Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Was it the neighbor she thought was stalking her?
Was it the husband coming home early from his so-called boys’ trip?
You know it’s almost always the husband who murders the wife, which in itself is very fucking unsettling.
Also, I’m obsessed with the way this podcast is basically telling this serial case like a murder mystery book versus a long-winded lecture I didn’t mean to click on.
Bekka Weyrick’s voice enters my ear bud once more at a much lower tone. “You have to understand. This woman had no idea the hell she was about to endure when that knob turned. She gripped the book in her hands a little tighter. She was doing everything she could to stay calm; however, her instincts were not only screaming something wasn’t right, but they were also shouting something was about to go very, very wrong, which is why when he opened his mouth and said-”
“Hey!” an unexpected male voice greets forcing me to pick up the nearby stapler in self-defense. Daniel Wainwright, my ex-husband, cheerfully smiles in the doorway of my office at the same time he jokes, “And here I thought we were more cordial than that.”
“Sorry,” I lightly laugh, place the stapler back where it belongs, and usher him inside. “I’ve been listening to these murder podcasts lately, and they’re great for keeping me wide-awake, not so great at keeping me from being jumpy.”
He saunters over with his coffee cup in hand to one of the leather office chairs on the other side of my desk. “I didn’t know you liked podcasts.”
“I didn’t know that, either.”
Gold boyfriend star goes to Tate. He loves to encourage me to try and do new things, swearing you’re never too old – or too young for that matter – to do shit you’ve never done before. While it’d be a really easy thought concept to brush off, the truth is, in thinking about it a little deeper, I realized, I’m lacking some self-knowledge in lots of areas. I mean you think you know yourself; you think you know what you like, but sometimes what you like isn’t really what you like so much as what you’ve always just liked because it’s what those around you were into. You’d think you’d have some more of that shit figured out by the time you’re halfway through your thirties, but if you’ve never really made time to discover it due to having bills to pay or a career to build or striving to check off all these goals you’ve been brainwashed into believing are fundamental, you probably don’t.
At least I didn’t.
Turns out I don’t really like the ballet.
I find it boring and pretentious and those women’s bodies alarmingly unhealthy, yet in being with Daniel, he loved it, so I loved it. I went to the performances. Sat in the front row. Smiled and clapped and swooned like everyone else yet after going to see one without him, with more honest eyes – and maybe a more honest partner – I realized I don’t. Tate asked me what I thought of the show he had switched shifts to go with me to – proving he looks even more drop dead sexy in a suit than he does his day-to-day clothes – and initially, I gave my robotic “it was great” answer. It wasn’t until he highlighted the drop in my tone, the random cringes I made during the show, and repeated time checking on my phone that I realized maybe I didn’t enjoy it like I always thought I had.
That…moment…became the starting point to reevaluate my so-called likes and dislikes.
It’s been fun and honestly, oddly freeing.
And when I find something, I like that Tate doesn’t, instead of backburning it like I might’ve in the past, I say fuck it and just keep doing it on my own.
Except for tandem bike riding.
That one kind of needs two people.
Daniel releases a curious hum as he plops his slender scrubs covered frame into the seat. “What other types of podcasts do you like?”
I pause the program and remove my one earpiece. “Hockey.”
He lightly chortles on a slow head nod. “Oh okay, so, I do still know some shit about you.”
“Likely,” I tease prior to folding my hands together in my own scrub covered lap. “What I don’t know about you, Dr. Wainwright, is why aren’t you working?”
“On call.”
Yeah.
Some old habits don’t die.
Having our offices in the same medical plaza as the hospital – literally right next door through an airconditioned hallway – has major benefits. It allows patients or parents of patients or caregivers of patients to meet directly with us not too far from the medical treatment they need or seek. It allows incredible response time when the moment arrives to transport from our hospital to another area. We can actively work, train, and be on call all at a convenient distance. Plus…it does allow for some easy socialization and fraternization.