CHAPTER 9
You want to know why I refused the first time you suggested I write all this out? Want me to tell you? Look at me. Look at me right now and you’ll know.
Look at where I am.
The women’s shelter. Again.
The women’s shelter in God-ought-to-forget it Orchard Grove, Washington, land of apple trees, cowboy wannabes, and conservative fogies all lining up for Sunday services. All ready to prove to God they’re giving him their best. Their best clothes, their best accessories, their best behavior.
Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I tell you this is exactly what would happen?
I couldn’t do it. I started writing about our wedding day. It seemed the most logical step in the story, didn’t it? The next stage in the saga that you were so eager for me to scribble out.
You told me for months I sho
