The Gift Horse

By KJ Black

Claire Mallory seems like your typical suburban Michigan housewife, dedicated to her successful attorney-husband, Jamie. A model wife and friend, none ever see what dwells underneath her seemingly docile exterior. After years of heart-wrenching loss, hopeless fertility treatments, and her husband’s blatant infidelities, no one would have ever have blamed Claire for finally snapping.
But Claire isn't as weak and spineless as everyone thinks she is, a serene smile hiding the savagery lurking within her, the instincts to kill brought on when she discovers her husband intends to leave her for another woman. Claire has plans for Jamie. After years of putting up with his thoughtless behavior and deferring to him in all things and bolstering his career, couple’s therapy just isn't an option anymore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karolyn Cairns
• Release date: Jan 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311222381

KJ Black

KJ Black is a new pen name for Karolyn Cairns, romance writer. She lives in Florida with her husband and is currently working under both names. Look for her future works.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CLAIRE

2013

I love the earliest part of the morning when all is dark and quiet in the house. I’m feeling restful. The silence is a comfort, despite the persistent churning I feel inside of me. It’s my favorite time of the morning. I feel the most optimistic. I still think the day offers a newfound hope.

It’s Thursday, I think, not sure without looking at the calendar. Every day seems to start and end the same. Why give it a title you have to remember?

It’s a blustery winter’s day in southern Michigan with snow accumulations predicted through to the weekend. I stare out the kitchen window with a numb feeling as it begins to snow; light fluffy flakes that turn the cul-de-sac into a frosty globe within minutes.

The large corner lot where I live glistens blindingly under a heavy blanket of shimmering snow as the sun enters the sky. I watch an icicle trickling from the eaves in fascination as the lingering droplet finally falls at last, my eyes following it as it lands in one of my frozen potted plants on the front porch below.

I’m only half-listening to the coffeemaker sputter to life on the counter behind me. It’s spewing forth a brew I never acquired a taste for. Coffee was never my vice. I had enough other ones to make up for it.

I’m distracted from all but watching the elementary-age children walking by to the school bus on the sidewalk now, my eyes getting brighter to see them all bundled up so adorably in the frigid February weather.

I see tin lunchboxes depicting super heroes and princess fairies clinking together as the group heads to the bus stop, hearing their faint laughter through the thick storm window panes.

My favorite of the group is always the little girl in the bright pink bubble jacket with the Hello Kitty hat, complete with ear muffs, and matching mittens. My smile widens to see her pelting the little boys with snowballs, her long blonde braid dangling down her back.

Her little legs are encased in matching pink snow pants with a purple backpack over her small shoulders. I watch her until she disappears around the corner, disappointed to not see the outcome of the snow battle, rooting for her to win.

I hear the alarm go off above, stiffening in my chair, all amusement fading in an instant, my hands gripping the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.

Jamie is moving around upstairs, his steps creaking overhead. My husband is as predictable as the coffeemaker behind me. A toilet flushes ten minutes later. Then, the stairs squeak to signal he approaches.

I don’t have to turn around to say, ‘good morning’, as most couples do, giving an obligatory kiss or ask how my husband slept. We don’t do that anymore. We don’t pretend any semblance of civility towards each other. That escaped our home long ago, never pursued, and never to return.

We don’t try to maintain the illusion that either of us is happy with the other as we did years ago. I can feel his misery more these days in the detached looks in my direction, preferring to imagine the coldness in his dark blue eyes at that moment than to confirm it. I just count the minutes until he leaves for work so I can breathe easier.

Jamie waits at the coffeemaker while he reads the newspaper at the center island in our kitchen. He’s wearing a faded Michigan State t-shirt and blue plaid sleep pants. His thick dark hair is standing on end. He wipes the sleep from his eyes. I don’t turn around to confirm this. After thirteen years of marriage, nothing ever changes. As soon as he clears his throat, I know what he will say next.

I have a meeting tonight after work, Claire. Don’t hold dinner over for me, Jamie mumbled softly behind me, yawning as he reads the paper, holding an empty Michigan Spartan’s coffee cup in his hand.

I don’t turn around to answer or give him my full attention. I don’t have to. We don’t do that anymore either. We avoid looking each other in the eye most of the time. That’s always safer for us rather than wondering where we went wrong, or who we even are anymore.

