Retreat Read Online Free Page A

in.
         She dropped her coat and purse on a chair
by the door and slipped off her heels. David hadn’t noticed the kitchen light
turn on, which meant he was either in bed upstairs or asleep on the couch.
Still, she wanted to be certain.
         Man he’d had her fooled.
         She padded silently across the cold tile
floor to the family room.
         David was there, asleep on the couch in his
usual corner, his sandy-haired head flopped
back against the beige cushion, his mouth partly open as the television blared
a detective show.
         She always found him like this when she got
home after 9:00 . She’d
gently wake him, and then he’d try to talk to her but would be so groggy that
he wouldn’t remember in the morning.
         Tonight she let him sleep.
         She slipped upstairs to their bedroom and
pulled her blue-flowered overnight bag from the top of the walk-in closet. The
cheap canvas duffel was better traveled than most of the people she knew.
         She pulled it open and threw in a pale
green nightgown, a sensible change of underwear, a French blue blouse and a
pair of navy trouser socks. She retrieved her good moisturizer and shampoo from
the marbled bathroom, then packed a smaller bag with make-up. She selected a
navy blue pants suit wrapped in clingy plastic from the cleaner’s, then headed
back downstairs.
         She stopped at the kitchen table and pulled
the photograph of David’s family from her purse. She placed it in the spot
where they left each other notes, and positioned her engagement ring on top
where it would catch the morning sun and David’s eye as he stumbled by.
         She turned toward the family room. His
chest rose and fell.
         How could she have been so dumb? The whole
time she thought she had the upper hand by gathering information on his friends
and associates he was trailing her along like a fool.
         She cleared her throat.
         No response.
         Another woman would have marched into the
family room and screamed at him, shaken him, demanded to know why he’d lied.
Clara didn’t bother. She knew why. The photo proved he was a pig, just as her
mother’s third husband had been a pig. She remembered the day her mother opened
the credit card statement to find the lingerie purchases that she knew hadn’t
been for her. Her mom had railed at her stepfather, spent months in anguish,
until she finally pulled herself out of it.
         Clara didn’t have the time or energy for
such dramatics.
         She was surprised at how she felt – or,
more accurately, didn’t feel – watching David sleep. She didn’t feel
devastated, not the way she did when she booked out of Fort Worth, like the
very life had been ripped from her.
         Had she really planned to marry this man?
         The large house made familiar sounds. Fresh
ice tumbled down into the automatic dispenser in the freezer door. The clock on
the mantle in the family room clicked each second as the television droned. She
expected to come home tonight and stretch out upstairs in bed next to her
future husband, just as she did every night for more than six months.
         Now she’d never sleep there again.
         She needed to pack the rest of her things,
but she didn’t want to do it with David asleep on the couch. It was a mammoth
job for so late at night, and she’d need to make a few trips to a storage unit
until she figured out what her next move would be.
         She made a mental note to call the storage
place from Aesthetics tomorrow. There was time. David was scheduled to leave in
the morning for Omaha
and would be gone several days. That gave her plenty of time to pack up in
peace.
         She waffled between anger and pity watching
him there, oblivious to what was happening. She walked into the family room and
sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. She patted his knee.
         He snorted awake, his eyes half-open and
glassy.