Amy E. Lilly's Blog: Book signing at Dahlgren General Library, page 9

Creative space

Welcome to my writing and craft room!  It is the home of Watson the Jack Russell Extraordinaire. It is the birthplace of Phee Jefferson and her friends who inhabit the pages of my first novel.  It is a room that feeds my need to express myself through color, creativity and words.

Often times, women don't allow themselves to have a separate area away from their families that is sacred to them.  When my sons left home and started lives of their own, I decided to carve out a space that is special to me.  I became the stereotypical "empty nest" mom who turned her son's old room into a craft room and writing space.  I painted a wall my favorite shade of turquoise and added a giant peacock mural on another. I filled the room with things that inspire me and bring me joy.  Some things are silly, and when I look at them they make me smile. (My peacock puppet and my bobble head collection!)  Some things allow me to feel peace and help me to focus.  (Try spinning yarn on a spinning wheel and not pay attention!)  The items that I chose for my space speak to me and aid me in the writing process.

I encourage you to make a sacred area for yourself that is special to you.  It might be a room or it may be a special chair that is tattered and worn but is broken in just the right spots to fit your curves.  It may end up being a space outdoors that allows you to just breathe and be you.  No matter where your space is, know in your heart that you need and deserve it.  Give yourself permission to enjoy it because trust me, you will!

How do you plan to spend your one wild and precious life?  - Poet, Mary Oliver

Death is Long Overdue

Available for purchase for your Kindle or as a paperback via Amazon.

Available for purchase at Amazon 

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SUMMER READING IS KILLING ME - CHAPTER 1 EXCERPT

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

I love summer. I love how you could see the air ripple as waves of heat rose from the asphalt. I love how the warm summer breezes swayed the large trees surrounding the lake and how you could hear the bees buzzing and zipping from flower to flower. I even love riding down the road inside my 1968 VW bus with no air conditioner, Velma, with the windows down and the wind tangling my strawberry curls. What I didn't love is the dead body I just stumbled on in Longfellow Park. And here I am without my Super Librarian costume on to try to solve the crime.

It was just after dawn and I was unloading tables for the annual Miller's Cove Founder's Day celebration. The town library always held a small book sale during the celebration to help raise money for the end of summer reading party for the children. I was meeting Wade Woodfield, my part-time clerk and general library dogsbody, at seven a.m. to start unpacking the books and placing them on the tables. Unable to sleep, I had decided to go ahead and set up our tables and hang our banner before going back to the library to load up the boxes of books. Clint was at the state police headquarters in Burlington for the next few days for training and I was dogsitting his Jack Russell Terrier, Watson. Watson actually discovered the body. I was busy unloading tables when I heard a sharp bark. I looked around and spotted Watson barking and growling at what appeared to be a pair of jeans.

"Watson! Come here, boy!" I whistled for him. He glanced up at me but continued to bark and growl. Sighing, I strode over to him and when I saw what he was barking at, I drew up sharply. On the grass was a young woman in what appeared to be her mid-twenties with long, blonde hair and a paintbrush buried in her chest. Lying next to her on the ground was a half-painted canvas, an artist's easel and some tubes of paint with their bright colors oozing out of the opened ends to mix with her blood.

"Oh crud! Oh crud! Oh crud!" I said aloud. Watson lurched forward and grabbed the bottom of the woman's jeans in his teeth and started to tug them. "No, Watson! Come here!" I reached down and picked him up. I took him back up to Velma and shut him in the back of the van. Pulling my cell phone from my large messenger bag, I called the Miller's Cove Sheriff's Department.

"Miller's Cove Sheriff's Department. What's your emergency?" A nasally voice asked me. It was Tina, the gum-smacking, fingernail-polishing receptionist who had aspirations of being a cop one day as long as the uniform didn't make her thighs look fat.

"Tina. It's Ophelia Jefferson. I'm over at Longfellow Park setting up for Founder's Day. I just found a young woman dead and I'm pretty sure it was murder," I reported briskly.

"Really?" Tina sounded incredulous. "A dead body? Murdered? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I said sharply. "Can you send a deputy right away?" I shouldn't be surprised that Tina doubted the presence of a corpse. Until last year, Miller's Cove hadn't had a murder in over one hundred years. That all changed when my friend Grant's mom, Shari Davis, had lost her grip on reality and murdered three people. I would have been next if Clint hadn't charged in and rescued me. I even had a scar above my left eyebrow from where Shari hit me with a shovel. I thought it gave me a slightly impish look with a hint of danger.

"Matt's on duty this morning. I'm sure he's over at Nellie Jo's having a cup of coffee and a doughnut. I'll give him a call and send him right over," Tina said briskly.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said and disconnected the call. I heaved a sigh and began to load the tables back into Velma. I had a feeling that the Founder's Day Celebration might just be cancelled.

Chapter 1 Excerpt - Summer Reading is Killing Me - Phee Jefferson Mystery Series

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” 
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby    I love summer.  I love how you could see the air ripple as waves of heat rose from the asphalt.  I love how the warm summer breezes swayed the large trees surrounding the lake and how you could hear the bees buzzing and zipping from flower to flower.  I even love riding down the road inside my 1968 VW bus with no air conditioner, Velma, with the windows down and the wind tangling my strawberry curls.  What I didn't love is the dead body I just stumbled on in Longfellow Park.  And here I am without my Super Librarian costume on to try to solve the crime.     It was just after dawn and I was unloading tables for the annual Miller's Cove Founder's Day celebration.  The town library always held a small book sale during the celebration to help raise money for the end of summer reading party for the children.  I was meeting Wade Woodfield, my part-time clerk and general library dogsbody, at seven a.m. to start unpacking the books and placing them on the tables.  Unable to sleep, I had decided to go ahead and set up our tables and hang our banner before going back to the library to load up the boxes of books.  Clint was at the state police headquarters in Burlington for the next few days for training and I was dogsitting his Jack Russell Terrier, Watson.  Watson actually discovered the body.  I was busy unloading tables when I heard a sharp bark.  I looked around and spotted Watson barking and growling at what appeared to be a pair of jeans.     "Watson!  Come here, boy!"  I whistled for him.  He glanced up at me but continued to bark and growl.  Sighing, I strode over to him and when I saw what he was barking at, I drew up sharply.  On the grass was a young woman in what appeared to be her mid-twenties with long, blonde hair and a paintbrush buried in her chest.  Lying next to her on the ground was a half-painted canvas, an artist's easel and some tubes of paint with their bright colors oozing out of the opened ends to mix with her blood.      "Oh crud! Oh crud! Oh crud!"  I said aloud.  Watson lurched forward and grabbed the bottom of the woman's jeans in his teeth and started to tug them.  "No, Watson!  Come here!"  I reached down and picked him up.  I took him back up to Velma and shut him in the back of the van.  Pulling my cell phone from my large messenger bag, I called the Miller's Cove Sheriff's Department.       "Miller's Cove Sheriff's Department.  What's your emergency?"  A nasally voice asked me.  It was Tina, the gum-smacking, fingernail-polishing receptionist who had aspirations of being a cop one day as long as the uniform didn't make her thighs look fat.     "Tina.  It's Ophelia Jefferson.  I'm over at Longfellow Park setting up for Founder's Day.  I just found a young woman dead and I'm pretty sure it was murder," I reported briskly.     "Really?"  Tina sounded incredulous.  "A dead body?  Murdered?  Are you sure?"     "Yes, I'm sure," I said sharply.  "Can you send a deputy right away?" I shouldn't be surprised that Tina doubted the presence of a corpse.  Until last year, Miller's Cove hadn't had a murder in over one hundred years.  That all changed when my friend Grant's mom, Shari Davis, had lost her grip on reality and murdered three people.  I would have been next if Clint hadn't charged in and rescued me.  I even had a scar above my left eyebrow from where Shari hit me with a shovel.  I thought it gave me a slightly impish look with a hint of danger.      "Matt's on duty this morning. I'm sure he's over at Nellie Jo's having a cup of coffee and a doughnut.  I'll give him a call and send him right over," Tina said briskly.      "I'm not going anywhere," I said and disconnected the call.  I heaved a sigh and began to load the tables back into Velma.  I had a feeling that the Founder's Day Celebration might just be cancelled.   

