I know how it happened. I was in a hurry to pick up the girls from school early enough to make the dental appointment. On the way out, I took a cooler with E's afternoon meds, and my current read, Amazing Grace by Megan Shull.
I left with the book. I swear I did. But when we arrived at the dentist's office, I couldn't find it.
I checked under the front seat. I searched the floor beneath E's electric scooter. Nothing. For a time I convinced myself I was wrong. Maybe I'd only thought about leaving the house with the book. Maybe I'd left it on the little oak table near the front door.
A family came into the office, stomping the rain out of their hair and clothes. Rain? When did it start raining? And then I remembered.
So not good. Sacrilege. The faux pas of all faux pas.
Before running back into the house to retrieve a forgotten magazine, I'd left the book--a brand-spanking-new chicklit selection from the local library--on the front porch ledge alongside the mini cooler. And it was still sitting there.
I should have fawned over my girls' dazzling smiles and new toothbrushes. I should have ooohed and ahhed over news of their great check-ups. Instead, all I could think about was racing home to rescue the book.
Thirty minutes later we pulled into the drive. And my heart flip-flopped. I'd done it. I'd really done it. There was the book, water beading up on the plastic cover, water dripping over its sides. I shook the rain from it, shoved it beneath my coat, helped E and S into the house, and assessed the damage.
By a turn of luck, most of the inside pages had escaped the rain. The small area that did get wet, dripped water when squeezed. The damage didn't look permanent. I stacked a huge pile of textbooks on top of the book, hoping the pages would dry flat overnight. Sigh of relief. They did.
Appetite for reading: Even soggy, Amazing Grace is an enjoyable chicklit read.