Yesteryear: A GMA Book Club Pick: A Novel by Caro Claire Burke - 47
On the last day of the life I imagined for myself, I woke up and begged the Lord not to take away everything He had given. The distant mooing of Sassafras. That man was good. Bockbockbockbock. White noise. Thank you for the Inheritance. A wave of nausea—a reminder to go over the questions Doug’s PR ...
On the last day of the life I imagined for myself, I woke up and begged the Lord not to take away everything He had given.
The distant mooing of Sassafras. That man was good. Bockbockbockbock. White noise. Thank you for the Inheritance. A wave of nausea—a reminder to go over the questions Doug’s PR firm had sent over. Why don’t you show all the help you have behind the scenes? Homemade orange juice. A chorus of angels: Morning, Mama. Shannon in the corner, dark-eyed and twitchy. Dreaming of monsters. Pregnancy brain. What does tradwife mean? Big gummy smile. Caleb—half-man cowboy monster child—dipping me low, kissing me while the children cheered. You don’t understand women at all. Natural Dinner. Stupid nannies. Trip to Target. Vanessa, that pinched-mouth hypocrite. Gossiping about the pesticides at my barn while she shopped for pesticides to feed her own fucking children. Cunt. Another apology to the Lord. Another Angry Woman. Another forced pleasantry, so good to see you. Another day of wondering why it was so much easier to slap a smile onto my face than it was to peel that smile back off. Another long drive back home, through the mountains and past the farms and down the long dirt road to the nightmare—I mean dream—of my own making, the world I molded with my own bare hands. Playdough husband, playdough children, playdough life. Cheese!
Final question, Mrs. Heller Mills: Would you like to comment on these horrific allegations?
Homewrecker.
For what it’s worth: I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re just confused.
Selfish little twat.
“It’s time to run.”
My husband, sweet and sour peach-brained cave idiot, staring at me with unabashed pride. Genuinely thinking his father believed in him.
“Let’s pray on it.”
Desperate for the day to end. Desperate for that feeling in my head to go away, that soft whining, the sound of a rotting house on stilts over rushing surf. I clasped my hands, bowed my head, pressed my thumbs hard against my forehead. Tried to ignore the anger, bubbling and foaming in my stomach. Tried to swallow the fear floating up my throat like mustard gas. We’re walking on thin ice now. Tried to breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Clementine’s voice in my head. Ringing, ringing: What does tradwife mean?
An hour later, Caleb was snoring and I was staring into the darkness, my thoughts running wild. Please, Lord, show me the way.
I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something that I’d missed.