Page 118 of The Man I Hate

Anna

“This staying at home business might be frustrating,” Marge said, pausing from her task of sweeping the sidewalk. “But no matter how bad things get, there’s always a grain of good amongst the pebbles of bad. It’s only a matter of finding it.”

“I suppose.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “You’re frustrated, but you’re not alone. The entire country is frustrated. They’re revolting in Michigan, demanding that the governor open up the state.”

“But people are still being infected—and dying—at an alarming rate.”

“This disease has divided the nation,” she said, shaking her head in sorrow. “There’s the group that believes the threat is real, and the group that believes it’s nothing more than the common flu. My brother has lost lifelong friends over his support of our governor’s position. It’s sad, really.”

“So, where’s the grain of good in this?” I asked.

“Honey.” She leaned against her broom handle. Her mouth curled into a shallow grin. “Your grain weighs 200 pounds, and his name is Braxton. Enjoy the time you have with him while you’re able.”

“I am,” I replied. “I just. I want to live a real life with him. Not one where we’re forced to be in the house together.”

“If it were the way it used to be, he’d be coming and going at an alarming rate,” she argued. “His absence would have nothing to do with his love for you. It would be business as usual.” Her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

“I suppose not.”

“We’re all frustrated, sweetheart.” She leaned the broom against the porch and gave me a hug. “It’s hard, I know. One day, this too, shall pass.”

She leaned away and looked me in the eyes. “Any time you want to talk, I’m here. It doesn’t have to be at four o’clock.”

“I like our little routine,” I replied.

She smiled. “I do, too.”

“Maybe I need to find something to do with my spare time. I’ve got a lot of it when Braxton and Hap are exercising. I run on Braxton’s treadmill for 30 minutes, but those two exercise for hours.”

“There’s always things you could be doing,” she said. “I used to crochet.”

Crocheting would be a natural sedative. In no time I’d be face-down on the couch with a needle in my hand, slobbering on my bicep.

“I don’t think that’s for me,” I said.

“Write a book. Maybe talking about your frustrations might do you some good.”

I let out a sigh of frustration. “I can’t write a book.”

She scowled playfully. “You could if you wanted to.”

Since our Instagram story about the donations, I’d gained a few hundred thousand followers. Instagram wasn’t known for its inspirational posts, but maybe I could start writing something every day in a post. Something that would lift people’s spirits.

“I might do some writing,” I said. “Not a book, but something.”

“I think that’ll do you some good.”

“I think it will, too,” I admitted. “I’m just ready for this to end.”

“We’re all ready, sweetheart.”

Not knowing what else to say, but unwilling to cut my visitation short, I looked around. Hap was at the end of the hill, decompressing from his 3-mile run with a brisk walk. I looked at Marge.

“I know I love Braxton, and I’m sure he loves me, but I want to make sure everything’s happening for all the right reasons.”

“I’m sure you’re just gun shy,” she said. “Every relationship you’ve had has ended because of infidelity. It makes sense you’d be apprehensive. If it helps, I’ve never known Braxton to be in a relationship other than his marriage, and that was a long, long time ago. The fact that he’s in one with you means something’s changed inside of him.”