to him. Just keep on walking. Don’t turn around. Fat chance of that happening. Damn, she was beautiful. “Thanks for reading my books.”
Chapter Eight
‡
A fter a long hot bath, I plopped down on my bed and let out a delicious sigh until it occurred to me I’d been so busy today, I hadn’t once checked my phone to see if Jim had called. I scrolled down the numbers in my Recent Calls log and recognized all the numbers, especially Jake’s.
Was this how my husband felt wherever he was? Excited, enjoying the attention someone else? I pulled the bathrobe tighter around me. While it still hurt that Jim had left me, I was grateful I had something to do besides mope around the house back in Charlotte. I patted the top of the little brown coffin on the nightstand. “You would have been so proud of me, Lilly. Mommy was on the freaking Today Show.”
Scrolling through my email, I was surprised I had a hundred and forty-two congratulatory messages and one trying to get me to sign up for a Bloomingdale’s credit card. I was replying to Marsha’s message when my cell phone rang.
“You must be psychic, I was just emailing you.”
“Tara, you were fabulous today. I mean I couldn’t believe that was you, flipping your hair, yucking it up with Kathie Lee and Hoda. I’ve never been more proud of anybody in my life, but honey, I’ve got to tell you, your personality may have lit up the screen, but there is no place for that blah-colored Gap t-shirt on national TV.”
“Hey, Sharon Stone wore a Gap T to the Oscars a few years ago.”
“It was forever ago, ten or fifteen years, and if memory serves me correctly, she paired it with a Vera Wang skirt.”
Ten or fifteen years is forever? I’m forever older than Jake Randall? And married to a man who’s forever older than me. What the hell was I thinking?
“You’d be proud of me, Marsha. I didn’t check my phone to see if Jim called today, not even once.”
“Good for you. You looked amazing and sounded really good.”
“I am good. My publicist, Jake, is getting me ready for those stupid theater shows they have me doing. We’re going to Atlanta tomorrow to meet a friend of his to help with that.”
“Those stupid shows are going to pay your mortgages for the next six months. So, what happened to Erin?”
“She had—an accident. Had to have surgery and won’t be able to travel, so they gave me Jake.”
“Is he cute?”
Gorgeous, but I’m married. Married. Married. Married. “I guess he is.” Definitely.
“God, the least they could do is give you something pretty to look at.”
“Jake’s scheduled two days with this Lou guy Atlanta, but I’m hoping I can do well enough so I can get away to the beach for the weekend.”
“Ooh, Mike and I are going down Friday and Melissa’s coming over for drinks. Bring Jake along; it can be your first date.”
“God, you sound like we’re sixteen. This is just business, Marsha.”
Jim had been gone almost three months and without a word. Every day I expected someone to walk up to me, like they do on those cop shows, shove divorce papers in my hand and say, “you’ve been served.” Of course there is no handbook for the deserted, nothing that says how long to wait before you start looking again. Flirting. But a weekend at the beach? Was I really ready for that?
The whole next day was surreal. All of the women on The View were super nice and helped me feel at ease before we went on the air. I was told ahead of time what they would talk about. At one point it hit me that I really was sandwiched between Barbara Walters and Woopi Goldberg, drinking coffee, and chatting about the new romance series and the theater dates. Barbara mentioned Thirty Days To The Perfect Marriage, and the title alone got some laughs, but she focused on the release of the romance series and my journey as a writer.
I was fine until she said, “So Tara, I have to ask you. What does your husband Jim think about all your
Chapter Eight
‡
A fter a long hot bath, I plopped down on my bed and let out a delicious sigh until it occurred to me I’d been so busy today, I hadn’t once checked my phone to see if Jim had called. I scrolled down the numbers in my Recent Calls log and recognized all the numbers, especially Jake’s.
Was this how my husband felt wherever he was? Excited, enjoying the attention someone else? I pulled the bathrobe tighter around me. While it still hurt that Jim had left me, I was grateful I had something to do besides mope around the house back in Charlotte. I patted the top of the little brown coffin on the nightstand. “You would have been so proud of me, Lilly. Mommy was on the freaking Today Show.”
Scrolling through my email, I was surprised I had a hundred and forty-two congratulatory messages and one trying to get me to sign up for a Bloomingdale’s credit card. I was replying to Marsha’s message when my cell phone rang.
“You must be psychic, I was just emailing you.”
“Tara, you were fabulous today. I mean I couldn’t believe that was you, flipping your hair, yucking it up with Kathie Lee and Hoda. I’ve never been more proud of anybody in my life, but honey, I’ve got to tell you, your personality may have lit up the screen, but there is no place for that blah-colored Gap t-shirt on national TV.”
“Hey, Sharon Stone wore a Gap T to the Oscars a few years ago.”
“It was forever ago, ten or fifteen years, and if memory serves me correctly, she paired it with a Vera Wang skirt.”
Ten or fifteen years is forever? I’m forever older than Jake Randall? And married to a man who’s forever older than me. What the hell was I thinking?
“You’d be proud of me, Marsha. I didn’t check my phone to see if Jim called today, not even once.”
“Good for you. You looked amazing and sounded really good.”
“I am good. My publicist, Jake, is getting me ready for those stupid theater shows they have me doing. We’re going to Atlanta tomorrow to meet a friend of his to help with that.”
“Those stupid shows are going to pay your mortgages for the next six months. So, what happened to Erin?”
“She had—an accident. Had to have surgery and won’t be able to travel, so they gave me Jake.”
“Is he cute?”
Gorgeous, but I’m married. Married. Married. Married. “I guess he is.” Definitely.
“God, the least they could do is give you something pretty to look at.”
“Jake’s scheduled two days with this Lou guy Atlanta, but I’m hoping I can do well enough so I can get away to the beach for the weekend.”
“Ooh, Mike and I are going down Friday and Melissa’s coming over for drinks. Bring Jake along; it can be your first date.”
“God, you sound like we’re sixteen. This is just business, Marsha.”
Jim had been gone almost three months and without a word. Every day I expected someone to walk up to me, like they do on those cop shows, shove divorce papers in my hand and say, “you’ve been served.” Of course there is no handbook for the deserted, nothing that says how long to wait before you start looking again. Flirting. But a weekend at the beach? Was I really ready for that?
The whole next day was surreal. All of the women on The View were super nice and helped me feel at ease before we went on the air. I was told ahead of time what they would talk about. At one point it hit me that I really was sandwiched between Barbara Walters and Woopi Goldberg, drinking coffee, and chatting about the new romance series and the theater dates. Barbara mentioned Thirty Days To The Perfect Marriage, and the title alone got some laughs, but she focused on the release of the romance series and my journey as a writer.
I was fine until she said, “So Tara, I have to ask you. What does your husband Jim think about all your
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