BooksBarbecue
Back The Second Home
Chapters (47)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraphs
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. Part Two
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. Newsletter Sign-up

In the Shaws’ nightstand drawers, she found a Reader’s Digest, a half-used tube of K-Y jelly, and a container that looked like the one she’d used to store her retainer, only it had a rubbery, flesh-colored disc inside. A diaphragm. She recoiled in horror, as if she’d seen a jellyfish swimming around in the bedside table.

Maureen’s room was huge. In the corner was a full-length three-way mirror complete with big round vanity lights. It belonged in the dressing room of a fancy department store instead of a summer home. Ann flipped on the lights and inspected her outfit: a Boston College T-shirt she’d gotten when they’d stopped to tour there on the drive out, and a pair of loose athletic shorts. She kicked off her shorts and T-shirt and stood in front of the mirror in her bra and underwear, a matching set with little red hearts on them. Usually she’d be tan by now, but she’d spent so little time in the sun that her skin was still as pale as it was in February back home in Wisconsin.

She wasn’t used to seeing her whole body so completely, front and back, side to side. She unclasped her bra and let her breasts loose. She had a large chest for someone so tall and thin, almost a D cup—breasts that slowed her down when she ran. One of her nipples was inverted. She rubbed the soft, pink flesh between her thumb and index finger until it got hard to match the other one. Pleased with the result, she turned around and focused on the spot where her thigh met the soft curve of her ass. She didn’t have any dimples or cellulite to worry about, no flaps under her arms, not yet. She could hear Maureen’s voice in her ear. One day you’re beautiful, the belle of the ball …

She cupped her butt cheek with her hand and remembered when Tommy McNair had done the same thing when they danced together at junior prom, his sweaty hand greedy and impatient. He’d just snorted an eight-ball of coke and was jacked up and distracted. “Let’s get out of here and do it,” he’d said, burying his oily face in her neck. She looked across the room and saw Michael staring at her with an expression of concern.

“No,” Ann said. “Let’s not.”

At the after-party, he threw up all over the pool table. Boys were idiots. Well, not all boys. Not Michael.