Read Online The Good Wife by Jane Porter - Free Book Online Page A

table.
    “Our first meal of the spring al fresco,” Jack said, lifting his wineglass. “To spring. And family.”
    “And family,” Sarah and Meg chorused, lifting their wineglasses while the kids toasted with their water glasses.
    “And to Grandma,” Gabi said, lifting her glass again. “We will always love you.”
    “To Grandma,” the children echoed.
    “That’s right,” Sarah murmured, grateful that her niece had remembered Mom.
    Brennan shuddered. “Just hope the maggots aren’t eating her,” he said.
    Sarah’s eyes bugged out, but before she could say a word, Gabi slugged him in the arm.
    “Oh my God, Brennan!” Gabi cried, slugging him a second time. “How can you say that?”
    “So gross!” Tessa said.
    “What are maggots?” Ella asked, glancing from her brother to Tessa, and then to her mother.
    “Nothing,” JJ muttered, disgusted.
    “Worms,” Gabi answered precisely.
    Ella’s face crumpled. “Worms are eating Grandma?”
    “No,” Sarah answered even as she shot Brennan a you-will-soon-die look.
    “Well, they will,” he answered, unconcerned.
    Tears filled Ella’s eyes. “I thought Grandma was in heaven with angels and the saints and Mary—”
    “She is,” Meg said quickly. “And Grandma loves heaven.”
    Ella looked at her brother. “Then why did Brennan say Grandma is being eaten by worms?”
    “Because Brennan is a boy, and boys like to say gross things,” Tessa said, leaning over to hug Ella. “So don’t listen to him. He just wants attention.”
    “Really?” Ella asked hopefully.
    “Really,” Tessa said firmly.
    And with that, Tessa restored harmony to the dinner table.
    After the meal ended, JJ and Tessa did the dishes, and Jack, Meg, and Sarah went to the family room to talk. Jack and Meg sat on the couch next to each other, and Sarah took the chair across from them.
    Jack was in a good mood, just as he’d been after his run, and he talked animatedly about a new exhibit opening in D.C. at the Smithsonian Museum, and how he’d heard that later in the year, right around Thanksgiving time, that there’d be an even more impressive exhibit focusing on the Civil War and American art.
    “Works by Winslow Homer, Frederic Church, Sanford Gifford, and Eastman Johnson will all be part of the exhibit,” Jack said. “I’m really looking forward to the show, as it’s a period in history I find particularly fascinating.”
    “It does sound like a wonderful exhibit,” Meg agreed, smiling. “Maybe we can take the kids back to D.C. for Thanksgiving, see the exhibit, and visit some of the historic sites together.”
    “Maybe,” Jack said.
    Meg’s smile faded. “You don’t think we should?”
    Jack shifted on the couch. “I said maybe.”
    “But maybe isn’t yes—”
    “You’re right. It’s not.”
    “So why can’t we take the kids?”
    Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead, as if he suddenly had a massive headache. “Because I don’t want to commit to something that far in advance.”
    “Why not?”
    Sarah exhaled, feeling uncomfortable, wishing she wasn’t here, witnessing a marriage unraveling. But Jack and Meg continued on, as if Sarah wasn’t present.
    “You know why,” Jack said grimly.
    Meg leaned toward him, equally fierce. “Can’t you give us a year,
please
?”
    But Meg’s “please” wasn’t sweet or conciliatory. It was angry and sharp, colored with a bitterness that made Sarah wince.
    Sarah sank lower in her seat, trying to decide if she should leave or stay, wondering if it’d help, or make things worse, to leave, wondering if she could help things by staying.
    “It’s almost been a year and it’s just gotten worse,” Jack retorted.
    “It hasn’t been a year, it’s been nine months—”
    “Which is a hell of a long time when you’re miserable.”
    “Jesus, Jack!” Meg glanced around, expression wild. “That’s cruel.”
    “What do you expect me to say? You just push and push. It’s all you do. It’s all you know how