Chapter 2 Excerpt - Lilly Belle Farm Series

    Claire awoke to kitten whiskers tickling her chin.  Stretching, she gave Gingersnap a quick pat on the head and put her on the ground.  Glancing at the clock, Claire realized she had slept through the night. It was early morning and the sun was just peeking up over the city's skyline.  She went into her small kitchen and started a pot of coffee.  She popped a bagel in the toaster and searched through her fridge for cream cheese.  Coming up empty, she settled on strawberry jam.  Smearing the bagel with a large dollop of jam and pouring a cup of coffee, Claire sat on the bar stool at her kitchen counter.  She opened her laptop and began to search the online help wanted ads.  "Hmmmm...let's see if we can find someplace looking for an out-of-work history major whose only experience is writing advertisements for a pharmaceutical company."  Claire tapped away at the keyboard.  "Let's see...secretary wanted. Must type 80 words per minute.  That leaves me out."  Claire spent the next hour browsing through job after job.  She glumly realized she wasn't qualified for most positions in the history field.  She had dropped out of her Master's program halfway through her second year when she landed the position at Gaston Pharmaceuticals thanks to a referral from an ex-boyfriend who used to work there.  The money had been good and she had jumped at the opportunity.  Now, she found herself with no job, a useless degree and no prospects.  Sighing, she closed her laptop and decided to call her mom.    "Hi, Mom!  It's me, Claire," Claire said with a false cheerfulness.      "You're up bright and early on a Saturday.  What's wrong?" Claire's mother, Mary, had a sixth sense when it came to her children.     "Well, let's see.  I got fired, found a kitten, and Darrin dumped me for a guy," Claire declared in a matter-of-fact tone.  "Other than that, I'm good.  And you?"    "Gracious!  I didn't expect all of that. Let's back up.  Start with getting fired," Mary said. Claire proceeded to tell her mother all that transpired the day before. When she finished, her mom was silent on the other end of the line.     "Mom, are you still there?" Claire asked.     "Sorry, dear.  I was just thinking about what you said.  The funniest thing happened the other day, and I haven't had a chance to talk to you about it.  I received a letter from the law firm handling your Great Aunt Rose's estate.  It's finally been settled and well, everything has been left to me.  It's not much, but she left her farm and a small yearly allowance to operate it with the stipulation that it stay in the family.  I would venture to say that you have no savings and now that Darrin is out of the picture, nothing to keep you in the city."     "I wouldn't say nothing.  I have friends and a life and..." Claire trailed off as it dawned on her what her mother was suggesting.  "Mom, are you suggesting I move to Aunt Rose's farm?  In the country?  With cows and things?"     "Why not?  The house and farm needed to be sorted out and you could go for the short term while you figure out what you want to do.  Expensive shoes and a nice wardrobe can only carry you so far in life.  They certainly aren't going to pay your electric bill.  Plus, you'd be helping me out.  I don't have time to go up there to go through the house until the end of the school year.  I think this is a win-win for you and me," Mary said emphatically.  Claire's mother was an elementary school teacher, and she was used to having her directions followed. "Your father can't do it with his busy practice.  Your sister is up to her eyeballs in wedding plans and your brother won't be back from Africa for at least three months.  It makes sense."    "Let me think about it.  I mean, everything just happened to me yesterday.  I haven't even had time to sort it out in my brain or see if I can even get another job.  Besides, the only time I've been to the country is the one time we visited Aunt Rose. I got stung by a bee and swelled up like a puffer fish.  It wasn't exactly a good experience.  Cows and chickens don't really hold any appeal for me." Claire shook her head at her mom's suggestion.  Claire living in the country in her Ferragamo boots. It just wouldn't work.      "Well, don't think about it too long.  Someone needs to head up and get the keys from the attorneys and make sure the house is still standing.  It's my understanding that a neighbor has been taking care of all of the animals and checking on the house. He's been kind enough to do it for the past two months, but I am sure he doesn't want to continue indefinitely.  You could consider it a retreat.  A chance to rethink the direction of your life.  Regroup."  Claire's father was a psychologist and unfortunately, his psychobabble worked his way into his wife's vocabulary.      "Give me a few days to think about it. I'll talk to you later, Mom.  Love you," Claire said as she disconnected the call.  Claire couldn't even wrap her brain around the idea of heading to the country.  She was a city girl through and through.  She loved the sounds and smells of the city streets.  The bright lights and crowds were part of her.  She couldn't even imagine not being able to get to a Starbucks in less than a few blocks.      Claire decided she needed a second opinion.  She picked up her cell phone to call Isabella.  "Isabella's House of Chaos.  How can I be driven insane today?"  Isabella answered.  "Claire, I swear if these kids don't settle down I am going to lose my mind.  We definitely need a spa day."     "Good morning to you, too.  So, I'm not going to be Mrs. Stanislowski.  In fact, no one will be Mrs. Stanislowski.  It will end up being Dr. Darrin Stanislowski and Mr. Stanislowski," Claire gave a grimace as the image of Darrin slipping a diamond ring on another man's hairy knuckles formed in her mind.     "I don't get it.  What the heck are you talking about?" Isabella demanded.      "Darrin needed to talk to me last night.  He has decided to come out of the closet. I was the first person he came out to by dumping me for a guy.  So I lost my job and my boyfriend to another man all in one day.  This is what I get for cursing the universe.  And now my mom wants me to go live on my Great Aunt Rose's farm and sort out her estate."      "Crap on a cracker!  I knew something was off about that guy, but even I didn't see that one coming!  I would love to have been a fly on the wall to see that meltdown.  How badly did you hurt him?" Isabella asked.     "I didn't even raise my voice," Claire protested. "Well, okay, maybe I did yell just a little, but can you blame me?  I did not see this coming at all.  I was a gay man's beard.  I am a clueless idiot."     "You and the rest of us.  Claire, I just thought he was uptight.  I would never have guessed Darrin was gay.  And your mom is crazy if she thinks you would survive in the country. She obviously didn't see you freak out when a pigeon came too close to you at the park.  I thought you were going to hyperventilate and pass out from fear.  A chicken would make you have a stroke," Isabella chuckled.     "I just don't like pigeons.  They are dirty birds.  I could survive in the country if I had to.  I just prefer the city.  I haven't even had a day to look for a job.  I'm sure I'll find something. If need be, I'll swing up to Cosner's Creek to make sure the farm is still standing then head back home," Claire said.  She poured herself another cup of coffee and stirred the last bit of sugar she scraped from the sugar bowl.  She would have to head to the store this morning to get groceries and some kitten food for Gingersnap.     "If you say so.  Don't do anything rash.  You've had a crappy twenty-four hours.  I know you, chica, and you are going to do something crazy that you'll regret later.  As your friend, I am telling you now - don't do it," Isabella warned.     "I'm not going to do anything crazy.  Right now, I am going to head to the store. My kitten needs some food.  Call me later," Claire said.      "Will do.  Come by later today and I'll feed you.  I"m making chile rellenos and flan just for you.  Comfort food is a must in these trying times.  Talk to you later." Isabella hung up.  She knew the way to Claire's heart was through her cooking especially since Claire didn't cook.  She microwaved.  She tossed salads and occasionally made pasta but that was the extent of her kitchen skills.     Claire hopped in the shower.  Once she toweled dry, she pulled on a sweatshirt she dug out of her messy dresser. She yanked a pair of yoga pants and socks out of her gym bag, sniffed them and deciding they could last at least another day, pulled them on. She put laundry on her to-do list for the day.  Grabbing her keys, she walked down to the street and hopped into her Volvo.  She turned the key and the engine roared to life. She put it into drive and as she pulled out, the Volvo gave a horrible clunk, the check engine light came on, and it shuddered to a stop.  Claire tried to start it again and nothing happened.  Sighing, Claire climbed out of the car and called the garage that did her oil changes and tune-ups.  Twenty minutes later, a tow truck pulled up and Iggy hopped out.  His dad owned the garage, but Iggy had taken over the day-to-day operations a year ago after his dad's heart attack.     "What's up, Miss O'Connor?  Car won't start?"  Iggy chomped away at a piece of gum.  His greasy black hair was styled into unbecoming spikes which gave him the look of a slightly crazed hedgehog.  His face was pock-marked, and he had an unfortunately large beaked nose.  His arms were covered with tattoos.  If Claire hadn't known him for years, she would have crossed the street to avoid him, but he was actually a decent guy.      "I started to pull out and it gave a loud kerplunk.  Then it died and wouldn't start back up," Claire shrugged her shoulders.  "I don't know what's wrong with her."  She handed Iggy her keys.  He slid into the driver's seat and tried to start the car.  Nothing happened. He hopped out and opened the hood.  He fiddled with some wires and gave an occasional grunt.  "How bad is it?"     "Well, it ain't good.  I'm going to have to tow her to the shop.  It looks like the timing belt and that is bad.  It could be the death of this old girl." Iggy patted the hood of the car like it was an old horse.       "I can't afford a new car!" Claire wailed.  "Heck, I can't afford this car if it's an expensive repair!"     "I'll see what I can do.  I can't make you any promises.  I'll call you later today and let you know the damage," Iggy said. "I won't charge you for the tow.  It's just down the block anyway."      "Thanks, Iggy.  Just do your best." Claire's shoulders slumped as she realized that her bad luck wasn't over.  She headed down the street to walk to the market.  It was only five blocks and the walk would clear her head.  Obviously, someone was trying to tell her something.  She had no job, no man, no money and now, no car.  Her grandma said bad luck came in threes, so she was due some good luck.  Maybe she should buy a lottery ticket. She kicked at a soda can in the middle of the sidewalk.      "Ma'am, there's no littering," A voice said from behind her.  Startled, Claire turned and saw a policeman.  He pulled out a book and a pen from his back pocket.  "I'm going to have to write you a ticket."    "But...but...I...oh, never mind." Claire gave a dejected sigh and gave him her name and address.   She snatched the ticket from his hand the second he reached out to hand it to her.      Claire walked the remaining few blocks to the market, picked up some kitten food and a few other essentials and headed home. Opening her apartment door, Gingersnap ran up to greet her.  "You know what, Ginger? I think the universe has been beating me over the head the past two days and telling me it is time to make a change.  How about you and I take a little trip to the country?"  Ginger meowed her agreement. 

