Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 67

A Page Straight From Eleanor Stem #Apagestraightfrom

Miri's Song by Eleanor Stem

Miri stood before a howling mob with her back pressed against the quarry wall. Somewhere in the depths of her dead heart, she was glad. Soon, it would be done, and she’d be gone from this place where only pain greeted her.

The sun sent hot, white light into the quarry. Its bright dance blinded her. When she tried to focus her eyes, all she could see was the shadow of a gnarled tree, and the shimmering mob that scrambled for stones at their feet.

“Harlot!” they cried, and a stone seared across her breast, followed by another, and another, until she was numb with pain.
Dust rose as men and women shuffled in the dirt for more stones, obscuring the white sky of the afternoon. Miri sagged against the wall as stones pummeled her. She did not turn away, but faced her accusers with open eyes.

She asked an uncaring god for a swift end to a life filled with carnal hardship. She had been forced into an unclean life by birth, to a place where she had not asked to be. She’d experienced the underbelly of man’s nature. It defiled not only her body, but her soul.

The stones pummeled and battered her. One crashed against her shoulder, slamming her hard against the quarry wall. She tried to keep her eyes opened. She wanted to watch her own death. Another stone hit her midsection. The impact bent her over, and she grunted in pain. She tried not to weaken and fall into the dirt. She refused to collapse before the mob, and tried to stand up, but the stone damaged something within her. Deep pain cascaded through her as she gasped, and fought for breath.
Death was nearly upon her.

Miri closed her eyes to the stones that smashed into her. She did not raise an arm to protect herself, did not turn her back to them. The bigger the stones, the harder they were thrown, the faster she’d die.
One crashed into her head and her legs buckled, but her quick descent was halted by a strong arm. Someone held her tight, and said something to her. The words did not penetrate. She could not hear what he said. She could not see or feel what happened around her except the mob who wanted her dead, and the pain of the stones as she tried to die.

In her narrowed vision of white heat and dust, she glimpsed a tall man shielding her from harm.

He yanked her upright, and held her tight. He said, “Find your feet.”

She wanted to die, and his words faded in a haze of agony.

She slumped against him.

The man pulled and tugged her through the mob toward the quarry gate. Her head sagged against his strong arm. When she found the will to open her eyes, she saw the mob had lost its howl. They stood like dark statues in the settling dust.

This is madness. An errant thought slipped through her pain. Had the stones stopped, forever, or for only a short time? Was this a trick? Somehow the man had bewitched the people. As he dragged Miri through the press, she waited for the men to scoff and the women to laugh, and the stones to begin again.

But nothing happened.

In the blistering sun, the crowd stood silent as white dust drifted at their feet. Hot breaths of bloodlust were stilled in the presence of this man who protected her. He threaded their way through the throng of now silent people. Miri could feel the palpable anger suppressed as if under a shroud of magic. He carried her while the rabble glared at them, stones hanging in loose hands.

He stood in defiance of the mob. Amazed, Miri sliced open a thought to the slim possibility of life. She let him pull and prod her against the tentative shroud of protection of the angry mob. She pressed closer to him, waiting for his next move. She tried to take a step when he took a step.

He held her, and kept her upright. People shrugged aside when they passed, and remained quiet as they reached the quarry gate.

Death now seemed farther away.

The tall man placed his big hand on her head, covering her forehead and eyes. Suddenly, warmth flowed into Miri, changing into a hot glow. Bright light swept through her body, and spread on soaring wings until it penetrated her soul. Brilliance crashed through her broken flesh, and left her breathless. She collapsed against him, knowing all in the quarry must see the dazzling, bright colors flash around them, and mingle with the glare of the white sun.

At once, the pain stopped. Her legs held her upright, and she felt whole again.

She looked up at him, and wondered what this was all about. A new sponsor, perhaps? To continue what swept her into the quarry in the first place? Her heart cried out against it.

The mob had ripped her away from a life of bitter self-destruction. She would never go back, but to leave it behind, she must die.

As bread and wine were her nourishment, death was her only salvation.

Miri wanted to rip from this strange man’s hold, and run back into the mob. She would beg them to finish killing her. Their malevolence comforted her, a small thing when matched to her self-loathing. When not overwhelmed by their need to shed her blood, she understood the anger that pressed against her from all sides. It was honest, and a balm to her broken spirit.

But she was helpless in the face of this tall man’s strength. This turn of events was too quick, and she was too stunned to react. She could only bask in the healing powers of the bright light, and warmth of his touch.

It pervaded her whole being. Her heart filled with the buds of newfound joy, and the will to live.

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Hooray!!!!

I'm so happy to announce that Rita Karnopp is returning to Dishin' It Out in March.  I've truly missed her input and her posts that continue to teach me so much.  I know you've all missed her, too.  Here's hoping that 2015 is much kinder to her...of course her refrigerator went out on New Year's Eve and they lost $500 worth of food, but that doesn't count...it wasn't 2015 yet!

May all your woes be used, Rita, and may 2015 be your year to shine.

