Saralee Rosenbergauthor
speaker
humorist

Synopsis

Married couples often keep secrets from each other. But what happens when it turns out they’re keeping the same secret?

In this darkly funny, cannily observed novel about honor and marriage, Paula Berman secretly struggles with regret. She got pregnant at nineteen and under pressure gave up her daughter, Freddie, through a private adoption. Even after marrying Marty and having twin sons, Paula never mentions Freddie nor admits to her futile search to reunite. Then evidence mounts that Marty may also have a daughter and Paula is devastated by the betrayal. Is she a girl from the neighborhood who spent a lot of time in their home? The daughter of a dear friend? Paula will stop at nothing to learn the truth about who they are as a family and what came of her baby girl. But will she pay the price of destroying her closest relationships to get answers? WHERE THE F IS FREDDIE is about second chances, and a mother’s reality if she doesn’t find her daughter she can never find herself.

Excerpt

Paula Winter was pleased with the therapies she was using to manage her anxiety. Holistic therapy (Breathe!). Cognitive Behavioral therapy (Journal!). And her favorite, gummies laced with THC (ZZZZZ!). But after being kept on hold and listening to menu options that had recently changed, not even these go to’s could regulate her overstimulated vagal nerves. And while cutting down on coffee might have a calming effect, she was no longer a patient of the doctor that dared to suggest this non-negotiable.

After pouring her second cup of the morning she sat at the maple dinette she inherited when her mother moved to Florida and stared out the sliders. How long before their kitchen renovation could resume? She had long since abandoned her Pinterest board, but even replacing the yellowed floors and dull countertops would be nice.

If only her husband, Marty, hadn’t suffered near-fatal injuries in a bike crash and stopped working, their finances wouldn’t have also taken a hit. Of course, there would eventually be a settlement with the driver who ran him over, but until then they were responsible for paying the exorbitant medical bills while fighting with their insurance carrier over reimbursements.

Your call is very important to us.

“If it’s so important, pick up the damn phone.”

Did you know you can find the status of your claim by visiting our website?

“Did you know you can go fuck yourself?”

We are experiencing higher than normal call volume.

“I am experiencing higher than normal rage. Live agent. Human being. SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE!!!!”

Paula almost flung her phone but resisted. If she cracked the glass, she would have to fill out more claim forms and worry that devices were also subject to preexisting conditions. Suddenly, her angst was diverted by an interview on the Today show and she looked up at the TV. “Dr. Golden, tell our audience how hypnotherapy helps people who suffer from anxiety. And is it true it also allows past lives to be examined?”

Great news, Paula! We’ve discovered why you have so many panic attacks.

In seconds, she Googled Dr. Golden and prayed that virtual visits were an option. But when her office location flashed on the screen, Paula thought she was hallucinating. Did it say she was in White Plains? She could leave her home in Scarsdale and arrive in fifteen minutes. Twelve if she ran the yellows.

Paula jotted the information on the back of an envelope and did a hallelujah. She was unfamiliar with hypnotherapy but hopefully it was akin to playing the home game of general anesthesia. A way to naturally relax or at least to stop yelling at customer service reps on a recorded line that were being monitored for training and quality purposes.

And how fortuitous to catch the interview when her mounting frustration reached a breaking point. Once upon a time she was fearless in pursuit of her pilot’s license, and now she couldn’t pry open a bottle of liquid soap without jabbing a steak knife through the center.

Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that fifty-four was the age when hormones and inertia vanished like a missing plane.

She stood and stretched, her eagle-length arms nearly knocking over the pile up of supplements on the table. A probiotic for gut health. Collagen and peptides to stop her hair from falling out. Magnesium Oxide so she pooped every day. Glucosimane and Chondroitin for aching joints. Fish Oil for she couldn’t remember why. And two recent additions, Black Seed oil and Shilajit, which claimed to be the secret longevity weapons of Himalayan monks.

At least her kitchen was functional in one way as it now doubled as a shipping department. This supplement will arrive on Wednesday. That one must be returned to Whole Foods by Friday. And who took her packing tape? Without it she couldn’t reseal the carton that needed to be dropped at the post office.

It was sad how few of these miracle cures delivered on their promises. Even worse, Paula knew she was wasting money she didn’t have to achieve longevity, which maybe she shouldn’t want. Wouldn’t more time on earth mean more holding the line until her call was answered in the order it was received?

That afternoon, she would vent over lattes with best friend, Judith Segal. And she would share a secret. Not about the regrettable decision she made at nineteen… no one would ever be privy to that. This secret was about finally confronting her demons so she could sleep through the night again. Oh, to be at peace.

As she made her way inside the cozy cafe, she inhaled the rich aromas and mused how much easier it was to bear her soul to her best friend than to Marty. Especially now that he was in the habit of wearing passive aggressive earbuds. If she talked long enough, he would remove one and clutch it with an embittered look. His way of signaling that she had interrupted an important podcast discussing players’ contract talks with his beloved New York Mets as if he was handling the negotiations.

But this was also true. Paula grew up watching I Love Lucy reruns with her mother and knew that Ricky got Lucy’s poker face while Ethel got shown Lucy’s real hand.

Best friends don’t judge. They ride at dawn.

Yes! Judith claimed a booth in back, a perfect choice as today’s conversation would feel more private without a nosy neighbor in earshot. And as was their tradition, the first to arrive ordered the coffee with a pastry to share. Soon, Paula swallowed a bite of blueberry scone and took a deep inhale.

“Do you ever feel like a mathematical equation?” Paula asked. “Someone who is less than. Less sharp. Less sure. Less interesting… less needed.”

“Every day.” Judith replied. “Plus, I’ve turned into my mother… I call everyone honey and darling because I can’t remember a friggin’ name.”

Paula nodded at her comrade. A post-menopausal woman saddened by memory loss, dry vaginas and mood swings yet despite their long friendship they had little else in common.

Paula was a championship tennis player and cyclist. When Judith felt a burst of athleticism, she binged Netflix until the urge waned. Paula paid little attention to fashion. Judith didn’t walk to her mailbox without wearing a designer label. Paula and Marty were always in a financial bind. Judith, a wealthy widow, shopped at Costco yet never experienced the blood rush to the head that others said they experienced.

Though on this they agreed. Family mattered. Friendship mattered. And trust mattered to a point that it was sacrosanct. So, whether they pondered their latest challenges or laughed about recent mishaps, a secret shared was a secret kept, including the one Paula was about to divulge.