Once More with Feeling Read Online Free PDF

sure. It must be almost eleven.”
    “It’s past eleven.”
    “So go to bed. What are you waiting for?”
    What are you waiting for? Laura would have laughed if she hadn’t been so close to tears.
    “I want out, Roger.”
    “Out of . . .” he prompted.
    “Out of this marriage.” Correcting herself, she said, “Out of this poor excuse for a marriage. I —I can’t do it anymore.”
    Roger stared at her, a look of incredulity on his face. “All this because I went on some stupid television show?”
    She struggled to find something to say, but there were no words. She felt as if something were lodged in her throat—something that had been stuffed deep inside her for a very long time, but was finally coming to the surface.
    Her husband continued staring at her, his eyes wide. “You mean it, don’t you?”
    She nodded. The tears she’d been fighting to hold back began sliding down her cheeks. Laura covered her face with her hands, unable to look at him. When his response was nothing but silence, she peered at him through parted fingers.
    She saw that he was angry. Not penitent, not distressed, not even shocked. Just angry.
    “Fine,” he said coldly, already heading toward the stairs. “Do what you have to do.”
    Laura watched him walk away. This was her husband, the man with whom she’d lived for fifteen years. Roger Walsh, with whom she’d bought a house, created a child, established a credit rating, filed joint tax returns, experienced nearly every variety of foreplay imaginable . . . and envisioned a future that by definition would include each other. A decade and a half together, and this is what it came down to: “Do what you have to do.”
    To Laura, left alone in the living room, the air suddenly felt so cold that she retrieved the afghan from the floor and wrapped it around herself. As she curled up on the couch, she knew sleep wouldn’t come for a very long time.
     

Chapter Three
     
    The words on the menuof the Sassafras Café were difficult to decipher under the best of circumstances, given the loopy calligraphic style the management used as one more way of justifying its inflated prices. Today they were just a blur to Laura as she sat at a corner table waiting for her two closest friends. Even with half a Valium in her system, she couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes.
    Don’t you dare cry, she scolded herself. You can’t. You demolished your last tissue fifteen minutes ago.
    Desperately she tried every trick she could remember. Biting her lip. Taking deep breaths. Counting to a hundred. Thinking happy thoughts . . .
    The last one was her downfall. There were no happy thoughts. Reminding herself of that painful reality sent two fat tears running down her cheeks.
    “Something to drink?” the waitress chirped, pouring ice water into a glass. When she glanced at Laura, her expression changed to one of sympathy. “I’ll get the wine list.”
    Laura shook her head. Even though the Valium was doing little besides making her feel as if she no longer had feet, she’d heard too many coma stories on the six-o’clock news to take a chance.
    “Just ginger ale, thanks.”
    Glad to be left alone again, Laura looked around the restaurant. The Sassafras Café was a good choice, the perfect setting for ladies who lunched. The interior was all soft pinks and yellows, with tea roses on each table and such a profusion of ferns it was a wonder tick warnings weren’t posted. The menu included all the current food fads: sun-dried tomatoes, goat cheese, arugula at every turn. The other patrons certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. Everywhere Laura saw happy faces, bright eyes, animated gestures, lively conversations. The scene depressed her immeasurably.
    She turned her eyes to the window, seeking the comfort of the outside world. In the parking lot, people got in and out of their cars, making their way to and from the restaurant and the other stores in the shopping plaza. She spotted a few solo