Lauren Takes Leave by Gerstenblatt, Julie (ebooks children's books free txt) 📕

Because I know that, in some cases, the star himself isthe actual present.

A moment later, I slip into the darkened kitchen to facethe piles of mail, kid artwork, magazines, and newspapers that Doug and I stillhave not cleaned up, and which look like hilly landscapes against the smoothcountertop of the kitchen island.

Doug joins me from the sunroom and the two of us scan thescene.

I feel like grabbing a big trashcan and dumping it all,without sorting or deciding exactly where the paper trail of our lives shouldgo. Doug sighs, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

“The last thing I want to do right now is face this mess.”I mean it literally, but it feels like a metaphor.

“We have to,” he says, turning on the sharp overheadlighting. I squint. He dims it so that the atmosphere mellows.

“That’s better. Where to begin?”

“Think of it as spring cleaning. We’re clearing out theold baggage so that we can start fresh, with our new lives, tomorrow morning.”

“That’s optimistic of you,” I say, picking up some oldmail and looking through it.

“After today’s funeral, I believe in miracles. I believein fate, in destiny, in…” He trails off, searching for the right term.

“In the transformative powers of jury duty?” I ask,fingering a crisp, unopened blue envelope from the Alden County Courthouse.It’s addressed to Doug.

“Good one,” he says. I pass the envelope to him as proofthat I’m not joking.

He reaches out to take it from me, but misses. We bothwatch as the blue envelope slowly falls in the empty space between us, as ifbeing carried on a gentle breeze. It lands softly at Doug’s feet.

“It’s like the thing is daring me to pick it up,”Doug says.

I smile knowingly.

Then, in one swift movement, I reach down, grab theenvelope before he can, and rip the seam open.

After all, I’ve had some practice with these things.

I unfold the paper within and scan the printedinformation, reading aloud. “Mr. Doug Worthing…Your services arerequested…yadda, yadda, yadda…County Courthouse…yadda, yadda…ten a.m. onMonday, April seventeenth.”

I look up from the paper, spooked. “But…that’s tomorrow!”

“Huh.” He nods, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Did you know about this? Did you…plan it?” I ask.He says nothing. “Doug?!”

“No.” He smiles.

I shake my head disbelievingly.

“Honestly!” Doug balks. “But that doesn’t mean I can’tenjoy your entertaining reaction to the news.”

I return to the paper, my heart beating fast. “Failure toshow up on appointed date…yadda, yadda…incarceration or fines!”

“Now, we wouldn’t want that,” he says.

“Doug! This isn’t funny!” I say. “Jury duty’s not a joke,you know.”

“Oh yes, Lauren, that I know. Sometimes, jury duty istruly a matter of life or death.” His dimples are fully creased. “Life or deathin Miami.”

“Doug!” I say. “You can’t go! Laney’s on vacation and Ihave to go back to work tomorrow, and I could really use your help.”

“Lauren, I’d love to be able to assist you, really Iwould. But, see, America needs me.”

I try to pout. I try to seem defiant, cocksure, like Jodion the verge of getting her way.

Doug’s not having it.

“First of all, do we even need Laney anymore?” he asks.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m being serious. When the kids were small, we neededher. But now, they’re in school all day. Laney’s a terrible housekeeper. She’slazy and overly dramatic and…”

“Probably stealing my stuff,” I conclude. I think aboutlife without Laney. Without waiting for her to show up, without wonderingwhether the laundry is done, without finding out there is no more milk onlyupon opening the refrigerator to pour some milk. Mostly, I think about Laneysitting in my house all day, flipping through magazines and waiting for my kidsto get off the bus.

What a colossal waste of time and money.

I think about what a relief home life without Laney wouldbe.

“Can we just…do without her?” I ask, a lightness growingin my chest. “Can’t we do this—raising a family, taking care of our home,juggling work responsibilities—just you and me, together?”

Doug inhales and exhales theatrically, like he’s about tomake a big concession. “I tell you what. I’ll take the kids to the bus eachmorning, so that you can get to school on time. But beyond that, I can make nopromises, in the short term, anyway. After all,” he says, “I start jury dutytomorrow.”

And then Doug smiles, snatching the envelope from myhands, a definite twinkle in his eye.

Epilogue

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, life is a series oftrials. And whether we like it or not, a jury of our peers continuously judgesour actions and bears witness to our everyday embarrassments and triumphs.

I mean, who hasn’t dabbled in adultery, petty larceny, andthe occasional inebriated foot-in-the-face debacle from time to time, right?Maybe you were caught in the act of such impropriety. Maybe not.

Fact: we all need to break out of our molds once in awhile, so that we don’t become…moldy. Stuck. Predictable. Bored to the pointthat we go looking for distractions instead of solutions.

And that was me.

But for all the wrong choices I made, I also learned frommy risk-taking, probably a hell of a lot more than I would have learned bysitting in a real courtroom, listening to a rehashing of others’ mistakes, orby hiding behind my desk in a sixth-grade classroom. By kicking up my heelsthis past week—both literally and figuratively—I have come to better appreciatehuman nature, in all its complexities and shades of gray.

Fact: No one is to me now what she appeared to be onMonday. Not even I am.

And that is why, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, yourservices are no longer needed. I have decided in favor of myself. I am notguilty.

Well, not guilty any more than you are. No offense. Seethat guy over there? He’s done something he’s not proud of, and yet he’s livedto tell the tale. And same with the woman sitting next to you on the trainevery morning, and the barista who prepares your double espresso, and the pianoteacher, the soccer coach, the dry cleaner. What I’ve learned this week is thatthere is a slippery slope of crimes and misdemeanors swirling invisibly allaround us.

Jodi and Kat and I have lied and cheated and stolen.