A Girl Like You vinnie Kinsella (best motivational books to read .txt) 📖

The kids were teenagers and had their own soccer schedules, band practice, and meet-ups with friends. I taxied them around until they got their driver’s licenses. Maddy passed the first time, but Ian had to take it twice because he was so chatty with the instructor, he missed a right turn. He’d been friendly and outgoing all his life. I credited his sister’s mothering for this.

One year when Ian got the highest grade at a science fair for making a replica of a beehive to warn people of nest desertion, Adam had been at work. But when he got home, Ian was waiting by the door to tell his dad. Adam had congratulated him heartily, and together they made a wooden frame for his certificate.

As the kids grew into their older teens and went out at night with friends or to part-time jobs, I found myself alone. It felt like I no longer had a partner in my life. I had a sinking sense that Adam and I had grown irreparably apart in the years we’d focused on earning a living and raising the kids. Could we ever become close again?

The last time we’d had sex, we were both tired and probably relieved when it was over. My sexual appetite was always greater than Adam’s, but we’d made it work over the years, even if I had to resort to rubbing out an orgasm by myself. We’d watched porn, but the camera shots bothered Adam’s sense of artistry, so we switched to looking at Tumblr photos that were still graphic but far more tastefully done.

But Adam spent increasing amounts of time in the fourth bedroom we’d turned into his office space. I could hear him clicking away on the keyboard, but when I asked him about it, he’d said he was just searching the web for sports updates or looking at the work of various photographers.

I posted notices for freelance work on Craig’s and got a steady stream of clients, which kept me occupied evenings when Adam was upstairs. One night, when he was working late, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was going on. I went into his home office and tried to sign onto his desktop computer. It was password protected.

I did what I do every time I need help: I called my best friend Eddie.

I’d met Eddie in high school art class. I was a lowly freshman and he was a senior. He was a brilliant sculptor/painter/illustrator. I had an interest in everything but talent in none. One day back in high school, I was nearly crying over a ceramic spoon holder I’d made for my mother’s stove but which exploded in the kiln.

“Air bubbles,” said Eddie. “You gotta really work the clay.”

He showed me how and my next project—a paperweight in the shape of a turtle—survived the deadly kiln. We sat together in art class from then on, and some of his magic rubbed off on me. I managed to pull a B in class, which kept my GPA up despite my lousy math grades.

I could always count on Eddie to be by my side during all my triumphs and disappointments. This time, it didn’t feel like anything good was coming.

“I don’t want to sugarcoat this, so I won’t,” Eddie said in his usual candid manner. “Could there be another woman?”

Of course I had considered that. Adam was still great-looking; the gray at his temples only made him look more distinguished. He went to the gym, was a great listener, wore suits and jeans equally well. I was sure I wasn’t the only woman to find him sexy.

“Can’t you break into his computer?” Eddie asked.

“What is this, Mission Impossible? How exactly would I break in? Like cracking some code?”

“Do you know his password?”

I didn’t. In fact, I’d been surprised he’d used a password to sign on. If he was catching up on news and sports, why was he so guarded?

“It’ll be OK,” Eddie said. “It can’t be that bad.”

8

Turned out, it was not only that bad, it was worse.

On a Saturday morning in March, when the first buds were appearing on the flowering cherry tree, I was writing at the kitchen table when I heard the screech of brakes like someone was slamming on them to stop. When I went to the window, I saw Adam, with an enormous smile on his face, climbing down from the driver’s seat of a camper as long as two dumpsters, jutting out from the end of our driveway and into the road.

I went outside in wonder.

“Well, what do you think?” Adam asked, actually patting the thing affectionately. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

All I could think was that he’d rented the RV for a trip à la the Chevy Chase vacation movies. But he hadn’t even talked about a trip like that.

“Nice,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “What’s it for? Planning a vacation?”

“A vacation of a lifetime,” Adam said, using his sleeve to shine the door handle. “She’s ours.”

“Ours? I don’t understand—where’s your truck?”

“Sold it to buy this beauty.”

I sat down hard on the front lawn, trying to take it all in. Sold his truck. Stashed money. Bought a camper. Without me even knowing?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Jess, I’m serious. Thought we’d take weekend trips, all of us together. And there’s more good news: the company expanded my territory across New England all the way up to Maine. So, I’ll be on the road more—sorry about that part—but I figured instead of hotels, I’d take the RV and stay at campgrounds.”

I tried to make sense of his words. But I couldn’t get past his statement that we’d all go camping on weekends.

The kids were too busy with their own lives and wouldn’t give up a weekend with their friends to go away with us. And my idea of going away for the weekend was watching the sunset from the balcony of a little B&B.

Sure, we’d been camping when the kids were young, hauling out a tent big