That’s what this divorce journal is. How do you like that, Maxine Barker? Huh? Oh, and suck this, Princess. “I hate to say it, but this looks like Frankenstein’s summer house,” Mel remarked as she and Max drove toward the imposing brick structure of Westmeyer on her first official day as ballroom instructor. Max’s laughter filled her car. “It is kind of gloomy, but the foliage is gorgeous, don’t you think? I love when the trees begin to turn.” Max’s words drifted to her ears. She just hadn’t had enough time to sit with this job thing. A career, as Max called it. It was bigger than she was right now. “That’s the ‘always look for the silver lining commandment,’ isn’t it?” Mel joked, folding her arms under her breasts in a protective gesture. “It is. I knew you couldn’t resist my pamphlets. No one can.” A glimmer of a smile wrestled with Mel’s lips. So, yeah. Guilty. She’d skimmed the contents of the packet Max had given her last night over a salad and a piece of grilled chicken.
