Actually, I transcribed it in 2005, it was handwritten originally. This is chapter 4 of a book I started writing.
I miss writing.
Fremont
The Saturn sat sulking in the back of the garage. Abandoned for a week, it seemed, no daily jaunt to the nucleus of the high-tech industry. Next to it, the Explorer ticked smugly as it cooled, the sweat of its labors dripping from the condenser of its air conditioner. It had done its work: two kids taken to school, a run to Starbucks, and then home again by way of the grocery store.
The 2 ½ car garage stood sentinel in front of the 2.5 bath, 3 beds, and large family room that made up part of the half-million dollar single-family home. The house quietly sucked electricity into its Tivo, its fridge, its air conditioner, and the PC. It breathed out a quiet hum of perfume-scented laundry air. It listened inattentively to the bumble bee hum of the gas-powered leaf blower at the end of the close. It sheltered Meredith from the heat of the day, a quiet seclusion for her work-from-home, self-sufficient self-employment. Her cell phone rang with the pomp of Elgar, her 10 am phone conference with Sally.
“So where’s Martin?” inquired Meredith’s marketing department.
“He’s gone to Austin for customer integration; they’re going live this month.” Sally had an implicit NDA as the friend of the wife, and so far had either rewarded the trust or not known what to do with the information she didn’t realize she had.
“While the cat’s away…?” Sally was eager for a girls’ night out; they both deserved it, she reckoned. Silicon Valley widows, collecting the wages at the cost of losing their husbands to the incessant grind of the techno mills.
The evening was planned, and sitters secured. A girls' night of vino and karaoke.
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