The Girls of Tonsil Lake Read Online Free Page A

finished eating, she threw me out. “I have to work.”
    “All right, but tell David I need someone to take me out to supper. He’s a good guy. He’ll volunteer.”
    For a minute there, she smiled, so I did, too. But I wasn’t happy when I went away. Not happy at all.
    Jean
    When I sold my first book, I got flowers from David, and also from every one of the other Tonsil Lake girls. My kids hung a banner from the roof over the front porch proclaiming their mother to be a published author. I spent an entire afternoon on the phone with other members of my writers’ group saying, “Yes, it’s really true. Can you believe it?”
    Then I made the beds, dusted the living room, did three loads of laundry, and cooked a dinner that included all the major food groups. David was surprised.
    “I thought we’d go out,” he said, coming up behind me in the kitchen and sticking his hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “You know, celebrate your success.”
    I looked back over my shoulder at him, the carving knife stopping halfway through the roast. “You didn’t say.”
    “I’m sorry.” He nuzzled my neck. “I thought you’d know.”
    When I sold the second book, David sent me flowers, the Tonsil Lake girls sent me enough locally made and sinfully delicious chocolates to give me a week-long sugar high, and the kids wanted to know what I would buy them when I got my advance check.
    I had just stepped out of the shower when David came into the bathroom, taking off his tie. He leered at me, then said, “What’s for supper? I’m beat.”
    “I thought we’d go out,” I said, wrapping my towel around myself because the only other alternative would have been smothering him with it.
    He looked nonplused. “Oh. Well, we can, I guess.”
    “Never mind.” I gave him my best June Cleaver smile. “We’ll have BLTs and we’ll eat in the living room. The kids are spending the night at Suzanne’s.”
    “Oh, well.” He leered again, and pulled the towel away. “Just a little preview,” he said, tipping my face up to kiss me.
    But he was asleep in front of the television by the time the dishes were done. I covered him with a quilt and went to bed alone.
    And I thought, If my advances were bigger, I just might get a divorce.
    When the third book sold, Vin was in town, so we all went out to Tonsil Lake and got drunk. Andie stood on a table and told all six of the other tavern customers that I had just sold my third book and it was going to be a bestseller.
    Vin held up her glass and said solemnly, “And to the republic, for which it stands.”
    Suzanne cried.
    I told David about the sale when he came to pick us up. He didn’t say much, but stopped in the middle of the parking lot and put his arms around me and held me for a long time. “I’m proud of you,” he said, “but it really doesn’t have a damned thing to do with how many books you sell.”
    I would have liked to know what he was proud of me for, but Andie chose that moment to say, “Oh, shit,” and throw up all over her shoes. They were new Birkenstocks, too, and she bitched all the way home. Then we all got to laughing and David said he’d better not find any wet spots on the seats of his new car, which made us laugh all the harder.
    But now I’m finishing my eleventh book, and no one seems to think it’s a big deal anymore at all. I have two days left to write twenty-some pages, so I’m not in too bad a shape. But my stomach hurts again and I’m tired. I’m so tired.
    Andie saved my life when she brought over lunch today. Then David brought home Chinese and set it all out for supper. He even cut some flowers and put them in a vase in the middle of the table, which made me want to cry. Or maybe it was the combination of grease-laden cheeseburger and Chinese that twisted my stomach into knots that made me want to cry.
    Vin called and asked me to spend a month in Maine. I don’t know what she was thinking of. I can’t leave David or the house for