the opening, her eyes wide in shock. The skin on her face was paper-thin, and dark half-moons lay under her eyes. Her hair was thinner than before, and she’d lost weight. How had I missed the signs of her sickness? Maybe I saw it because I was looking for it now.

“Magnolia,” she said in confusion. “You’re supposed to be boarding a plane.”

“I changed my mind. Can I come in?”

But she blocked the doorway. “I don’t need your sympathy, Magnolia Mae Steele.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Nor do I need your pity.”

“No worries, Momma. You should know by now that I’m incapable of feeling either of those two emotions.” I jiggled my suitcase handles. “Now let me in.”

Her eyes softened. “What about your part in the play?”

I sucked in a breath, still hoping I’d done the right thing. “I listened to your advice and decided if I go back, it will be with my head held high. I’m not going to try and ignore my disgrace like the emperor and his new clothes.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I know you won’t give me a job, so I’ll find another one. And a place to live too. I don’t expect a handout.”

She frowned. “I live in a big house. You could stay here with me.”

“We would be at each other’s throats in a matter of days, and you know it. This is better.” For now. I would probably have to move in to take care of her sooner rather than later. But I had to ease my way into it. We both did.

“Don’t do this for me,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “Don’t you go giving up on what you love for me.”

“Momma, don’t you get it?
You
are what I love.
You
. If I go away, I’m giving up you. And I refuse to do that anymore. No matter what.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “We might be able to arrange for you to have a job in the catering business after all.” She winked. “Someone told me the files and the calendar need updating.”

I knew it would require some serious compromises from both of us to make that work. We’d ease into that too. I gave her a coy smile. “We’ll see.”

“But the theatre . . .”

“A wise woman told me not to sell myself short. And if I go back right now, I’ll be hiding in the shadows of my embarrassment. I’d rather let things die down and then start over.” Starting over scared the shit out of me, but I’d deal with that later. “Can I come in now?”

She paused. “This won’t be pretty, Magnolia. This is going to get ugly and messy, and you’re gonna want to run from it. But if you stay, I need to know I can count on you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Then I ushered her back inside and closed the door behind us, making sure the deadbolt was tight.

Momma was right. Things were about to get ugly and messy, but not exactly how she expected.

D
enise Grover Swank
was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

Y
ou can find
out more about Denise and her other books at:

www.denisegroverswank.com

or email her at
[email protected]

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