Say You're Sorry (2014)
“Ask her the last day of July while she was packing the car. She’d push her damp dark curls off her pretty face—even prettier than she was twenty years earlier as a debutante and Queen of Mardi Gras—kick a tire of her husband Clay’s Mercedes, and drawl, This son of a bitch, I think.
It wasn’t the car, of course. A four-door top-of-the-line dark green 560 SEL, one in a line of perennially new sedans Clay ordered from Tar Heel Import Motors in downtown Raleigh as if he were renewing a magazine subscription. Though, in truth, she much preferred the little blue Mustang convertible she’d had for fifteen years—ten years before Dr. Clay Prescott, a very handsome (and successful) nutritionist visiting New Orleans for a medical meeting, had first had her. In the garden shed in the midst of a cocktail party at Dr. Taliferro’s big old house in the Garden District, after far too many Salty Dogs.
No, it wasn’t the car. What she hated was the packing. Every summer Clay’s list of essentials grew long...er and longer.MoreLess
It wasn’t the car, of course. A four-door top-of-the-line dark green 560 SEL, one in a line of perennially new sedans Clay ordered from Tar Heel Import Motors in downtown Raleigh as if he were renewing a magazine subscription. Though, in truth, she much preferred the little blue Mustang convertible she’d had for fifteen years—ten years before Dr. Clay Prescott, a very handsome (and successful) nutritionist visiting New Orleans for a medical meeting, had first had her. In the garden shed in the midst of a cocktail party at Dr. Taliferro’s big old house in the Garden District, after far too many Salty Dogs.
No, it wasn’t the car. What she hated was the packing. Every summer Clay’s list of essentials grew long...er and longer.MoreLess
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