New Series - Lilly Belle Farm Mysteries - Chapter 1 Excerpt

    Claire stomped out of the building. Unfortunately, her attempt to slam the door failed miserably.  It slowly eased shut and closed with a soft whoosh of air.  The large overstuffed tote bag filled with ten years of her career slipped off her shoulder.  Claire struggled to carry it all to her old Volvo parked in the company parking lot.  As she yanked the tote bag back up, the strap ripped and everything tumbled to the pavement.         "Dang it!  If one more bad thing happens, I swear I won't be responsible for my actions!" Claire declared to the empty lot.  Sighing, she bent down to gather up her belongings.  She heard a tearing sound as her pencil skirt split down the back.  "Really? You have got to be kidding me. I guess that's what I get for challenging the universe."  Claire finished gathering up her files and desk knickknacks and stuffed them back into her tote.  Grabbing it around the bottom, she made her way to her car.  She set the bag down as she fumbled around in her purse to find her keys.  As she popped open the trunk, Claire heard a tiny mew coming from the dumpster.  Shaking her head, she stowed her belongings.  As she slammed the trunk shut, another small meow sounded.  Claire walked to the dumpster and peered cautiously inside.  Nestled in a small cardboard box surrounded by garbage and rotting food was a tiny orange kitten.  It looked up at her and let out another meow.     "Poor little thing.  Are you hungry?  Somebody must have dumped you here and left you to fend for yourself."  Claire reached into the dumpster, lifted the fluffy orange kitten and snuggled him to her chest.  It immediately started purring.  "Well, you and I are just having a bad day.  I got thrown out like trash, too. Would you like to come home with me?"  As if it understood her, the kitten meowed and purred louder.  Laughing, Claire picked carried the kitten to her car.  Pulling a t-shirt from her gym bag, she settled it on to the passenger seat, and they headed for her apartment.          Once home, Claire poured a small bowl of milk for the kitten.  "I guess you need a name.  How about Gingersnap?"  Claire sat down on the kitchen floor and gently stroked the kitten's back.  "You can be Ginger for short."  Claire's cellphone buzzed on the counter. She struggled up from the floor to answer.  Seeing Isabella's name on the screen, Claire hit the answer button.      "Hey, woman!  How was your day?" Isabella asked cheerfully.  In the background, Claire could hear the children laughing and yelling.  "Knock it off you little monsters! I'm trying to talk to Claire and I can't hear over your screeching."  After years of friendship, Claire was used to Isabella carrying on multiple conversations while on the phone.      "I got fired," Claire responded glumly.      "Oh my gosh, Claire! What happened?"  Isabella asked in a shocked voice.  "Kids, please be quiet!  Go play in your room until dinner's ready.  Matthew quit hitting your brother. Sorry, Claire.  They're out of control with their dad out of town this week.  So tell me everything."    "Nothing happened.  Mr. Simpson called me into his office and started going on and on about the economic downturn and how sacrifices needed to be made...blah blah blah.  Next thing I know, I am down in HR signing papers. Then the security guard told me that I had one hour to pack my desk and leave the building.  I couldn't believe it.  Ten years on the job and suddenly I am kicked to the curb like two-day old fish.  It wasn't just me either.  There were two other people let go today." Claire slumped onto her overstuffed couch, kicked off her heels and put her feet up on the coffee table.    "I am so sorry.  What are you going to do?" Isabella asked.      "I don't know.  I don't even want to think about it tonight.  I'll worry about it tomorrow. Darrin is supposed to take me out tonight.  He called this morning and said he needed to see me.  Maybe he's finally going to pop the question. He's been very secretive lately.  I think he's been ring shopping.  Just think. I'll be Mrs. Stanislowski.  Wife of Dr. Stanislowski. Claire Stanislowski." Claire let the name roll off her lips. "It sounds kind of posh, don't you think?"     "If you say so." Isabella grunted.  She was not a fan of Darrin.  In her opinion, he was boring and uptight. "Well, I've got to get dinner ready before the kids eat the dog.  Text me when you get home tonight."    "Will do.  Bye."  Claire disconnected and pulled herself up from the couch.  Darrin was going to be there to pick her up soon, so she needed to hurry and get ready.  He hated to be kept waiting.  She pulled off her now ruined skirt and kicked it next to her hamper.  Slipping off her stockings and silk blouse, Claire rummaged around in her closet for something slinky and sophisticated to wear.    Choosing a deep turquoise dress with a scoop neck, Claire slipped it over her head.  She quickly pulled her hair into a French twist and freshened her makeup.  She added a pair of tear drop silver earrings and slipped her feet into her favorite black peekaboo toe heels.  As she was spritzing on perfume, a knock sounded on her door.      Claire hurried to the door to let Darrin in.  "Hi, sweetheart.  Right on time.  I just need to grab my purse, and I'll be ready to go."      "Claire, I'd like to talk to you," Darrin walked in and shut the door behind him.      "Uh...okay?  You sound serious.  Let's go into the living room." Claire thought he must be nervous and wanted to ask her in private.  Darrin wasn't a fan of public displays of affection. She sat down on the couch.  Instead of sitting next to her, Darrin sat in the chair.  "What did you want to talk about?"  She gave him an encouraging smile.      "This isn't easy for me.  We've been seeing each other for awhile now."  Darrin cleared his throat and swallowed. "And Claire, it's just...I've been seeing somebody else." He looked everywhere but at her.      Shocked, Claire struggled to grasp what he had just told her.  "How long?"     "I don't think it really matters, does it?  I mean, what matters is that you and I aren't a good fit.  I think you should just accept that it's over."  Darrin finished stiffly.  He started to stand up.     "No.  No, I don't think so.  You don't come in here and out of the blue tell me you've been seeing someone else and then walk out the door.  I'm sorry, but I think I deserve a little bit of an explanation.  No.  Scratch that. I demand an answer.  We've been seeing each other for almost a year.  I have gone to all of your boring functions.  I've been nice to your mother which is no easy feat, let me tell you.  That woman is a dragon from hell.  I've smiled and schmoozed everyone you told me to schmooze even when they were busy grabbing my butt the minute your back was turned.  So, you, Darrin Stanislowski, owe me a freakin' explanation!"  Claire's voice had risen in volume. She was so upset she was trembling.     "It's not you, Claire.  You've been great.  You are great.  I just don't think it's going to work between the two of us," Darrin said calmly.  His lack of emotion angered Claire. She felt her ears get hot.     "Really?  It's not me?  How could it not be me? You are dumping me on what has already been a horrible day!  I deserve to know why!"  Claire demanded angrily.      "I'm gay.  Okay. Are you happy?  Now you know," Darrin yelled back at her. His words immediately dampened her anger.  "I'm tired of hiding who I am.  I'm tired of using you to hide it.  You deserve better.  I knew you were expecting a marriage proposal soon.  It's not like you've been subtle.  I don't want to live a lie anymore.  I'm planning on telling my friends and family, but I felt you deserved to know first.  I'm sorry, Claire.  I didn't mean to hurt you."  Darrin's unhappiness filled the room.     "Wait.  You're gay.  Really?" Claire was trying to process what he had just told her.  "Are you actually seeing someone or did you just say that to make it easier for me to hate you?" She was trying to wrap her brain around the idea of the man she had been seeing for the past year wasn't who she thought he was.     "I've met someone.  He's made me realize that I don't have to live a lie.  You would like him, Claire.  He's funny and smart. He makes me happy.  I want someone to make you happy like that, too."  He gave her a sad smile.  "I am so sorry that I've been lying to you. I hope you'll forgive me and we can be friends."      "I just...I don't know.  I mean, I'm just not understanding how I didn't realize.  Listen, can you just go now?  I want to be by myself.  I need to be alone.  So please, just go." Claire wiped the angry tears that had started to fall with the back of her hand.      "I understand.  Claire, I really am sorry." Darrin tried to give her a hug, but Claire shrugged him off.  He walked out of the apartment and shut the door quietly behind him.      Once he was gone, Claire sat back down on the sofa and leaned her head back as she tried to accept what she just heard.  Her boyfriend of a year had just dumped her for a guy.  She got fired from the only job she had ever held.  She had less than a month's worth of savings in the bank and a fifteen-year-old Volvo that was a crap shoot every day on whether it would start.  Claire felt a tickle on her cheek.  She turned her head to see Ginger sniffing her.  She reached up and stroked the kitten's fuzzy head.  "Well, Ginger, looks like we've only got each other, girl.  What are we going to do?" Ginger leaped down on to Claire's lap and curled up to go to sleep.  "I think you've got exactly the right idea, girl." Claire kicked off her shoes and settled back onto the couch to figure out her next move.  

