Take It from Me: A Novel by Jamie Beck

Author:Jamie Beck [Beck, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2022-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WENDY

Friday evening

When Joe asked if we could listen to a nonfiction book about breathing during the four-hour drive to Colgate, I agreed. His book picks always sound boring at first but end up being informative and interesting. However, today it hardly mattered because I couldn’t stop thinking about the votive and my subsequent lie. Escaping from New Canaan hasn’t helped like I hoped.

When we check into the Colgate Inn, I busy myself with unpacking while Joe uses the facilities. Hotel rooms used to connote something romantic or be indicative of vacation plans. This evening has been rather transactional—not even a bad joke about the hotel bed. My husband hasn’t made any sexual overtures since the night of the dinner party. And poor Sue. Seeing her uneasiness this morning broke my heart. I follow up on my promise to invite her to lunch with a quick text. Next, I alert Billy that we’ve arrived and will meet him at his dorm soon, then put my phone in my purse.

I wait for Joe to finish up, sitting on the bed with my back against the headboard while staring at the staid beige carpet in this relatively bland room that seems indicative of my life. Functionality without a hint of pizzazz. A place to sleep but not to dream.

At least I’ll see Billy soon. He’s been less forthcoming about his classes, his roommate, or anything else in recent weeks, which has me spinning all kinds of unwelcome scenarios, especially after that D he got.

Joe comes out of the bathroom. “All set.”

I slide off the bed and follow him out of the hotel.

“Did you text Billy?” Joe asks as we cross the parking lot to get to our car.

“Yes. We’ll meet him at his dorm.” I buckle into the passenger seat. “His roommate’s parents couldn’t make it, so I invited Craig to join us for dinner. Later tonight the school is hosting a trivia night.”

“That sounds good.”

I stare at Joe’s profile—his content expression—with a touch of envy. The careful life I’ve constructed to control my problem has left me feeling confined and aimless. A dormant volcano ready to explode, powerless to stop the boiling inside. What if I stole Harper’s votive as a cry for help—like I want to get caught? I fan myself, but this isn’t another hot flash. It’s bald fear.

“Your mom’s birthday is next month. Are we going to Rhode Island?” Joe asks, oblivious to my mood.

The one time we coaxed my mother into enjoying a night out at a restaurant, what should’ve been a celebratory event devolved into a trying two hours filled with circular conversations about the kitchen’s cleanliness, the freshness dates on the ingredients, and her fear that trying a new sauce or food would trigger an allergic reaction (despite her never having had a single food allergy), and she also went to the restroom multiple times to wash her hands. It’s far easier to bring groceries and a cake to her house, though I know that accommodating her concerns only enables her.

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