The Girl Who Chased the Moon Read Online Free Page B

weathervane on top of it. Past the houses and the park, the street turned commercial, with a series of touristy shops and restaurants squeezed side by side into old brick buildings. Emily counted seven barbecue restaurants, and she was only halfway down the business end of street. Seven . They were obviously the source of the smell that settled over the town like a veil. Woody, sweet smoke was rising from behind some of the restaurants in wisps and curls.
    There were a lot tourists around, mesmerized, as she was, by Mullaby’s old-fashioned beauty. The sidewalks were crowded, more crowded than she’d expected at that time of morning. She kept looking, but she couldn’t see J’s Barbecue and, out of nowhere, panic set in. One moment she was feeling happy and proactive, walking along this beautiful street, and the next moment she was terrified that she couldn’t find the restaurant she was looking for. What if Julia had been wrong? What if Grandpa Vance wasn’t here? What if she couldn’t find her way back?
    She started to feel light-headed. It was like being underwater, this pressure against her eyes and ears, always followed by sparkling confetti swimming along her periphery.
    She’d been having these anxiety attacks ever since her mother died. It was easy enough to hide them from Merry, her mother’s best friend, with whom Emily had lived for the past four months. All she had to do was close her bedroom door. And at school, her teachers would turn a blind eye when she stayed in the girls’ restroom, sitting on the floor by the sinks trying to catch her breath, instead of coming to class.
    The business end of Main Street was lined with benches, so she made it to the nearest one and sat. She’d broken out into a cold sweat. She wouldn’t faint. She wouldn’t .
    She leaned forward and rested her chest against her thighs, her head down. The length of the thighbone is indicative of overall height . It was a random thought, something she remembered from physiology class.
    A pair of expensive men’s loafers suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of her.
    She slowly looked up. It was a young man about her age, wearing a white summer linen suit, the jacket pushed away from his hips by his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets. He had on a red bow tie and his dark hair was curling around his starched collar. He was handsome in a well-bred kind of way, like something out of a Tennessee Williams play. She unexpectedly felt self-conscious in her shorts and racer-back tank top. Compared to him, she looked like she’d just come from a spin class.
    He didn’t say anything to her at first, just stared at her. Then he finally, almost reluctantly, asked, “Are you all right?”
    She didn’t understand. Everyone she’d met here so far treated her as if associating with her was going to hurt. She took a deep breath, the oxygen going to her head with the force of floodwater. “Fine, thanks,” she said.
    “Are you sick?”
    “Just light-headed.” She looked down at her feet, in ankle socks and cross-trainers, and seemed strangely detached from herself. Socks that only cover the ankle are not acceptable. Socks must be crew or knee socks only . So said the Roxley School for Girls handbook. She’d been at Roxley School all her school career. Her mother had helped found it, a school to empower girls, encouraging activism and volunteerism.
    Silence. She looked up again and the young man was gone, like smoke. Had she been hallucinating? Maybe she’d conjured up some out-of-time Southern archetype to go along with her surroundings. After a few minutes, she put her elbows on her knees and lifted herself just slightly.
    She felt someone take a seat beside her on the bench and she caught a nice, clean scent of cologne. The loud aluminum crack of a soda can being opened startled her, and she sat all the way up with a jerk.
    The young man in the white linen suit had returned. He was sitting beside her now, extending a can