She'd have preferred the electric chair to spending another night at her mother-in-law's cottage.

the mother in law doted and fussed over her son, as if he was a newborn. She made all the meals and cleaned everything and once she caught her wiping the mustard from his chin.

"Oh, I'll make the hotdogs, dear," she said. "Andrew likes them a special way. Wouldn't want you to waste all that time and not have them turn out. Why don't you go lay on the sand and get some sun. You could use it, you seem frightfully pale."

Emily forced a smile and said she would do just that. She reached into the fridge and gathered the half-done sixpack by the empty plastic loop and shuffled down to the sandy shore.

She imagined hearing a sigh behind her, but it might have been the rusty hinges of the screen door as it closed. Andrew came up the path, dripping wet, towel wrapped around his waist.

"Mommy insisted on making your hotdogs," she said as they met. He smiled awkwardly.

Could he really be enjoying this so much, she wondered. Or did he feel

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CraigTowsley (joined about 9 years ago)
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I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.

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She'd have preferred the electric chair.
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