Free Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) by Gina Ardito

From inside my house, lights glowed in the living room, along with the multi-colored wash of the television across the window blinds. No comfort enveloped me at the thought of home and hearth. Rather, I couldn’t find the strength to leave the peace of my minivan. The urge to restart the engine and slip away into the night slugged me with the force of Mike Tyson’s fist.
    Call me a coward, but years of experience told me what I’d see when I finally stepped through the front door. Toys scattered all over the living room carpet, unwashed dishes piled in the sink, and at least two of my kids bickering loud enough to measure on the Richter scale. The new twist? No Freckles bounding to the door for a pat on the head. Tears stung my eyes, and I rubbed my fists over my face.
    I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t paste a smile on my lips and pretend all was right in my world. All couldn’t be much worse in my world. In the grand scheme of things, I know how pitiful I sounded. My family was together, healthy, and while Roy and I had our share of money problems, we had a roof over our heads and plenty of food in the kitchen. A lot of people suffered with a lot less. Shameful as it might seem to outsiders, at this particular moment in time, the negative burdens I carried on my shoulders outweighed the positives.
    No help for it. I couldn’t sit out here all night, no matter how strongly the idea tempted me. Gathering up some steel, I opened the van door and descended to the pitted driveway. The chilly night sliced through me, only adding to my despair. As I dragged myself to the front portico, Roy stepped out from inside the house, and closed the door firmly behind him. 
    With a brief head nod, he murmured, “Hey.”
    “Hey.” Talk about stimulating conversation. “Meet the Press” had nothing on Roy and me. “What’s up?” I kept my tone deliberately cold, my posture stiff, as if waiting for the next verbal blow to pound my shoulders.
    “Look,” he said, hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
    Oh, thank God. He was apologizing. My bones sagged under a combination of relief and defeat.
    “It was just…” Beneath the porch light, his eyes glimmered with moisture. Roy? My Roy? Crying? No. No way. His fingers scraped his thick hair. “…it’s Freckles , you know? It’s like losing a member of the family.”
    A cement block of tears clogged my throat, and I nodded.
    “I know you would’ve taken him to the vet sooner if you could have.”
    The words worked like a slap to my face. However he meant it, the statement still came out with the same message. Somehow, I’d failed. When he looked at me, no doubt expecting some kind of agreement, I could only nod again. Shivers racked my bones, and emotions swirled inside me. I didn’t know what to say, how to react.
    “Em.” Exasperation frosted his tone. “Say something, for God’s sake.”
    At last, I found my voice. “I want a divorce.”
    I jolted awake on that last word, my heart pounding faster than a racehorse in the last lap of the Kentucky Derby. I was still in the van, still in my driveway, the keys still in the ignition. I dug for my cell phone in the front pocket of my purse and pushed the button to illuminate the screen. 9:15 p.m. glowed greenish-white in the dark interior.
    Good God, I’d fallen asleep again, this time outside the house. For forty-five minutes. I brushed a trembling hand through my hair. What was wrong with me? Seriously.
    Dreaming about divorcing Roy? Was that what I really wanted? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I couldn’t keep up the pretense that everything between us was hunky-dory. Roy and I needed to have a serious talk. How and when we’d convene this summit, I couldn’t fathom. Between our work schedules, kids’ activities, and every other facet of our lives, we barely spoke more than hello and goodbye. Which, of course, was a huge factor in our marital troubles. So how were we supposed