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

“Ring, damn it!” Cassie sat, curled up on the sofa, and stared at the phone. For the last hour she’d fought with herself about being the one to initiate the call, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “Nice girls don’t call boys. They wait.”
Cassie wondered what her mother would think about this whole Internet dating scene. Mom maintained old-fashioned standards, still believing that real men opened doors and threw their cloaks over mud puddles. Cassie opened her own doors and stepped over puddles, but the one thing she couldn’t do was fill the void of loneliness inside herself.
The phone’s loud ring sliced through the silence, startling her and ending her dilemma. She took a deep breath before she answered. She didn’t want to sound too eager.
“Hello.”
“Hi, purdy lady.”
Cassie’s heart warmed. She snuggled down on the couch and cuddled the phone between her head and shoulder.
“Hi yourself, cowboy, I was hoping you’d call.” The bold admission shocked her.
“Reckon I’d have to be a darn fool not to call. I’ve been thinking ‘bout you all day.”
Cassie chuckled. The rapid palpitations of her heart made her feel as though she was back in high school.
“What? Why are you laughin’ at me? I just couldn’t think of anything but you and wantin’ to call you tonight.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. I just love your voice. You sound so cute.”
“I reckon I’m a far cry from cute, but I like that you think that. So … you thought of me today?”“I told you I was hoping you’d call me tonight. If my mom hadn’t taught me better, I would have called you first.” Cassie swore under her breath and felt a warm flush creep up her neck. She barely knew the man and already she confessed an interest in him. What if he was a serial killer or something? She felt so conflicted.
“I sure would like to meet you in person,” Evan drawled.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little premature?”
“Pre what?”
“Don’t you think you’re rushing things? We’ve only talked on the phone a few times. I think we need to get to know each other better before we even think about meeting.”
Cassie’s own ruling caused a pang of disappointment. Maybe she was afraid of meeting him, but curiosity was killing her.
“What’d you do today?” She picked a safe question, but one that might tell her a little more about him.
“I started out drawing some landscaping plans but found myself distracted.”
“By what?”
“Thoughts of you. What else?”
“I’m sorry I interfered with your work, but flattered that your thoughts were of me.”
“You have no idea how much you disrupted my day. I tried to work but I kept checkin’ my watch.”At the mention of time, she glanced at the clock. If only time at work went by as fast as the time she spent on the phone with Evan. Reluctantly, she put an end to their flirty banter. “Gosh, I just noticed the time. It’s late and I have some work to do before I can get some sleep. I’ve really enjoyed our chat. Call me tomorrow?”
“Sure ‘nuff, baby girl. Hope you dream of me.”
Betrayed is available with my other works on my Amazon page.

2014 is dead and gone!

Rita and I thank you for spending time with us this past year, reading our posts and leaving a comment or two, and even sharing them with your friends.  May your life be bright, your wallet full, and your health meter never register anything catastrophic.

Newyearx2015.com

A Page Straight From Ginger Simpson #APageStraightFrom

Yellow Moon byGinger SimpsonComing Soon


After many nights spent pondering a way to escape while bound in her blankets and now yet another day of trying to find a comfortable rhythm tied to a plodding horse, Yellow Moon closed her eyes and pretended the motion was the gentle rocking of a canoe as Ate fished for their dinner.  She pictured the sky blue water, the sweet smell of the wildflowers wafting on the breeze, and her beloved ate, determination showing on his face as he searched for the biggest catch.  Keeping the peaceful picture in her head proved difficult.  Her entire body ached, her hands were numb, and her head hurt.  Why was this happening to her?  No answer came, but a dark void called to her and an exhaustive sleep claimed her.
Cheers and ululations woke her.  The shrill noise the women made reminded her of welcomes she’d lent voice to, and tears blurred her eyes.  She raised her face to see tepees and a crowd swarming the horses.  Would the women stone her as she had heard happened to others?  In all her moons, she’d never seen a captive mistreated by her tribe, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that torture happened, often out of sight of children.  She chanted a prayer to Wankan Tanka to spare her life.Conversations among the people were in a Siouan dialect, and most words were discernable.  Her captors were Crow, known to be bitter enemies of the Sioux and Cheyenne over territorial disputes.  In the light of day, the symbols painted on their horses were visible, and she learned the name of the man who abducted her...Plenty Coup. 
He untied her and pulled her from the horse...one she recognized as belonging to Thunder Eyes.  The Crow had not only stolen women, they’d taken the animals as well.  Would her husband-to-be come after her?  How could he without his stallion to carry him?  Did he even know who took her and the others?  She stared bravely into the face of Plenty Coup.  “Why did you bring us here?”
“They...” he pointed to the other women, will become slaves and serve my people, but you...” He stood back and ran his gaze up and down her body.  “You, I think I will take as my wife.”
She gasped.  “You cannot.  I am promised to Thunder Eyes of the Santee.
“That makes my plan even better.  I cannot think of anything more vengeful than taking his woman...unless of course I....” Plenty Coup slashed his forefinger across his throat to emphasize his meaning.
Yellow Eyes lifted her chin skyward and let the sun wash over her face.  Pretending she was back at the Sun Dance and dealing with the fear of becoming wife to another Sioux didn’t change a thing.  She turned pleading eyes to her captor. “Please do not hurt Thunder Eyes.  I will not resist you as long as you promise to let him live.”
“Then tomorrow, I will have my wife, Pretty Shield, ready you for the ceremony.”
“Your wife?”  Yellow Moon’s jaw dropped open.

Yellow Moon is my current WIP and almost finished.  Books We Love will be open to submissions again in January, and this will be one of the first emails they receive.  It's been a long time in the works because I'm a pantser and Yellow Moon has been a spoiled brat to work with.  She rarely talked to me...until recently.  I hope you enjoy this teaser from somewhere in the story.

Happy New Year and Forget Detoxing...really! #gingersimpson

I happened to be doing a little researc on toxins and came across the most logical argument against all the scams that tell us we need to detox our bodies.  I suggest you read it before you invest money in something that isn't necessary.  If you watch what you eat and cut out the unnecessary salt, pastas, breads, and fast foods, you're bound to lose weight.  Don't think that flushing out your system is the only way to get those unwanted pounds off.  I suggest you read:  http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/the-detox-scam-how-to-spot-it-and-how-to-avoid-it/
Here's a little snippet that might make you follow the link.

