Stepping Up To Love (Lakeside Porches 1) by Katie O'Boyle Page A

pretty sure. She stood up with—she hoped—grace and dignity and said sweetly, “Thanks for your time, Mr. Cushman.” She made a show of wrapping up the last croissant in her big paper napkin and walked to the door. “I appreciate your advice, and I’ll keep you posted about the grad school applications.” Manda beamed an angelic smile at Harold.
    Joel rolled his eyes at her performance and said, equally loudly, “Good deal, Mandy. On your way out, ask my secretary Catherine to have these dishes cleared, right away.”
    Manda gritted her teeth at the “Mandy” crack, but she thought that last statement was deliberately un-PC, aimed to put her in her place in Harold’s eyes.
    “Absolutely, Mr. Cushman,” she said crisply. Manda couldn’t wait to hear what Harold had to tell the rumor mill about the scene he had just witnessed.
    Manda was greeted with a different collection of rumors when she returned to campus with her groceries at lunchtime. From the moment she entered the campus apartments, conversations paused and changed to whispers accompanied by furtive glances. She smiled calmly and kept moving; she picked up phrases like “Gold-digger,” “Slut,” “Deserves to be expelled,” and “I’ll do anything for Professor Kristof.” She fumbled with the key to her apartment and was about to give up when her roommate opened the door.
    “It’s you. Forgot you live here. What’s your name again?”
    “Manda.” Manda saw that Stacey was still coming down from last night’s high. Her hair was flattened on one side, as if she’d just gotten up, and she wore a skimpy tank top and sweats that revealed an elaborate tattoo on her belly. “Cool snake, Stace,” she said.
    “Thanks for getting food. I’m starved!”
    Manda closed her eyes. Her budget did not cover feeding two people.
    She set down her two grocery bags and started putting away salad fixings, olive oil, and chicken breasts.
    Stacey pawed through the second bag. “Don’t you eat anything good?”
    “Nope, just healthy stuff. Do you like olives?” She held out her one treat, a container of hot, spicy olives.
    Stacey popped two in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and ran for the bathroom.
    Manda heard her retching. She stood still for a moment and thought about it. God, I hope you’ve got a better idea than I do right now . Joel would probably ask her what would get her to her goal of graduating in eight weeks, sober and sane.
    She turned on the radio, dialed a light rock station, fixed a salad, and ate it standing by the window in the living room. Then she washed and put away the dishes, grabbed her things, and headed back to work at the Manse. After this, she vowed, she would fix a salad in the morning and take it to work with her. She would simply avoid contact with her snake-belly roommate.
    Manda got into a groove the next two weeks: classes in the morning, lunch and work at the Manse, an AA meeting after work. Then home to fix a meal, library to study, and home again to crawl into bed. The one place she did not encounter rumors and name-calling was at her “Happy Hour” AA meeting. She started recognizing faces and learning names. The regulars called her Manda; she could even smile at the good old boys who called her “Mandy.”
    “Come for burgers with us,” a thirty-something woman invited the last Thursday of March.
    Manda started to excuse herself but knew she didn’t have to study every night of the week. She could probably ace her exams without any more effort, and her projects were ahead of schedule. “Thanks,” she agreed. “You’re Carol, aren’t you?”
    “You must be clearing up if you know my name already!” Carol laughed. “How are things going?” They walked out to the parking lot together, and Carol asked her, “Cassie has a few of the men watching out for you. What’s that about? You got trouble?” Manda nodded. “Want to talk about it?”
    “I guess not,” Manda said. “Things are quiet right now,