Summer Reading is Killing Me

I am working on the next book in my Phee Jefferson series called Summer Reading is Killing Me.  In this installment, Phee is setting up for the annual Founder's Day Celebration when she stumbles upon the body of a young woman.  The town's people are in a tizzy trying to determine who the victim was and wondering who killer her.  Phee and her sister, Juliet, don their bedazzled crime solving masks and hunt for a killer who doesn't want Phee to close the book on murder.

If you haven't read the first in the series, it is available in ebook or paperback format through Amazon. Please leave feedback on Amazon or Goodreads.  Comments are always welcome!

Click here to go to Amazon.

One Shoe

(This story uses some "edgier" language, so if you are offended by this, please don't read.  I felt it was appropriate for the story and the characters.  This short story came to me because I do notice the one shoe phenomenon all the time when driving on the interstate.  It is also based loosely on a man I know who told his wife he was gay in order to get a divorce from her.  He wasn't and her language became much more vile during the process, so....anyway, I hope you like it.  It won Honorable Mention in the WV Writer's Conference after I pared it down to meet their word limit.)
ONE SHOEMy obsession with the one shoe phenomenon was growing stronger. It seemed that no matter where I went, the one shoe appeared. There were tennis shoes, work boots, sandals, flip flops and pumps. They came in a variety of colors and sizes. Baby shoes to over-sized clown shoes--red, purple, yellow, brown and every shade in between. They appeared on the side of highways, exit ramps and on gravel country roads. I had no interest in the two shoes thrown over the telephone wires. My research determined that those were drug dealer signs. Not my issue. Instead, I started to document the one shoe.

Lest you think I am the only person dedicated to one shoe spotting, there are websites documenting one shoe on the side of the road. If you ask anyone if they have noticed them, they all have their own theories about how the shoe got there. I have my own theories, but they change from day to day. The latest is that a family of one-legged circus freaks traveling the country has been purchasing shoes and getting rid of the spare. You would think they could recycle them, but maybe they weren't worried about the environment.

I think my shoe obsession began when my husband told me he was gay and wanted a divorce. I was in the kitchen rinsing dishes and placing them into the dishwasher when Forrest sashayed in and began to help. I should have known something was up right then and there. Since when did he start helping around the house? Exasperated, I grabbed a glass from him and rinsed it first before putting it on the rack. He should know by now the right way to clean dishes. Everything should be pre-washed and rinsed before it went into the dishwasher. It was the only way things got clean.

"Darling, can you please stop washing the dishes? I need you to sit down so I can tell you something trés important." He tugged on the bottom of my shirt, leading me over to the table. That should have been another sign. What sort of grown man started to use French affectations? But I had thought it was sophisticated and cute and that he was trying to add a little spice to our marriage. A little flirtation gig he had going on. Silly me.

I sat down and dried my hands on the dishtowel. I looked down at them. They looked old. I had a road map to Elderville right there on the backs of my hands. Thank goodness the rest of me still looked young. My hands aged on a daily basis since they spent ninety percent of their time scrubbing the floors and walls of the house. "Beth, pay attention, now. This is important. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I am just going to spit it out. I'm gay," Forrest proclaimed and looked me dead in the eye. I laughed. I guffawed. I giggled so hard that tears were streaming down my face. Once I got control of myself, I looked up and saw that he had a sad, wounded puppy look on his face.

"Ok, good one. Now, seriously, what did you need to talk about? I really need to get the dishes done and scrub the floor before I go to bed tonight." I tried to fix my face into a "serious husband-wife conversation" face, but I was failing. I snorted and that sent me into another round of laughter.

"God, I knew this was going to be tough, but I never thought you would become hysterical." Forrest pushed himself away from the table and started pacing around the kitchen. He tugged at his hair, and it was then that I knew he was serious. Forrest had a habit of pulling on his hair when he was nervous or upset. The rest of the time, he made sure that every hair was in place and even used hairspray to make sure that it was. Was that another sign? I always thought it was him being the metrosexual male that most men were morphing into these days.

"You're serious, aren't you?" I asked. "Oh my God! You son of a bitch! How could you do this to me?! How could you do this to the kids? How long have you been gay? Always or just sort of came upon you all of a sudden?" I screamed the questions at him. I could feel the rage boiling inside of me at his betrayal. He had to be kidding. If this was all a big joke, I was going to kill him when I had calmed down.

"I promise you that when I married you, I truly believed that my thoughts about men were just normal sexual curiosity thoughts. I just recently have come to realize that I am much more physically attracted to men than women. It is not about you. This is about me. You have to understand that I never wanted to hurt you or the kids. I tried to satisfy myself with online relationships with men, but it just isn't enough. Didn’t you notice that I was online at night chatting with people? I was lonely and confused and I found a new life that I had repressed all these years. I need to have a chance to discover myself. Please don't cry," Forrest pleaded and reached for me. He was curiously calm throughout his explanation, but then again, he usually had a tight control on his emotions. It was always me that was a boiling pot of feelings that spilled all over everything and everyone.

"Don't you dare touch me!" I growled between clenched teeth. "Don't you dare. I knew something was wrong. I asked you and begged you to tell me what was going wrong with us, but you accused me of being paranoid and jealous. I thought you were having an affair. Hah! Stupid me! I thought it was another woman. I have made myself sick from worry, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Look at me! I look like a skeleton. I can't even eat anymore from stressing about you, and now you want to tell me you're gay. You have gotta be kidding me. Screw you, Forrest. Screw you to hell and back!" I jumped up out of the kitchen chair, knocking it to the floor. I slapped him across his face with every ounce of strength I had. Then, I turned and ran out the back door and went up the street muttering under my breath. "Damn him, damn him, damn him! I should've known. How could I not know? How could I have slept with this man for 9 years and not know he was gay? God, I need a cigarette!"

I walked to the end of the street and then headed back towards the house. Running away was not going to make things better. It was just delaying the inevitable. Even so, my happy ass was not going back in that house quite yet. I would kill Forrest if I went near him. I needed some time to think. Instead of going back inside, I went into the garage. I had a secret stash of cigarettes hidden behind the paint cans. Not that Forrest didn't smoke, too. We just wanted to keep it a secret from the children. Right now, I just wanted a cigarette and a drink, but I would have to settle for just a smoke. My hands trembled as I put the cigarette between my lips and tried to light it. Finally, after three failed attempts, the end finally caught. I inhaled deeply, and tried to calm down. Was this somehow my fault? Had my OCD finally driven him to become gay? Nah, that was stupid. He should be happy that his house was so freakin’ clean. Everybody says that people are born gay. I would never have thought it would be my Forrest. His brother, Heath, yes, but Forrest? We have two kids for pity's sake. Oh my God! What were we going to tell the boys? This was just too much. I could feel my brain going into meltdown and kick into high gear with the OCD. A million scenarios began to cycle through my brain and none of them was good.

