Orchard Grove Read Online Free
idea.
Under normal circumstances, I’m not the type to spend my days looking out the window at an attractive blonde. As a child I was what your average eighth grade teacher might describe as a good kid, a real pleasure to have in class, cuts us all up from time to time with his humor, gets along with everyone, needs to apply himself more, yadda, yadda. I scored average grades, played Pop Warner and high school football, suffered through Little League baseball, didn’t binge drink (until college), limited my recreational drugs to pot, and actively participated in the Boy Scouts.
As an adult, I’m a hard worker, a good neighbor, a loyal husband, I pay my taxes on time, hand over my pocket change to the Salvation Army Santa standing outside the door of the Shop Right at Christmas time, and I even part with a monthly donation to the Wounded Warrior Project. Why? Because I’m a true believer in good vibes versus bad.
I was raised by two loving parents in upstate New York who fought a lot for sure (what parents don’t fight when the money gets tight?), but taught me right from wrong, brought me to church on Saturday afternoons, educated me in private schools, made me answer for my transgressions be they getting caught with a joint in my jeans pocket or taking the car out when I wasn’t supposed to and who, in the end, did the best job they could.
Later on when I married only to divorce a half dozen years later, they wondered not where I went wrong, but where they went wrong. People stay in marriages for better or for worse. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. My failure must have been something they didn’t do right when it came to teaching me family values. But when they saw for themselves just how badly Hollywood was eating me up, they supported me in my decision to come back east. When I found Susan and they saw how happy she made me, they further supported me by being nice to her, and they both went to their graves believing I’d found peace in the form of my second wife.
They weren’t far off.
For the ten years that Susan and I had been married, I’d always thought, well, two’s the charm . We were friends as much as we were lovers who enjoyed experimenting in the privacy of our own bedroom. It made a difference not having children underfoot, I suppose. It meant we could tryout things with one another more than the average Orchard Grove couple who were always tending to the unending needs of their kids, or so we assumed. We could play every night with the candles burning, the music blaring, the doors open, or even invite another playful couple over if we wanted to. Or we could simply make wholesome white, Wonder Bread love under the covers as we turned in for the night or when we woke up bright and early in the morning.
For a period of many years, Susan and I did the things a couple who are in love, and in love for a long time, do. Ours wasn’t a question of lust, as it had been when we were young and new. Ours was a matter of trust, respect, and love.
True love.
But as time went on and my success in Hollywood dwindled, Susan and I grew apart. Her role as lover dwindled in direct proportion to the responsibility she had no choice but to take on as sole breadwinner. But even then, the bills were piling up alongside my rejection emails. Although we didn’t fight a lot about it, it was a constant source of tension which invaded our veins like a bizarre variety of sickle cell anemia which in the end, resulted in, you guessed it, no sex… “Don’t even think about it, Ethan buddy!”
But something improved for me when Lana Cattivo moved in next door. There occurred a sea change of sorts. It was like my skin had cracked open as easily and as fragile as an eggshell, my insides spilling out onto the floor. But at the same time, the void left behind was filled with something else entirely. I guess you’d have to call that something else, desire, since lust wasn’t entirely accurate. But
Under normal circumstances, I’m not the type to spend my days looking out the window at an attractive blonde. As a child I was what your average eighth grade teacher might describe as a good kid, a real pleasure to have in class, cuts us all up from time to time with his humor, gets along with everyone, needs to apply himself more, yadda, yadda. I scored average grades, played Pop Warner and high school football, suffered through Little League baseball, didn’t binge drink (until college), limited my recreational drugs to pot, and actively participated in the Boy Scouts.
As an adult, I’m a hard worker, a good neighbor, a loyal husband, I pay my taxes on time, hand over my pocket change to the Salvation Army Santa standing outside the door of the Shop Right at Christmas time, and I even part with a monthly donation to the Wounded Warrior Project. Why? Because I’m a true believer in good vibes versus bad.
I was raised by two loving parents in upstate New York who fought a lot for sure (what parents don’t fight when the money gets tight?), but taught me right from wrong, brought me to church on Saturday afternoons, educated me in private schools, made me answer for my transgressions be they getting caught with a joint in my jeans pocket or taking the car out when I wasn’t supposed to and who, in the end, did the best job they could.
Later on when I married only to divorce a half dozen years later, they wondered not where I went wrong, but where they went wrong. People stay in marriages for better or for worse. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. My failure must have been something they didn’t do right when it came to teaching me family values. But when they saw for themselves just how badly Hollywood was eating me up, they supported me in my decision to come back east. When I found Susan and they saw how happy she made me, they further supported me by being nice to her, and they both went to their graves believing I’d found peace in the form of my second wife.
They weren’t far off.
For the ten years that Susan and I had been married, I’d always thought, well, two’s the charm . We were friends as much as we were lovers who enjoyed experimenting in the privacy of our own bedroom. It made a difference not having children underfoot, I suppose. It meant we could tryout things with one another more than the average Orchard Grove couple who were always tending to the unending needs of their kids, or so we assumed. We could play every night with the candles burning, the music blaring, the doors open, or even invite another playful couple over if we wanted to. Or we could simply make wholesome white, Wonder Bread love under the covers as we turned in for the night or when we woke up bright and early in the morning.
For a period of many years, Susan and I did the things a couple who are in love, and in love for a long time, do. Ours wasn’t a question of lust, as it had been when we were young and new. Ours was a matter of trust, respect, and love.
True love.
But as time went on and my success in Hollywood dwindled, Susan and I grew apart. Her role as lover dwindled in direct proportion to the responsibility she had no choice but to take on as sole breadwinner. But even then, the bills were piling up alongside my rejection emails. Although we didn’t fight a lot about it, it was a constant source of tension which invaded our veins like a bizarre variety of sickle cell anemia which in the end, resulted in, you guessed it, no sex… “Don’t even think about it, Ethan buddy!”
But something improved for me when Lana Cattivo moved in next door. There occurred a sea change of sorts. It was like my skin had cracked open as easily and as fragile as an eggshell, my insides spilling out onto the floor. But at the same time, the void left behind was filled with something else entirely. I guess you’d have to call that something else, desire, since lust wasn’t entirely accurate. But
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