The Taste of Lavender Read Online Free PDF Page A

regarding Maribel?
    I shook my head, as much to clear the
last thought from my head as to dissuade my husband from continuing to try and
talk me out of going away with Mirabel for the weekend. I was going. His
opinion didn’t matter. Not anymore.
    “Cindy, I just...”
    “No.” I wagged my finger at him. “You
don’t get to have a tantrum now. I never ask for anything. I never go anywhere.
You are a grown man and you can take care of yourself for two days. Now, I’m
leaving. Are you going to kiss me goodbye, or what?”
    I stood at the door and tapped my foot.
He eyed me for a minute before turning his attention back to the television.
“Fine. Go have yourself a ball.”
    Heat spread across my face. “Fine. I’ll
call you tonight.”
    I gathered up my stuff and pulled open
the front door as he muttered whatever , tossed the remote on the coffee
table and stormed to the back of the house. Call it a last-ditch effort to win
the battle, but I wasn’t playing.
    Out the door I went. The air was crisp,
but calm, and the gray skyline gave everything an eerie greenish cast. What I
wouldn’t do for some sunshine, I thought.
    I popped the trunk and struggled to get
a grip on my suitcase, so I could lift it into the trunk. It sure would have
been nice if I had a man to help me with the stupid thing. Oh, right. I did
have one, but he was choosing to act like a toddler.
    “Andiamo!” Maribel’s voice floated
across the street. Ah, there’s my sunshine now.
    She jogged over the asphalt, juggling a
half-dozen bags of all shapes and sizes. She slid to a stop and threw her stuff
into the trunk next to my bags with a grunt.
    “Everything okay?”
    She shrugged her shoulders and paced to
the passenger door, jerking it open with a little too much force. “It is fine.
Let’s go.”
    It seemed like we were both having a bad
start to the day. Things could only get better from there.
    We drove for several hours, talking very
little and enjoying the silence. My mind wandered here and there. Mostly there,
if the truth be told.
    With every mile that passed I became
more upset by my husband’s attitude right before I left. More and more, I just
didn’t understand his mood swings and outbursts. He became petulant at the most
innocent things. And while I was trying to figure out what his problem was,
he’d come up behind me with such puppy-dog affection that it would overwhelm
me. Smother me.
    My body would stiffen before I could
stop myself, setting off a chain reaction of hurtful words, angry glares and
the taste of my own salty tears. Hours, sometimes days of silence would follow.
Then, like a slate wiped clean, he would be back to his normal
video-game-playing self. The house would be peaceful for a few days, and then
the discontent would sprout again. Something small, and seemingly insignificant
would be said— like the time he noticed my new scarf.
    I’d responded that Maribel had given it
to me, saying it looked better on me then it did on her. Darkness had flitted
across his face and he’d demanded that I give it back. He’d buy me another
scarf, dammit . In hindsight, I’d missed the undertone of his comments.
At the time, I’d been so angry that he was trying to order me around, that I’d
overlooked the root of the turmoil.
    To him, Maribel was the devil in a
dress. To me she was an angel barely keeping her feet on the ground. The chasm
was becoming insurmountable.
    “Look, there is our exit.” Maribel
nudged me back to reality.
    “Oh, you’re right. Hang on.” I checked
behind me, then maneuvered the car onto the off-ramp. She reached for the
console to steady herself, and ended up with her hand on my leg instead. She
left it there until we pulled into the valet station of our hotel, and I didn’t
seem to mind. When the car came to a stop, and she removed her hand, the
absence of her warmth was noticeable. 
    We checked into the hotel and decided to
take a nap before going out for dinner and a stroll around DC