I heard the screen door slam and footsteps crunching up the gravel driveway towards me. Forrest appeared in the doorway of the garage. My big, strapping six foot three giant of a husband who raced cars and went deer hunting every fall was a flamer. I never even suspected. The imprint of my hand was bright on his cheek. Good. Something for him to remember me by while he was in a love clench with his love buddy. "Beth, please come into the house and talk to me. We need to discuss some things." He turned a bucket over and sat down next to me. He reached a hand out to touch me, but the expression of disgust and anger on my face stopped him. He pulled his hand back and reached for the pack of cigarettes.

"How ironic," I said bitterly. "Here you and I have done everything we could to be perfect parents, even hiding out to smoke, but it was all for nothing. Our lives have gone to shit, and it is all on you. So, you can just pack your crap and get out of my house. Oh, yeah, I said MY house, because, let me tell you something buddy, I am going to stay here. The boys are going to be upset enough about you leaving without us leaving their home. The only home they have ever known. So, you go find yourself elsewhere and enjoy your puff parties. Carter, Damon and I will be just fine without you."

"I thought you would understand, Beth. Your best friend is gay, for God's sake. You go to gay bars with him all of the time! You, of all people, should be a little more tolerant." Forrest said. He nervously fingered his hair.

"Well, excuse me for being a little bitchy right now. My family just fell apart, and I am just not up to being politically correct right now," I barked. "Oh no! Please don't tell me you have been getting it on with Sean. Please, no. I just couldn't take it." At that moment, imagining additional betrayal, my world started to spin. I started to hyperventilate. I felt my face and arms tingle as my world started to turn black.

"No, of course not! I wouldn't do that to you. He isn't my type, anyway." Forrest responded. "Do we want to tell the boys? What do you want them to know?" His voice came through my tunnel of darkness and with it, I snapped back to consciousness with the mention of the children.

"No! Don't tell them anything about this! As far as they are concerned, we are just like any of their friends' parents that are divorcing. This is going to be hard enough on them without them hearing at school about their "two daddies." I snorted at my nasty bit of humor. Well, if nothing else, I was still a hysterically funny bitch. Small comfort.

Forrest sighed and heaved himself up off of the bucket. "I think it would be best if I go stay at my parents' house for a few days. I already have a suitcase packed and in the truck. There is plenty of money in the checking account. I won't leave you and the boys in a bad situation, Beth. No matter what you might think about me or about us, I do care about you and my children. I'll call you tomorrow, and we can talk about what to do next."
******
The next morning, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed and get the boys off to school. I had spent the night counting sheep over and over again. My mind was constantly spinning and turning over every little aspect of my marriage. My eyes were so heavy that I wanted to grab some toothpicks down from the cabinet to hold them open.

"Mommy, what's wrong? You look sick." Carter asked. Carter, the oldest, was an old man in a young boy's body. Seven years old and he had to have his hair slicked into place and his shirt tucked in. He looked like a little Steve Erkl with his high water pants. He was also the caretaker. Always looking out for everyone else and making sure everyone was happy. He looked up to Forrest so much. This was going to devastate him.

"I'm alright baby. Just have a bad headache this morning. Go ahead and finish your juice. The bus will be here in three minutes and you need to get outside. Where's your brother taken off to?"

"Damon went to go find Daddy. He didn't come wake us up with you like he always does. Where's he at?" Carter queried as he picked up his cereal bowl and carried it to the sink. He carefully rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher just like I had trained him.

"Your dad went to go stay with Granny and Pop Pop for a few days. He will call you guys this afternoon when you get home from school. Now hurry and go get your brother and let's get to the bus stop." I used my "sternest mommy" voice to brook any argument and stop the discussion before I started crying again. They were both so young and so sweet. Forrest and I swore we would make sure we stayed a nuclear family. We both came from traditional families and we wanted to raise our kids in a two-parent home. I guess that dream was down the toilet. Oh wait! They could still have a two parent home. It just might be two daddies instead of a mommy and daddy. "Don't become a bitter hag," I whispered to myself. "It could be worse. He could have left me for another woman and then I would have to compete."
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the morning. I got the kids off to school and made it through the grocery store without breaking down into hysterical sobs in the fruit aisle. Once I returned home, I picked up the phone to call my parents.

"Hi, Mom. It’s Beth.” I took a deep breath trying to prepare myself for the coming conversation. Mom and I had always been close, but this was hard to put into words. I was scared that once I said it out loud, it would become true.

"Hey, honey. Are you guys coming over tonight for dinner? I am making Forrest’s favorite…spaghetti and meatballs!" My mom loved to cook for Forrest since he was a big man with a big appetite to match.
"Well, yes and no. Yes, I am coming over, but no Forrest and the kids aren’t. I need to talk to you and dad about something. Is it okay if I come over a little early?” I asked. My voice wavered slightly, but I bit my lip to prevent a sob from escaping.
“Yeah...yeah, of course, come right over. I’ll put the coffee on. See you in a bit.” Mom’s voice was troubled as she hung up. I knew that she wanted to ask what was going on, but as always, she understood that I needed to come at things my own way. She never pushed me. I headed out the door and down the sidewalk to walk the few blocks to my parent’s house. As I walked, I focused on not stepping on any cracks in the sidewalk. I had been walking this sidewalk my whole life ever since I walked to kindergarten my first day. I knew each crack and if asked to, I could probably walk it blindfolded. I counted my steps and knew as long as I only took a certain number of steps per block that everything was going to be okay. A few minutes later, I walked in the back door of my childhood home. Mom was standing at the counter, pulling coffee cups out of the cupboard. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air. I looked at my mother and burst into tears.
“Beth! What is it? What’s wrong?” Mom pulled me into her arms. “Sit down and tell me what is going on.”
I sat down at the table and Mom poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of me. Pushing the sugar bowl towards me, she repeated, “Come on now. It can’t be that bad. Tell me what is going on.”
I took a deep breath and poured out my anguish to my mama. Once the words were out of my mouth, I knew that it was all real and that everything was going to be different.

******
If the next car that passes by the house is red, then I will get the phone call about the job…ok, if the next car that passes by the house is red, then I will get the phone call about the job. Over and over in my head, the words kept going. Although I knew that this was compulsive behavior, I couldn’t stop watching the traffic and counting the cars. I had been sitting on the porch for the past two hours waiting for the phone call from the doctor’s office telling me that I had the job. I had interviewed for the position three days ago, and they had told me at the time that they would make a decision today. I’d been doing okay with the money Forrest had left in the savings and checking account. My parents had given me money, but it was a safety net for me and for the boys. I didn’t want to touch it unless I absolutely had to for an emergency. It had been two months since Forrest had told me he was gay and had moved out. I had applied to the community college to their vet tech program and was told I could start at the beginning of the fall term. Now, if I could just get a part-time job. The job at the doctor’s office would be perfect with my schedule at school. Plus, I could spend my time in an office transcribing the doctor’s handwritten notes onto the office’s new computer system. I would be too busy to think about the FUBAR my life had become lately.

My parents had been very supportive and took the kids whenever I had a job interview. Forrest had moved across town into a small two bedroom apartment a few blocks from his office. He had decorated the boys’ room in shades of blue and green and had even bought them the bunk beds they had been nagging us for. He and I had agreed to try to remain civilized for the children’s sake. It was all so very adult. When I questioned Forrest about his homosexuality and if he had dated any men, he remained vague. He told me that he didn’t want to upset me, so he preferred to keep it private. He told me that he had not ever dated a man, but he knew that was what he wanted. He said he was waiting until our divorce was final before pursuing his new life. I talked to my gay friend, Sean, and asked him if he had any inkling about Forrest.

“Baby girl, let me tell you something. That man is not gay. My gaydar would have been pinging like mad over the past few years if he was. Trust me. If he was gay, I’d have been all over that like butter on toast,” Sean had told me.

“Sean,” I said, “I hear what you are saying, but Forrest looked me dead in the eye and told me he was gay. He was serious. Maybe your gaydar doesn’t work on married men.”

“Whatever, doll baby. I am just telling you what I know in my groin to be true. The man ain’t gay.” Sean had declared. At that point, I had changed topics and we had moved on. Sean, too, had been there for me. He was a shoulder to cry on and the best part about it was that he didn’t care if I got snot and tears on his silk t-shirts. He and my other best friend, Kim, had tried to keep me occupied whenever the kids were with Forrest. I hadn’t been this busy since both kids had been in diapers. I recalled some of our all-nighter girl movie fests from the past few weeks with a smile.

