The House on Persimmon Road Read Free

that?”
    “Actually, no. I always thought you married him because he was the first man you slept with. If only you had studied European art or the romance languages—but no—with you it was math and computers. Subjects like that do not put you in the path of sexy, interesting men.”
    “I don’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
    “There you go again, Justine. Making me feel guilty. I feel such a headache coming on.”
    “You timed it just right. There’s the moving van. Do you think you can hold off on headaches until we get settled?”
    Pauline sighed. “One can only hope.”
    “I don’t have the luxury of hope. I have to deal in realities.”
    “Mr. Highsmith looked real enough to me. He isn’t married, you know.”
    “What are you now, a seer?” Justine handed her mother the keys. “Go unlock the door. I’ll direct the movers.”
    “His shirt had laundry creases. No woman in her right mind sends wash ‘n’ wear shirts to a commercial laundry. So he’s single.”
    “Mother,” said Justine, vexed, “I’m still reeling from the effects of one failed marriage. I’m not interested in putting myself through that a second time.”
    “Yes, but you thought you were happily married. And people who’ve been happily married always—”
    “Save your convoluted philosophy for the children, Mother. They understand it better than I do.”
    “Justine, dear,” Pauline said, placing a restraining hand on her daughter’s arm. “You need a man. I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d believe in that old adage, but in your case it’s true. You’re better at life when coupled.”
    “Coupled?”
    Pauline wiggled her eyebrows. “You know what I mean. I just want you to know, I won’t stand in your way. In fact, I intend to encourage you.”
    Justine turned away quickly. Hot tears came up behind her eyes. Even her own mother was doing it! Thinking, suggesting, that she could not make it in life without a man.
    It was true that she had leaned heavily on Philip. But he had encouraged her to depend entirely upon him; he wanted it, insisted! Now, of course she saw through that. It was his way of proving to himself that he was a man above others.
    In the end all he had proven was that he couldn’t bear up under the responsibility of a mortgage, two children, work—a classic case of biting off more than he could chew. He overloaded. His circuits went haywire. He was hoisted on his own petard. When he had crumbled, her entire world had crumbled along with his.
    Thinking of Philip caused a churning hurt and anger in Justine’s stomach.
    If only it had been another woman.
    Or even another man!
    She could’ve battled that and won!
    But how does a woman fight a man who has decided to abandon his family in favor of becoming a monk so he could wear saffron robes, chant “om”, and go live in Southeast Asia?
    There wasn’t a single article in any magazine that told a woman how to cope with that! Impotency, herpes, how to argue effectively—all topics well covered. One thing those women’s rags never delved into was revenge. How could they miss that a woman needed revenge, craved it! Justine sniffed. She got back at them. She had canceled all of her subscriptions, except Martha Stewart—but only until the subscription ran out. The satisfaction had lasted only moments.
    While her world collapsed, she had tried not to think or feel, pretending strength and calm she had not really possessed. She was still pretending.
    She knew the score. She was only accountable to her dreams in the dark lonely recesses of the bed she no longer shared with anyone.
    Pauline’s words threaded their way far into Justine’s brain: “You’re better at life when coupled.”
    Deep down in her soul Justine knew she was a woman who thrived on loving and being loved, a woman who longed to be held, enclosed in strong arms, partnered in life and safe from the outer world. But a stubbornness that was entirely Justine Hale