The reality is that our bodies are constantly being exposed to a huge variety of natural and synthetic chemicals. The presence of any chemical in the body, (natural or synthetic) does not mean that it is doing harm. Many naturally-derived substances can be exceptionally toxic, and consequently the human body has evolved a remarkable system of defenses and mechanisms to defend against, and remove unwanted substances. The skin, kidneys, lymphatic system, our gastrointestinal system, and most importantly, the liver make up our astoundingly complex and sophisticated intrinsic detoxification system. Importantly, the dose makes the poison – even water can be toxic (dilutional hyponatremia) when consumed in excessive amounts. http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/the-detox-scam-how-to-spot-it-and-how-to-avoid-it/.  In case you're too stubborn to click on the link, I'll share the conclusion, although the entire article is meaningful and makes sense.



Any product or service with the words “detox” or “cleanse” in the name is only truly effective at cleansing your wallet of cash. Alternative medicine’s ideas of detoxification and cleansing have no basis in reality. There’s no published evidence to suggest that detox treatments, kits or rituals have any effect on our body’s ability to eliminate waste products effectively. They do have the ability to harm however – not only direct effects, like coffee enemas and purgatives, but the broader distraction away from the reality of how the body actually works and what we need to do to keep it healthy. “Detox” focuses attention on irrelevant issues, and gives consumers the impression that they can undo lifestyle decisions with quick fixes. Improved health isn’t found in a box of herbs, a bottle of homeopathy, or a bag of coffee pushed into your rectum. The lifestyle implications of a poor diet, lack of exercise, smoking, lack of sleep, and alcohol or drug use cannot simply be flushed or purged away. Our kidneys and liver don’t need a detox treatment. If anyone suggests a detox or cleanse to you, you’d do well to ignore the suggestion, and question any other health advice they may offer.

Note from Ginger:  If you don't believe people are in this myth for the money, just go to http://google.com/images and search under "detox."

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

Let's see...Cassie is bored with her life and has made a connection on a dating site.  She's already given her phone number and had a conversation with Evan who lives in Texas.  Now she's back at work in her real life...not just a dreamworld.




Cassie sat at her office desk and stifled a yawn. She wasn’t used to being up as late as she had been last night. Her thoughts turned to Evan, and she checked her watch wishing time would pass quickly so she could go home and spend time on the phone with him again. Just remembering his deep, southern-drawl caused her heart to skip a beat.
The memory of his descriptive language warmed her. She nipped at her bottom lip.  She didn’t even know the man, yet he sounded genuine and sincere. What kind of man would put his own life aside to take care of someone? He must be a rare bird. Gregory had barely wanted to see his mother, let alone live with her, and Cassie’s brother, Frank, rarely came to visit their Mom. Cass pulled a mental picture of Evan into her mind and wondered what it would be like to meet in person.The buzz of the intercom on her desk interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes?” She clenched her teeth at the disturbance.
“Mr. Takeda would like to see you in his office,” the voice on the other end responded.
“Thank you.” Cassie’s hands shook as she pushed back from her desk and prepared to face her boss. What could he possibly want from her? Or worse, what had she done to piss him off now?
She squared her shoulders, bravely left her office, and walked down the long, carpeted hallway. 
Outside his intimidating mahogany door, Cassie stopped, took a deep breath, and rapped her knuckles against the shiny wood.
“Come in,” Takeda’s authoritative voice boomed.

Cassie’s insides trembled like a mass of Jell-O, but she put on her most professional and fearless face. “You wanted to see me?”
Checkout Betrayed and my other books on my Amazon page.
Don't forget to come back next week for more Friday Freebits.

