Wednesday, September 4, 2013

How You Leave Texas by Alana Cash


                                       Camille’s 40th birthday was on a Friday. She got her hair trimmed the night before, still preferring to keep it waist-length over Walker’s objections, although he did like it when she wove it in a bun on the nape of her neck like a flamenco dancer. She treated herself to a pedicure at the Asian nail place in a strip mall on Highway 290, skipping the manicure since she thought she had man hands and never wanted to attract attention to them. She went to Highland Mall to buy a new summer dress and a pair of Betsy Johnson sandals that would show off her red toenails.

Camille didn’t like the idea of turning forty. There was no more pretending that she was not an adult. And her life had become too quiet, although she had never been one of those loud women who scream at sporting events or shout across the bar to their friends. Never been the life of the party. Not that Camille was dull, but she’d become a little too steady. She had worked for exactly two companies in her whole life. The art store during college and the job with the mortgage company after that. She had told herself that her job as a bookkeeper was in the meantime, and as soon as she could afford to quit – when the house was paid off or Walker’s business got stabilized – she’d get back to painting.

Walker was the only person Camille had ever had sex with. Their affair started in college, carried on through his years in law school, then they got married, and the sex tapered off. Walker was a bankruptcy attorney, and lately his business was booming, so they were talking about investing in foreclosed commercial property and planned to attend their first real estate auction on Monday.

Walker got home late that Thursday night and brought client files with him. He didn’t notice her hair or her toenails or how much it bothered her to turn forty. Walker just wanted to have dinner in his home office so he could get his work done. While he was eating with the door closed, Camille searched around the house for her birthday gift – every closet and drawer and even the glove box, trunk, and under the seats of his car. When she found nothing, she told herself that he could not possibly have forgotten.

The next morning, Walker was in a rush, and told her, “I’ve got to get these papers filed this morning before meeting a new client.”

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Genre –  Women’s Fiction

Rating – PG13

More details about the author & the book

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