Friendship Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by Lisa Verge Higgins Read Free Book Online Page A

her about the trip today. That is, if you’d join us, Judy.”
    And in that moment, standing in the dappled sunshine under the broad branches of a sycamore tree, Judy felt the swirling energies
     that had bedeviled her for months coalesce in one singularly fierce idea.
    Europe.
    “Oh, God,” she said, sucking in a breath so fast that the cool autumn air braised the base of her lungs. “Oh, God, Monie, yes .”

CHAPTER FOUR
    B ecky felt vaguely foolish as she stood in her room with the suitcase open on the bed before her. Through the closed door,
     she could hear the last sleepy, read-me-another-story mutterings of her children as her mother-in-law, who’d be helping Marco
     out in the two weeks Becky would be gone, put them to bed. The muted roar of a football game slipped up the stairs from the
     den, where Marco watched TV. Becky fingered her passport, six months away from expiration, last used on a driving trip to
     Quebec City before Brianna was born.
    Monique’s offer for a trip to Europe had been a shock. It was as if it had emerged out of one of those foggy places in Becky’s
     vision. She’d run full-speed into it, only to come out stunned and seeing stars, wondering what the hell she’d just hit. She’d
     said yes, of course. Everyone in the neighborhood had been trying to help her, all in their own lovable, awkward ways. She’d
     become “That Neighbor” now, the one the whole coven whispered about, shared concern for, fussed over, like when Mrs. McCarthy
     down the street had breast cancer.
    Becky appreciated Monique’s offer. She really did, even now, as she slipped her passport in the purse at her feet and for
     the fifth time pulled out the clothes and toiletries and shoes she knew she could more artfully puzzle into the carry-on suitcase.
     But the feeling she couldn’t shake was that Monique’s crazy, heartfelt, unbelievable offer to show her the castles of Europe
     was a mildly reprehensible distraction from what she should be doing. Like learning the exact number of stairs in her house from one landing to another. Or studying Braille. Or memorizing
     the milky shade of cappuccino that formed the inner ring of Brianna’s eyes.
    She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Her spine tightened, and she bent over her suitcase, refolding the yoga pants and
     sports bras with increased intent. The door squealed open, and Marco came in, swinging it closed behind him.
    She didn’t look at him, but she was aware of him anyway. His dark mess of crisp Italian hair. His broad longshoreman’s shoulders.
    He said, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
    She sensed the surprise in his pause. “Everything is harder to fit than I expected.” She reached for the compact tin of her
     wax oil crayons and tried to wedge them upright against the side of the suitcase. “I can’t overpack. We have to be mobile.”
    He flicked his watch off his wrist and set it on the bureau. “The car for the airport is coming at five a.m.”
    “I can sleep on the plane.”
    “You’d better. I’ve seen Monique’s ten-page itinerary. You’re not getting much sleep once your feet hit the ground.”
     “I’m almost done.”
    She felt a tingling at the back of her neck, a certainty that came of twelve long, difficult years of marriage. Marco had
     something on his mind. It would have been better if she had finished packing earlier, if she’d been asleep when he came upstairs—or
     at least in bed feigning sleep. She could have avoided that awkward moment when Marco would look at her under the brooding
     ridge of his brow, a question in his dark eyes. Right now, sex was the last thing on her mind.
    Marco seized his T-shirt by the back of his neck, dragged it off his shoulders, and then balled it into his hands. He opened
     the closet door and tossed it into the laundry. She busied herself rolling a slinky, deep blue rayon dress, her one choice
     for evening wear, a dress she’d last worn on her and Marco’s ten-year