C.L. Walters's Blog, page 15

New Cover Reveal: The Cantos Chronicles, Swimming Sideways

They are here! I’ll reveal one cover each day until the book trailer drops on Thursday evening! Join me for the premiere.

Check back tomorrow for The Ugly Truth!

CLWalters Blog RSS

Indie Author Marketing: Update No. 4

Making a quick stop to take in the sights before I continue down the road.

I’m pulling off the road for a quick pit stop; a quick respite to take in what I’ve accomplished before March Madness Blitz swoops in and speeds this journey up to the Cantos Chronicles release day on March 31, 2020. This isn’t because I’m tired, but more because I’ve made it across that map I bought at that convenience store down the road a ways, marked up with goals and got to them. Now, there’s a space for a short rest before the next leg of the journey.

I uploaded an old (really old version) of the first book in The Cantos Chronicles when it was still a paranormal story called Upside Down: A Fallen Novel to Wattpad. There’s a lot of conflicting research out there about offering content on Wattpad. Here was my thinking behind the decision: I want to find readers. Where are readers? Wattpad is a place. Granted, the story in this version is funny. I laughed and cringed and wanted to change it as I went, but that wasn’t really my point in uploading it. I wondered if perhaps I was doing myself a disservice in offering a product of quality that is “less than” what this control freak would normally offer. I decided, however, that this version - and all of its flaws - offers a picture of Abby, Seth and Gabe in a different way. And that’s kind of cool even if it’s cringey.

Using Instagram story, I set a countdown for two marketing materials: the new cover reveals and the book trailer premier. Hopefully those go well. These were shared on every social media site of which I’m a part.

Using Canva and iMovie, I created 10 second snippets for the New Cover Reveals to use this week for my social media platforms.

I have publicized the Premiere of The Cantos Chronicles Book Trailer on Facebook by creating an event.

Along with all of the new marketing materials, I also maintained the creation and implementation of existing and new content for The Cantos Chronicles on Instagram and Facebook.

This week will be all about those new covers and that trailer. Keep an eye out these next three days!

I would love to know, if you’ve been following the journey: What has stood out to you? What captured your attention and made you interested? Please let me a comment below, or check out my story on IG and share your thoughts.

Join me for the book trailer premier on YouTube on February 27, 2020 at 6PM Pacific Standard Time.

Up Next Week: Indie Marketing Update No. 5

CLWalters Blog RSS

Indie Author Marketing: Update No. 3

There are peaks and valleys in every journey. The rise toward the viewpoint and the turnout that allows for us to park the car, check out the vista with a deep breath of appreciation and think: Wow. Look how far we’ve come. Conversely, there are valleys, the dips in the journey where we drive into the depths of the unknown where doubt has the opportunity to creep in and make us wonder if we’re on the right road? It’s a good time to pull out a map, except we don’t have one.

So Nevada…

I’m in a valley on this marketing journey this week, spinning my wheels in the muddy terrain and wondering if I’m going to make it to the next peak. (Anyone got a song for me to cue up? Right now, I’m listening to our Spotify playlist “Indie Author Marketing Road Trip” to keep me moving forward “Grow as We Go” by Ben Platt. Drop it in the comments to give me a song of encouragement. :)

I am discouraged.

Allow me to be clear. I’m not discouraged by the support (family, friends, IG community is wonderful). I’m discouraged that engagement is down and I keep thinking “What more can you do? There must be something!” But I’m lost in this dark part of the valley where I don’t know. This doubt is rooted in the work I did for The Letters She Left Behind - the clue game giveaway which was a fun marketing idea that didn’t inspire as much engagement as I had hoped. I’m certainly grateful for those that did participate and two awesome winners resulted. Engagement has been worse this month as I attempt to build connection to The Cantos Chronicles with new and existing content. I’m terrified my spinning wheels are only making me sink deeper into the muck.

What does this all mean in the larger picture of being an independent author?

Upon reflection, I don’t think the answer is black and white but shades of variation. Here’s some thoughts I had this week:

I’m being impatient. The perfectionist in me is also looking at the effort and expecting a specific outcome. Truth is, I’m new at this. Why would I have expected The Letters She Left Behind Clue Giveaway to create more engagement when people are only beginning to learn about me & my writing? In all of the research I’ve done about marketing of anything, instant success isn’t a thing (even if I want it to be). I need to be patient and persistent.

