The Girls on Rose Hill Read Online Free PDF

glad you called." If Brendan didn't say that every time I called, in the same husky, slightly flirtatious voice, I'd almost believe him.
    "Hi. Just wanted to let you know that Veronica is on her way to the airport."
    "Wonderful news! I'm sure she'll have a great time."
    "What's not to love about Italy, right?" I said in a pleasant, conversational voice, my default tone when discussing household matters with Brendan.
    "We had a great time on our honeymoon, remember?" I recalled never ending morning sickness and Brendan flirting with the hotel maid. Yeah, good times.
    "Listen," I said, wanting to end this trip down memory lane, "when do you think you'll be able to get up here?"
    "I have a few cases that are really heating up. I probably won't be able to make it for at least two weeks."
    "My mother may not survive two weeks, Brendan," I said, my tone no longer so pleasant.
    "This insider trading case is a killer, you know that."
    "And that's why you hired all those fine associates. And of course your other partners," I said, emphasizing the word partners. "Rose has been your mother-in-law for almost twenty years. She's always been fond of you, and she's been asking for you. You need to come here and at least say good-bye."
    "Honey, you know if I could I would."
    "I'm not asking this for me, Brendan. I'm asking for Rose. I want you here on Sunday."
    "Sweetheart, be reasonable."
    "Don't sweetheart me," I snapped. "Tell Christine to change whatever plans she has for you because you'll be busy saying good-bye to your dying mother-in-law." There, I'd done it. I'd broken our silent agreement never to name his current paramour.
    Brendan chuckled. "You and your imagination, Ellen. You know Christine is a colleague."
    "Colleague, my ass. I'm not joking here, Brendan. Do not push me on this. Sunday. By eleven. No excuses." I slammed down the phone. My heart raced as I leaned against the faded formica countertop. No matter how many times I'd had to twist Brendan's arm to participate in even the most rudimentary family activities, it never failed to rattle me. I'd had years of practice blackmailing him into attending dance recitals and graduation parties. I even had to threaten him with bodily dismemberment before he would "swing by" the hospital after Timmy's appendectomy. You would think I'd have it down by now.
    I took three deep breaths, as I had learned in my many yoga classes, but of course, as usual, they didn't work. The walls of the cramped airless kitchen closed in on me. Barefoot, I rushed out of the avocado kitchen, past the ghost of the ficus in the hallway and through the front door.
    A soft breeze met me as I ran down the wooden steps, and then across the road to the small boathouse. Painted a sparkling white and trimmed in the same shade of blue as the house, it sat only a few feet from the road. The pounding in my head subsided as I made my way along the narrow footpath beside the boathouse. The tiny stones pinched my bare feet. When I reached the wooden deck attached to the back of the boathouse, I lifted a wooden planter filled with cheerful red geraniums and found the boathouse key. The boathouse's new sliding glass door slid smoothly, unlike its rusted predecessor. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness until I found the unfamiliar light switch. Last year Paul and Lisa renovated the boathouse originally built by Kitty's husband Peter, which had slowly disintegrated since Peter's death. Paul, Lisa and their children used the boathouse the most, so Lisa had gone all out, and added a small kitchenette with granite countertops, Italian terra cotta tile and a large beverage center. I helped myself to one of Lisa's bottles of pino grigio and poured a generous glass.
    The deck's cushioned Adirondack chairs were a great improvement over the plastic lawn chairs of my youth. I stretched out on the one closest to the ramp that led to the small dock. The pino grigio was cold and sharp, and as I gulped my anger and