Thanks for letting me know. It’s fine, hon. See you when you get home, I say in a pleasant monotone I’ve perfected to minimize any hint of displeasure. I know these words to be false. I won’t see him when he gets home. Jamie will tiptoe in after midnight. He will sleep in the guestroom with the excuse that he didn’t want to disturb me.

I suspect my husband has affairs, here or there, or maybe just on Thursday. I know I should be more diligent at catching him at it, confronting him, and bringing this to light. Any other woman would put a stop to it with dire ultimatums and mandatory couple’s therapy. I find I can’t summon the ambition. I don’t have the will or energy to care.

It should bother me that Jamie betrays me as he does with other women, but I find I’m relieved he looks elsewhere. I have grown to accept this is just who he is and it will never change. As awful as that sounds, it is the truth.

My husband is actually a very simple man. He likes female adoration; to be doted on. This is probably due to him being an only child. He likes being looked upon with worshipful admiration from a woman; with showy displays of affection I can no longer stomach for his monstrous ego.

It doesn’t surprise me his basic needs aren’t being met these days. I gave up on myself years ago. His needs never occurred to me when I threw in the towel on our marriage, in all fairness. I hate the lies, but the truth hurts worse.

My husband and I haven’t had sex in weeks. You could say the last time was unsatisfying, me laying there biting my lip after five minutes of waiting for him to finish, then watch as he mechanically rubbed one off, his eyes closed; thinking of anyone but his wife at that moment to ejaculate successfully into a plastic cup on our bedside table.

Any sort of coupling was rare with us these days. The only sex we had regularly the last year was in test tubes at the doctor’s office trying to have a baby. I admit to myself I don’t want to be that close to anyone anymore. I don’t like to be touched. And he is only a man, after all.

Jamie pours a cup of coffee while he switches over to the sports page, the previous paper being discarded into the recycle bin I leave below the breakfast bar. I know he’ll read the entire paper, from front to back, have two and a half more cups of coffee before he goes upstairs to get ready for work. The silence grows, as does my anxiety.

Within forty minutes, Jamie finally goes upstairs to shower. He comes back down twenty minutes later, fully dressed in a dark business suit. He puts on both a black wool coat and leather gloves and grabs his briefcase off the island counter. Then, he brushes a quick kiss on my forehead that barely touches my skin and enters the garage through the kitchen side door.

I bite my lip harder, ignoring the burning pain in my cramping abdomen. I know what is happening to me right now. I contain the pain, not wanting him here to be a part of my most recent failure. I sit listening to him raise the automatic garage door and start up his car. I watch the grey four-door Mercedes pull out of our newly-shoveled driveway.

If Jamie still sees me sitting at the table in front of the kitchen window before he pulls away, he gives me no warm wave goodbye, nor even a smile. We don’t do that anymore either. I let out the breath I was holding to see him go. Relief is all I feel, that and the pain, the horrible stabbing pain in my abdomen, growing more acute as the seconds tick by.

I know what you’re thinking. Where’s the love, right? When did two kids who were so crazy about each other in college, have all night sex marathons, and never run out of things to say to each other become this disengaged?

It happens to the best of marriages. We let it happen to ours. I could give you my side of it, play on that man-bashing technique all women employ to garner sympathy and avoid accountability. I could have you regard Jamie as the villain in this.

If I cited all the reasons why our marriage is failing at this moment you would probably be on my side. I won’t do that this time. It wouldn’t be fair. I’d be giving you only one side of the story. And this tale has many sides, many voices that tell a very different story. You decide which one of us you feel the most sorry for.

CHAPTER TWO

CLAIRE

1999 Michigan State University

I’m Claire Elaine Sutton. I’m twenty-three years old and still a virgin, but don’t tell anybody. I know what you’re probably thinking. Total lesbian, right? No, I’m not, I swear it, really! I’m not ugly either. Nobody ever tried. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true.

It’s pretty hard to lose your virginity if nobody wants to take it from you. So I kept it, telling myself I was waiting for the right guy to come along. After high school, I started to worry. When I graduated from a four-year college, I was frantic.

I got accepted into the law program at Michigan State. I still retain that symbol of chastity I seem doomed to hold onto.

I was in the second year of my law program when I decided something had to be done about it and fast. I know this seems hard to believe, but if you were raised by an older brother and sister like mine, you’d understand. Our mother worked in a factory six days a week. The pair of them kept me in line.

