• The Oasis of Eternal Gratitude
Susan Rasco was tired of running.
Her husband had hired a crew of chasers after discovering her missing from the laundry room where he’d chained her until she saw the error of her ways.
Ray was an ornery son of a bitch from the moment they said I do. Once he owned her, the law said he could do with her as he pleased, and so he did.
This came as a great shock to Susan, as it did to all young women
There are few good ways to die.
Amy’s father had recently expired while swimming laps in his retirement community’s pool. There was no lifeguard on duty so his body waited patiently until a fellow swimmer noticed it and alerted authorities. Something of a lonely death, true, but he went out doing what he loved to do. No IV drips, interminable dementia or ass-baring hospital gowns. Just — poof — you’re done. Everyone agreed it was a good way to go.
Amy’s
You could say that Franky Gumbo was a type. Maybe your type. Maybe he fits your profile tighter than a Victorian corset. Franky Gumbo, the swarthy, foul-mouthed tough whose leather-jacketed exterior concealed a tender heart that had been crushed by a childhood so brutal even his neighbors had PTSD.
But if you told him that’s what you saw, Franky would’ve slit your throat and licked the blood off his switchblade. He’d worked so hard to overcome his sensitive self that he long ago left it for dead. Monica Ray
Laura Balzer struggled to compose herself in the face of this new reality: I’m a liar. She winced at the word – a slap to her conscience.
But if she hadn’t lied…
“Honey, we’re out of ketchup,” Muldoon yelled up from the kitchen.
“Check the pantry, love.” She had to play it cool.
“What?”
“I’ll get it.” Laura scurried downstairs and emerged with his favorite condiment.
“You’re the best!” Muldoon glowed at his good fortune.
“Love you, too,” she chirped.
Muldoon thumped the bottom of the
Coco Myers and Katie Crabtree had been vacationing together for ages — ever since that first fun-filled year at Vassar.
Of course, husbands and kids and social obligations all intervened from time to time but the women had sworn a blood oath that once a year — no matter what — they’d meet without any encumbrances and have a restorative vacation.
At least that’s what they told their respective husbands du jour.
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