Home by Ginny L. Yttrup

Author:Ginny L. Yttrup [Yttrup, Ginny L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-63409-957-8
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2017-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

What are you doing, Chloe? Chad seems like a nice enough fella. He obviously loves you. Or maybe it isn’t obvious. Maybe there’s more to a marriage than love? Who knows? I’m certainly not the expert. So why am I writing about this? Because I didn’t have any better ideas than the one Valerie suggested.

My next scene will be Chloe’s first appointment with Dr. Hammond. It will take some time for me to create his voice and further develop his character. Though I’ve spent hours considering Elliot Hammond, or at least staring at pictures of the man, I won’t really know who he is until I begin writing. Such is the bane of the seat-of the-pants writer. Or pantsers as those plotters call us. Why does one term sound derogatory and the other noble? We both get the job done.

At least, I hope I get the job done this time.

But first, I need sustenance.

I close the lid of my laptop then blink several times, trying to clear my vision. Staring at those little letters on the screen for so many hours has me seeing double. I get up out of the recliner where I’ve spent the last three hours, stretch my arms toward the ceiling, and then twist from side to side. I take a few stilted steps toward the kitchen until my demented muscles regain their memory.

With the door to the fridge swung wide, I consider my dinner options, none of which look appealing. What sounds appealing is that little Mexican restaurant I passed the evening I arrived. Tortilla chips and salsa, chicken enchiladas smothered in a verde sauce, and melted jack cheese—I salivate at the thought. “Careful, ol’ girl. Soon you’ll be drooling like a dog.”

I close the refrigerator and go to the end of the counter, where Valerie said she keeps a stack of takeout menus in a drawer. I pull open a couple of drawers until I find what I’m looking for. I shuffle through the four or five paper menus, hoping to find one for the Mexican place. Sure enough. I peruse the menu, add up the cost of my choices, and then go in search of my purse, where I find a crumpled five-dollar bill and two ones in my wallet. Is that all? I dump the contents of the purse. Score! Six quarters, three dimes, a nickel, and several pennies land among a receipt from Safeway, a gum wrapper, and—“Hey, I’ve been looking for you”—one silver hoop earring.

Eight dollars and change. If I order the enchiladas à la carte, I’ve got dinner covered.

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