A Woman in Hiding by T. B. Markinson

Author:T. B. Markinson [Markinson, T. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0BXBDRS7V
Publisher: T.B. Markinson
Published: 2023-03-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was the night of Tracy’s party, and the thought of attending all on my lonesome was freaking me out. Sure, I knew Tracy a little by now, but I didn’t know any of the other people who were going to be there. This was the perfect recipe for disaster for the likes of me—the clueless one.

“Last chance to have a romantic night with me.” I attempted to waggle my brows at Sarah, but I think the end result only made me look like I was having a seizure or something.

“How is going to a party romantic?”

“I was thinking I could skip the party—”

“Oh no, you don’t.” She offered me a buck up smile, adding, “It’s good for you to try new things. I’m proud of you.”

“How is a party new? I’ve been to parties before. Three birthday parties in the past month.” I started to count them on my fingers. “Oh, don’t forget the playdate.”

“Those have been for the kids. I meant I’m proud of you for finally making friends here. You need friends. Go. Just be yourself, and everything will be okay.”

“When has being myself ever worked out for me, or anyone unlucky enough to be in the room, for that matter?” I whined. “You don’t even like me right now, and you’re required by law to do so.”

“That’s not exactly how marriage works, FYI. Also, I always like you, even when you’re whining. Now, go.” Sarah made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’m looking forward to a night to myself. The kids are at mom’s until tomorrow afternoon. I want to take a long bubble bath. Read a book. Relax.”

“That sounds nice.” I blew out a frustrated raspberry.

“Lizzie, stop worrying so much. It’s just a night out. Tracy seems absolutely lovely. If you end up hating it, at least you get credit for trying.”

“I do?” I perked up. “I like getting credit.”

“I thought that’d get your attention. You’re going to be late.”

I checked my watch. “Shit. Gotta run.”

It wasn’t far to Tracy’s place, but the traffic was brutal. That was something I’d noticed on our drives in Massachusetts. Coming from Colorado, where most intersections were pretty straight forward, Massachusetts was terrifying. Think three lanes on one side, narrowing to one lane the minute you reached the other side. Everything in this state, from preschool applications to roads, seemed to be set up for dog-eat-dog competitions. I wasn’t suited for that amount of pressure in every aspect of my life. Even Sunday drives were cutthroat. I hoped parties would not live up to this tradition.

I was somewhat put at ease when I pulled up to the address where my GPS told me to stop. Tracy lived in a modest Cape-style house that had probably been built in the 1950s. It was the type of property more and more people had been buying sight unseen to tear it all down and build something bigger. There was no sign of major renovations at her place, though, which meant the interior was probably cramped but had still cost a million dollars.

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