Just then, a red car passed by and moments later, the phone rang. Oh my God! It finally worked! I ran inside and grabbed the phone.

I imagined June Cleaver and channeled her proper voice via my own, “Hello?”

“Hello. Beth? This is Dr. Payne’s office. Jean Richman, we spoke the other day about the position here.” The voice on the other line said. This was it!

“Yes, this is Beth.” I began to walk up and down the stairs waiting to hear what she said. If I pass the picture on the wall three times, I have the job. If I pass the picture on the wall three times, I have the job. The evil little hamster in my head began to run on his wheel as my anxiety skyrocketed waiting to hear what she said. I needed this job. At this point, I needed any job. I was going crazy here at the house thinking, worrying and pacing until I had worn a path in the carpet of the living room.

“We would like to offer you the position if you are still interested. The starting pay is $10.00 an hour plus health insurance. I know that is not a lot, but you don’t have any recent experience. We can review your salary again in 90 days after we see what you can do. What do you think?” Jean Richman asked in a cheerful voice. She was a petite woman with bleached blonde hair and I would bet money that she had been a cheerleader in a previous life. Her personality was so perky that even her breasts refused to give in to gravity although I placed her well into her forties. I liked her though. Right now I needed some positive personalities in my life. Heaven knows I was Ruby Gloom’s twin sister right now.

“I would love to come work for Dr. Payne! When would you like me to start?” Thank you, June Cleaver, I said a silent prayer to the television icon of happiness and perfect motherhood.

“Would you be able to start on the 15th?’ Jean asked. I started doing a little dance around the kitchen. The cats all stopped what they were doing to stare at me like I was some strange human who had landed on their planet.

“Certainly! 8:00 to noon, right?” I stopped dancing since I was getting out of breath. Need to do aerobics more often, I noted.

“Eight sharp. See you then and we’ll have you fill out your paperwork on the fifteenth. Just bring your Social Security card and other documents with you. Bye now!” Jean chirped and disconnected.

I began to dance around the kitchen some more doing some air high fives. The kids called it my “happy pee pee” dance since it resembled our dog when he got excited and ended up weeing on himself.

“Um…excuse me, crazy lady, but am I interrupting something here?” A voice sounded through the screen door. My best friend, Kim, opened the door and walked in. “What’s up with you, dancing queen?”

“You are now the best friend to a woman with a job. Oh yeah, I gotta job…oh yeah…I gotta job.” I began my dance again throwing in a few “walk like an Egyptian” hand movements.

“Oh, thank goodness. For a minute there, I thought you were having a seizure!” Kim joked. “Just kidding! That is awesome! Was it the job with Dr. Payne?”

“Yep, and the best thing about it is that I can go to work in the morning and school in the afternoon.” I was so excited. I reached over and hugged Kim.

“Great! Well, since you have a job, we need to celebrate. I am taking my very best friend who is looking shockingly thin, hate you for that by the way, to lunch. Grab your purse and let’s go,” Kim commanded. I walked into the living room and grabbed my purse and locked the front door. I went back to the kitchen and walked out the back door with Kim.

“Hold on. I needed to go make sure I locked the door,” I said and turned to head back into the house.

“Honey, I just saw you lock it. I promise. It is locked.” Kim pleaded. She had been my best friend since childhood and was patient with what she viewed as my little quirks.

“Just let me check to make sure, okay?” I went back into the house and through the kitchen.

“Okay, but it is gonna cost you.” Kim called after me. “You are buying me an ice cream cone at the Dairy Queen afterwards for dessert!”

I checked the lock on the front door and went back out of the house and headed towards Kim’s car. “It’s a deal. No Blizzard though. I am not making the big bucks yet!”

*******
Kim drove me to our favorite Thai restaurant. I got out of the car and started towards the restaurant. As Kim and I entered, the transition from the bright light of outdoors to the darker restaurant interior momentarily blinded me. As my eyes adjusted, I looked around at the tables. In a far corner booth, I spotted Forrest. I not only spotted Forrest, but I honed in on the fact that he was holding a young brunette’s hand and kissing her fingertips. A young female brunette with boobs the size of Dolly Parton’s and a low-cut blouse making sure that everyone knew it. As I watched in horror, he leaned over and whispered in her ear and then kissed her on the lips. A blind rage consumed me. A buzzing in my ears began and my stomach roiled in anger. My face felt like it was on fire.

“Uh oh. Let’s go, Beth,” Kim pleaded as her eyes lit on the love nest in the corner.

“No. I want to see what the hell is going on. Table for two and can you make sure we can see that booth over there.” I demanded through lips so tight that a tomato seed wouldn’t fit through them.

“Right this way,” the hostess seated Kim and me at a small table at the edge of the restaurant. I had a clear view of the rat bastard and his rat bitch, but they could not see me. Glowering, I watched as she giggled like a school girl and laid her hand on his arm.

Unable to stop myself, I jumped up and charged over to his table and scraped every dish and glass onto the floor. It crashed loudly and food was everywhere including on me. Noodles oozed down the front of my shirt like slugs sliming across a sidewalk. All chatter in the restaurant ceased abruptly. All eyes bored into me, but I didn’t care.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re gay!  Remember? You told me you were gay and here you are practically screwing some bitch on the table!” I screeched. I was trembling with anger and my breath as coming in gasps.

“Beth, calm down. You’re making a scene.” Forrest said calmly. He never got angry. He always remained calm and cold as a fish. I wanted to snatch his eyeballs out of their sockets and cram them down his throat. Better yet, I wanted to snatch his eyeballs out and cram them down her throat.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you bastard!” I spat. Spittle flew through the air and landed on his face. “I want to know what is going on and I want to know right now!” I snarled.  The bimbo sat like a cow chewing its cud with her eyes wide and a vacant expression on her face.

“Since you insist on doing this right here and right now, you have no one to blame but yourself,” Forrest said in a tightly controlled voice. His face was bright red with embarrassment or anger or both, but he still kept his composure. He wiped his face with his napkin. “I lied. I’m not gay. Never was. I just had to do whatever it took to get away from you. I figured you’d handle it better if I told you it was because I was gay then if I told you that I couldn’t live another day with your obsessions and your psycho jealousy. I tried to spare your feelings. But, well, now you know. Sorry.” With that, he threw his napkin down, grabbed the floozy’s hand and left the restaurant.

*****
I stood there with noodles dripping off of me and tears streaming down my face long after Forrest had stalked out of the restaurant with his girlfriend. I felt a tug on my shirt.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I am really going to have to ask you to leave. Your personal issues are distracting to the customers." The short Asian woman informed me. I felt like shoving the remaining noodles in her face. Not because she had done anything to me, but because I was so angry and physical violence just seemed appropriate. I didn't do it; however, because I needed to hold onto what little remained of my dignity. I turned around and with every ounce of pride I could muster, I marched past the tables with my head held high. Kim, surprisingly, did not say a word until we were out in the parking lot.

"Oh my God! I can't believe that smug bastard! I just wanted to hit him just to shake him up!" Kim exclaimed angrily. "He is a real piece of work. A work made completely of crap!"

I didn't respond immediately to Kim. I was too angry to talk. I just wanted to go home and I told Kim so.

"Sure...sure, whatever you want." Kim replied. In silence, we headed to her car. When we arrived at the house, Kim started to get out of the car, but I stopped her.

"I need to be alone. I need to think. Don't worry. I'll be okay." I reassured her. Inside I felt anything but okay. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Alright. If you are sure that you will be okay by yourself..." Kim hesitated, but I nodded and turned towards the house. Once inside, I walked into my bedroom, turned on the radio and proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs. I was an animal in the jungle wounded and howling my pain. I screamed and kicked and threw all the books on the shelves across the room until I the anger seemed to leave my body. I collapsed onto the bed. My whole body hurt. I was tired and wanted to sleep, but I had plans to make.

*******
The next day, I picked up the phone and called Forrest's cell phone. He answered on the first ring.

"I thought you would have called me a hundred times by now," Forrest said. No hello. No sorry. The bastard had no idea. No idea whatsoever.

"I've been busy," I tried to sound nonchalant. "I need to meet with you tonight so that we can discuss what should be done about the house. Can you meet with me this evening?"

"I can come over after work," Forrest said.