A Free Christmas Story Straight From Ginger Simpson #freestory #Christmas

Make a Joyful Noise by Ginger Simpson 

Anne Collins curled up in her over-stuffed easy chair and glanced at the daily newspaper. The glass of wine on the end table reflected the crackling fire beyond the hearth. Her workday had prompted her to fill a much larger goblet than normal. If one more person mentioned having a ‘Merry Christmas’, she thought for certain she’d lose control. This year, the yuletide held no reason to celebrate. Her husband, Daniel, lay in the hospital, hanging by a thread. Being festive rated last on her ‘to do’ list. Warmth spread throughout the room as the logs on the grate crackled and popped, chasing away the chill brought on by frigid temperatures and two feet of snow outside.
 Anne grew comfortable and tossed the paper aside. She picked up her white zinfandel and sipped it while reflecting on past holidays. She always considered her life was full and blessed…until the diagnosis. Daniel never smoked a day in his life. How did he end up with throat cancer? Surely there were plenty of murderers or child molesters God could punish. Why her husband? He was the epitome of everything good. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she took a tissue from a nearby box and blotted her face. Hell couldn’t be any worse than watching Daniel waste away, suffering with every breath. The radiation and chemotherapy burned his throat and made it impossible for him to speak. Seemed an eternity had passed since he flashed that smile she loved so much. 
This was the first time in their married life she’d picked out and put up a Christmas tree without him. The anger festering inside made her want to rip it down, burn the gifts, and rant at the Lord for the unfairness, but….
 A blast of cold air blew into the room as the door opened. “Hey, Mom, sorry, I’m late, but I stayed after school to finish up a science project.” A smaller version of her mother, fourteen-year-old Casey slugged inside, stamping her feet on the rug in the foyer to clear the flakes from her boots. Peeling off her coat, she tackled the layer of sweaters beneath. “Boy, it is freezing out there.” 
She opened the hall closet and hung everything inside, then turned to her mother with an arched brow. “Do you realize it’s the second week of December and we’re the only house on the block without outside decorations?”
 Anne took a sip of wine to hide a grimace. “I know, dear. I just haven’t been in the mood this year.” She looked at her daughter and sighed. Casey was the only reason Anne hadn’t cracked under the stress. 
Casey crossed the room and perched on the chair’s arm. “I can help put up the lights, Mom. All we need is a ladder. Dad left the little hooks up from last year.”
 Anne shook her head. “We’ll do just fine without lights, Casey. Besides…” She stared into her lap, her eyes blurred with unbidden tears. 
“Dad’s going to get better and come home, so why are you acting like he’s gone?” Casey stood and pulled her lips into pout. “You know how much he enjoys the holidays.” Her chocolate eyes glistened in the firelight, her tone demanded an answer.
 Anne rose, walked to the mantle and picked up a filigreed picture frame. Looking upon Daniel’s smiling face sent pain stabbing at her heart. The photograph had been taken the year they went to Maui. Now thin and gaunt, he barely resembled the man she saw. It’d been weeks since he’d even acknowledged her presence in the hospital room. She put the photo back and turned to her daughter. “Casey, I just can’t muster up any Christmas spirit. Your dad isn’t doing very well and I don’t feel very festive.” She returned to her chair and downed the rest of her wine, hoping it would numb her worried mind.
 Casey peered down at her. “I know if Dad was standing here, he’d be disappointed that you’ve lost faith. Why have we gone to church all these years if you can’t trust God to take care of things?” She spun and stomped out of the room. 
Anne pondered the question. Why couldn’t she trust God? The answer was easy. He’d allowed Dan to get sick in the first place. She stood and wandered into the kitchen, her wine glass in hand. After pouring a re-fill, she gazed out the window over the sink at the drifts of snow in the backyard. The old tire swing Casey used to love still hung from a giant branch now devoid of leaves. The setting sun was lost behind a gray wintry haze, and everything looked frozen. While her mind questioned God’s motives, Anne watched until the last trace of daylight disappeared and darkness fell. She picked up her goblet and started to turn from the window, but a flash of light caught her eye. Too bright at first, it soon softened, and Anne blinked in disbelief. The shimmering outline of an angel, dressed all in white, appeared just outside the glass. A glowing halo shone brightly above her head, and the assuring smile on her face sent a peaceful feeling coursing through Anne’s body. The entity raised her arms, and as if by magic, an orb of light floated from her hands and rose into the heavens. Anne’s gaze followed the star’s trail as it climbed higher, illuminating the yard, the trees, the swing, and the old storage shed in the corner where Dan kept the gardening tools. Anne thought to call her daughter to witness the scene, but couldn’t find the voice to do it. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wonder outside. The heavenly creature floated a few feet above the ground and gestured toward the sky.
 The gray haze was gone and a canopy of stars twinkled above. One stood out above the rest, sending a blaze of light flashing to the ground. In the snowdrift just beyond the trees, Anne beheld another wonder. Unveiled one letter at a time, an invisible hand seemed to etch the glowing word ‘believe’ into the blanket of white. Anne gasped, trying to call out for Casey, but the image, along with the angel, vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. The stars still twinkled brightly overhead, but the yard turned dark again. Her mouth agape, Anne marveled at lightness in her heart. 
*** Casey sat at the desk in her room. Christmas music played softly on her radio, and she struggled to concentrate on her homework. How could she possibly focus on school when things at home were so depressing? She couldn’t bear to think of life without her dad, and it hurt that her mother had all but given up on his getting better. 
Heaving a sigh, Casey stood and walked to the bookshelf across the room. She searched the shelves until she found her Bible. She thumbed through the index, looking for verses pertaining to hope and found Proverbs 3:3-4. Turning to the passage, she read: Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.
She’d barely finished when she heard a strange noise coming from downstairs—a heavy thumping sound. Her put her Bible back in its place and tilted her ear to listen. She heard it again. Casey opened her door and the sound became louder. “Mom, what is that,” she called out.
 When she received no answer, Casey went to investigate. The noise had stopped but she couldn’t find her mom. She walked through the entire house only to find it empty. A half-filled wine glass sat near the easy chair, but no sight of her mother. The thumping began again—close and right outside. 
The porch light cast a strange-looking shadow on the front window. Casey grasped the knob and opened the door just a crack. She saw a ladder and a pair of legs from the knees down. She recognized the fur-lined boots. “Mom, what are you doing up there?” Casey walked to the edge of the porch and peered up.
 Bundled against the weather, her mother hammered at the wooden eave. “I’m putting up Christmas lights. Some of the hooks are loose and I’m tightening them. How about if you get a coat on and check the bulbs in the next strand while I finish hanging these.”
 “But… I thought…” Forgetting the cold, Casey picked up a coiled cord and began unraveling it.
 “I know, I know. I lost faith for a while,” her mother glanced down and nodded,” but for some strange reason, I’ve found it again. I have a strong feeling that Dad is coming home and we need to be ready.” 
Casey smiled up at her mother. “Let me get my coat and I’ll be right back. Tomorrow we can put up the manger scene in the yard.”
 “Good idea.” Anne went back to pounding. 