Both my older siblings had the mentalities of Border Collies and I was their sheep, herded along through elementary school, middle school, and high school, with hardly any deviation on my part.

I wasn’t ever allowed to spend the night at anyone’s house while growing up, or go to parties without the parents being around, or experiment like other kids did with booze and drugs. I had a few friends, but nobody who ever stayed in touch after high school. It shouldn’t surprise you to know I never went to make-out sessions, never went to drinking parties, or ever knew what I was missing. I was blissfully ignorant of sex until I started watching my favorite soap operas on TV.

Sad thing was; I wasn’t ever interested in being a bad kid. I can think of nothing bad I’ve ever done deliberately besides trying to steal a Kit Kat candy bar from the pharmacy and got caught at it when I was nine. I got the lecture from the clerk (who knew my mom) and the lady bought me the Kit Kat anyway. That was my short-lived descent into crime.

My whole family came from a long line of blue collar auto workers who worked at General Motors Corporation. I decided I was going to break the UAW cycle. My father died when I was little. My mom hired in to the shop not long after. Then, my brother went to work there after he graduated from high school. The same path was followed by my older sister, Nadine, who hired in right after she finished high school.

You can imagine what was expected of me?

No way, I said.

I decided I was going to be a lawyer, not because I had this burning desire to argue or make lots of money, but I just wanted to be different from everybody else in my family, to stand out for something other than winning a suggestion bonus for pointing out some stupid flaw in GM’s production process.

Dominic’s name was on a trophy that still sat at the bowling alley in town, boasting his accomplishments there, likewise at my former high school, his name dominating sports with records none had yet to beat.

Nadine was renowned in the drama department and the choir, even at the community center. She was all drama, if you knew her. It was no surprise she had that gift. She never explored it after high school, going to work at GM Truck and Bus as soon as she could get in.

When I told them all I got the scholarship that summer my mom cried in relief. She was so happy one of her kids would get out of Bay City, Michigan and do more than go to work in the auto plants.

I could feel my brother and sister’s chilling disapproval immediately, as if I dared to challenge the family business in such a way. They never supported my decision to go on further in school, mocking my attempt to break free of my fate.

Dominic married his high school sweetheart, Jean. He moved out of my childhood home a few years after graduation. Nadine got her own place too, eventually, content with her slacker boyfriend, Donnie, who laid carpet for a living and still lived with his mother.

I was still at home, working at a video store after graduating from Saginaw Valley State University with a useless degree I couldn’t hope to get a job with. What was I thinking? All of my classmates were starting careers while I worked at Blockbuster, sending out resumes to jobs I was hopelessly unqualified for.

The scathing mockery I received from my siblings was nothing next to the condescension I felt as my classmates would enter the store to pick up a DVD rental, eyeing me in surprise to see me working there. I burned with shame to know what they were thinking. Total loser!

My mom worked six days a week, seven if she got approved for the overtime. I just wanted out of that depressing place. I wanted my life to be different than I had always imagined. I got a bachelors degree in political science. I applied for a scholarship to Michigan State for a coveted slot in their law program.

To my surprise, I got in.

James Edward Mallory III was at the top of my law class, even if he was a first year. I’d creep up as close as I dare get to him in the lecture hall just to get a whiff of his Burberry cologne. If he ever noticed me, he gave no sign of it. He was rich, handsome, enigmatic, and every girl at State was actively pursuing him for all the obvious reasons.

Jamie was from very old, respectable money accumulated by his great-great-great grandfather who was a logging baron back when Michigan was just a vast wilderness. I read somewhere his forbears were also active bootleggers during prohibition, making a fortune during that time period.

His name commanded immediate respect. Anyone who was in the know was aware he was the great grandson of the one and only, Everett Mallory, one of the cofounders of the law school.

James always seemed to dominate the legal debates in class, perplexing our professors with his wildly controversial views and passionate outbursts. They were afraid to call him out even if he was wrong, reminded he was of the elite that went to this school.

James, or Jamie, as he preferred to be called, didn’t lord his superiority over the rest of us, those of us who had working class parents and were bogged down with student loan debt. He was dark-haired with an engaging smile, his blue eyes kind in a face so attractive, he could have modeled to get through school. That is, if his parents weren’t as wealthy as they were, and could easily pay for it.

