Sharp Left Turn (Sharp Turn Saga #1) Read online

  SHARP LEFT TURN

  Faye Byrd

  ¶

  PRONOUN

  Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

  All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

  Copyright © 2017 by Faye Byrd

  Cover image © Ceara Therrien

  Interior design by Pronoun

  Edited by Fran Walsh

  Beta reading by Vanessa Moore, Cecilia Melton, and Cheryl Edmonds

  Distribution by Pronoun

  ISBN: 9781641863483

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1 Road Work Ahead

  2 Detour

  3 Soft Shoulder

  4 Yield

  5 Sharp Left Turn

  6 Rough Pavement

  7 No U Turn

  8 Blasting Zone Ahead

  9 Merge Ahead

  10 Under Construction

  11 No Passing

  12 One Way

  13 Private Road

  14 Slow, Children At Play

  15 Road Narrows

  Acknowledegments

  Links

  Sharp Right Turn

  1 Green Light

  More by Faye Byrd

  1 ROAD WORK AHEAD

  Easy

  “Cameron, come on, we need to get a move on,” I yell to my three-year-old son. He’s always dragging behind these days.

  “Coming, Mama,” his cute little self replies from atop the stairs.

  “Fruity Flakies for breakfast?”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” he answers with a little more excitement.

  I chuckle. “Well come on down so you’ll have time to eat.”

  Moving back to the kitchen, I start making his cereal when Blue, our sixty-pound, rescued pit bull comes rushing into the kitchen, dancing at my feet. I quickly set Cam’s cereal at the bar and lead him to the back door. “Okay, boy, let’s go.”

  Opening the door, I let him onto our screened porch, where he has his own doggie door that gives him access to the fenced-in back yard. While I’m out there, I do a quick check of his food and water to make sure he’s set for the day.

  My brother and I had pets growing up, so getting my little boy one was definitely a priority, though I wanted to wait until he was ready for some of the responsibility. Blue’s baths are Cameron’s job, and he tackles the challenge with excitement each and every time. Both his size and the fact that he was already full-grown concerned me, but the shelter assured me he had a gentle temperament. They were right. He simply adores my son.

  Cam trudges into the kitchen just as I head back inside, his backpack dragging behind. Slowly, he crawls up into his seat, and with a big yawn, picks up a spoonful of his cereal.

  “Are you still tired, sweetie?” I run my fingers through his hair. “You aren’t sneaking your DS in bed at night, are you?

  He shakes his head and eats another bite. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He almost never complains at bedtime anymore, yet he still drags in the mornings. If his bruises are any indication, I’d say he has an adventurous day of play with his friends. New purple ones pop up as the old ones fade to yellow. I figure it must just be because he’s a boy and more rough and tumble than I’m used to.

  Though I do have a brother, Weston was almost always as girly as me. In fact, I’m not even sure I have a “boy” memory of him. Since twins run in the family, Mom was sure she was having a set and had already picked our names. Easton and Weston. The fact that she only had me didn’t deter her in the least. When my brother was born, only eleven months later, her matching pair became complete.

  “Ready?” I ask Cameron as I grab my purse and bag of designer necessities that are never far away.

  He turns up his bowl and drinks the milk before setting it back on the counter. “Sure am,” he says after wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

  Shaking my head, I pull a paper towel from the rack, handing it over. “Use a napkin, baby.”

  Cameron shrugs and takes it, quickly swiping it across his already wiped mouth, and climbs down from his stool. I chuckle under my breath as I grab his bowl and place it in the dishwasher. After rejoining him, I help him slip his strap onto his shoulder as we start for the door.

  The drive to Lottie’s Little Ones doesn’t take long since part of the reason I settled in Peach Springs was to be near Cameron’s daycare. Instead of getting in line for the drop-off, I park and unbuckle Cam from his seat, taking his hand to walk him inside.

  “Mornin’, Cam, Easy. Y’all come on in,” Charlotte drawls, her Georgia twang wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

  “Morning,” Cameron mumbles as he runs off to join his friend, Steven.

  I hang Cam’s backpack on his hook and make my way to where she’s organizing an activity for one of her classes. She pauses and envelops me in a warm, motherly hug. “Everythin’ okay?” she asks, pulling back and studying me.

  My head teeter-totters between a yes and a no. “I’m not sure. I just wanted to let you know that Cam’s been awfully tired lately. He seems a little off to me.”

  She hums. “I noticed that, too. Do ya think he’s coming down with somethin’? I can always schedule him for a visit with the Mister one day this week.” David Logan is her husband and has been Cam’s pediatrician since birth.

  “I’m not sure if it’s that serious. Why don’t we just keep an extra eye on him and decide if he gets worse.”

  She nods. “Sounds good, and you know I’m gonna take good care of him.”

  “Of course, I do.” I smile and lean in for another quick hug before turning for the door. “I should be here at my regular time this evening.”

  “Just call if anythin’ changes,” she says, waving me off. “You know I love havin’ him.”

  “I will.” I pause at the door to Cam’s room. “Bye, sweetie, be good.”