Casey paused for a moment and looked to heaven. Her mind wandered to her last week's Sunday School lesson. Make A Joyful Noise Unto the Lord - Psalm 100. "Who would've thought hammering could qualify?" she muttered, then smiled. Humming “Silent Night,” she headed for the coat closet. For the first time in weeks, she enjoyed feeling a sense of peace that magnified the joy of the holiday. Faith would bind their family together; love would sustain them.

In the Spirit - Rhobin's Round Robin - #rndrbn1214

Rhobin asked us to use "In the Spirit" as our topic this month as"A gift for your readers. Write a short poem, flash fiction, vignette, or other short piece about hope, love, forgiveness, Christmas, or special gift.  The following is a short story I wrote that appeared in a magazine a few December's ago.  I hope you enjoy it.  All folks leaving a comment will be added to a drawing to receive a PDF copy of my Special Edition from Books We Love.  Don't forget to say something.  :)
IMPOUNDED LOVE by Ginger Simpson

Gwen Spencer scanned her cheery living room and sighed.  It had lost its appeal.  All the time she’d spent decorating in her favorite southwestern motif now seemed a waste.  Snuggled in her sandstone-colored easy chair, with knees bent and feet tucked beneath her, she stared at the telephone.  If wishes came true, it would ring at any second and she’d hear Brad’s voice. 

She raised her gaze and peered through the window. An overcast sky hid the sun, and gray shrouded the fall-colored trees in the front yard. A few leaves drifted to the ground, carried by a light breeze. Within weeks, the branches would be bare—as empty as her heart felt at the moment.  The visual hint of the late October chill made her shiver.  Where was Brad?  Was he warm and safe?  The fire she’d started earlier flickered bright beyond the hearth and kept the room toasty.  She hoped her husband had a coat.  Tennessee nights were cold this time of the year.

The silence overwhelmed her and, with a sigh, she stretched out her legs, stood, slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and shuffled to the stereo.  She flipped through the plastic CD covers housing her music collection, the ones she and Brad had selected together.  She paused and let them fall back into a neat row.  The songs held recollections of happier times.  Today marked ten years since she and Brad had married, and she never expected to spend such a special occasion alone. Favorite tunes would only enhance her pain.  She forced a smile, remembering what someone once told her.  “If you play country music backwards, you get your dog back, your house back, your man back, your life back.”  

If only it was that simple.  Her heart clenched with fear and the momentary glee faded.  This time Brad wasn’t coming home.  He’d been gone for over a month.  The personal time she’d requested from work had almost expired, and it was time to get on with life.  Time to get back to the job that would sustain her financially.

 With a shrug, she wandered into the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine she’d purchased a few months ago for their special day.  She filled a glass and went back to her favorite spot in the living room.  She plopped down and took a long, slow draw from her goblet.  She favored a light, fruity taste over the more bitter offerings.

“Happy friggin’ anniversary,” she muttered and raised her glass into the air.  Her gaze drifted back to the phone.  Did he even know what day it was?

She decided to watch television and reached for the remote.  The TV screen flashed to life with the evening report and more bad news:  Floods, murders, rapes.  Was there no end to life’s disappointments?  Her mind wandered, and the anchor’s voice became only a murmur in the background.

Visions of her wedding flashed before her. She’d been the happiest bride in the world.  Brad stepped into her life to fill a void left by another man.  She never dreamed of finding love a second time, let alone discovering someone who treated her like a queen. Although divorced for two years between weddings, saying vows to Brad felt like the first time. 

What had gone wrong?  Somehow during the years, drugs became the “other woman”and held more appeal than Gwen did.  When had he started taking them?  And why didn’t she see it?  The first five years were blissful, but afterwards, telltale signs were there. She guessed she chose to ignore them.  Because he always came home, she accepted his pitiful excuses for his short disappearances.  Relieved to see him, she never doubted his sincerity. Until the truth became crystal clear when a packet of pills fell from his pants pocket on laundry day.

When questioned, Brad at first denied they were his, but then relented.  He promised he only used methamphetamines to get through a stressful time at work and swore his problem had nothing to do with her. Funny. Then why did it his drug addiction spill over and make her life miserable?   He eventually couldn’t hold a job, or didn’t want to.  His excuses always made him the victim.Gwen lowered her head and grasped the back of her neck to ease the growing tension.  All this time and no word, when would she get a clue and move on?  His dependency had a bigger hold on him than she ever could.  If he gave a damn about her, he would have at least called before today to say he was okay.

She reached for her wine glass and took another gulp.  The smooth sweetness passed through her lips with ease, but struck a sour cord.  She clenched the slender stem and gazed into what remained of the rosy liquid.  A grimace tightened her mouth.  Was drinking pink Chablis to ease her pain that much different than Brad taking pills?  She stood, marched back into the kitchen in bare feet, and emptied the wineglass and bottle contents down the drain. Faith in God would be her strength, not alcohol or drugs.

She started upstairs for a hot shower. The phone rang.  Her heart seized, but she patted her chest and took a deep breath.  If she answered, she’d probably find it was her mom.  She called every day, but not usually this early.  Still, she knew Gwen wasn’t working right now.“Hello.”

“Mrs. Spencer?” The man’s voice on the other end wasn’t familiar.

“Yes.”  She held her breath.

“This is Officer Gilliam from the Dickson police department.  I believe we have a vehicle in our impound lot that is registered to you.”

Gwen exhaled.  “Is…is it a white pickup?”  The words stuck in her throat, but she pushed them out.  Brad drove the Toyota she’d purchased before they married.  She’d never bothered to re-register it in both their names.

“Yes.  A 1999 Toyota long bed.  You should make arrangements to pick it up as soon as possible as fees are assessed everyday it’s here.”

