Read Online Kiss Her Goodbye by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendy Corsi Staub
Ads: Link
the prowler.
Okay, so thereâs no evidence that there even was a prowler in the first place. Even Matt Carmody seemed to chalk it up to his daughterâs imagination. Still . . .
April Lukoviak is still missing as far as Stella knows.
There was no way Stella was taking any chances with her daughtersâ safety, or with Jenâs. And Kurt . . .
Well, Kurt just didnât seem to give a damn.
She was asleep when he showed up. She found him, still dressed, on the couch in front of the television yesterday morning. They didnât even discuss what happened Saturday night. She took the girls to church, and by the time they got back, Kurtâs brother Stefan was there to watch the Bills game with him. Newly divorced and in no hurry to go back to his crummy apartment, Stefan lingered until late last night.
Not that Stella knows what sheâd have said to her husband if they had the opportunity for private conversation. Certainly, thereâs nothing she hasnât said a hundred times before.
She removes a package of breaded chicken cutlets from the freezer and one of baby carrots from the crisper.
The bottom line is that her marriage is in trouble because Kurtâs priorities are screwed up.
With a sigh, Stella dumps the carrots into a colander. This is the one vegetable the girls will eatâas long as theyâre steamed with plenty of butter and brown sugar.
Standing at the sink, she aims the sprayer over the carrots to wash them, telling herself that she should set half of them aside and eat them raw. Or at least, set half aside after theyâre steamed, before she glazes the rest.
She shouldnât be eating breaded chicken, either. She should buy plain, fresh cutlets, then bread and fry a few for the girlsâand Kurt, if heâs ever home for dinner again.
She should . . .
But she wonât. She hasnât the energy to diet right now.
Gazing out the window into the backyard, with its sparse, newly planted shrubbery and towering wooden swing set, she tries to imagine somebody hiding there. Who on earth would do such a thing? A would-be robber? A neighborhood Peeping Tom? A serial killer?
Poor Jen. She looked more embarrassed than shaken when Stella rushed through the door on Saturday night. She kept apologizing for making her leave the dinner early.
âYou did me a favor, sweetie. It wasnât any fun anyway.â
âBut what about Mr. Gattinski? He has to stay all by himself now.â
She wasnât about to tell Jen that Mr. Gattinski probably preferred it that way.
Turning off the water and shaking the carrots in the colander, she finds herself almost wishing there really were some kind of prowler creeping around the neighborhood at night. Then maybe Kurt would be worried enough about her and the girls that heâd start spending more time at home.
She bites into a raw carrot.
Sure, she thinks wryly, munching, and maybe butter and brown sugar will be declared the next magic bullet for weight loss.
Â
Â
Kathleenâs keys tumble from the pocket of her barn coat when she snatches it from the kitchen chair, realizing sheâs going to be late meeting the boys. She grabs the key ring and tosses it onto the counter, then hurries to the door. She never bothers to lock up the house when sheâs just going down to the bus stop at the end of the cul de sac.
As she steps out into the crisp fall afternoon, the breeze catches the door, slamming it behind her.
She wishes sheâd slammed it deliberately herself. Lord knows sheâs in the mood to slam something.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Jen isnât staying after for schoolwork.
There isnât a doubt in Kathleenâs mind. She knows, courtesy of pure instinctâthe same maternal instinct that sent her speeding over to the Gattinskisâ house Saturday night.
As she strides along the cul de sac toward a cluster of other moms, she wonders what the hell sheâs supposed to do
Okay, so thereâs no evidence that there even was a prowler in the first place. Even Matt Carmody seemed to chalk it up to his daughterâs imagination. Still . . .
April Lukoviak is still missing as far as Stella knows.
There was no way Stella was taking any chances with her daughtersâ safety, or with Jenâs. And Kurt . . .
Well, Kurt just didnât seem to give a damn.
She was asleep when he showed up. She found him, still dressed, on the couch in front of the television yesterday morning. They didnât even discuss what happened Saturday night. She took the girls to church, and by the time they got back, Kurtâs brother Stefan was there to watch the Bills game with him. Newly divorced and in no hurry to go back to his crummy apartment, Stefan lingered until late last night.
Not that Stella knows what sheâd have said to her husband if they had the opportunity for private conversation. Certainly, thereâs nothing she hasnât said a hundred times before.
She removes a package of breaded chicken cutlets from the freezer and one of baby carrots from the crisper.
The bottom line is that her marriage is in trouble because Kurtâs priorities are screwed up.
With a sigh, Stella dumps the carrots into a colander. This is the one vegetable the girls will eatâas long as theyâre steamed with plenty of butter and brown sugar.
Standing at the sink, she aims the sprayer over the carrots to wash them, telling herself that she should set half of them aside and eat them raw. Or at least, set half aside after theyâre steamed, before she glazes the rest.
She shouldnât be eating breaded chicken, either. She should buy plain, fresh cutlets, then bread and fry a few for the girlsâand Kurt, if heâs ever home for dinner again.
She should . . .
But she wonât. She hasnât the energy to diet right now.
Gazing out the window into the backyard, with its sparse, newly planted shrubbery and towering wooden swing set, she tries to imagine somebody hiding there. Who on earth would do such a thing? A would-be robber? A neighborhood Peeping Tom? A serial killer?
Poor Jen. She looked more embarrassed than shaken when Stella rushed through the door on Saturday night. She kept apologizing for making her leave the dinner early.
âYou did me a favor, sweetie. It wasnât any fun anyway.â
âBut what about Mr. Gattinski? He has to stay all by himself now.â
She wasnât about to tell Jen that Mr. Gattinski probably preferred it that way.
Turning off the water and shaking the carrots in the colander, she finds herself almost wishing there really were some kind of prowler creeping around the neighborhood at night. Then maybe Kurt would be worried enough about her and the girls that heâd start spending more time at home.
She bites into a raw carrot.
Sure, she thinks wryly, munching, and maybe butter and brown sugar will be declared the next magic bullet for weight loss.
Â
Â
Kathleenâs keys tumble from the pocket of her barn coat when she snatches it from the kitchen chair, realizing sheâs going to be late meeting the boys. She grabs the key ring and tosses it onto the counter, then hurries to the door. She never bothers to lock up the house when sheâs just going down to the bus stop at the end of the cul de sac.
As she steps out into the crisp fall afternoon, the breeze catches the door, slamming it behind her.
She wishes sheâd slammed it deliberately herself. Lord knows sheâs in the mood to slam something.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Jen isnât staying after for schoolwork.
There isnât a doubt in Kathleenâs mind. She knows, courtesy of pure instinctâthe same maternal instinct that sent her speeding over to the Gattinskisâ house Saturday night.
As she strides along the cul de sac toward a cluster of other moms, she wonders what the hell sheâs supposed to do
Similar Books