"Uh, can we meet someplace else? I don't want the boys to overhear us talking. How about meeting at the picnic table near McNary's farm? You know the one on the side of the road right by the river." I crossed my fingers, hoping he would agree. I started to count the squares in the linoleum. Stop it Beth! Now is not the time. Keep it together. "Well? Will that work for you? I can be there around 7:30."

Forrest sighed in exasperation. "It isn't very convenient for me to meet at that time. It'll be near dark. Can't we do this in a coffeehouse or something?" I could hear his fingers tapping in impatience. The sound grated on my nerves as it came through the phone.

"Sorry, but you know what, the least you can do is sacrifice your precious convenience to make up for the fact that you are a total shit. How about that? Now, can you meet me or what?" I snapped.

"Fine. We'll do it your way. For now." Forrest snarled andn hung up. I smiled. He was so easy to manipulate. Now, I just needed to wait until this evening. Hmmm...what to do with my time? I could think up ways to kill Forrest. I had at least three incredibly painful ways that involved the removal of genitalia, not counting the more mundane methods. I turned to the sink and began to fill it with water. When in crisis, clean.

*****
At 7:35, Forrest eased his truck into the parking spot next to my car. He hopped out and came over to the picnic table where I sat. He sat down opposite me and leaned forward. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk."

"Why'd you lie to me Forrest? Why did you come up with this preposterous story about being gay? What kind of person does that? I mean, are you insane?" I asked. My hands were gripping each other so tightly that they were trembling.

"Am I insane? Are you kidding me? Beth, have you lived with yourself? Do you know what it is like? Every time I go anywhere or am late, my cell phone rings over and over again. And guess who it was on the phone? You. Each and every time. We would walk past a woman and not even look at her and you would accuse me of not looking at her so that you wouldn't realize I had looked at her and wanted her. Do you know how crazy that is?" Forrest's voice rose. He was finally losing his cool. I calmly took a sip of my soda.

"Well, I guess it turned out that I was right now, wasn't I? You were screwing around!" I laughed bitterly. "Why tell me you were gay? I mean, why not just leave me?"

"If I just left or told you I was leaving you for another woman, you would have never left me alone. You would have called or come over or somehow obsess about it. I figured if you thought I was gay, you would let me have my freedom and not OCD on me." Forrest shrugged. "I guess it was kind of stupid." He leaned forward and took my soda from me. He swigged some down before handing it back.

"I've got another soda in the car. Would you like it?" I didn't wait for an answer, but went to the car and returned with the soda in my hand and twisted the cap off before I handed it to him. Forrest was always drinking caffeine in some form or fashion. You would never catch him without a cup of coffee or a bottle of soda in his hand. It was so predictable.

"Thanks. Look, Beth, I don't want to hurt you. You are the mother of my children, but you gotta understand that I just wasn't happy. Can you honestly say that you were happy in our marriage?" He looked at me with a pleading expression. He took another swallow of soda.

"Actually, Forrest, I was happy. I was the happiest I had ever been and now you have destroyed it." I stood up from the table and started pacing. "You have no idea what kind of pain you have caused me. We could have gone for counseling or tried to work things out. You chose to step outside the marriage and now, you are going to have to deal with the consequences." I stood up and started walking towards the fence that separated the picnic rest stop from McNary's farm. It was twilight now, but I could still see the group of hogs that McNary kept poking their snouts through the fence. I put my hand through the fence and scratched a pig on the nose. Pigs were such intelligent creatures and they would eat just about anything. I waited silently. A few minutes later, Forrest joined me at the fence.

"Beth, I'm not feeling too hot all of a sudden. Can we talk about this some more tomorrow? I feel sick and need to head home." I glanced over at him and saw that his skin had an unnatural sheen to it and his eyes were looking glassy.

“Are you feeling kind of dizzy? Like you might pass out?” I tried to sound concerned, but felt an evil smile creeping its way onto my face. Forrest turned a whiter shade of white, if such a thing was possible and tumbled head first over the fence, with a little shove from me that is. He lay face down in the mud. His breath was causing small mud bubbles to froth around his head. Like a Forrest mochaccino. I stood there and watched him until his body gave a final shudder and a final big mud puddle farted from his face. I climbed over the fence and checked his pulse. Dead.

I climbed back over the fence and to my car. Popping the trunk, I reached in and grabbed a large cooler and dragged it to the fence. I emptied the contents of the cooler on top of Forrest. Every scrap of vegetable and fruit that I was saving for the compost pile went on top of him. I reached into my jeans and used my hand sanitizer once I was done. I didn’t want to take any chances with catching a disease. The pigs snuffled over and began to eat the scraps. A few minutes later, I heard a crunch as one of them bit into bone. They were doing their job just like I knew they would. I stood there for hours until I knew that Forrest was taken care of. It was quite the Lion King moment. Forrest had completed the circle of life. I wondered if McNary’s pigs were butchered and sold at the local market. I guess pork was off the menu for quite some time for the boys and me. Too bad. I really enjoyed bacon with my pancakes on Sunday morning. I turned to drag the cooler back to the car and leave. My eye caught on something in the grass next to the fence. I peered closer and realized it was one of Forrest’s stupid Croc shoes. I hated those things. Now they were gay-looking on a man. I reached down and picked it up. The pigs were pretty well finished with their evening repast. I guess I could toss it someplace. I didn’t want any trace of Forrest anywhere.

A few minutes later, I hopped on the interstate. I drove for miles until I was far enough away from home that I didn’t think it would matter. As I exited onto the ramp, I opened my car window and tossed the shoe out into the dark and onto the side of the road. 

NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2015

For the first heat of the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2015, I was given horror as the genre, a reality show as the subject and a drug addict as the character.  The story may not exceed 2500 words which was tough!  Fingers crossed I make it past round one.  Here is my entry.
  EYE OF THE NEEDLE