It was her truck, and fees were the least of her worries.  “Why do you have it?  Did you arrest…”   Her knees wobbled and she sank into her chair.

“I don’t know the particulars, ma’am.  I’m just the person in charge of notifying the owners.  When you come to claim it, be prepared to pay whatever fines are owed.  We don’t accept checks, but will take money orders and credit cards.”

“How could I possibly bring a money order if I don’t know the amount?”  She vented her frustration on the wrong person and immediately bit her lip.  “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“No problem.  I should have told you each day your truck remains impounded, we charge one hundred dollars.   Since it’s taken me some time to track you down, we’ve already had your vehicle for ten days.  Are you aware you haven’t changed your address information with DMV and that your registration has expired?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry about that.  I guess it slipped my mind.” Her thoughts raced with what might have happened to Brad.

“Well, before we can release your property, you’ll have to pay the renewal and accumulated fees when you come in.”

“How do I find out what happened to the person who drove the vehicle?”   She balanced the phone on her shoulder and wrung her hands.

“You can either call back tomorrow and ask to speak with Sergeant Calhoun, or come in and see him personally.”

Gwen thanked the man and hung up. Her mind was a whirlwind of worries.  If Brad didn’t have a vehicle, how was he getting around?  Was he in jail?  The hospital?  Dead?  A cold chill peppered her with goose bumps.  Brad couldn’t be dead, but she wouldn’t know until tomorrow.

                                                ***Gwen felt as though she’d barely gone to sleep when her alarm sounded.  She slapped at the button atop the clock and struggled to open her eyes.  She hadn’t mentioned anything about Brad to her mother when she called.  Everyone in the family assumed they were doing well in their new home state, and Gwen didn’t want anyone to know that her second attempt at marriage was another train wreck.  She glanced at the empty pillow next to her, wishing it was all a bad dream.

Most of her night had been spent tossing and turning, trying to find answers to all her questions.  She didn’t remember what time she’d finally fallen asleep, but recalled seeing strands of light creeping through the blinds.

She stood, stretched her hands high over her head and rocked from side to side.  Her spine crackled and released some of the pent-up stress.  A visit to the police department didn’t count high on her list of favorite things to do.  They might confirm her worst fears, and although she vowed to get on with her life, she wasn’t ready for bad news about a man she still loved.   Gwen dropped her arms to her side, and with shoulders slumped, headed for the hot shower that’d gotten lost in last night’s melee.Afterwards, she dressed and stood in front of the mirror and pulled a hairbrush through her tangled locks.  She was barely forty and already strands of gray frosted her brown hair.  God, she didn’t want to grow old alone.  Her eyes misted with tears, and she decided to forgo makeup for sunglasses.  Her room brightened.  Evidently yesterday’s clouds had moved on… at least those in the sky.

***Gwen’s hands felt clammy on the steering wheel.  Traffic was light on the back country road to Dickson.  Now that everything had sunk in, she wondered how her truck ended up in such a rural community.  Her stomach clenched and rumbled.  Nerves and breakfast weren’t a good mix so she’d passed on her morning meal. 

When a city limits sign proclaimed she’d arrived in Dickson, she scanned both sides of the street, looking for the police department.  She parked in front of an old brick building that looked more like a library.  Her brief conversation with Sergeant Calhoun didn’t provide any new leads.  The pickup had been found on the side of the road with a flat tire and towed to the impound lot.  She was given directions to where the Toyota was kept and allowed to view it before paying her fines.  Pain stabbed at her disappointed heart as she drove the two blocks to an old gas station where more than a dozen vehicles were parked.  She used the code the sergeant had given her to open the lock on the gate. In the far corner, she spied her truck.  She walked to it on leaden legs.

Tears filled blurred her eyes as she opened the driver’s door and gazed inside.  The seats and floor were dirty—littered with trash and remnants of how he’d lived for the past month.  His scent lingered in the air.  The fence surrounding the impound lot gave her an eerie feeling.  She shivered and summoned memories of happier times to fill her mind.  This wasn't how things were supposed to end.  For years he’d been her caretaker when she was ill, her partner, her lover, her best friend.  Why couldn’t she save him?  Why couldn’t her love be his salvation?

Gwen reflected on all she had left of their relationship—the collection of teddy bears he’d bought her over the years: one holding a Valentine Heart, one wearing a St. Patrick’s Day vest, and the big white panda he'd brought back after he’d disappeared for three days the last time.  That one had been the harbinger of what was yet to come, with its furry paw raised in a farewell wave. But the clue went unnoticed in her joy to have Brad home.

 Shaking the negative image from her mind, she returned to picking through the rubbish on the floorboard. She fingered a tiny ring, cheap and discolored, but engraved with the letter “G”—her initial.  Her throat burned with restrained sobs as she tossed it back, wondering where it came from and why he’d had it.  She didn't need one more thing to remind her of him. What she needed was to forget.

Stoically, she forced herself to continue the inspection, hoping for, yet knowing there would be no clues to answer her many questions. She heaved a deepsigh and pulled the seat forward.  Beneath more refuse, she saw a small bear.  Its fur was dirty, its tiny face contorted from being smashed beneath weight heavier than its own.  She picked it up and cuddled it, hoping that in some way her embrace would transcend the atmosphere and let her husband know she still cared about what happened to him. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Should she throw the bear away?   What use was it?  Each time she looked at it, she would only remember no matter how close you hold someone and love them, there is always something stronger that can pull them away. This tiny stuffed creature was like Brad in many ways.  Once it was clean and bright and brought a smile to a face. Butburdened by a weight heavier than it could manage, it became dirty, unrecognizable and not quite so loveable.  She could launder it, but that would only take care of the surface. She had washed his clothes and kept his home clean, yet his problems were so deeply imbedded she couldn’t fix them.

