The Angel Tasted Temptation Read Free Page B

you."
    For a moment, Meredith felt a twinge of regret for leaving like she had. For letting everyone down. She heard the concern in her mother's voice and knew that even though Momma was a germophobe to rival Mr. Clean, she handed out those Clorox Wipes with love.
    "I'm fine, Momma," Meredith repeated.
    "Have you stopped by to say hello to your Aunt Gloria yet?" Momma asked, referring to her sister, Rebecca's mother. "Maybe she can talk some sense into you. I just can't understand why you took off like a bat out of you-know-where."
    "I don't want to talk about that right now."
    Momma sighed. "Meredith, you can't just up and leave your responsibilities like that."
    "I just got to Rebecca's. I want to say hello and unpack and—"
    "Dear," her mother said, her voice lowering again, out of teapot range, "is her house clean?"
    Her mother's perennial question. To her, someone with a dirty house or untidy kitchen ranked in the same category as a potbellied pig with diarrhea. She didn't want either in her house, spreading what she called an air of disorder in her pristine environment
    Cleanliness was, of course, the best way to equate oneself with godliness. To her mother, those who couldn't find the time or energy to de-germ their homes weren't worth a broken cookie at the church bake sale.
    Meredith glanced around her. In her mother's eyes, Rebecca's disarray would be an offense against humanity, though Meredith didn't see anything potentially lethal in the room. Piles of preschooler toys grouped into colorful mini-mountains of leftover play around the room. A blanket lay haphazardly across the sofa, trailing onto the floor. And at her feet, a big, fat snoring beagle who smelled like mothballs.
    "Yep, clean as a whistle."
    "You make sure and watch how often she washes her hands and—"
    "I know, Momma. I have to go. I love you."
    Her mother let out a sound of discontent at having her hygiene lecture interrupted, then she softened. "I love you too, dear. Be safe. And remember, Indiana girls are good girls."
    Meredith ignored the flickers of doubt in her gut, said good-bye to her mother, then flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back into her purse. She was half tempted to turn it off, lest her mother call again, but had a sudden image of the cops surrounding Rebecca's house on good Shordon authority that only a hostage situation would prevent Meredith from answering.
    Meredith turned to Rebecca, who had ensconced herself in the opposite armchair. Rebecca's second pregnancy, now nearing the end at thirty-six weeks, was well pronounced, like the baby was determined to introduce himself or herself into every conversation. Rebecca wore her shoulder-length, straight brown hair back in a clip that she said kept it out of her eyes— and out of reach of the hairstylist-to-be fingers of her four-year-old daughter, Emily. Rebecca was a beautiful woman, one of the few in the family who hadn't been cursed with the Shordon mini-chest or the mega-nose.
    "Sorry," Meredith said. "When my mother calls—"
    "I know," Rebecca said, laughing. "It's like a primal urge to let our mothers keep having input in our lives, even when we're long past the legal drinking age."
    "It's masochistic.''
    Rebecca laughed. "At least your mother is a thousand miles away. Mine lives next door. One of these days, I swear Jeremy and I are going to have enough money to afford a house of our own."
    Rebecca lived in a small Cape-style house owned by her parents, Aunt Gloria and Uncle Mike, bought years before as rental property after Uncle Mike had transferred up to Massachusetts with a promotion from American Airlines. The houses sat a few streets down from the Charles River, close enough to catch the scent of the fresh water and a glimpse of the boaters.
    Their investment had paid for itself quickly in the desirable Cambridge area, so when Rebecca got married—and pregnant in quick succession—they'd rented the second house out to their only child.
    “I’m sure it