the remaining whiskey and brushed the back of her hand across her mouth. Mercifully she didn’t belch.
“We wouldn’t even still be in this trailer if it wasn’t for my books,” Tanya said. “And just ’cuz you don’t think much of what I do and who I am, doesn’t mean nobody else does.”
Her mother snorted but didn’t ramp up for a fight, for which Tanya was grateful. She put up with a lot and bit her tongue as often as possible, but she would not let Trudy ruin her daughters’ opinions of themselves or Tanya’s faith in her friends. Faye and Mallory and Kendall had saved her as surely as if they’d reached in and pulled her physically out of a garbage Dumpster. If it weren’t for them, she’d have no one’s opinion of herself except her mother’s. And she sure as hell would never have written a book, let alone fifteen of them.
Her thoughts circled back to Kendall and how upset she’d been after the awards ceremony. It was odd how she’d lit out for home without even telling them. And now she wasn’t responding to their calls or e-mails.
A shiver of unease snaked up her spine and Tanya promised herself she’d send another e-mail before she quit writing tonight and place another call to her from the Laundromat tomorrow.
“Don’t you stay up too late now,” her mother said as she shoved her glass onto the counter. “You know I can’t get up with them girls in the morning. Especially after a night like this when I don’t do anything but toss and turn the whole damned time.”
Tanya knew better than to mention the heavy snores she’d heard coming from Trudy earlier. Or the fact that this probably wouldn’t be her last shot of whiskey before morning. Her mother liked to dish out the criticism, but she surely couldn’t take it.
Trudy retreated into her room, hacking as she went, but Tanya was no longer seeing the bitter woman who had given birth to her. She was seeing her current heroine, Doreen Grant, who was wiping the cute little bistro table at the beachside café where she worked. She kept straightening her uniform and fussing with her hair because her brother was supposed to be bringing one of his oldest friends in for lunch—a NASCAR driver Doreen had had a crush on since childhood.
Eyes closed, Tanya could hear the rush of the waves over the sand and see the seagulls wheeling overhead. The hero would be wearing cutoffs and have his T-shirt hanging over one broad shoulder so that he could be bare chested. He and Doreen’s brother would tease her about the old days, but that spark would be there between him and Doreen. He might fight it for a while, but that boy had met his match.
Tanya gave a happy little sigh as the scene unfolded in front of her. Then she placed her fingers on the laptop keyboard and began to type.
Later that morning in the northern Chicago suburb of Highland Park, Faye Truett stretched and yawned then opened one eye experimentally. It was 6:00 A.M., not yet time to roll out of bed but too late to turn over and go all the way back to sleep.
Beside her, her husband Steve, or Pastor Steve as he was now known in almost every corner of the civilized world, slept on, his breathing even and peaceful in the morning quiet.
Faye turned her head so that she could see his profile, which she had always considered Kennedyesque. In fact the older Steve got, the more Faye thought he looked exactly like Jack Kennedy might have had he been allowed to reach the age of sixty-four. She, however, was no Jackie. Nor did she want to be.
Steve sighed in his sleep and rolled closer, draping an arm across Faye’s waist, or what was left of it. Sometime in her midfifties everything had begun to widen and soften no matter how many hours Faye spent on a treadmill or at the gym. Sitting at a computer all day most days hadn’t helped. Steve, with whom she had been sleeping for the past thirty-nine years, didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he was just too smart to comment.
She settled
“We wouldn’t even still be in this trailer if it wasn’t for my books,” Tanya said. “And just ’cuz you don’t think much of what I do and who I am, doesn’t mean nobody else does.”
Her mother snorted but didn’t ramp up for a fight, for which Tanya was grateful. She put up with a lot and bit her tongue as often as possible, but she would not let Trudy ruin her daughters’ opinions of themselves or Tanya’s faith in her friends. Faye and Mallory and Kendall had saved her as surely as if they’d reached in and pulled her physically out of a garbage Dumpster. If it weren’t for them, she’d have no one’s opinion of herself except her mother’s. And she sure as hell would never have written a book, let alone fifteen of them.
Her thoughts circled back to Kendall and how upset she’d been after the awards ceremony. It was odd how she’d lit out for home without even telling them. And now she wasn’t responding to their calls or e-mails.
A shiver of unease snaked up her spine and Tanya promised herself she’d send another e-mail before she quit writing tonight and place another call to her from the Laundromat tomorrow.
“Don’t you stay up too late now,” her mother said as she shoved her glass onto the counter. “You know I can’t get up with them girls in the morning. Especially after a night like this when I don’t do anything but toss and turn the whole damned time.”
Tanya knew better than to mention the heavy snores she’d heard coming from Trudy earlier. Or the fact that this probably wouldn’t be her last shot of whiskey before morning. Her mother liked to dish out the criticism, but she surely couldn’t take it.
Trudy retreated into her room, hacking as she went, but Tanya was no longer seeing the bitter woman who had given birth to her. She was seeing her current heroine, Doreen Grant, who was wiping the cute little bistro table at the beachside café where she worked. She kept straightening her uniform and fussing with her hair because her brother was supposed to be bringing one of his oldest friends in for lunch—a NASCAR driver Doreen had had a crush on since childhood.
Eyes closed, Tanya could hear the rush of the waves over the sand and see the seagulls wheeling overhead. The hero would be wearing cutoffs and have his T-shirt hanging over one broad shoulder so that he could be bare chested. He and Doreen’s brother would tease her about the old days, but that spark would be there between him and Doreen. He might fight it for a while, but that boy had met his match.
Tanya gave a happy little sigh as the scene unfolded in front of her. Then she placed her fingers on the laptop keyboard and began to type.
Later that morning in the northern Chicago suburb of Highland Park, Faye Truett stretched and yawned then opened one eye experimentally. It was 6:00 A.M., not yet time to roll out of bed but too late to turn over and go all the way back to sleep.
Beside her, her husband Steve, or Pastor Steve as he was now known in almost every corner of the civilized world, slept on, his breathing even and peaceful in the morning quiet.
Faye turned her head so that she could see his profile, which she had always considered Kennedyesque. In fact the older Steve got, the more Faye thought he looked exactly like Jack Kennedy might have had he been allowed to reach the age of sixty-four. She, however, was no Jackie. Nor did she want to be.
Steve sighed in his sleep and rolled closer, draping an arm across Faye’s waist, or what was left of it. Sometime in her midfifties everything had begun to widen and soften no matter how many hours Faye spent on a treadmill or at the gym. Sitting at a computer all day most days hadn’t helped. Steve, with whom she had been sleeping for the past thirty-nine years, didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he was just too smart to comment.
She settled
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