Read Online The Queen Gene by Jennifer Coburn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Coburn
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He’s at it again!” Click.
“Who was that?” Jack asked.
“Who do you think?” I asked.
“The dog?”
“No, it was her. Paz was rebirthed last night. She’s calling him Spot now,” I updated Jack.
“Rebirthed?”
“It’s a breathing exercise that’s supposed to help you overcome the trauma of birth,” I said.
“Oh, of course,” Jack laughed. “How silly of me. Why is she calling him Spot?”
“It’s his true name according to her numerologist,” I explained.
We both rolled our eyes. Jack said he wanted to take Adam to see Clifford the Big Red Dog who was visiting a local book shop. He asked if I wanted to join. “I’m going to pass if it’s all the same to you,” I said. “Maybe I’ll call Robin and see if she wants to swim laps at the gym since we’re now both members of the bad ankle club.”
Jack kissed my forehead and went into the kitchen where Adam was playing with a See and Say toy. “Suit yourself,” he said. “You couldn’t keep me away from an overgrown red dog that’s free of nervous disorders. Hey, maybe that should be your next book, Luce — pets who undergo new age healing therapy. I can see it now, Clifford’s First Séance . Whaddya think?”
“I think you’re adorable,” I laughed.
“Or Minnie Mouse’s cousin from California who wants to know who moved her cheese?” Jack continued.
“Or maybe she goes to an acupuncturist because someone moved her chi?” I added.
Jack pouted playfully. “I hate it when you one-up me.”
“Go!” I said. “Let me get some work done. Say hi to Clifford for me.”
* * *
A week had passed since we returned from Florida, which meant we had only four days until Maxime and Jacquie arrived from France. Although Jack and I had been corresponding with them for months, they were still strangers, and the prospect of having them come live with us until after Labor Day was a terrifying one. They seemed like an easygoing couple, but Jack and I were still nervous about how our first guests would react to our artist colony. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Jack and I sat at Steve’s Lunch in Ann Arbor, eating Bi Bim Bops, sketching our dream on their plain paper placemats. In many ways, it was another lifetime. We were just dating then, and hadn’t been through four miscarriages and a tough pregnancy. We hadn’t nearly divorced, then found our way back to each other.
Robin and I swam laps together twice, but neither of us saw any progress. My doctor said that sprains could take several months to completely heal and gave me a list of exercises to do at home. Admittedly, I had done none of them, but I blame Robin for my lack of motivation. After her first attempt at self-administered physical therapy, she reported that her ankle actually felt worse. I decided that the most therapeutic route to take was to do nothing.
As I was shopping for bedding for Maxime and Jacquie, my cell phone rang. The caller identification indicated it was either my mother — or her dog. “You are not going to believe what is happening to me, darling!” Anjoli shot.
“Hello, Mother,” I said. “How are you?”
She failed to get my point. “How am I? I am in crisis , darling, that’s how I am. Can you not detect a tone of horror in my voice?!”
“What is the crisis du jour, Mother?”
“I’m sure you remember that I put an offer in on the brownstone across the street, darling,” she began.
“Oh yes, Mrs. MacIntosh’s place,” I said, sadly. “The block won’t be the same without her. I’m sorry we couldn’t make the funeral. How was it?”
“How was it?” Anjoli snapped. “It was a funeral, what do you want, a review? We drove out to Queens, listened to an hour of prayers and speeches, then stood outside in twenty-degree weather and watched them drop a casket into the ground. People cried, survivors wore black,” she rushed. “Anyway, I specifically told her daughter to talk to me before she listed the property with a
“Who was that?” Jack asked.
“Who do you think?” I asked.
“The dog?”
“No, it was her. Paz was rebirthed last night. She’s calling him Spot now,” I updated Jack.
“Rebirthed?”
“It’s a breathing exercise that’s supposed to help you overcome the trauma of birth,” I said.
“Oh, of course,” Jack laughed. “How silly of me. Why is she calling him Spot?”
“It’s his true name according to her numerologist,” I explained.
We both rolled our eyes. Jack said he wanted to take Adam to see Clifford the Big Red Dog who was visiting a local book shop. He asked if I wanted to join. “I’m going to pass if it’s all the same to you,” I said. “Maybe I’ll call Robin and see if she wants to swim laps at the gym since we’re now both members of the bad ankle club.”
Jack kissed my forehead and went into the kitchen where Adam was playing with a See and Say toy. “Suit yourself,” he said. “You couldn’t keep me away from an overgrown red dog that’s free of nervous disorders. Hey, maybe that should be your next book, Luce — pets who undergo new age healing therapy. I can see it now, Clifford’s First Séance . Whaddya think?”
“I think you’re adorable,” I laughed.
“Or Minnie Mouse’s cousin from California who wants to know who moved her cheese?” Jack continued.
“Or maybe she goes to an acupuncturist because someone moved her chi?” I added.
Jack pouted playfully. “I hate it when you one-up me.”
“Go!” I said. “Let me get some work done. Say hi to Clifford for me.”
* * *
A week had passed since we returned from Florida, which meant we had only four days until Maxime and Jacquie arrived from France. Although Jack and I had been corresponding with them for months, they were still strangers, and the prospect of having them come live with us until after Labor Day was a terrifying one. They seemed like an easygoing couple, but Jack and I were still nervous about how our first guests would react to our artist colony. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Jack and I sat at Steve’s Lunch in Ann Arbor, eating Bi Bim Bops, sketching our dream on their plain paper placemats. In many ways, it was another lifetime. We were just dating then, and hadn’t been through four miscarriages and a tough pregnancy. We hadn’t nearly divorced, then found our way back to each other.
Robin and I swam laps together twice, but neither of us saw any progress. My doctor said that sprains could take several months to completely heal and gave me a list of exercises to do at home. Admittedly, I had done none of them, but I blame Robin for my lack of motivation. After her first attempt at self-administered physical therapy, she reported that her ankle actually felt worse. I decided that the most therapeutic route to take was to do nothing.
As I was shopping for bedding for Maxime and Jacquie, my cell phone rang. The caller identification indicated it was either my mother — or her dog. “You are not going to believe what is happening to me, darling!” Anjoli shot.
“Hello, Mother,” I said. “How are you?”
She failed to get my point. “How am I? I am in crisis , darling, that’s how I am. Can you not detect a tone of horror in my voice?!”
“What is the crisis du jour, Mother?”
“I’m sure you remember that I put an offer in on the brownstone across the street, darling,” she began.
“Oh yes, Mrs. MacIntosh’s place,” I said, sadly. “The block won’t be the same without her. I’m sorry we couldn’t make the funeral. How was it?”
“How was it?” Anjoli snapped. “It was a funeral, what do you want, a review? We drove out to Queens, listened to an hour of prayers and speeches, then stood outside in twenty-degree weather and watched them drop a casket into the ground. People cried, survivors wore black,” she rushed. “Anyway, I specifically told her daughter to talk to me before she listed the property with a
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