I got randomly grouped with Jamie on a project for our Legal Ethics class. Jamie took right over, seeing the two other members of our group had no ambition to do anything. We could both see the bulk of the work for the project would be done by us alone with a shared, combined grade.

Jamie invited me out for coffee that day, I recall, too talk about the project. It wasn’t a date, but the manic way I reacted was to be reminded of how few dates I had. I spent three hours preparing for this meeting, doing my hair three different ways, ripping out everything I owned from my tiny dorm closet until I felt I achieved some semblance of fashion.

I kept the makeup to a minimum. We were going to a coffee house, not a club. I would remind myself of that again and again when I had a tendency to apply too much blush to my cheeks, or too much eye shadow. When I looked in the mirror and saw my clown-faced image with the too-seductive clothing and puffy hair, I grimaced, washing all of it off and starting over.

I thought the first outfit looked nice, my roommate Jenny Wyszynski mumbled, still in her pajamas, eating Captain Crunch out of a coffee cup.

I glared at her through the mirror, unable to keep the look of disgust from my expression to see my three hundred pound roommate gorge on a whole box of cereal in a sitting. Jenny only left our dorm room to go to class, so I was stuck with her during this whole process.

I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, I said in exasperation as I removed the slinky top and grabbed a simple pullover.

But aren’t you? Jenny’s round face looked confused. Isn’t this the guy you’ve had a crush on for weeks? Don’t you want him to like you?

Yes but…just never mind, I said in irritation, knowing Jenny wouldn’t understand at all what I was trying to achieve.

I liked the first outfit, she said once more, her mouth full of cereal, smacking her lips in a manner I found disgusting.

I ignored Jenny, knowing any hint that I was trying to get Jamie’s attention would be disastrous. No, he couldn’t see the desperate way I was acting at that moment, as if more than just our project hinged on this meeting.

I was nervous when I left campus in the ten-year old beater car Dominic gave me. The Honda Civic had over three hundred thousand miles, sputtered loudly until it warmed up, and the ripped-up interior reeked of motor oil. I was embarrassed of the car, parking as far away from the dorm as I could so nobody would see me driving it.

I navigated to the coffee house off campus to wait for Jamie, not caring that I was an hour early. The place was always crowded, I thought, to defend my pathetic action. I sat there drinking three cups of the coffee I always despised, wishing for a diet Coke while waiting for Jamie to arrive.

Jamie swept in right on time, ordered a coffee and joined me, hardly noticing the three-hour investment I’d made in my appearance. He was all business, assigning me several research topics, outlining his vision for the project. He stood up after a half-hour, saying he had errands to run before his next class.

I was hurt as I watched him breeze out of the coffee house, miffed he called me Cheryl and not Claire. I watched him being chatted up on the walkway outside by a very pretty blonde girl. The girl was looking up at him with an infatuated gleam I could see from where I sat. I saw them leave together in his flashy red sports car minutes later; feeling ridiculous for thinking James Edward Mallory III even knew I was alive.

I took the index cards that he assigned to me and decided to focus on the project instead. I was determined to ignore my absurd crush on him. Jamie Mallory didn’t notice girls like me. He was an elusive black swan. I was a brown little duck that couldn’t swim fast enough to ever be in the same pond with him.

The next time we met up, I didn’t bother trying to get his attention, dressed in jeans and a faded sweatshirt, with my long brown hair up in a ponytail. I gave him my typed notes and tried not to get too offended that he wasted little time leaving the library.

The same pretty blonde pouted in the hallway outside waiting for him, making faces at him though the glass. Jamie had a girlfriend, I realized, with a lump of disappointment in my throat as he joined her, leaned down to kiss her lingeringly, and they left, arms entwined.

This went on the same way for weeks until one day he didn’t get up and leave to join the blonde. She was nowhere around today. He appeared distracted, moody, and oddly unhappy. We sat in the commons as I gave him my finished part of the assignment.

I stayed up all night to finish it just to put myself out of my misery and not have to meet him anymore. I couldn’t face him knowing he could never be mine. It was too hard. He surprised me by remaining there seated, his blue eyes finally finding and meeting mine for the first time in weeks, as if finally recognizing I was a girl worth talking to.