There was nothing in the truck she wanted.  Gwen put the bear back where she found it and gently closed the door. She didn’t need one more piece of memorabilia, one more link to heartache and bad memories.  Instead, she resolved to hold onto images of a healthier and happier man and know she had truly tried to make things work.

 A momentary feeling of defeat washed over her, and then a realization dawned.  She hadn’t lost. He had loved her as much as a troubled man could love, and she’d cherished him in return.  The agony was in knowing the drugs had won the battle, but strength came in realizing she won the war.  She could finally let him go, praying he found himself and happiness again…somewhere, someday.   Surely the pain would linger for a time, but a weight lifted from her burdened shoulders as she walked through the gate, leaving behind the truck and all it represented.  The City of Dickson could donate the vehicle to charity for all she cared.  She wiped away the last tear she planned to shed over Brad and, squaring her shoulders, walked back to her car.

                                                *** Gwen hung the last piece of tinsel on the Christmas tree.  Although not much in the mood, she forced herself to drag out the decorations and focus on the spirit of the holiday.  In an attempt to move ahead, she’d invited co-workers and neighbors over for a party.  Maybe she couldn’t face her family with the truth, but she’d confided to a few friends that she and Brad were finished.  The reasonswhy weren’t important… and actually, she didn’t know herself what drove Brad to drugs.  She still struggled to close the chapter in that book.

The log in the fireplace crackled and popped as fiery fingers stretched up the chimney.  Gwen lit the pine-scented candles on the mantle to provide the smell missing from her fake tree.  She’d spent all of Saturday preparing food and getting things ready for tonight.  She stood back and surveyed the room.  The tree shone in radiant beauty and the garland around the doors and windows added the perfect festive touch. 

She glanced at her wristwatch and realized the guests would be arriving in less than an hour.  She’d already showered, so all she needed was to change clothes and fix her hair and makeup.  As she turned to go upstairs, someone knocked at the door. 

“Oh, brother.  Who could that be?”  She crossed the room and opened the door.

 Her heart seized.

“Hi, Gwen.”   Brad flashed a sheepish grin.

She stood rooted to the spot, her breath failing her.  She moved her mouth but no words materialized.“I’m sure you weren’t expecting me.”  He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.  “Darling, I have so much to tell you… so much to explain.  Please give me one last chance, and I promise you won’t regret it.”  His clothes were clean and he smelled of fresh laundry soap. 

Her pain from the past months bubbled to the surface and steeled her resolve.  She pushed him away.  “I’m happy to see you’re alive, but I don’t think you have anything I want to hear.”

He took hold of her hand.  “I totally understand how you feel, and I’d act the same way in your shoes.  But…”

“No buts.”  She jerked free.  “You’ve put me through hell.  All this time, I’ve had no idea if you were dead or alive.  You couldn’t bother to pick up a phone and call me? Now you have the nerve to show up on my doorstep and expect me to act like nothing ever happened?”

He lowered his head and stared at the ground.  “I couldn’t call.  At least not after I hit rock bottom and accepted help. Before that, everything is a drug-hazed blur.”

The cold air pouring through the open door sent a shiver through her.  His statement piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t turn him away without hearing his explanation.  “Come in.  It’s freezing out there.”

She perched on the edge of her chair and gazed up at him.  “What do you mean bottomed out?”

“May I?”  He motioned to the sofa.  When she nodded, he removed his jacket, draped it over the couch back, and sat.  He took a long breath.  “Where should I start?  Let’s see….”

Gwen listened in earnest as Brad revealed the whole story.  How he’d given in to the drug high until he ran out of money, begged on street corners for a fix, and finally landed in jail.  During his incarceration, he suffered a minor stroke and found himself hospitalized.  A visiting pastor invited him to accept the Lord and an offer of help through a local drug treatment center.  Brad had agreed and spent all this time getting clean and sober.  One of the caveats of the program had been the stipulation that there would be no contact with the outside world.  He’d passed on the opportunity to phone her beforehand because he didn’t want to get her hopes up until he knew he had defeated his demons.  Here he sat, claiming he had.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve put you through the wringer.  It makes me feel better to know that I’ve apologized.  It’s part of my program…to make amends with those I’ve wronged.” 

Tears burned the back of Gwen’s eyes.  She’d never stopped loving him, just trusting him.  How could she get her faith back based on one story and an apology, no matter how convincing?  “Like I said, Brad, I’m relieved to see you alive and well. I cried myself to sleep too many nights wondering where you were and how you fared.  I appreciate your apology…

“I understand.  I’m not asking for another chance. I’m only requesting that you let me prove to you that I’ve changed.  Something different happened this time.  I realized how much I had to lose: my life, you…”  He paused for a moment, his gaze locking with hers. “It dawned on me that without you, life wasn’t worth living.”

Brad’s face looked drawn, and he was much thinner, but he still had that tall, dark and handsome appeal that drew Gwen to him.  

His words warmed her heart, but didn’t heal the wound.  She wanted to believe him but needed time.  She nibbled at her bottom lip and flashed back to all the broken promises, the times she forgaveonly to be hurt and disappointed again.

He glanced around the room.  “Everything looks so nice.”  His gaze rested on the dining room table and the festive plates, glasses and bowls of snacks.  “Are you expecting someone?”

