"I've had enough, Caroline." He tossed the words down the stairs like an empty laundry basket.
Obviously, that was a subtle signal my husband Scott needed some time alone. It's not like I immediately followed him up the stairs to continue the fight I'd started with a few well-placed comments about the leak in the bathtub not fixing itself.
You can read my review HERE.
And this week I am reading:
St Martin's Griffin
They used to be called the Firefly Lane girls. That was a long time ago-more than three decades-but just now as she lay in bed listening to the winter storm raging outside, it seemed like yesterday.
In the past week ( unquestionably the worst seven days of her life), she'd lost the ability to distance herself from the memories. Too often lately in her dreams it was 1974; she was a teenager again, coming of age in the shadow of a lost war, riding her bike beside her best friend in a darkness so complete it was like being invisible. The place was relevant only as a reference point, but she remembered it in vivid detail; a meandering ribbon of asphalt bordered on either side by gullies of murky water and hillsides of shaggy grass. Before they met, that road seemed to go nowhere at all; it was just a country lane named after an insect no one had ever seen in this rugged blue and green corner of the world.
Until next time,
Stay Busy and Stay Happy