Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,71

now, and time to face the music.

She just hoped it wasn’t a funeral dirge for her career.

“You can do this, Hannah. You were honest with them. You should be able to handle them returning the favor.” She drew in her breath, rifled through her makeup case for a hair scrunchie and padded barefoot to the small table where her laptop still sat open.

She settled into the sturdy little chair, brought her feet up and pulled her hair back. She caught a glimpse of herself in her laptop’s blackened screen. With her once-sophisticated hair caught up in a ponytail, with no makeup and wearing pink pajamas with green cats on them, she looked all of twelve years old.

She felt all of twelve…and a hundred and twelve…all at once.

“Deep breath.” She took one. “Turn on the computer.”

The machine hummed to life.

“And…connect.” She pressed the button and waited.

“You’ve got—”

“Mayhem!” she said loud enough to drown out the cheery synthetic voice that usually greeted her when she checked her e-mail. “What is going on here?”

Screen name after screen name scrolled up one after the other, and not a one of them trying to sell a thing. It wasn’t the number that staggered the mind, though, it was the names. Practically her whole address book accounted for.

And reading the headers, she instantly knew why.

Her fingers flew over the keys to help her confirm.

“I didn’t.” But of course she had. Physically worn-out from the trip, emotionally worn down from the events of the day, when she had opened her address book to send her column off to her editor, she clicked the wrong icon. She had accidentally sent her unedited, extemporaneous outpouring to everyone she knew.

And apparently most of them felt moved to respond.

One. That’s the number of people she had prepared herself to hear from, the exact amount of criticism she considered ample for the piece she had submitted. “But now the whole world can tell me I am a dopey sap who should stick to writing about nachos.”

Oh, goody.

“Better start with an easy one.” She highlighted Sadie’s address, but before she could open it, a rectangle popped up on her screen, accompanied by the pleasant little jingle of an instant message.

wlmom: Hey, Hannah! It’s me, Lauren.

NachoMama: Hi.

wlmom: No time to chat. Just opened your fabulous e-mail and was trying to figure out when I’d have time to compose a deserving response.

NachoMama: Please don’t trouble yourself. Sending out mass apology for the address book flub later today.

wlmom: Address flub?

NachoMama: Meant for eyes of Wileyville Guardian News editor only. Expected him to help me shape it up before anyone else saw it—if he even thought anyone else should see it. Yikes! Another Hannah-produced disaster.

wlmom: Stop that! I, for one, am pleased to have gotten the undiluted version.

NachoMama: Thanks.

wlmom: Want me to add you to my prayer list?

NachoMama: Sure, couldn’t hurt.

wlmom: Enjoy the break.

NachoMama: Will try.

wlmom: Wait! Before I sign off—one question?

NachoMama: What?

wlmom: Where did you get the idea that the other soccer moms had time to bake?

NachoMama: The boys have bragged from day one that their mother’s snacks were homemade.

wlmom: LOL! Hannah, Homemade is what everyone around here says when they mean they’re from the Home Oven Bakery.

NachoMama: Store bought?

wlmom: A regional chain, no less. You can get the stuff at some groceries or at one of like, three or four locations.

NachoMama:

wlmom: There’s one near the kids’ school. Let’s meet there one morning after we drop off the boys and talk over muffins and coffee.

NachoMama: That would be great. Now, can I ask you a question?

wlmom: Shoot.

NachoMama: Does your screen name stand for world’s number one mom?

wlmom: LOL! Hannah, you’re a hoot!

NachoMama: Thanks, I think.

wlmom: It’s my initials—Wilma Lauren.

NachoMama: Wilma?

wlmom: World’s number one mom! Where would you even get that?

NachoMama: Just guessing.

wlmom: Well, guess again. At least half of the time I feel exactly the way you said you felt in your column.

Everyone else seems so calm and cool and collected. Not me.

NachoMama: Thank you, Lauren.

wlmom: Thank you, Hannah, for starting my day off on such a thoughtful note. Am adding reading through the book of Samuel to my burgeoning to-do list! Bye.

NachoMama: Bye.

Lauren Faison felt just like her. Who would ever have imagined?

Sadie for one.

Loved it. Love you. Love yourself and see you when you get back.

April echoed the thoughts.

Aunt Phiz promised to stand by with prayer and light as long as Hannah needed her.

Hannah whizzed through those, but when she got to her minister’s name, she paused. Had she insulted him with her