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.They began each conversation with the statement, “Let’s not talk about school,” but they always did.After a few moments of school talk, Laura leaned forward, a devilish twinkle in her eye.“All right,” she said confidentially.“How about this? I think I know where little Miss Shawna works.”Dropping her head to the table, Lindsey moaned.“You’re making my bad day worse.Who cares where she works?”“You will, I think.”Lindsey lifted her head and put her chin on her hand, then regarded her friend through narrowed eyes.“Well? Are you going to tell me, or do I have to play Twenty Questions to pry the information out of you?”“She works at the office,” Laura said with a smirk.Lindsey rolled her eyes.“The office.Great.Okay.I can see we are going to play Twenty Questions.”Laura’s grin widened.“No, Lindsey,” she said slowly.“She works at The Office.”Lindsey stared at her, stunned.The Office was one of the town’s best known strip clubs.“No.I don’t believe it.” She paused.“How do you know, anyway?”Laura shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable.“I had to get my tires rotated the other day, so I took the car to Big Daddy’s Tires, which is just across the street from the club.While I was waiting I…well, I’m sorry, Lindsey, but I saw Anthony.”“What?”“He was…walking with a leggy redhead, and they were holding hands.”Lindsey closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing calm.She didn’t want to see that image in her head.“Anyway, he went into the club with her.I was staring—if he’d looked across the street he would have seen me for sure.When they were inside I ran across the street to look at a poster outside The Office’s entrance,” she said.“It showed—and I do mean showed—all their regular dancers.There was the tall, good-looking—sorry, honey, but she is—redheaded young woman I’d seen with Anthony, and the poster said her name was Shawna.It has to be her.”***Fifteen days had passed since Anthony had walked out, though it seemed more like fifteen years to Lindsey.She was beginning to believe her unbelievable situation.The reality of losing her husband had sunk in like a rough-edged blade, and it hurt just as much today as it had that first day.Maybe more.She told herself that she was better off without him, saying he was no good for her, and she deserved more.All the clichés about shattered love seemed to apply.But her own lectures didn’t ease the loneliness one tiny bit.The days were tolerable.It was fortunate that she loved her job, and the kids kept her busy.School was like a safe little pocket of existence.But she dreaded the abysmal nights and the long, dreary weekends.And it wasn’t just loneliness.Outside of the safety of her school’s campus, she was jumpy.Even the smallest sound gave her system a jolt, whether it was a tire screeching, a baby crying, a dog barking—oh, her heart ached for Wendell—or even a tree branch brushing against the wall of her adobe house.Everything startled her, sent adrenalin rushing through her system.She had no idea when she’d become so paranoid.With cooler weather due any day, she threw herself into planning for a winter garden in a corner of her tiny backyard.Sure, the mental health professionals all labeled what she was doing “avoidance” or “denial,” but she was the one who had to cope, who had to get past the loneliness and the all too familiar sense of abandonment.She decided her medicine and therapy of choice would be gardening.She knew very little about gardening in the southwest except that it could be tricky.A little research was absolutely necessary.She stepped outside, heading to the bookstore, then took a deep breath and smiled.Just taking this simple action felt good.The darkness lifted, if only for a moment.The exquisite aroma of delicious, premium coffee hovered among the colorful shelves of books and the comfy, snuggle-down chairs.Everyone in the bookstore—shoppers and clerks alike—was a book lover, and she felt a kinship with them all.Lindsey loved this place.She liked to fantasize that anything was possible here.The only sorrows suffered within these walls were those a reader chose to feel while empathizing—or fantasizing—along with a fictional character.That’s what she told herself, anyway.It helped her get through another day.The gardening theme spilled quite nicely into Lindsey’s classroom.The students learned to chant part of a poem called “Crops on the Farm.”It takes lots of help from the farmer,The rain and the sunshine, too.To grow all the crops that are yummy to eat,Good food for me, and good food for you.“Miss Lindsey?”“Yes, Harley.Thank you for raising your hand.”“What are crops?”Aha! A teachable moment.“You have great questions, Harley.Class, any volunteers? Does any one think they know or would like to take a guess?”There were no volunteers.They all simply stared, waiting for her to tell them.But she wanted them to think for themselves.Lindsey kept waiting for an answer, then she asked the question again.“What are crops?”Finally, Marvin’s hand went up.“Crops…are a lot like alligators,” he stated with conviction.***She drove west, heading to The Desert Grows Nursery, until a red traffic light forced her to come to a stop.This was not a good place to stop.She stared steadfastly ahead, refusing to look to her left.She was not going to look.Don’t…look.But of course she looked, and she saw the familiar signage in front of The Office.Could it really be possible that her husband was dating a twenty-year-old stripper? Could Laura have been joking? She grinned.Sure.Laura was probably just trying to make her laugh.But still…that would be an awfully cruel joke for her friend to play.Lindsey reached into the glove box to retrieve her digital camera, which had a powerful zoom lens.She aimed the camera at the flesh-revealing poster by the entrance then zoomed in.She focused, shot, and turned the car around.She wanted to see the photo on her television so she’d know what she was up against.The Desert Grows Nursery would have to wait.Autumn coolness permeated the house, so before plugging the memory card into the viewer, Lindsey wrapped herself in the old coyote-covered quilt her mom had made for her long ago.When she thought she was ready, she brought the image up on her TV and stared mournfully at the photo.How could she compete with someone—a young someone—who looked like that? The girl was scantily dressed in a red sequined bikini bottom.A long, sheer red scarf draped strategically across her perfect—and large—breasts.Everything about the woman looked so flawless she seemed unreal.Like a sexy superhero.She made magazine centerfolds look like the average girl next door
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