The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug Read Online Free PDF

well.
    My handsome husband didn’t bat an eye. “You tell me, Maggie.”
    Uh oh. He’d Maggie-ed me; this was some serious stuff all right. “Marriage counseling is for couples who fight all the time. We hardly ever fight.”
    He snorted.
    “We don’t.” I insisted. “Yelling is just how I communicate. No one hears me otherwise.”
    Neil pulled into an angled parking slot and shut off the engine, but made no move to exit the car. “Are you happy?”
    “Do you mean right at this moment, or in the grand scheme of things?” I stalled for time, wondering what had gotten into him. Typically he oozed confidence, but now that I thought back on it, he’d been kinda weird ever since my brush with death.
    Neil scowled at me and opened his door, and I sat, wondering if this downhill crap-fest would ever end. I wanted to take a nap and pray that when I woke up everyone would be back to normal. Before I sunk into a catatonic state, Neil opened my door and extended his hand to me. His gentlemanly streak must have overridden his irritation. If I were in his shoes, I probably would have kicked me out of the car six miles ago. Did I really need some PH.D to look me in the eye and say “You’re damn lucky he puts up with you?” No new info there.
    The building that housed Dr. Ludlum’s office was a red brick behemoth, at least by Hudson’s standards. Unlike some of the charming brick buildings typical of small town New England, this beastie held no architectural appeal. Institutionalized windows sat evenly spaced on the first through third floors, looking like ominous eyes waiting for unsuspecting prey to venture close enough….
    Or I could just be a nut. Maybe I needed to spend more time in buildings like this, reclining on some PhD’s battered sofa, figuring out exactly what was wrong with me.
    “What’s wrong, Maggie?” Neil stopped halfway up the steps, turning to face me. “Are you hyperventilating?”
    Crap. My breathing sounded worse than when I tried to jog and I did an about face and sat down hard on the steps. A warm hand settled on my neck forcing my head between my knees. The roaring ocean in my mind crashed over my auditory sense and I felt more than heard Neil whispering soothing sounds against my hair.
    As ridiculous as the position appeared, it helped. The freezing concrete beneath the seat of my jeans, the bite of the north wind and Neil’s solid reassuring presence, all settled down the screamer monkeys banging their cymbals between my ears. I stayed put with my patient husband, greedily enjoying his total attention while annoyed by my own weakness. What kind of a monster gleaned perverse enjoyment from another’s worry?
    “You’re right,” I told him, keeping my head perpendicular to my legs, so I could avoid eye contact. “I’m totally screwed up. It’s not your fault though Neil, so please stop thinking that you did or didn’t do something, okay?”
    Neil pulled me up by the collar of my jacket and secured me against him with one steel arm. “Stop that. These histrionics are not going to get you out of the meeting, so suck it up.”
    Was he def? “Hey, I’m giving you a free pass here, pal. No guilt, no regret. Not your fault, capiche?”
    “I heard you and I even believe that you believe that, at least most of the time. But the choice I made to stay with the SEAL teams, it affected you. Maybe you never complained, but you did get use to making the tough calls on your own. You didn’t… need me.”
    I opened my mouth to refute his ridiculous assessment but Neil scowled at me. That was not an easy thing for him to say, no matter how frigging ludicrous the notion might be, and he needed to get this out in the open. My mouth shut with a tooth-jarring click.
    “And you’re still operating that way, like I’m not there for you to bounce ideas around with. Yes, you ask me about the trivial stuff, what should we have for dinner or what color to paint the goddamn foyer. But the big calls,