Delivery happiness, p.1
Delivery Happiness, page 1
part #1 of A New Beginnings Series
DELIVERY HAPPINESS
A New Beginnings Novel
elise sax
Delivery Happiness (A New Beginnings Novel) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Elise Sax
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8378469154
Published in the United States by 13 Lakes Publishing
Cover design: Elizabeth Mackey
Edited by: NovelNeeds.com
Formatted by: Jesse Kimmel-Freeman
Printed in the United States of America
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Also by Elise Sax
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Road to Matchmaker
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Citizen Pain
The Wizards of Saws
Field of Screams
From Fear to Eternity
West Side Gory
Scareplane
It Happened One Fright
The Big Kill
It’s a Wonderful Knife
Ship of Ghouls
Matchmaker Mysteries The Complete Series
Matchmaker Marriage Mysteries
Gored of the Rings
Slay Misty for Me
Scar Wars
Die Charred
Spawn with the Wind
Agatha Bright Mysteries Series
The Fear Hunter
Some Like It Shot
Fright Club
Beast of Eden
Creepy Hollow
Goodnight Mysteries Series
Die Noon
Doom with a View
Jurassic Dark
Coal Miner’s Slaughter
Wuthering Frights
Goodnight Mysteries The Complete Series
Partners in Crime Thrillers
Partners in Crime
Conspiracy in Crime
Divided in Crime
Surrender in Crime
Operation Billionaire Trilogy
How to Marry a Billionaire
How to Marry Another Billionaire
How to Marry the Last Billionaire on Earth
Operation Billionaire Trilogy
Five Wishes Series
Going Down
Man Candy
Hot Wired
Just Sacked
Wicked Ride
Five Wishes Series
Three More Wishes Series
Blown Away
Inn & Out
Quick Bang
Three More Wishes Series
Standalone Books
Forever Now
Bounty
Switched
Delivery Happiness
Also by Elise Sax
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
“A Not-So-Happy Ending”
I smoothed out the front of my Stanford-red dress, which I wore for my son Jamie’s law school graduation. It was a magical day, not a cloud in the sky and the air filled with proud parents and graduates with job offers from the country’s biggest law firms.
My son was no different. Immediately after the ceremony, he would be on his way to New York City, a Midtown apartment, and a hefty mid-six-figure starting salary. I had a pack of Kleenex in my purse, and by the time he was handed his diploma, I had gone through it.
There’s something noble about raising a child. In my case, the nobility didn’t lie in sacrificing my body to pregnancy, staying up with him through the night when he had the croup, or being team mother for eight consecutive years of Little League. No, the nobility lay in the love I felt for him. Unconditional, overwhelming love. It poured out of me from the moment I saw Jamie’s cute little newborn face and continued through the end of his law school graduation ceremony.
I slipped my hand under my husband’s arm and took his hand. Our love burned just as bright as it always had. We had been speaking about this moment for years. The second our son was grown and the college bills no longer had to be paid, Steve and I were going to start the next phase in our lives and relationship. Romantic cruises around the world, gourmet cooking classes, and an RV trip across the country were all on the menu. In fact, I had a surprise picnic planned for our trip home from Stanford. There was a picnic basket hidden in the trunk of Steve’s Cadillac, and I was going to have him stop on a nice stretch of beach just south of here so that we could get a head start on the best time of our lives.
Nothing could be more perfect.
And that’s how my life was: Perfect.
The graduates threw their caps up in the air, and then it was done. Our child was grown. We took family pictures while I cried some more and then watched my baby walk away toward his perfect future. I swallowed down my tears and squeezed Steve’s hand, getting the emotional support I needed.
But as Jamie left and disappeared into the crowd, my husband dropped my hand and took a step away from me. “There. That’s done,” he said.
“It’s a big day,” I agreed. “We have a lot to be proud of.”
“I’m leaving you, Eliza.”
“You have to go to the bathroom? I told you not to drink so much coffee.”
He put his hands in his pockets and stared me down. “No. I’m leaving you. You know, forever.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You had a physical two weeks ago. You’re the picture of health. You have the heart of a thirty-year-old and an age-appropriate prostate.”
“No. I’m not dying, Eliza. Not dying that way. I’m leaving you. I’ve filed for divorce.”
I looked around to see if anybody had heard our conversation. Luckily, everyone was focused on their own family, joyous in the events of the day. My husband’s face was set in stone and dead serious. I wondered if he was having a psychotic break or an aneurysm.
Or maybe it was grief for losing his son to adulthood.
“Steve, I think you’re just emotional, and that’s understandable. It was a big day. Lots of sun, and you didn’t wear a hat, even though I brought one for you and told you to put it on.”
Steve rolled his eyes and walked away toward the parking structure. I followed him, trying to keep up in the uncomfortable shoes I had worn for the occasion. “Hold on, hold on,” I called. “Let’s talk about this.”
