Rock of Ages Read Online Free Page B

very things that made Jenny good made her bad. Jenny stayed. Georgia left. Jenny looked after her parents. Georgia deserted hers to move up north (Virginia being for all intents and purposes Yankee country from the East Geddie perspective). Jenny endured with a quiet smile, never saying more than was absolutely necessary. Georgia found, especially on visits back home, that she couldn’t shut up, that she always somehow hoped she could give old acquaintances enough amazing detail about her life to make them understand why she didn’t stay.
    Nobody ever asked her why she couldn’t be like Jenny. They didn’t have to.
    Jenny, she wanted to tell them, didn’t have a chance to do what I did. If she’d had the chance, she might have done the same things, might have loved it, like I did, might’ve never wanted to come back and spend the rest of her life among bedpans and Wednesday night prayer meetings and neighbors who know every time you go out for groceries.
    Now, watching the rabbit reappear and continue its rounds, stopping dead still suddenly at the sound of some perceived, faraway danger, Georgia shakes her head.
    â€œYou know, Justin, you have to live with some guilt sometimes, or it will drive you nuts. You can’t do everything. You can’t sacrifice your life for other people’s happiness all the time, or it’ll just make you crazy.”
    Justin laughs, and she turns sharply toward him.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell,” he says, “that sounds like what I said when I told you Leeza and I weren’t going to get married just yet and you got so upset.”
    â€œI wasn’t upset.” Liar . “I just thought it would be better, you know, for the baby and all. I just didn’t want my grandchild to be illegitimate.”
    â€œMom, I don’t think they even use that word any more.”
    She lets it drop. She knows she is talking to someone who has spent two years living with the poorest people of a poor country, for not much more than room and board. He’s a good person, she tells herself. Get over it.
    Besides, she thinks, I can live with a little guilt. I’ve done it this long. Hit me with your best shot, Forsythia Crumpler.
    She stands there with her son, trying to digest the bagel, saying nothing else, watching the day come in.

CHAPTER THREE
    October 19
    The funeral is well-attended, although the only blood relatives present are Georgia and Justin. A handful of cousins from the Atlanta suburbs send their condolences and regrets.
    Georgia isn’t really sure what comes next.
    She has no real interest in dealing with another sad old home no one seems likely to want; she doesn’t think she has the energy.
    Her own father’s property is proving to be a hard enough sell. No real estate agents are calling to ask if the house’s residents can disappear for an hour so prospective buyers can have an undisturbed look at what the multiple-listings book calls “a real charmer, a testament to country living. Be the master of your own estate less than 10 minutes from downtown offices.”
    As if, Georgia thinks, there were many offices left in downtown Port Campbell—only the police and fire departments and social services, which were not allowed to follow the stores to the suburbs.
    Jenny’s house might bring someone some money, but Georgia doesn’t really need money. She isn’t rich, but what her father unexpectedly left her, plus her own savings, invested well, should be enough. Plus, she inherited a respectable sum and a nearly-paid-for house from Phil. And she has a good pension. She can see herself living a life, 20 years in the future, that includes a tidy, low-maintenance condominium near the campus, a good meal in a good restaurant once or twice a week and a trip to Europe every year. She won’t be rich, but who would be fool enough to expect that, after a life teaching English literature?
    The congregation