You did really great work on this, Claire, Jamie said and smiled in relief, his blue eyes sincere with warmth. I was worried. Thought I’d have to go alone on this one. I think we have an A here. Thanks.

I forced myself to smile, stunned he remembered my name this time. It’s no problem. I really need this class. I know it’s tough to trust other people to do their part. I hate group assignments for that reason. Have you even talked to the others since we got this assigned?

Jamie made a disgusted noise as he leaned back in his chair. He toyed with a plastic coffee straw on the table. The guy is here on a football scholarship and could care less. The girl never answers her cell phone. What do you think?

I think they owe us big time, I said with a soft laugh, trying not to overact this moment and kick myself for it later, (but I would obsess this moment, a thousand times over while alone). This is worth fifty percent of our grade. I can’t believe they just blew it off! Who does that?

People who don’t give a shit about their education, Jamie replied sourly and rolled his eyes. The guy probably thinks he’s going to get picked up by the pros next year. The girl, I don’t know about her. She seems confused why she’s even here. Why are you here, Claire?

The question threw me. I had to be honest. I was motivated by the money, and the prestige that came along with becoming a lawyer. I was smart, but certainly not brilliant like Jamie. I admit I liked the idea of being a lawyer more than the reality.

Do I say that to someone who has a trust fund?

I forced another smile, feeling myself perspire with nervousness to finally have his full attention, feeling cowed by his piercing blue stare that seemed to look right through me.

I have a knack for recalling everything I ever read, memorizing facts, numbers, and things like that. I took a research internship at the public defender’s office at the courthouse last year. I liked the work. You can really help people. Why are you here?

Jamie laughed aloud at that, his expression contemptuously mocking. Don’t tell me you have some burning desire to become a public defender, Claire? I’ll have to disappoint you. They don’t make shit for what they have to deal with. Think about the kinds of people you would have to represent? His lips turned down at the corners in a showing of rare snobbery. Why not just become a social worker if that’s the case?

That’s a pretty narrow view. Not everybody can afford an attorney. We all know there are just as many injustices today as there were years ago, I said self-righteously, feeling irritated he challenged my unremarkable goals. What are your future plans?

I’m specializing in corporate law. That’s where the money is.

So it’s all about the money for you? I looked at him and saw him flush in embarrassment, wanting to kick myself for saying it with such a snarky bite to my words.

Jamie was irritated at my impertinent question, sitting forward in his chair and going rigid. No, it’s not because of the money. It’s rather expected of me. I don’t recall my father ever asking what type of law interested me. I was told I was coming here as far back as I can remember. Choices never came up.

What would you do if you had a choice? I slurped my diet Coke through a straw, waiting for his answer, seeing how difficult it was for him. His handsome face was revealing, emotions flitting across his face in a myriad, finally a dark scowl forming. He hesitated too long to answer me, telling me his life wasn’t his own, even at twenty-four years old.

I always wanted to be a prosecuting attorney—argue real criminal cases. A true fan of Perry Mason. That’s what I really want to do. That won’t happen in my family. It’s too messy. Too common for them. They expect so much more.

Maybe if you talked to your dad— I was cut off by his harsh laughter, ending whatever I was about to say.

You don’t ever talk to my father—you just listen. He’d never go for that. Anyway, he’s probably right. And he’s paying for it.

I said nothing else, sensing Jamie was upset by his father dictating his future. I got an insight into what was at the heart of his sometimes provocative outbursts in lecture, how he challenged all he heard at times. He was bitter his life was being micromanaged by his rich, affluent father. I decided to change the subject quickly.

Is that girl I always see you with your girlfriend? I pasted a pleasant smile on my face and quickly changed the subject, trying to appear nonchalant despite my inner disappointment. She’s really pretty.

That’s Debbie. And you’re right, she’s very pretty, if that’s all you’re looking for, Jamie informed me tersely and shook his head in disgust. No, she’s not my girlfriend. We grew up together. Our parents are close. They keep trying to push us together, but I’m not into it.

Does she know that? I could have bit off my own tongue after that, coloring to my hairline under the knowing look he leveled at me.

You bring up a valid point, Counselor. No, she doesn’t know. I’m dodging her right now. Don’t make me feel guilty. I know why she applied to State. It wasn’t to get a college degree, but a marriage proposal.