He didn’t stop, and I didn’t catch up to him until we were at the car. He took his car fob out of his pocket and beeped the car unlocked…but just the driver’s side.
“Steve, what’s this about? We need to talk.”
He opened his door. “There’s nothing to talk about, Eliza. I don’t love you. I’ve never loved you.”
I gasped and took a step back as if I had been punched. “But you took me to the prom. We got married during homecoming because you said you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with me.”
He wasn’t moved. He was stone-faced, without emotion. “Ancient history.”
“I gave birth while you graduated,” I squeaked. My voice was a couple of octaves higher than normal, and even though I cleared my throat, I still sounded like I was welcoming Dorothy to Oz. “You said I was the most beautiful mother you had ever seen.”
“That’s definitely ancient history.”
I hiccoughed back sobs. “I waitressed overnights to pay your way through business school with Jamie in a crib in the restaurant’s kitchen. You called me your hero. You said we would have a life of love and togetherness.”
“You sucked me dry, Eliza. You’re a joy sucker.” He made a sucking nose as if he was trying to suck ping pong balls through a hose. “Joy sucker. Twenty-five years of joy sucking. No wonder your lips look like that.”
My hands flew to my mouth. What was wrong with my lips? I was wearing Riding Red lipstick. The saleslady said I looked like Julianne Moore in it. Steve started to get into the car, but I planted my feet on the floor and yanked his arm. I was starting to believe he really was leaving me.
“Maybe we could go to a marriage counselor.”
He jerked his arm out of my grasp and pointed at me, wagging his finger with every syllable. “I don’t love you. I love someone else. Someone who isn’t a joy sucker. Someone young. Tight. When was the last time you were tight, Eliza? When the dinosaurs roamed the earth?”
I touched my belly, which had never snapped back after my pregnancy. Steve was in perfect shape. A year before, he had hired a personal trainer.
His personal trainer, Tammy.
Tammy with the rock-hard abs and plastic boobs.
Tight Tammy.
They worked out together every morning and some nights.
Nights.
The realization hit me hard. Nights. Tight Tammy. “No,” I said. “No, no, no.” And then I believed myself. No, it couldn’t be. There was no Tight Tammy. Steve loved me, and we were going on a cruise around the world.
“But the midnight chocolate buffets,” I said, nonsensically.
“Joy sucker.” He pulled away from me and sat in the car.
“But I put a picnic basket in the trunk,” I wailed.
He popped the trunk. “Good. Take it out.”
I skipped to the back of the car and took the basket out of the trunk. “I’ve got it!” I called. “Let’s sit and talk this out. There’s fried chicken.”
But Steve wasn’t listening. He started the car, slammed his door shut, and peeled away, like he was running from the police.
I stood in the parking structure holding the picnic basket, while I watched my husband leave me. Leave the joy sucker with the flabby belly. I would have run after him, but I had blisters from my new shoes.
And I was in shock.
The sun was setting, and the parking structure was getting darker. It occurred to me I was four-hundred miles from home without a car.
But the mind is a strange thing. It’s a survivalist organ. A dream-maker. It can make its own reality when the real reality sucks balls. So, I didn’t believe Steve for a second. How could he not love me? How could he leave me? We were soulmates. We were forever.
When a bubble of doubt knocked against my wall of denial, my brain popped it. Then, I called a cab and went directly to the rental car agency.
I hopped out of the Honda Fit rental and ran into my house without closing the car door. “Hello? Hello?” I called once I got inside, but there was no response.
Steve and I bought the house fifteen years ago when he was made partner. He had always handled the money, and I didn’t know exactly how much he was making, but he said he was making more than enough for us to buy the two-story house in the most expensive neighborhood in town. The house had a Gone with the Wind staircase and was decorated by someone who Steve said was the best. Sometimes I felt like I lived in a museum. So, I took refuge in a recliner that I had snuck in behind his decorator’s back and watched I Love Lucy reruns while sitting in it.
Now, I entered the house, praying that my husband was there, that he had drunk a double Scotch and was feeling better. That had to be it. Maybe he was drinking and that’s why he didn’t answer. I ran through the entranceway to the Great Room and froze in front of the fireplace. Something was terribly wrong. First of all, there was no television above the fireplace, and the four remote controls on the coffee table were gone.
So was the coffee table.
The house had been cleaned out.
“Hello?” I said, sounding like a five-year-old. “Steve?”
But my wall of denial finally crumbled. My house had been ransacked, and everything that Steve had liked in our home had been removed. Only my recliner was still there and so was my Mickey Mouse vase on the kitchen counter, which he had disdained. I realized that Steve probably had given movers a list and ordered them in while we were celebrating Jamie’s graduation.
