Yankee Doodle Dixie Read Online Free

morning. Sorry. John and I went to a movie last night and I left my phone in my coat pocket.”
    “I tried the home phone,” I say softly, ducking my head under the covers so as not to wake Issie.
    “You know we don’t ever answer that. Why are you whispering? Where are you, anyway?” she says, part Memphis drawl, part itching curiosity.
    I’m too tired for the surprise. “I’m at Kissie’s.”
    “YOU’RE AT KISSIE’S? Why on earth didn’t you let me know you were coming home?” Virginia’s voice could be heard clear across the room.
    Issie stirs slightly. “Shhh. Issie’s sleeping right next to me.”
    “Oops.”
    “The reason I never called is because I wanted to surprise you.”
    “I thought you weren’t coming for another month.”
    “The movers had an opening and they slid me in. You won’t believe how I’ve started to calm down. I’ve been back in town only a few hours and I feel like it’s all just been a bad dream. Like all I ever needed to do was click my ruby slippers together and it’d finally be over.”
    “What about the Yankee Doodle?” she asks. That’s her nickname for Peter. Having heard me babble about him like a teenager for the past eight months, she knew leaving him would be bittersweet. I couldn’t wait to tell her about the kiss though.
    “That’s a long story. I want to tell you about it in person. But Virginia, I’m home!” I say it a little too loud, but clamp my mouth tight, paralyzed at the thought of having to entertain Issie on this deficient amount of sleep should she wake up.
    “Thank. God.”
    “What time is it?” I whisper even softer.
    “Six.” Virginia’s children are early risers. They inherited that from their father.
    I roll over away from Issie and cup my hand over my mouth. “ Six? I just went to bed three hours ago.”
    “Can you meet at the club today for lunch?” Virginia whispers back.
    “I’m no longer a member, remember?” I say, half bitterly, referring to my charming ex-husband who terminated our membership.
    “Oh for goodness sakes, I’ll buy your lunch.”
    “I’ll pay you back.”
    “Like I’m really worried about that.” Virginia is very generous. She’d give me her last Coca-Cola, even if she were hungover and dying for it.
    “Do you think Alice and Mary Jule are free today?” I ask her.
    “They’ll have to cancel their plans if they aren’t. How about meeting at one? That’ll give you some time to go back to sleep. Where does Kissie live anyway?”
    “You know where Belmont turns into McGavock, before you get to Sycamore Cemetery?”
    “You better get out of there!” she practically yells. Up until now most of our entire conversation has been at a whisper.
    “Relax. I’m fine. She has iron on all the windows and doors.”
    “You’re a lot braver than me.”
    “Nothing is going to happen.”
    “Fine, then. I’ll see you at one, Fiery. Bye.”
    Virginia nicknamed me Fiery a long time ago. I was the only one in our class of forty girls with red hair. That was back when people would say, “I’d rather be dead than red on the head.” The neighborhood boys brutally teased me about it so much when I was little that I grew up hating my red hair and my freckles. Not to mention my curls. I’d have given just about anything to be Marsha Brady with her stick-straight blond hair and tan skin. Now everyone wants red hair. Go figure.
    *   *   *
    The last time I’d stepped foot in the lobby of the Memphis Country Club I was married to Baker Satterfield and living the life I’d always wanted. Or thought I’d always wanted. Now, I’m walking in the door a single mother of two little girls wondering where in the world I’m going to live and how I’m going to support them.
    My three best friends are sitting at a small round table in the corner of the Red Room when I arrive. Hard to believe, but the last time I laid eyes on them was last summer, May I think it was, when they surprised me after Baker left.