Does your dad have anything to say about that? I held my breath, seeing his smile widen, making my heart flutter wildly in my chest to know I had his full, undivided attention.

No, actually, he doesn’t. He might pick my future career, but he won’t pick my wife.

I should have seen it coming. His sudden interest was as if he’d just noticed me. I don’t think it ever occurred to me at that moment that Jamie was more interested in finding someone his family wouldn’t approve of.

No, he was looking for the opposite of the lovely, socially acceptable Debbie. I didn’t see that from the start, too google-eyed he even talked to me. For a minute, I could feel worthy of him, seeing the interest growing in his heavily-lashed bluer than blue eyes.

You want to go out some time?

I was too tongue-tied to do more than nod. I gave him my dormitory phone number. I was stunned. I agreed to have dinner with him that night. It evolved from there.

Soon, we were inseparable, hanging out between classes. We laughed at the stupidest jokes, went to see rock concerts, football games, and movies on the weekends, and all the while I wondered why James Edward Mallory III ever bothered with me.

I was insecure of my looks, knowing I was just moderately cute, but far from beautiful. My features were average, at best, angular and pointed. I still wore little girl sizes in clothes, with small unremarkable breasts matched with a boy-like thinness. At barely five-three in height, I looked like a waif, a stiff breeze rocking me back on my heels.

I don’t think it was physical attraction that motivated Jamie to begin a relationship with me. I think I was the antithesis of Debbie, someone he chose who was nothing like her, someone he could have an intelligent conversation with and related well to, even if we came from very different worlds.

Jamie liked to tease me, just to see me blush. All the while we talked and continued to meet up; I waited for him to wake up, to realize he wanted someone like Debbie, a Barbie doll that complimented him far more than I ever could.

It wasn’t long before we became lovers, him being my first, me being placed at a number so ridiculously high in his stats that I didn’t believe him when he first told me the actual number of lovers he had before me.

Our sex life was amazing, me eager to explore everything with him. I was in love, completely, totally, and stupidly.

Soon, Jamie insisted I move out of the dorms and in with him at his apartment off campus. I did so without reservation, wanting to spend every waking moment with him.

Some days we just lay around in our pajamas, talked about our future plans, and ordered takeout. Others, we explored, taking trips to Chicago and New York. We took in plays in the city and investigated the market districts there, going to museums and touring the sites.

His father paid for his pricey apartment and all the utilities. It was a luxurious one bedroom loft, fully furnished straight out of a Pottery Barn. He said his mother decorated it for him. I gasped in awe the first time I came there, overwhelmed with his obvious wealth.

Jamie had a bright red BMW, wads of spending money, and an unlimited American Express Platinum card for his own personal use. We always splurged on the best eateries and pubs when we went out, which was nightly. I never saw him hesitate to flip his card to pay for anything.

He insisted on buying me a new car, a newer used Chevy Impala that was more dependable than the rust bucket my brother Dominic gave me. He spoiled me shamelessly with shopping trips, buying me whatever I liked.

It wasn’t long before he got ‘the call’ from Grosse Pointe.

I wasn’t there when Jamie and his father argued bitterly over his lavish spending habits and my moving in. Though his father was now in early retirement from the high-powered law firm he founded and could easily afford it, James Edward Mallory II was frugal to a fault.

The Mallory’s were very old money, the kind that got handed down generation after generation, only growing older and accumulating more interest in offshore banks. They never squandered it on excessive waste, as his father determined, when he received the mounting bills.

Debbie had her revenge against us. She went home to Grosse Pointe over Thanksgiving break. She told her parents Jamie dumped her for me and that we were now living together. The elder Mallory issued an ultimatum to his son. Either I moved out…or he quit paying the bills.

Jamie shocked me by insisting we look for a cheaper apartment. He insisted we get jobs to pay our own bills. I saw it as a sign of his growing feelings for me. I took a waitress job at a bar in College Town. Jamie took a job as a bartender.

The tips allowed us to be free of his domineering father, something altogether new for Jamie, who obsessed over money now that he had none. While we never had the spending money we had before, we hardly lived hand to mouth. The only thing that suffered at this time was our grades. That was enough to get his father’s attention once more.

Jamie went alone to Grosse Pointe to see his family at Christmas, while I went home to Bay City to see my own. I said I wasn’t hurt I wasn’t invited to go