Where was my husband? Where had he gone? Was he watching TV somewhere in another house, using the four remote controls he took, sitting on our absconded couch with Tight Tammy? I hugged my traitorous, soft middle that had lost me the love of my life and a cruise around the world. My perfect life had crashed around me.
But then a ray of hope flashed through my brain. Maybe I could work out, get a tummy tuck, or learn French. Maybe I could win my soulmate back. Maybe Steve could love me again and bring back the television. What did Tight Tammy have that I didn’t? I took a deep breath and felt better. Of course I could win him back! I wasn’t dead. I still had some spice left in me. We had a lifetime of experience together. We had had a child together. And years of memories and experience together. Nobody threw that all away just to run away with his personal trainer, even if she could crack walnuts between her thighs.
No, my husband was just having a slight hiccough in his love for me. But hiccoughs end and our marriage would continue. I was determined. I put my purse on the kitchen counter and dug out my phone to call my husband. As I started to dial, I noticed some papers next to my purse. I turned them around and read the first few lines in bold. Smith and Goldstein Attorneys at Law, it read. My stomach clenched, and I lost my ability to swallow.
A dark, heavy, overwhelming feeling of dread took over my body. Fight or flight response. I had heard about it, but I had never experienced it before like this. I had a terrible desire to run around the room, screaming.
In my moment of blinding panic, the words from my best friend Destiny’s women’s group came back to me. I had never gone to a meeting at the Second Chances Club, but I had heard enough about it from Destiny. “I am a beautiful, intelligent, capable woman,” I told myself and repeated it three times until I could breathe again.
There. Better. Maybe there was something to women’s groups, after all. I had made fun of Destiny and her sayings, but it turned out that they helped in a pinch. With as much serenity as I could muster, I looked down at the papers again. They were divorce papers with little colored tabs attached, showing me where to sign. Divorce papers. Steve had even left a pen next to the papers for me. A disposable Bic. Disposable like our marriage. How thoughtful.
“I’m a beautiful, intelligent… Oh, crap, this isn’t happening!” I screamed. I stumbled backward, away from the papers, and dropped my phone on the floor. My head was filled with a loud buzzing noise, and I was having trouble breathing. There were so many thoughts running through my head that I couldn’t catch them. But I knew they were all bad.
I walked backward like a dyslexic zombie until I practically fell into my recliner. Leaning back, I shivered, and that’s when I realized that the man I had loved for twenty-five years had taken my grandmother’s handmade afghan, along with most of my belongings, and now I would be cold.
And alone.
CHAPTER 2
“A Rocky Road”
I stepped over an empty bag of Chips Ahoy! cookies and a half-eaten family-size frozen lasagna and plopped back down on my recliner. The floor was a minefield of empty packages of carbs and preservatives. I didn’t care. I was self-medicating. And just because it wasn’t working didn’t mean I would stop. After all, it was becoming habit.
Three days ago, my life blew up, and now I was reclining amongst the ashes…in my recliner. I had dragged the television from the guest room upstairs to the downstairs living room and managed to heave it on top of the mantel. Now, I was catching up on Real Housewives From Everywhere and a binge of Breaking Bad. Both shows gave me ideas on what to do next with the remnants of my life, but I discarded the ideas in favor of Pop-Tarts.
I covered my body with the blanket I brought down from the guest room and opened the Pop-Tarts foil wrapper. Steve had taken our bedroom set, which was almost okay with me because I hated the massive oak furniture. I chewed while I visualized what Steve and Tight Tammy were doing on my massive oak bed right now. A tear rolled down my cheek, which surprised me. I mean, how much can one person cry? How did I still have liquid in my body? I must have had superhero tear ducts. What a crappy power…crying. Why couldn’t I fly instead? Or have a high metabolism?
I changed the channel to home shopping and dropped the empty Pop-Tart package on the floor. Drying my eyes with a blanket I’d brought down from upstairs, I soothed myself by imagining that Tight Tammy made Steve do squats and push-ups before she allowed him to do the nasty.
The nasty.
I hadn’t done the nasty in nearly a year. Steve had said that he was tired and overworked and just not in the mood. Obviously, he was a big fat liar. Could he have been having an affair for nearly a year and that’s why he didn’t want to do the nasty with me? My tear ducts went into high gear again.
An ice cream commercial came on TV. A woman spooned creamy Rocky Road into her mouth and smiled. It was magic Rocky Road, able to make a woman smile. Maybe ice cream could make me smile, again, too. Maybe that’s all it took to go from catatonic depression to happiness.
I rolled off the recliner and shuffled to the freezer. No ice cream.
“Isn’t that just typical!” I shouted in my filthy kitchen.
Now, what was I going to do? I scanned the refrigerator and cabinets for something to replace magic, happiness ice cream, but after three days of binging, I was down to canned beets and stale All-Bran cereal.