            Scott picked at his track marks.  He thought that after two weeks in rehab they would have started to heal. Instead, they remained angry, red reminders of his wasted life.  He gazed down at his slippers.  Patients on Level One weren’t allowed street shoes.  There was a risk that they would make a run for the outside when the DTs became too much to handle.             “Scott, you don’t seem to be making much progress here at Whispering Pines.  Joe tells me that you don’t participate in group.  In order to move forward, you need to face your past,” Doctor Martin said in his monotone voice. Scott assumed the doctor talked like a pedantic ass because he thought it was soothing.  Personally, Scott found it grating.  “You need to work towards discovering the reasons behind your addiction.”              “The house makes me,” Scott mumbled.  His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt thick.  He hadn’t spoken a word since his family had forced him to enter Whispering Pines Recovery Center two weeks ago. He cleared his throat and tried again.  “The house makes me do it.”             “Okay.  That’s a start. Tell me more about this house.”  Doctor Martin clicked his pen repeatedly.  The sharp noise made Scott twitch.  He had only slept in ten minute stretches since he had arrived at rehab.  His nerves were on fire from the lack of sleep and the lack of drugs.              Scott closed his eyes.  The sound of the doctor’s pen scratching across the paper echoed in the room.  Taking a deep breath, he began to speak.  “Mark, Greg and I were seniors at Rockdale High School.  Mark’s dream was to go to film school and be some big time movie producer.  He and Greg spent a lot of time making short films and editing them.  It wasn’t really my thing.  I spent most of my free time playing the guitar, writing the Great American Novel and hanging out with my girlfriend, Cherie.  “Anyway, this was a couple of years after the Blair Witch Project came out.  Mark got a crazy idea that he would film a reality show about people living inside of a haunted house.  He thought it would be cool if they did some kind of “survival of the fittest” show.  Whoever didn’t get scared away would win some kind of cash prize.  He wanted to spin it into a combination of Real World, Big Brother and Ghost Hunters.  Back then, reality television was just getting popular.  Mark planned on cashing in on the trend.  He had big dreams and the cajones to make it happen.  “He convinced the owners of the old Bramwell house to let them film there overnight and create a test show.  No one had lived in the house since the 1940’s.  Rumor was that the previous owners had been murdered in their sleep and the killer never caught.  The heirs tried to sell the house, but no one was interested.  Eventually, it just sat empty.  No one even tried vandalizing it.  Something about the house made people stay away.   “Mark and Greg spent that Saturday morning setting up their equipment.  Mark had convinced his dad to fork out the bucks for some full spectrum cameras and an audio system.  They pooled their own cash and bought EMF meters and digital recorders to capture EVPs.  Mark talked his girlfriend, Marissa, into staying the night in the house with them.  They’d even roped me into helping.  Mark wanted me to camp in his van outside the house in case they needed anything.  They were supposed to call me on my cell phone every two hours to check in.  He was so serious about the whole thing.”  Scott shook his head as he recalled that day ten years ago.  He opened his eyes and looked up.  “We were so full of ourselves back then.  Seventeen years old and thinking that life was going to be one big theme park.  Mark was trying to get into UCLA.  Greg was set to attend State the next year on a full-ride track scholarship.  Me?  My old man wanted me to join the family business, but my mom insisted I go to college first.  I just wanted out of my parent’s house.  I didn’t care how I did it. My dad was a son of a bitch who liked to talk with his fists more than he talked with his mouth.  His favorite person to have “a come to Jesus” conversation with was yours truly.”“Your dad was abusive,” Doctor Martin said as he scribbled something on his notepad.  “Isn’t that what I just said?” Scott snapped.  He wondered how much his mom was paying for the magical cure this quack was peddling. “So tell me what happened that Saturday with your friends,” Doctor Martin prodded.“We all met at the house around eight o’clock.  Mark had Marissa play reality show host and give some big spiel about the murders of the Bramwell family.  She gave her prediction that she would win the grand prize since the boys probably wouldn’t last past the first hour. “Between you and me? I was glad I wasn’t going to be inside that house all night.  The place gave me the heebie jeebies.  It was immaculate.  Not a speck of dust.  Nothing was out of place.  No one had lived there in sixty years, but it was just like some of those model homes you see.  It was as if the family left to go out to the movies and planned to be back in a few hours. After that many years, it should have been a dusty, vandalized heap, but it wasn’t. “Cherie and Marissa were giggling and squealing like scared little girls.  Mark was kind of being an ass.  He thought this might be his golden ticket to film school or to one of the networks.  He really believed that a haunted reality show would make it big.  He was getting pissed at the girls for not taking it seriously, but they were just having fun.  Life wasn’t serious back then.  It was all one big game.  “I wasn’t having fun though.  I was on edge. I felt like someone or something was watching me. I had to get out of there.  I told them I needed a smoke and would meet Cherie outside.  Mark said they were going to go ahead and start to film. “I may not have been into the whole reality show thing, but I was stoked that Cherie was camping out with me all night.  We had done it a couple of times in the back seat of my parent’s Buick, but I planned on making the most of that night.  I laid a sleeping bag out on the floor in the back of the van.  I rolled and lit a joint, and we passed it back and forth until we were both feeling no pain.  We messed around and I guess we fell asleep afterwards.  Next thing I know, my cell phone is blaring in my ear.  It was Mark doing his ten o’clock check.  He told me that everything was going great.  They had heard some sounds coming from the upstairs and were heading up to investigate.  It was hard to hear him because there was so much static on the line. Right before he hung up, I thought I heard something weird in the background.”“What did you hear?” Doctor Martin glanced up from writing notes. “You’re gonna think I imagined it, but I swear I heard a woman’s voice begging for mercy.  It was just for a second, and then the line disconnected.  I figured the kick ass pot and the creepy house must be getting to me.  I fell back asleep a few minutes later.  Next thing I know, it’s three o’clock in the morning.  Cherie and I woke up to Marissa running and screaming out of the house. Her face and clothes were bloody.  At first, I thought she was just yanking my chain.  I thought she and Mark were trying to make the reality show more exciting by having some kind of dramatic event.  You know how they do.  It’s like when someone steals somebody else’s rice on the deserted island.  It’s made all life and death dramatic.  Marissa pounded on the side of the van and begged us to let her in.  She was freaking out and hysterical. She kept saying that something was in the house.  Cherie tried to calm her down, but she just cried harder.“I decided that I had to be the man and go find Mark and Greg.  I figured they had played some kind of prank on Marissa to get her to leave and make the “survival of the fittest” thing a bigger hook for the show.  I went into the house. It was dead quiet. There were no footsteps. No voices. Nothing.  I called out for the guys, but they didn’t answer.  I was starting to get that same weird feeling that I had felt earlier.  The air was heavy.  I swear that I heard the house breathing.  I knew that I was a little bit stoned, but the walls seemed to inhale and exhale.  It was freaking me out.  I spotted some blood on the steps.  I started walking up the stairs to the second floor.  I was scared because the drops of blood became broad sweeps that looked like someone had been dragged.  When I got to the top of the stairs, all the lights for filming were off.  It was pitch black.  I heard breathing all around me.  It was low, raspy and wet.  It definitely wasn’t human.  I tried my flashlight, but it was dead.  I pulled my Zippo lighter out and flicked it on.  I saw Greg lying in the hall.  His head was all jacked up and his eyes…his eyes were gone.  I wanted to haul ass out of there and never look back, but I knew Mark might be in trouble.  The lighter was getting too hot, so I clicked it shut and used my hand to feel my way down the hallway to a closed door on the right.  “The breathing sounded even closer. There was a fetid, earthy smell that made me want to puke.  I opened the door and flicked the lighter.  It sparked but didn’t catch. In that brief flare of light, I thought I saw Mark on the bed.  I flicked the lighter again, and it worked.  When I held it up, I saw Mark.  And, um, what I saw…” Scott took a deep, shuddering breath. He gulped back a sob. “Take a moment.  Breathe. Tell me what you saw,” Doctor Martin said reassuringly.  “Mark was sitting on the bed.  He had ripped out his own eyes.  He was clawing at his face and laughing like a freakin’ maniac.  Behind him was some kind of…I don’t know.  It was a black, undulating mass.  I don’t know how to describe it.  In that moment, I knew at the core of my being that I was looking straight into the mouth of hell.  There were sounds, too.  It seemed distant, yet I could hear it inside my head.  I felt it aching in my bones.  It was bedlam.  It was the screams of the damned and of the insane. I felt the same pain that caused those screams. The sound made my skin crawl with a thousand insects to the point that I wanted to rip my flesh off to make it stop.  It moved forward like a giant beast opening its maw to swallow me.  What I thought was darkness was actually a mass of writhing limbs, sucking mouths and damned souls twisted into the abomination now slithering towards me.  I could hear it whispering in my head telling me horrible, dark secrets.  It gave me a glimpse of what was to become of my soul at the end of my life.  The pain in my eyes and head was excruciating.  I wanted to rip out my eyes to make it stop.  I ran out of that house and kept on running.  I left everyone there.  I didn’t care.  I just had to get out of there.  “When I got back home, I threw some clothes into a backpack, snatched some cash from my old man’s wallet and hitchhiked my way down the coast.  I started hitting any kind of joint, pipe or needle I could get my hands on to take me away from what I saw that night.  To get me away from the thing that was now living inside of my head.  It whispered to me every night when I closed my eyes.  It taunted me.  I’ve stayed high every day since then.  It’s been ten years. My mom finally hired some private eye to track me down, and she dragged me here two weeks ago.  I haven’t slept since I got here.  I can’t close my eyes.  When I do, I can see straight into hell. I’m scared shitless.”Doctor Martin closed Scott’s file and leaned back into his chair.  “Scott, I think we’ve made some real progress here today.  I’m going to prescribe something to help you sleep.  I also want you to think about your relationship with your dad and the abuse you experienced as a child.”“My dad?” Scott’s voice rose to a shout. He stood up quickly with his hands balled into fists.  “I told you about my friends dying. I looked into hell and saw pure evil, and you want to talk about my daddy issues?  We were just a bunch of dumb kids trying to make a reality show.  The only way I can forget about that night is through the release and peace a needle brings.”  Two orderlies hustled in and grabbed Scott by the arms.  He shook them off and stalked out of the room.  Doctor Martin sighed and picked up the phone.  “Kathy, I want you to give Scott Oakley 150 milligrams of Trazodone for the next five days.  This should help treat his ongoing insomnia and anxiety.  Make sure they monitor him closely for any adverse effects.”  He disconnected the line and pulled out the file of his next patient. At eight o’clock that evening, the doctor was flipping the lights off in his office and heading for home when his phone rang.  He hesitated a moment before answering it. His wife’s incessant nagging about his late hours was wearing on him. Sighing, he picked up the receiver and waited for the barrage of angry words to hit him. “This is Doctor Martin.”“Doctor, this is Wayne over in the East Wing.  We gotta situation.  Scott Oakley was screaming and carrying on in his room.  Me and Todd went to check on him.  We got an ambulance on its way.  The patient clawed out his own eyes.”