Return to Summerhouse
One
Amy closed her suitcase and looked around the bedroom she shared with her husband, Stephen. Everything was neatly in place, just the way she liked it. Stephen teased her that she'd fall down dead if the clock showed eight A.M. and she didn't have all the beds made. But he didn't fool her; he liked the house to be clean and neat as much as she did.
She sat down on the buttoned bench at the foot of the bed and sighed. I can't do this, she thought for the thousandth time. For that matter, why was she being made to do it? She wasn't good with strangers, wasn't good in social situations where she had to meet people and make chitchat. She liked going to the same places, seeing the same people, and talking about their same lives. So what was wrong with that? If it made her feel safe, so what?
Just because Stephen and his father knew some therapist and she suggested that Amy get away for a while didn't make it necessary. Besides, what gave that woman the right to tell other people what they should do with their lives?
"You have on your sulky face again," Stephen said from the doorway.
It flashed through her mind ... read full excerpt from: Return to Summerhouse ebook
