And finally, thank you to my husband. For listening to me whine and rant and gush about my book without getting too annoyed.
Did you enjoy reading The Ex?
If so, please send me an email at [email protected]. I would love to hear from you. Or consider leaving a review on Amazon!
Check out my website at:
http://doccartoon.blogspot.com/
In the meantime, please enjoy a short excerpt of my new book, The Perfect Son…
The Perfect Son
Transcript of police interview with Erika Cass:
“Can you please tell us what happened, Mrs. Cass?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“I know what you found. I know what you must be thinking.”
“What do you think we found, Mrs. Cass?”
“A… a dead body.”
“And can you explain how this happened?”
“I…”
“Mrs. Cass?”
“Am I under arrest? Please just tell me.”
“At this time, no, you are not under arrest. But obviously, we need to know what happened.”
“He was… stabbed to death.”
“And who did it?”
“…”
“Mrs. Cass?”
“I did it. I killed him, Detective. And I would do it again.”
About one week earlier
Erika
You’re not supposed to have a favorite child.
If you ask most mothers, they’ll say something along the lines of “Sammy is really smart, but Nicole has a great heart.” They refuse to choose. And some of them are sincere. Some mothers genuinely love both their children equally.
Others, like me, are lying through their teeth.
“Good morning!” I say as my fourteen-year-old daughter Hannah pads into the kitchen. She’s in her bare feet and an old pair of gym shorts, and her reddish brown hair in disarray around her face. She’s supposed to be dressed and ready for school, but clearly she’s not. She always waits until the last possible second to get ready. She likes to keep me in suspense over whether or not she’s going to make the school bus. But I’ve learned from experience that nagging her doesn’t help at all—in fact, it only seems to slow her down—so I turn back to the eggs I’m scrambling in a frying pan.
“Mom!” Hannah can’t seem to say that word anymore without the whiny edge to her voice that draws the word out for at least two syllables. Mo-om. I remember how happy I was the first time she said “mama.” I shake my head at my old na?ve self. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Say it like what? I just said ‘Good morning.’”
“Right.” Hannah groans. “Like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… oh my God, you know what I mean.”
“I really don’t, Hannah.”
“You say it like… I don’t know. Just don’t say it like that.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I focus my attention back on the eggs. I pride myself in making really fantastic eggs. It’s one of my superpowers. My eggs are so good that when one of Hannah’s friends ate them on the morning after a sleepover, she said that I should be the lunch lady at their school. It was the highest compliment.