  “Bye, Mama, love you.”

  “Love you.”

  The drive from Peach Springs to downtown Atlanta is the same as every other morning, congested highways and crazy drivers. Instead of spending that time yelling obscenities at the careless drivers who share the interstate, I get lost in my thoughts.

  When Nana Wilder had a stroke in the first weeks of my senior year of high school, Mom and Dad made the decision to uproot our family from San Francisco and move to Georgia. Mom took early retirement from her accounting firm, and Dad applied to several open law enforcement positions around the state. With his thirty years experience and high rank in San Francisco, he ended up in Atlanta as an agent with the Metro Investigation Unit, which is a comprehensive law enforcement group dealing with high-profile crimes, accusations of police brutality and unsolved murders. Mom didn’t return to work but split her time between here and Savannah, where Nana Wilder was.

  I traveled between the two cities as much as I could and fell in love with Savannah. When I was suddenly ripped from San Francisco, my only saving grace was the thought that I’d be returning for college the following year, but those visits changed that. Along with Amelia, my best friend and an incredibly talented artist, I ended up choosing Savannah College of Art and Design. Nana passed during my freshman year at SCAD, and I was grateful for all the time I’d gotten to spend with her.

  My memories are halted as I pull into the parking garage of my building and zigzag up eight stories, pulling into one of the two reserved spots near the entrance. Even with just a short walk, the cool air that blows ov
er me when I enter the building is a welcome reprieve from the muggy, morning air of late spring in Atlanta.

  My assistant, Tasha, greets me with a knowing smile as I come up the hall. “Morning, Easy. Mr. Phillips has already called twice.”

  “Thanks, Tasha.” I return her smile and continue to my office. For an interior decorator, my space is sufficiently lacking, but this is where ideas are born. I prefer the tools of my trade to surround me. Tile samples, fabric swatches, paint chips, furniture catalogs and carpet samples are just some of the items that line my walls and fill the various shelves throughout the room.

  I settle my things and get to work by returning Mr. Phillips’ call. He’s a nice older man who’s having their lake house redone as a surprise to his wife of forty years. The only problem; he’s second-guessing every choice he makes. This is understandable, as women can be picky, but I’ve toured their home and am confident I have a feel for her taste.

  Two hours later, I’m finally able to exit my office to grab a cup of coffee.

  Tasha stops what she’s doing and spares me a glance. “Did you straighten out Mr. Phillips?”

  I chuckle as I loiter beside her desk. “I did, and after an hour and a half on the phone, he decided to leave everything as is.”

  She barks out a laugh. “Well, that was pointless.”

  “Not really. Every client I have matters, and if I have to spend time making sure they’re happy with my services then it’s a win because I still have their business.” I shrug. “I’m fortunate to have a job that pays for my time whether it’s a phone call or designing or the implementing of that design.”

  “I never thought of it like that. It takes patience to deal with … touchy clients.”

  Tasha Jackson’s been with me since I moved Easy Designs from my apartment into an office, and though dealing with a client’s worries isn’t her job, her role is vital to my work. I depend on her to keep me organized, meet my deadlines and wrangle my contractors. I’m pretty sure she’s irreplaceable, but it can never hurt to impart a little wisdom.

  “Just remember, those touchy clients pay your salary as well as the easygoing ones.” I raise my brows. “Besides, they’re paying me for a service. I take pride in our work and having a satisfied customer is the best compensation.”

  I tap her desk and wander off to the break room. Coffee at last. One thing I learned early on is never skimp on good coffee—it equals happy employees. I pour myself three-quarters of a cup of the steaming liquid and finish it off with milk and four teaspoons of sugar.

  Just as I settle behind my desk, my partner sweeps into the room with his shaggy, blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. “Morning, Miss Easy,” he says with his Southern charm on full display.

  Ryder Logan is Charlotte and David’s son, Weston’s husband and a forty-nine percent partner in Easy-Ryder Designs. I met him when I was at SCAD, only he was two years my junior. After he graduated and moved back to Atlanta, Amelia and I caught up with him over lunch, and a partnership was formed.

  Easy Designs was started in my apartment as soon as I returned from college, my parents being my very first customers. I didn’t have a long list of contacts or an extensive portfolio, but that never held me back. I spent my days showing up at the business offices downtown, soliciting jobs—even boring waiting rooms made me passionate. By the time Ryder came on board, I already had a small staff and a few very exclusive clients.

  Including him in the company title was actually my biggest hurdle. I had worked hard to make Easy Designs into a real business and changing the name was a daunting prospect. Turns out, my worries were over nothing. No one even blinked an eye. Together, we’ve been able to grow this business into a well-known, highly-regarded design agency.

  We were celebrating our one year anniversary when Weston showed up after obtaining his Masters in Architecture back in San Francisco, surprising us both—for very different reasons. Those two have been joined at the hip ever since and tied the knot only six months ago.

  I rock back in my chair. “Just finished settling Mr. Phillips down.”

  His hands slide into his pockets as he props his hip against the chair across from my desk. “I’m sure ya did a beautiful job of soothing his worries.”

