Free The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug by Jennifer L. Hart Page A

way.”
    Dr. Bob slammed his pen down. “That is just an excuse and a pretty lousy one. Right up there with the classic “Not tonight dear, I have a headache.” He made his voice all breathy and effeminate which was hysterical. I laughed until I caught his scowl. Whoops.
    “Do not make the mistake of getting hung up on what’s normal, Maggie. While sex once a week is a rich bounty for some couples, others might go insane without for more than thirty-six hours.”
    For once I didn’t have a witty response on my lips. “Do you mean some couples or some men?”
    “Sex is an elemental need, like food or shelter. Think of it this way; if one well dries up, does a man just roll over and die? Or will he venture down a new path to find another well?”

Seven

    W as the entire world obsessed with sex? I wondered as I perused the homework assignment given to me by Dr. Bob. Just how was I supposed to accomplish that with Marty and his pregnant girlfriend in my bed, Josh locked in the bathroom for a healthy portion of the day and Neil at work to get away from the chaos. Not that I blamed him. I’d tried to reason with Dr. Bob, told him that a house full of relatives was not conducive to one orgasm—let alone the baker’s dozen called for on this piece of paper—but he’d hustled me out through the empty reception area.
    Maybe we should just leave my brother in charge for a week and take this to-do list and hit the Caribbean. Yeah, no snow or torched birds, the idea held merit. Of course, Child Protective Services would be camped out on our doorstep within twenty-four hours and how would I concentrate with that mental picture? And concentration was essential, as well as some time and perhaps a few scented candles….
    Shoot, I really was an old fogy.
    Swathing myself in my scarf, hat, earmuffs, gloves and heavy parka, I‘d taken my first step toward my car when I remembered about Neil’s phone. Not wanting to bother Dr. Bob, I scoured the waiting room, but only the DSMV IV on the coffee table was smaller than a breadbox. Maybe he hadn’t left it here? On my hands and knees, I checked under the sofa and was about to conceded defeat when I heard the door creak open.
    “Mrs. Phillips?” The doctor’s tone was flat, no inflection whatsoever for the sight of my hind end in the air. I scrambled up, bashing my elbow on the table in my haste.
    “Sorry, I was just looking for Neil’s phone.” I rubbed my elbow and smiled sheepishly.
    “Your husband retrieved his phone yesterday afternoon,” He informed me. “He was quite relieved to have it back.”
    I’d started to nod, but stopped mid-motion and scowled. Neil hadn’t told me he’d come back here. And what was with the doctor’s word choice. Relieved? That seemed a bit over the top. He’d known he left his cell here, noticed it missing in the car on our way to the Valentinos, after my battery had crapped out.
    Why hadn’t he told me he’d picked it up? Neil told me everything, at least everything that wasn’t classified. Honesty was the cornerstone of our relationship. True, I hadn’t told him I was coming back here today, but that was different, damn it. And now Dr. Bob knew Neil had withheld information from me, no matter how insignificant.
    Mountain out of a mosquito bite. I told myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Hiding my real thoughts was a challenge, but I somehow blanked my expression. “Of course, it probably just slipped his mind. Thanks again, I’ll see you next week.”
    I hustled out of there, not wanting his insight into the matter. Dr. Bob had done enough damage to my psyche for one day.
    So what if Neil had gone out of his way yesterday, before picking up the boys, to retrieve his phone? He wanted it back, just in case. In case of what? My inner skeptic surfaced and smirked at me. What call would have been so important that he refused to go one night without his phone? Anyone could reach him at the house, right?
    Unless anyone didn’t have the