Read Online I Regret Everything by Seth Greenland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Seth Greenland
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to two marijuana plants.
âKnow what this is?
Before I could answer, a womanâs voice called his name. His shoulders drooped.
âMy nemesis, he said. To the voice, he called, Weâre out here!
Hurricane Katrina was standing in the middle of the yard wearing a tight tennis dress. Edward Pâs second wife was forty-two. Slender and athletic, her perfectly dyed honey blondness was gathered into a tight ponytail that allowed her to show off gold hoop earrings with diamond accents. She was attractive in that
Vanity Fair
way common on Madison Avenue and spring-wound, like if someone pressed a hidden button sheâd shoot thirty feet in the air.
âSpaulding! she said. How are we doing?
âWeâre doing fine.
âWelcome to Stonehaven. Weâre glad youâre here.
Edward P met Katrina when she sold him the Stamford condo he moved into after he left us. Six months later she was living in it with him, her selling skills not limited to realty. She has that instant smile salespeople have, the kind that turns on with a switch. Itâs a little disconcerting. My mother and I were in a fancy boutique one time and the saleslady saw me as a street urchin, you know, not in an adorable way but like I was going to steal a brooch, until she realized who I was with, then she was all super-smiley and can I help you? Thatâs Katrinaâs skill. She could probably turn it on at her own motherâs funeral since the smile seemed unconnected to whatever she was actually feeling.
Katrina asked me how I liked my room and when I told her I was just happy there were no cats in it she looked at me like I had said something strange then let me know I should feel free to decorate in whatever way pleased me but not to paint the walls. She told Marshall the two of them had to leave for an appointment in a few minutes and in the meantime he should wait for her in the kitchen.
âI have to go see my psychiatrist, he announced with more brio than you would think that particular information warranted.
This proclamation blindsided Katrina and after he departed she paused, as if to decide whether it required further elaboration or clarification on her part. Concluding it did not, she said,
âWeâre certainly glad youâre here.
âI am, too.
âNow that youâre living with us, Spaulding, itâs important to remember we have a few rules.
This was imparted with a short laugh, an attempt to suggest bonhomie that only heightened the nervousness she projected. She was talking in a loud voice. Hard to tell if I made her nervous or she wanted the neighbors to hear how she was laying down the law with her wayward invader.
âWeâd like you home by eleven oâclock each night. Youâll be expected to keep your room clean and make your bed every day. And no drugs or alcohol.
âWhat about my meds, Katrina. Are you okay with those?
That came out with more bite than Iâd intended and Katrinaâs smile flaked a little.
âWe want you to have a restful time while youâre staying with us.
â
Restful
?
Â
It was difficult not to bridle at the word but if this woman talked to me like I was a mental patient, you couldnât blame her. The rules wonât be a problem, I said. Then she left to dominate Marshall.
It was sadly predictable that Hurricane Katrina was never particularly glad to see me when I was growing up. Who wanted to be reminded of someone elseâs past when it contained problems that werenât over, which is what another personâs kids represent. Today she was making an effort, probably because of what had happened over Christmas.
After putting my stuff away, I placed my iPod on the dock and cued up Joy Division. Then I lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and considered ways I might worm myself into Mr. Bestâs life. While not a raving beauty by any means, boys found me attractive and I got hit on with some regularity.
âKnow what this is?
Before I could answer, a womanâs voice called his name. His shoulders drooped.
âMy nemesis, he said. To the voice, he called, Weâre out here!
Hurricane Katrina was standing in the middle of the yard wearing a tight tennis dress. Edward Pâs second wife was forty-two. Slender and athletic, her perfectly dyed honey blondness was gathered into a tight ponytail that allowed her to show off gold hoop earrings with diamond accents. She was attractive in that
Vanity Fair
way common on Madison Avenue and spring-wound, like if someone pressed a hidden button sheâd shoot thirty feet in the air.
âSpaulding! she said. How are we doing?
âWeâre doing fine.
âWelcome to Stonehaven. Weâre glad youâre here.
Edward P met Katrina when she sold him the Stamford condo he moved into after he left us. Six months later she was living in it with him, her selling skills not limited to realty. She has that instant smile salespeople have, the kind that turns on with a switch. Itâs a little disconcerting. My mother and I were in a fancy boutique one time and the saleslady saw me as a street urchin, you know, not in an adorable way but like I was going to steal a brooch, until she realized who I was with, then she was all super-smiley and can I help you? Thatâs Katrinaâs skill. She could probably turn it on at her own motherâs funeral since the smile seemed unconnected to whatever she was actually feeling.
Katrina asked me how I liked my room and when I told her I was just happy there were no cats in it she looked at me like I had said something strange then let me know I should feel free to decorate in whatever way pleased me but not to paint the walls. She told Marshall the two of them had to leave for an appointment in a few minutes and in the meantime he should wait for her in the kitchen.
âI have to go see my psychiatrist, he announced with more brio than you would think that particular information warranted.
This proclamation blindsided Katrina and after he departed she paused, as if to decide whether it required further elaboration or clarification on her part. Concluding it did not, she said,
âWeâre certainly glad youâre here.
âI am, too.
âNow that youâre living with us, Spaulding, itâs important to remember we have a few rules.
This was imparted with a short laugh, an attempt to suggest bonhomie that only heightened the nervousness she projected. She was talking in a loud voice. Hard to tell if I made her nervous or she wanted the neighbors to hear how she was laying down the law with her wayward invader.
âWeâd like you home by eleven oâclock each night. Youâll be expected to keep your room clean and make your bed every day. And no drugs or alcohol.
âWhat about my meds, Katrina. Are you okay with those?
That came out with more bite than Iâd intended and Katrinaâs smile flaked a little.
âWe want you to have a restful time while youâre staying with us.
â
Restful
?
Â
It was difficult not to bridle at the word but if this woman talked to me like I was a mental patient, you couldnât blame her. The rules wonât be a problem, I said. Then she left to dominate Marshall.
It was sadly predictable that Hurricane Katrina was never particularly glad to see me when I was growing up. Who wanted to be reminded of someone elseâs past when it contained problems that werenât over, which is what another personâs kids represent. Today she was making an effort, probably because of what had happened over Christmas.
After putting my stuff away, I placed my iPod on the dock and cued up Joy Division. Then I lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and considered ways I might worm myself into Mr. Bestâs life. While not a raving beauty by any means, boys found me attractive and I got hit on with some regularity.
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