Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) Read Free

it.
    I sat on Francine’s unmade bed while she fumbled to find the number for campus security. Like Macy, Francine had a single room, smaller than Katie Lee’s and mine. She chose lavender for her bedding, desk cushion and rug and had installed a shelf above her bed for framed photos. I gazed at the faces. Big smiles and equally big hugs at an outdoor picnic, an older man in a boat holding a grouper and the photo of Francine and her great memaw in the frame that I’d rescued from the hallway pileup.
    Francine’s voice rasped as she spoke into the phone. “Racial graffiti has been spray painted on my dorm door. This is Francine Battle, Grogan Hall, 7 th floor.”
    As Francine hung up, Katie Lee shouted, “Rachael, it’s your daddy on the phone.”
    Mom and Dad had arranged to check on me on Sunday afternoons. They referred to it as a weekly social call, but I knew better. It was a make-sure-you’re-not-partying-too-hard call since you’ll be hearing from us every Sunday. I’d been away for less than a week, and had already spoken to them on Sunday. Getting an additional call midweek irritated me. A once a week check up was plenty, and I almost asked Katie Lee to tell Dad that I’d dashed off to class, but reconsidered.
    “Are you alright?” he asked.
    “Of course I am,” I said, keeping my voice sharp so I’d pass his sneaky surprise inspection. I watched Katie Lee leave the room with a towel and shampoo caddy. She said something about showering before campus security showed up.
    The words Dad spoke into my ear hit me like a winter white out, and my head went blank. “Your mother has walked out after twenty years of marriage.” I’d heard his voice, but couldn’t digest the news.
    My mother would never leave my dad. He must have done something. I wondered if he’d had an affair and asked, “Why would she do that?”
    Dad cleared his throat. “She scribbled a note on a piece of planetary stationery. Your mother left to be with a group of healing psychics. Says she’s gone to find her inner-channel.”
    My ears tuned out the hallway chatter and an icy chill froze my insides. I went into lockdown. “Mother. Psychic? Since when?” She never knew I borrowed that twenty out of her purse or that I forged her name, so I didn’t have to dissect a frog in biology. Did she?
    “Rachael, I didn’t phone until I was certain that this wasn’t a hoax. I hired an investigator. Your mom is staying at a private residence in Sedona, Arizona.”
    “Arizona? We’ve never been to Arizona. Does this P.I. have a license? Why did she go there? What if she was kidnapped or drugged?”
    The phone went silent. “Dad, are you okay?”
    “Bear with me,” he said, his tone sounding small and distant. “What I’m about to tell you falls under the category of mumbo jumbo. I’ve done some research. The red rock that surrounds the town is known in certain circles for its vortex, ancient mystical frequencies, and healing power. There, I said it.”
    “This is ridiculous. Have you called her? When are you going to bring her back?”
    “Rachael, there are no phones and the property is surrounded by high walls and a guarded gate.”
    “Are you sure the Moonies or the Mormons don’t have her?”
    Dad sighed, and I heard ice cubes clank. To deliver this news, I guessed he’d upgraded from beer to something over ice. “I’m sure. I thought about marching out there to bring her back until I consulted a lawyer. He said, if I did, I’d probably be arrested. She has to come home on her own. Hopefully this craziness will wear off, and she’ll call one of us.”
    After exhausting every explanation we could think of, our conversation dead-ended over Mom’s newfound calling. When I hung up the phone, my core rattled with an emptiness I’d never felt. Manic emotions floated inside me, and I didn’t know which to pick: Anger, guilt, fear. Disbelief of her abandonment fermented. It seemed so bizarre; my parents were diehard Sunday