fourteen and tear it into tiny pieces that were subsequently flushed down the crapper? Same went for chapter four (Trusting Your Bond), chapter nine (Accepting His Humanness), and chapter twelve (Healing the Wound). Based on Hope’s marriage, that book was complete drivel designed to let men cheat on their wives then be welcomed home completely scot-free! Did she know Mike was hanging out at bars, hitting on cool blond businesswomen? Did that goddamn book tell her that was “just something men needed to do”?
But today I’m back in the office. My guilt at leaving Camille in the lurch had propelled me out of bed—not to mention the fact that Sam seemed a little creeped out by my constant presence. Immersing myself in the work build-up is somehow therapeutic. At least it allows me to focus on something other than the sour lump of anger sitting in my stomach. We had our briefing first thing this morning, we’ve compiled the episode’s props list, and now I’ll spend the rest of the week racing around the city in search of Cody’s remote-control model T-Rex and his fifties-flashback leather jacket. While this routine has become increasingly uninspiring of late, it beats sitting at home watching Dr. Phil counsel Tammy and Merle on how to keep their family together.
So I’m deep in the belly of Toys “R” Us when my BlackBerry vibrates. I could ignore it, but what if it’s Bruce with another toy to add to the props list? I don’t want to have to make a second trip out here. Extracting the device from my bag, I check the new message.
From: Trent Vaughn
Subject: Your Attitude
Lucy, I’ve left three messages to which you have not responded. If you’re pissed off for some reason, I wish you’d have the maturity to talk to me about it instead of giving me the silent treatment. This juvenile behavior is not good for Sam. We’re both still her parents, remember.
Also, I get possession of my apartment on the 15th. I need to get the double bed from the spare room.
Call me asap.
Trent
A sour burst of incredulous laughter bubbles up from within me—or is it vomit? He’s got to be kidding! He’s the one out boozing it up on a Tuesday night with some curly-haired slut, and I’m immature? My behavior is affecting Sam? Oh my fricking god!
Obviously, there is only one way I can react to this missive. Okay, there are two ways. One would be to wait outside his office in my idling SUV and then mow him down in front of all his co-workers. This would be deeply satisfying for me, but hard on Sam. And I’m not sure I want her raised by my mother while I languish in the big house for vehicular homicide. Not that I blame my mom for the way my marriage turned out, but if she’d equipped me with the tools I needed to make better choices in men, none of this would have happened. I want more for my daughter. I will choose option two.
When I’m behind the wheel of my Forerunner, it is more than a little tempting to head to Trent’s downtown office. But with an impressive display of will power I turn back toward the Cody’s Way set. As I hurtle through the afternoon traffic, I seem to be having some kind of mild stroke. My heart races and the blood pounds in my ears. My hands are shaking and I’m covered in a thin slick of sweat. Surprisingly, I’m not crying, despite the heavy lump of emotion caught in my chest. I drive aggressively, borderline recklessly. But twenty minutes later I reach the office in one piece.
As I get out of the car, my mini-stroke has turned into a different sort of physical sensation. With my labored breathing, trembling hands, and shaking legs, I’m almost feeling a little turned on. Maybe it’s the friction of these new jeans, but as I storm into the building I feel on the verge of some kind of minimally enjoyable, highly embarrassing orgasm. As I stride past mute Tanya, her widened eyes tell me that even she’s noticed something’s not right with me.
Without stopping at my desk, I move
But today I’m back in the office. My guilt at leaving Camille in the lurch had propelled me out of bed—not to mention the fact that Sam seemed a little creeped out by my constant presence. Immersing myself in the work build-up is somehow therapeutic. At least it allows me to focus on something other than the sour lump of anger sitting in my stomach. We had our briefing first thing this morning, we’ve compiled the episode’s props list, and now I’ll spend the rest of the week racing around the city in search of Cody’s remote-control model T-Rex and his fifties-flashback leather jacket. While this routine has become increasingly uninspiring of late, it beats sitting at home watching Dr. Phil counsel Tammy and Merle on how to keep their family together.
So I’m deep in the belly of Toys “R” Us when my BlackBerry vibrates. I could ignore it, but what if it’s Bruce with another toy to add to the props list? I don’t want to have to make a second trip out here. Extracting the device from my bag, I check the new message.
From: Trent Vaughn
Subject: Your Attitude
Lucy, I’ve left three messages to which you have not responded. If you’re pissed off for some reason, I wish you’d have the maturity to talk to me about it instead of giving me the silent treatment. This juvenile behavior is not good for Sam. We’re both still her parents, remember.
Also, I get possession of my apartment on the 15th. I need to get the double bed from the spare room.
Call me asap.
Trent
A sour burst of incredulous laughter bubbles up from within me—or is it vomit? He’s got to be kidding! He’s the one out boozing it up on a Tuesday night with some curly-haired slut, and I’m immature? My behavior is affecting Sam? Oh my fricking god!
Obviously, there is only one way I can react to this missive. Okay, there are two ways. One would be to wait outside his office in my idling SUV and then mow him down in front of all his co-workers. This would be deeply satisfying for me, but hard on Sam. And I’m not sure I want her raised by my mother while I languish in the big house for vehicular homicide. Not that I blame my mom for the way my marriage turned out, but if she’d equipped me with the tools I needed to make better choices in men, none of this would have happened. I want more for my daughter. I will choose option two.
When I’m behind the wheel of my Forerunner, it is more than a little tempting to head to Trent’s downtown office. But with an impressive display of will power I turn back toward the Cody’s Way set. As I hurtle through the afternoon traffic, I seem to be having some kind of mild stroke. My heart races and the blood pounds in my ears. My hands are shaking and I’m covered in a thin slick of sweat. Surprisingly, I’m not crying, despite the heavy lump of emotion caught in my chest. I drive aggressively, borderline recklessly. But twenty minutes later I reach the office in one piece.
As I get out of the car, my mini-stroke has turned into a different sort of physical sensation. With my labored breathing, trembling hands, and shaking legs, I’m almost feeling a little turned on. Maybe it’s the friction of these new jeans, but as I storm into the building I feel on the verge of some kind of minimally enjoyable, highly embarrassing orgasm. As I stride past mute Tanya, her widened eyes tell me that even she’s noticed something’s not right with me.
Without stopping at my desk, I move
Similar Books