  I give an indifferent shrug. “All part of the job.”

  His blue eyes sparkle, and it never amazes me how he can be so happy all the time. “Patience can make all the difference in the world. You have that in spades.”

  “You can probably thank Cam for that.” I snort and shake my head. My little boy’s angelic face after he’s done something rather frustrating pops into my mind.

  “That angel?” he asks, grabbing his chest like he can’t even entertain the thought.

  I let out a little laugh and sit forward, grabbing a file from my desk. “So how did the meeting go this morning? Do we have a new client?”

  “Of course we do, Easy. Did you ever doubt me?” He straightens and tugs at his cuffs like he’s Mister Prim and Proper.

  “Not even for a second,” I reply with a head shake as I hold out the file. “Here are some general ideas I put together. You can use them or come up with some of your own.”

  While Ryder is every bit as tasteful as me, he also has a bold flair to his work, and it’s made a big difference in our clientele. Though a lot of our jobs prefer classic, conservative designs, there’s a large market emerging for his colorful style.

  “Thanks, Easy.” He gives me a wide, open smile and tucks the folder beneath his arm as he heads for the doorway, only to pause and prop against the jamb. “You and Cam still coming over Saturday?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Saturday marks their six-month wedding anniversary, though it shouldn’t be any different than the previous five. Ryder and Weston have celebrated every single one.

  I can only hope Weston orders dinner this time. I love my brother, but he can’t cook … at all. I’m no chef in the kitchen either, but when you have a kid, you learn to get by. Weston is horrible and should never be allowed near a stove again.

  “Good. Weston was worried after last month’s debacle.”

  “What’re you talking about? Cam loved it. Whoppers make everything better.” His carefree laughter can be heard even as he makes his way to his office.

  After gathering ideas for an upcoming proposal, I look up and realize it’s already lunchtime. Buzzing Tasha, I ask her to step into my office.

  “What sounds good today?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

  I prop my elbow on the desk. “How about that little deli on the corner?”

  “Yeah, I could go for a roast beef on rye.”

  “Good”—I grab my purse—“I think I’ll have a turkey club with no greens and a Sprite,” I say, pulling some cash from my wallet.

  When I hold it out for her, though, she waves me off. “I’ve got this. Be back in a few.” Just before she’s out of sight, she pauses. “Do you want me to direct your calls to Jules while I’m gone?”

  “Just send them to me,” I respond, waving her off. “No need to add more to her load.”

  I get back to work on my proposal, but not even five minutes later, my phone rings. “Easton Wilder speaking.”

  “Ah, Easy, answering your own phones now? Times must be hard.” His voice is playful, but the insinuation rubs me the wrong way.

  I chuckle into the receiver to hide my irritation. “Richard, I didn’t expect to be hearing from you.”

  Richard Head is my ex-fiancé.

  I met him at a party Amelia and I attended just a couple months after I moved here. He was a junior at Metro University Medical, and we hit it off from the start. His plan was to leave Georgia for his residency, but with me attending SCAD, he chose to stay at MUM, and we took turns commuting when we could. The summer before my junior year, he proposed, and I said yes. Getting married and starting a family by my mid-twenties was always something I hoped for, and with Richard, it was coming true.

  We set
a date for the August after my graduation and the planning commenced. Shortly after receiving my B.F.A in Interior Design, I returned to Atlanta ready to become a wife. Looking back now, I realize our whole relationship was superficial. We never connected in that intimate way a married couple should. After a night on the town with a few too many drinks, it all came crashing down.

  Richard let his ten-year plan slip—and it didn’t include having kids. It was a wake-up call. With only two months before the wedding, I called everything off. Richard was heartbroken, but I couldn’t allow him to live my dreams instead of his own. He’d only resent me in the end.

  Over the years, we’ve settled into a tenuous friendship. He can now admit that having kids at a young age was definitely not on his agenda—maybe even never—and that was a deal-breaker for me. Don’t get me wrong, he adores Cam when he does see him but is glad the responsibility isn’t his.

  “Now, Easy, don’t sound too excited. I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be out of the country for the next six months. I know we don’t talk very often, but I felt I should let you know.”

  “Oh, well, of course. Can I ask where you’ll be?” Even though I realize he isn’t my dream man, I do still care about him and wish him the best in all his endeavors. We usually get together a few times a year just to catch up or hang out.

  He sighs. “I’ve signed up for a stint with Doctors Without Borders. I’ll be in Africa and incommunicado at least some of the time I’m there.”

  I smile to myself. He always wanted to make a difference when he went into medicine, and I can’t think of a better way for him to do that. “Richard, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy to hear you’re doing something for you.”

  “Well, I think I need to thank you, actually. I never would’ve followed this particular dream if we’d married. It feels like a calling, though, and I can’t wait to get there.”

  All the tension leaves my body. Hearing him admit that he’s finally living life for himself fulfills every hope I ever had for him. “I don’t know what to say. You know I’m so happy for you.” My voice cracks, so I take a second to collect myself. “Enough with all the mushy stuff, tell me when you leave.”