Read Past Due for Free Online Page B

like a clown. Turning the handle, she waited for the water to warm. As her fingers dipped in and out, she decided she wasn’t a fool for crying. She’d earned the salt value of each and every tear. She survived the lies and smashed dreams of Tres Coulter. And if, in this moment of weakness...no, not weakness…in this moment of reflection…if the scoundrel brought back the nasty “remember whens”, then she owed it to herself to purge the pain with a few tears. 
    She had a good life. A life blessed with so much. Like…like…a crippled car, a home threatened by rising costs and second hand furniture, work that left her broke and worn out, and a completely loveless existence.
    She was miserable. Her life was miserable. She truly had nothing. She was pathetic. Tanner was right.
    Tanner.
    She had Tanner. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
    Yes, she was a good mother who was rewarded with a wonderful son. Partially lifted from the clutches of defeat, she unrolled enough paper to blot her eyes and blow her nose.
    She’d cried long enough. It was time to stand up straight and go on. She tossed the tissue in the trash, washed her face, and told herself she felt better. Assured herself she was still strong. Today, this cry, this upheaval– it was an exception. She dealt with him fine yesterday. Today, she was just moody after a night without sleep. He hadn’t truly affected her. Hadn’t made her spin toward him like a compass to magnetic north. She was just worn out.
    Her energy stoked, Jenna began working in a fury. She painted the walls pink, the furniture white and yellow, and added pink and yellow lace and ribbons to the once plain white curtains. Bits of fabric sewn to the comforter bloomed into vibrant JoBells, or gaillardias, to mainlanders. Once the walls were dry, she created a mural with a white doe timidly peeking out of a piney wood. The legend of the white doe symbolized Virginia Dare, the first white child born in America. She was, according to local lore, born somewhere on the land Jenna now called home. It was a fitting theme for a native island girl. Moving and shoving furniture, she placed and replaced every last item until each and every piece satisfied her artist’s eye.
    Glancing out the window, a black sky greeted her. Suddenly realizing she had worked well over twelve hours, her back started to ache. She stretched trying to remove the kinks and then stepped into the doorway to survey her handiwork. Normally, a rush of satisfaction would bring her pride in a job well done, but not tonight.
    Fearing another pity party coming on, she scurried from the room and marched to the kitchen. It wasn’t like her to root through someone else’s fridge, but all her work left her parched and she never adjusted to the flavor of the island tap water unless it was well chilled. Standing in the cold glow, Jenna spotted a four pack of wine coolers. Milo was a beer-only guy, so the wine coolers were Connie’s and she wouldn’t be drinking them any time soon. Jenna jotted a quick “I owe you” and propped it against the cardboard holder in the fridge, pulling two of the bottles out. She slid them into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and headed out of the house, locking the door behind her.
    She checked her watch. It was close to ten. Tanner would be settled in at Maureen’s probably with a couple of friends, eating pizza and watching movies. She didn’t want to go home and be alone. She could join her family at Maureen’s, but Maureen would undoubtedly sense something wrong and question her. She knew she should go home and sleep, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn in that direction. Instead, her feet carried her toward the shore–down the road, across the highway, and over the Cape Hatteras boardwalk. After crossing the coarse sand on the west side of the dunes, she removed her sandals and allowed her feet to sink into the cooler, softer sand. It squeaked under her heals as she walked. The