“Yes, I’ve invited a few people over for a holiday celebration.”  Gwen wondered how she’d explain his presence, and hoped maybe she wouldn’t have to.  “Would you like to stay?”  She held her breath for his response.

“No, thank you.  I don’t believe I’m quite ready to face the world yet, but I would like to come by on Christmas Day and bring you a gift.”

A silent whoosh of air fluttered past her lips.  “That would be nice.”

Brad stood.  “Is one o’clock okay?”

As he slid his muscular arms through his jacket sleeves, Gwen recalled the times he’d held her and how wonderful it felt.  Although she wanted to fall into his embrace and forget everything that had happened, she resolved to take baby steps.  “One is fine. Would you like to have Christmas dinner with me?”

“I’d love it.  I always look forward to your honey-baked ham with mashed potatoes and gravy.” He trailed his hand down her arm and smiled.  “Goodnight, Gwen.”

He opened the door and stepped outside, but turned.  “I do love you.”

She covered her heart to quell the pounding in her chest.

 His eyes shone with unshed tears making her want to soothe him until his hurt went away.  She stepped forward yet hesitated. 

Brad’s gaze lifted to the mistletoe hanging over her head.  He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then stepped back, snuggled into his jacket and zipped it to his chin.  “You’ll see. I’m a changed man.  From now on, the only drug in my life is going to be the love I feel for you. If I need a fix, I’ll steal a kiss.”  He turned and walked toward the street.


Gwen closed the door and slumped against it.  She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled.  She hadn’t asked for a gift for Christmas, but it seemed Santa had come early.  She had a party to dress for, and now, a real reason to celebrate.


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Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Rachael Kosnski http://the-doodling-booktease.tumblr.com/
Margaret Fieland http://www.margaretfieland.com/blog1/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/
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Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.webs.com/
Kay Sisk http://kaysisk.blogspot.com
Skye Taylor  http://www.skye-writer.com/
Lynn Crain  http://www.awriterinvienna.blogspot.com
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

Evan,Nice picture! I like your hat. I always wanted to meet a real cowboy. I guess since you’re in Texas, you are one. I’ll attach a picture of me to this message, but your assumption about my beauty may be a little exaggerated. I consider myself a little above average. I clean up good and people always compliment my wardrobe. I can see by our photos that we aren’t exactly a fashion match. Most of my closet is filled with power suits, but if I look hard I may be able to find a pair of jeans somewhere. *smile*I would really like to get to know you better, and I’ve changed my mind about giving you my number. This old computer of mine might die before I can replace it, so if you still want to chat, give me a call. My number is 960-555-2525.Cassie
She turned off the computer and stood. She just gave a complete stranger her phone number. Her hand flew to her throat. What was she thinking? Despite her uncharacteristic behavior she felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. Those shadowed eyes peering out from beneath his cowboy hat intrigued her. What could it hurt?
Cassie bounded up the stairs with newfound energy and changed into her nightgown. Not quite sleepy, she stood at the vanity and brushed her hair. With each stroke she pictured herself with Evan, happy and content after so long. In the mirror, she noticed her blossoming smile had fully bloomed.She put her brush away and climbed into bed. A glance at the clock as she turned off the light showed it was only nine-thirty, but she was beat. Settling down on her pillow, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and got comfortable. She was just dozing off when the ringing phone pierced the peaceful silence.
Who’s calling at this hour?
Cassie grappled in the darkness for the receiver and answered. “Hello.” Her voice showed her annoyance.
“Is this Cassie?” An unfamiliar voice inquired.
“Yes, who’s this?” The intense thumping of her heart said she already knew. Who else would have such a twang to their voice?
“It‘s Evan. I hope I ain’t calling too late. I know there’s a two-hour difference and I hoped you’d still be up.”
“I just slipped into bed. I wasn’t asleep yet,” she lied in a much softer tone. “I’m glad you called.”“Do you always go to bed so early?”
“On weeknights, I have to get up before sunrise to catch the train to work.”“You take the train?”
“It beats the commuter traffic and gives me time to catch up on my paperwork … or just unwind.”“I ain’t never been on a train. Seen lots of ‘em though.” His boyish chuckle sent a shiver through Cassie.
An awkward pause ensued. What did one discuss with a stranger? She didn’t have a clue.“I got your email and saw your picture.” He finally spoke, which helped her relax. “I just wanted to tell you how purdy I think you are.”
“Well, thank you. I liked your picture, too, but I wish you hadn’t had your hat on.”He laughed. “I only take my hat off to go to bed, so…. ”
Uncomfortable, Cassie quickly changed the subject. “So…do you live alone?”
“I did up until recently. I just moved back in with my surrogate mother. She’s not in good health and I look after her.”
“Surrogate?” Curiosity forced her to repeat the word.
“Yeah, my real mom died when I was young, and Marlene took me in and raised me. She’s a wonderful lady and I just love her so much I figured it was the least I could do.”
“I’m impressed. I don’t expect there are too many men out there who would make such a sacrifice.”“Oh, it’s no sacrifice. Marlene put up with me all these years, I figure I can give her a little of my time. How ’bout you, you live alone?”
“I wish sometimes I did, but no, I don’t. I share a home with my mother. We just moved here not too long ago. We both sold our homes and pooled our money to get a place together. She’s getting along in years and I didn’t like her living alone”
“Sounds like we just found somethin’ we have in common.”
“What about other family?” Cassie asked. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“I have a sister and two brothers. See my sis pretty regular but ain’t seen one of my brothers for a spell. We got into it a while back and decided it best to avoid one another.”

“That’s too bad. I have two sisters and a brother and I love them to death. Family is very important to me.”
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