Take My
Husband
Ellen
Meister
On Sale Date: August 30, 2022
9780778309871
Trade Paperback
$16.99 USD
400 Pages
ABOUT
THE BOOK:
A witty, insightful domestic comedy about one woman's unexpected,
thought-provoking journey out of her marriage as she realizes how much better
off she would be if her husband had not survived a serious car crash.
When Laurel Appelbaum gets a call at work from the local hospital
informing her that her unemployed husband Doug has been in a serious car
accident, she is in shock. Summoned immediately to his bedside, she doesn't
know in what condition she will find him. As she rushes to the ER, her mind is
full of dire thoughts of this abrupt and unpredictbale end to her
marriage...that is until she remembers the large life insurance policy they are
carrying in his name.
Suddenly Laurel can't help but imagine what a life on her own might
look like...a new little cottage perhaps, the dog she has always wanted but
can't have because of Doug's allergies, and the money to travel to see their
only son. By the time she arrives she is ready to assume the role of grieving
widow, only to find Doug sitting on a gurney, annoyed that she has taken so
long to come pick him up. All of the tiny assaults on her freedom and dignity
that have chipped away at their marriage and her happiness over the years flood
in. She realizes now that she is finally ready to journey out of her marriage
because the life really at stake is her own. She just has to figure out how to
do it.
BUY
LINKS:
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Excerpt Sneak Peek:
Laurel Applebaum heard a familiar
ringtone as she shuffled toward the lockers at Trader Joe’s, tired and spent
after a full day on her feet. Was that her phone? Her first instinct was to
rush, but she stopped herself. It was probably her husband, Doug, with one of
his inane emergencies, like running out of chocolate-covered almonds. God
forbid he should go ten minutes without a snack.
The phone rang again, but still Laurel
didn’t pick up her pace. She could have—there was always a little reserve left
in the tank—but she decided to indulge in her end-of-the-day crankiness, even
though she might pay for it later, when Doug started whining about his
deprivations. For now, for this one moment she had to herself, it felt like a
miniature vacation.
Sometimes, Laurel told herself she should
get a job where she could sit all day, like her sister-in-law, who answered
phones in a doctor’s office. Then Laurel would look at her co-worker Charlie
Webb, who was more than twenty years her senior and the fastest cashier they
had. Always smiling, he was beloved by staff and customers, and Laurel thought
of him as a cross between Kris Kringle and the philosophical deathbed guy from
Tuesdays With Morrie. He made her laugh. And want to be better.
By the time Laurel opened her locker, the
ringing had stopped and started up again. She pulled her purse from its hook
and fished out her phone. Sure enough, DOUG was on the caller ID.
“Hi,” she said wearily, hoping she
conveyed enough pathos with the single syllable to elicit some sympathy.
“Laurel Applebaum?” said a woman’s voice.
A chill swept through her. Something was
wrong.
“Yes?”
“I’m so glad I finally reached you. I’m
calling from Plainview Hospital. Are you Douglas Applebaum’s next of kin?”
“That’s my husband,” she said, her scalp
prickling, her whole body suddenly alert. An instinctive chill had her in its
grip. “Is he okay? What’s wrong?”
“He was brought in by ambulance after a
motor vehicle accident. We’re still assessing his condition, but he’s
unconscious. Right now the doctors—”
“I’m not far,” Laurel said. “I’ll be
there in ten minutes. Less.” She dropped her phone into her purse and grabbed
her jacket. Dear god, was this really happening? And why did it take a near
tragedy for her to remember how much she loved him?
I have to do better, she thought, a lump
taking shape in her throat. I have to.
“Is everything okay?” asked Charlie Webb.
He had been standing close by, which wasn’t unusual. Sweet as he was, the old
guy was just this side of stalkerish when it came to Laurel.
She chalked it up to a harmless crush. To
Charlie, Laurel was still in the blush of youth. But she understood that his
age filtered her through a softening gauze. To most men, she was all but
invisible—a fifty-two-year-old woman who maintained only the last vestiges of
attractiveness. It had been at least ten years and as many pounds since anyone
told her she resembled Diane Lane. Granted, she didn’t make the effort she used
to, but she simply couldn’t see the point.
She looked into Charlie’s kind face. “I
don’t think so,” she said, her eyes watering. “Doug’s been in an accident. They
wouldn’t have called me unless…” She searched his expression, hoping she didn’t
have to finish the sentence.
