Read Online Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) by Susan Santangelo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Santangelo
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Dolores’s third grade class at St. Basil’s Grammar School. If you do the math – not that I’m suggesting you do – that comes out to more than 40 years of inseparable friendship.
And there is no way I’m telling you what “more than 40 years” means. Nancy and I have shared just about everything with each other. Even boyfriends. (Not at the same time, though.) And I bet she knows more about me than even Jim does. Plus, she can read my face like an open book. (Not large print, either.)
So I knew that the only way I could keep my mouth shut about Tiffani was to avoid Nancy as much as possible. Which would just about kill me.
And I had to make it very clear the next time we spoke – though I knew her feelings would be hurt – that planning Jenny’s wedding did not include her. Period. No discussion.
So I didn’t call Nancy the following morning to gab about the wedding show. And to fill her in on our trip to Nantucket this coming weekend.
I didn’t call Claire or Mary Alice either, as I didn’t trust myself – that is, my big fat mouth – to not slip and say that I’d actually met the woman who was breaking up Nancy’s marriage. I wasn’t sure what their reaction would be if they found out Tiffani was Jenny and Mark’s wedding planner, and I wasn’t taking any chances that they’d use that good old Catholic guilt to encourage me to tell Nancy the truth.
Fortunately, there were many household chores available to divert me. And if all else failed, I could come up with a few new “suggestions” for our Honey-Don’t list, the brilliant idea I came up with a few months ago when we were in the middle of our moving crisis. The Honey-Don’t list is the direct opposite of all those lists wives have made for their husbands for years – rake the leaves, clean out the gutters, etc. etc. The Honey-Don’t list is composed of things we don’t want our life partner to do.
To be fair, Jim and I each contribute to the list, then pick a random thing from each other’s list that we want the other one to refrain from on a particular day. Works like a charm.
You should try it yourself sometime. And the rewards for good behavior can be well worth the effort.
I congratulated myself (silently) that I’d gotten through all of Sunday without spilling the beans about Tiffani. Now, if I could just keep it going till we left for Nantucket on Friday morning, I’d give myself a gold star.
Maybe, a 14k gold star. On a 14k gold necklace. That kind of incentive always motivates me.
You should try that sometime, too.
Monday morning, Jim was out of the house bright and early to interview the first selectman for the “State of the Town” column he writes for our weekly newspaper, The Fairport News . Fortunately, he’d made a pot of coffee before he left. I hate to admit this, but he does make better coffee than I do.
Jenny e-mailed me that she’d made reservations for all of us to take the 8:00 a.m. fast ferry Friday morning from Hyannis, Massachusetts, to Nantucket. I yawned at the very thought. Hyannis is a four-hour drive north on I-95 and east on Route 195 from Connecticut, assuming that we hit no traffic jams on our way through Providence, Rhode Island.
Yuck. I’d probably end up sleeping in my traveling clothes the night before, because I knew Jim would never spring for a hotel room in Hyannis on Thursday night. That meant we’d have to be in our car and on the road no later than 4 a.m. Friday morning. Maybe, even earlier.
Oh, well. It would all be worth it, once we got to Nantucket.
It was time for me to check out the Grey Gull Inn webpage and see where we’d be staying for the weekend.
As my computer screen sprang to life, I grabbed another cup of coffee. I was careful not to put my cup too close to the computer, though. I could hear Jim warning me against the hazards of liquid too close to the keyboard. Although he was the only one who’d actually spilled anything there. Which necessitated our
And there is no way I’m telling you what “more than 40 years” means. Nancy and I have shared just about everything with each other. Even boyfriends. (Not at the same time, though.) And I bet she knows more about me than even Jim does. Plus, she can read my face like an open book. (Not large print, either.)
So I knew that the only way I could keep my mouth shut about Tiffani was to avoid Nancy as much as possible. Which would just about kill me.
And I had to make it very clear the next time we spoke – though I knew her feelings would be hurt – that planning Jenny’s wedding did not include her. Period. No discussion.
So I didn’t call Nancy the following morning to gab about the wedding show. And to fill her in on our trip to Nantucket this coming weekend.
I didn’t call Claire or Mary Alice either, as I didn’t trust myself – that is, my big fat mouth – to not slip and say that I’d actually met the woman who was breaking up Nancy’s marriage. I wasn’t sure what their reaction would be if they found out Tiffani was Jenny and Mark’s wedding planner, and I wasn’t taking any chances that they’d use that good old Catholic guilt to encourage me to tell Nancy the truth.
Fortunately, there were many household chores available to divert me. And if all else failed, I could come up with a few new “suggestions” for our Honey-Don’t list, the brilliant idea I came up with a few months ago when we were in the middle of our moving crisis. The Honey-Don’t list is the direct opposite of all those lists wives have made for their husbands for years – rake the leaves, clean out the gutters, etc. etc. The Honey-Don’t list is composed of things we don’t want our life partner to do.
To be fair, Jim and I each contribute to the list, then pick a random thing from each other’s list that we want the other one to refrain from on a particular day. Works like a charm.
You should try it yourself sometime. And the rewards for good behavior can be well worth the effort.
I congratulated myself (silently) that I’d gotten through all of Sunday without spilling the beans about Tiffani. Now, if I could just keep it going till we left for Nantucket on Friday morning, I’d give myself a gold star.
Maybe, a 14k gold star. On a 14k gold necklace. That kind of incentive always motivates me.
You should try that sometime, too.
Monday morning, Jim was out of the house bright and early to interview the first selectman for the “State of the Town” column he writes for our weekly newspaper, The Fairport News . Fortunately, he’d made a pot of coffee before he left. I hate to admit this, but he does make better coffee than I do.
Jenny e-mailed me that she’d made reservations for all of us to take the 8:00 a.m. fast ferry Friday morning from Hyannis, Massachusetts, to Nantucket. I yawned at the very thought. Hyannis is a four-hour drive north on I-95 and east on Route 195 from Connecticut, assuming that we hit no traffic jams on our way through Providence, Rhode Island.
Yuck. I’d probably end up sleeping in my traveling clothes the night before, because I knew Jim would never spring for a hotel room in Hyannis on Thursday night. That meant we’d have to be in our car and on the road no later than 4 a.m. Friday morning. Maybe, even earlier.
Oh, well. It would all be worth it, once we got to Nantucket.
It was time for me to check out the Grey Gull Inn webpage and see where we’d be staying for the weekend.
As my computer screen sprang to life, I grabbed another cup of coffee. I was careful not to put my cup too close to the computer, though. I could hear Jim warning me against the hazards of liquid too close to the keyboard. Although he was the only one who’d actually spilled anything there. Which necessitated our
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