He nodded and took her by the shoulders.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said slowly, “no matter what. You are here and
you’re fine. You only have one job right now, and that’s to drive carefully.
You understand?”
The cadence of his speech slowed her
rocketing heart, but she was suddenly so overcome by his concern she couldn’t speak.
So she gave him a quick hug, and dashed out.
Laurel slammed the door of her
twelve-year-old Altima, considering Charlie’s advice as she pulled her seat
belt across her torso. Drive Carefully, she thought, turning the words into
initials. It was something she often did to settle herself, playing a game
where she tried to think of famous people to match the letters. DC=Don Cheadle,
Dana Carvey, Diahann Carroll.
Calmer, she realized Charlie was
right—she didn’t need to tear out of the lot. Reaching the hospital two minutes
faster was not going to make a difference. Because realistically, she thought
as the bulge in her throat swelled and tightened, Doug was probably already
dead. She could almost feel it in her bones. He was gone, the life snuffed from
his body. That was why she had been summoned. The hospital probably had a
policy against giving next of kin the news over the phone.
Once she got there, she would be pulled
into a private room by a doctor and a social worker. They would tell her they
did everything they could, and ask if there was anyone they could call for her.
She thought about her mother, elderly and detached, who would be no help at
all. Then, of course, there was Doug’s sister, Abby, who was just the opposite.
She would want to push in and take over.
Laurel bristled at the thought as her
salty tears began to dry on her face, contracting the skin on her cheeks. Abby.
God, she was annoying. The woman had an answer for everything. And usually, it
was wrong. Maybe Laurel wouldn’t call her right away.
But no, Abby could be helpful if she
stayed in her damned lane. Laurel would just have to be strong, assertive. She
would give Abby a list of people to call. That would make her feel useful and
important. Keep her out of Laurel’s hair.
And then, well, Laurel would have to make
the most difficult call of all—to her son, Evan, who lived on the West Coast
and was expecting his first child. He’d want to fly to Long Island for the
funeral, but what about his wife, Samara? She was having a difficult pregnancy
and might not be allowed to fly. Maybe Evan wouldn’t even feel comfortable
leaving her.
It was painful to consider, and Laurel
shook her head. She was making this too complicated. Of course they would both
come to the funeral.
The thought of seeing them lightened her
heart. She’d been depressed about not being able to fly out there for the birth
of their child. Money was just so tight, with Doug still out of work. And he
had insisted it was foolish for them to get any further in the hole on their credit
cards. But now…now she’d be free to buy a ticket without getting into a fight
about it. At least there was that. She would finally get her wish of being
there for the birth of her first grandchild, to hell with credit card debt.
And then Laurel had a thought that made
her gasp. She hadn’t remembered it until this moment. Doug had a huge life
insurance policy—$850,000. So much money! It would solve everything. She’d be
able to pay off all the credit cards. She could sell the house, and move to a
cute little apartment, all by herself, and live off the savings. My place, she
would call it. The decor would be soft and cool, in shades of aquamarine and
sand. She imagined getting up in the morning without thinking about making Doug
breakfast, setting out his vitamins and medication, picking up his damp towels
from the bathroom floor, washing the dishes he left in the sink, swiping his
crumbs off the counter. There were always so many damned crumbs. But now, she
might even get a little dog. Doug was allergic so she had never been able to,
and the thought of it filled her.
Laurel stretched in the seat, thinking
how lovely it would be to quit the long shifts at Trader Joe’s and give her
aching back a rest. And with no job, she would be able to stay home with a new puppy
to train it.
And then there was her mother, who
desperately wanted Laurel to spend more time with her. This could be just what
their relationship needed. Laurel imagined her mother being so grateful for the
extra attention she might even summon the courage to take a break from her
vintage doll collection and leave the house. Laurel warmed at the thought, the
tension in her throat easing.
And of course, that would be nothing
compared to holding her first grandchild. How she loved newborns! Their
impossibly tiny noses, their kernel-sized toes, the smell of heat rising off
their velvety little heads. She imagined a baby girl with Evan’s silky dark
hair.
By the time she parked at the hospital,
Laurel was trying to work out whether it made sense to get a dog right away, or
if she should wait until after the birth of the baby, so she wouldn’t need to
worry about finding someone to care for it while she was in California.
She stopped the thought in its tracks.
This wasn’t about her, it was about Doug, and she needed to be sadder. He was
her husband. They had been married for nearly thirty years. Laurel tried to
picture the early days of their courtship, recalling when they first met. She
had just landed her first real job, working in the marketing department of a
trade magazine publisher, when one of the women in her office offered to fix
her up with a friend of her husband’s. “A solid citizen,” the woman had said,
and Laurel took it to mean he was someone she could trust.
The phrase stuck with her all these years
because it had defined Doug from their very first meeting. He was an honest and
decent man who had gone into his father’s business. Eight years older than
Laurel, he had a boyish face, unruly hair that charmed her, and an irresistibly
corny sense of humor. Even on that first date, she didn’t mind that he was
overweight. It made her feel safe to be with someone who wasn’t all that
attractive to other women. Here was a man who would always be faithful. And
also, he thought he was the luckiest guy in the world to be dating someone so
very pretty. She was even flattered by his jealousy. It made her feel like a
princess.
When he proposed six months later, Laurel
was dizzy with joy. She was young—barely twenty-two—but she had always dreamed
of being a wife. And she was being offered a sparkling emerald cut diamond
solitaire ring by a man who wanted her so desperately he couldn’t wait to make
it official. She’d been so overcome she could barely choke out the word yes.
Laurel parked and pulled a tissue from
her purse, well aware of what she was doing—digging into memories to feel
appropriately sad. It worked. Her heart felt leaden as she slammed her car door
and hurried to the emergency room entrance.
“I got a call about my husband, Douglas
Applebaum,” she said to the woman at the desk. “He was…in an accident.” She
arranged her face into a stoic expression so the receptionist would understand
she was prepared for whatever bad news was about to unfold.
But the woman remained impassive as she
tapped at her computer, asked for ID, and then printed out an adhesive name
badge. “Observation unit 4B,” she said, handing it to Laurel.
“What?” Laurel asked, confused. She had
expected someone to come out and greet her.
The woman pointed a long nail embedded
with a diamond chip. “Straight down that hall, all the way to the end. Make a
right, show your badge to the security guard.”
For a lingering moment, Laurel stood
transfixed by the glamorous manicure, a covetous urge growing tight in her gut.
She hid her raw, unmanicured hands behind her back as she recalled better days,
when she would indulge in mani-pedis with her friend Monica, as they laughed
and gossiped.
And then, just like that, the nostalgia
was replaced with furious reproach. How could she possibly be so shallow?
Especially now, when there was so much at stake.
Guilt brought her back to the present,
where she tried to focus on the instructions she had just been given. Dazed,
Laurel did as she was asked, going through door after door until she found
herself in a room full of patients in reclining chairs, separated by curtains.
Some were alone, others had a loved one sitting close by in a plastic seat,
crowded into the tiny space. Medical professionals buzzed around the middle of
the room, going from patient to patient. The air was too hot, and smelled like
disinfectant.
Laurel followed the signs. 1B, 2B, 3B,
and then she stood before 4B, where two nurses in lavender scrubs hovered over
a patient, blocking her view. One was leaning across him, pulling off a Velcro
blood pressure cuff, and the other adjusted a bag of clear liquid hanging on an
IV pole. The patient said something to make both nurses laugh, and then they
took a step back, as if sensing Laurel’s presence.
And there he was, lounging in the
reclining chair, a purple bruise across his forehead.
Laurel stopped and blinked, taking it in.
The IV bag was connected to his arm by a thin tube. He wore the faded plaid
shirt she’d been trying to get him to throw out, his belly hanging over his
belt.
“Doug?” she asked, trying to make sense
of the tableau before her. There was, she knew a term for what she was
experiencing. Cognitive dissonance. Still, she couldn’t understand what she was
looking at. That is, until he spoke.
“Did you bring me a snack?”
Excerpted
from Take My Husband by Ellen Meister. Copyright © 2022 by Ellen Meister.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR:
|
|
Ellen Meister is the author of several
novels including THE ROOFTOP PARTY, LOVE SOLD SEPARATELY, DOROTHY PARKER
DRANK HERE; THE OTHER LIFE and others. Ellen is also an editor, book coach,
ghostwriter, and frequent contributor to Long
Island Woman Magazine. She teaches creative writing at Long Island
University Hutton House Lectures and previously at Hofstra University. Her
latest novel is TAKE MY HUSBAND. For more info visit ellenmeister.com. |
SOCIAL
LINKS:
Author Website: https://ellenmeister.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ellenmeister/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/EllenMeister
Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24843.Ellen_Meister?from_search=true&from_srp=true
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