Social media is only one tool at my disposal. Perhaps I’m not using all of the tools available effectively enough? I spend a lot of time on Instagram, but maybe that isn’t where to find my readers (even if I’ve connected with a wonderful community of writers). In considering my target audience: where are they? Maybe instagram, yes, but maybe I need to widen the search.

Set backs - being stuck in the mud - isn’t a reason to give up; time to dig deeper and find the work around.

So what did I get to this week:

I maintained my February approach to The Cantos Chronicles, offering new content interspersed with existing excerpts from the three books. I’m using a mixture of Instagram, Tumblr and Facebook, but as I mentioned earlier engagement is low and I haven’t found the magic elixir. Though I’m using a variety of hashtags rotating different ones, posting consistently I haven’t found a way to engage a majority of the followers I have.

I did research on 301c Charities in my area. This is because my local Barnes and Noble is interested in using the charity as a draw for book sales. It’s a great idea. The charity benefits by bringing in patrons because they get a percent of the proceeds. Win-win-win for all three parties. My next step will be to craft letters to the charities are a good fit.

I finalized the letters to teachers in my area. Now it is a matter of determining forward action: selecting schools, teachers, and timing. With the school year drawing to a close, timing might be an issue.

I finalized plans for the March Social Media Blitz. Now it’s time to draft the information my March Blitzers will need and get it to them.

I finished the Book Trailer. I plan to unveil that after the covers are revealed February 25. Look for the trailer next week.

That’s the week in review. While I might be stuck in the muck as an independent author marketer, I feel like I’m standing on top of the world as a creator: I finished my fifth book! And that reminds me why I am doing this: so I can keep doing this.

Until the next peak, my friends. Could you help me push the car out of the muddy terrain so we can get back underway to find it. Happy writing.

Next Week: Indie Marketing Update No. 4

Indie Author Marketing: Update No. 2

Watch the video to learn about the eight things I did this week on my marketing journey. Let me know what you think in the comments, or share with me on FB or IG. Feel free to share it.

Heads up: Something happens with the sound at the last thirty seconds. I mainly spoke about how I was struggling with the amount of efforts and the fears about the outcome - the doubts that the amount of effort expended would create the desired outcome. But I also expressed that rationally, I know that it is necessary - that I am hopeful that what I am doing will be fruitful.

BTW - anyone watch the first season of Castle Rock? Tell me that sound doesn’t resemble the noise in the woods. Or, share with me the story of that sound! (It’s creepy !). Happy writing.

Next week: Indie Marketing Update No. 3

Indie Author Marketing: Update No. 1

My planning and writing space.

This week marked the first steps into the eight week marketing blitz for the Cantos Chronicles, a completed YA Trilogy that’s undergoing a complete rebrand: new ISBNs, new covers, new interiors. With a ton of work (and money) invested in the rerelease, marketing and publicity to spread the word is even more important and has never been clearer how in over my head I am. But when has that ever stopped me?

Here’s what I did this week:

My newsletter went out this week with the new covers of the trilogy. Lots of information out there insists that newsletter subscribers are an indie author’s most important asset. There is a definitive need to build this list and cultivate that relationship by providing subscribers with benefits that no one else is able to access. So - they were the first to have access to the new covers (which I’m ecstatic about) as well as new content of my work in progress. And wouldn’t you know it, I got a few emails from subscribers excited about them. Hooray!

The second thing I did is begin the calling and planning of various events (book stores, media outlets, podcasts, etc). I’m not going to lie - this feels a lot more like doors slamming in my face than opening. The difficulty of this step is the lack of relationship which is really what a publicist provides. But without that added cost in my budget yet, I’m going to have to build these relationships on my own. Slammed doors aren’t enough to stop me; I’m searching the work around - the secret door. I’ll keep you posted.

On instagram @cl.walters, I’m using an IG month challenge to begin connecting the Cantos Chronicles stories with followers. I have two months until the rerelease happens (March 31) so with eight weeks to go, I didn’t want to create brand weariness or blindness. Instead, I’m hoping this provides the ability to connect, think, and link reader interest with the writing and the characters. Additionally, I want to maintain current momentum with readers who have already enjoyed the series by offering new content. I chose #onewordpromptchallenge hosted by @mjvaughn1_author because of the way the challenge is open ended and I’ve found it inspires me creatively. The prompts have offered me a way to mingle new content with existing content. The hope is always to invite engagement on IG because that is what creates visibility. I’ll keep you posted on the effectiveness of this method. Two days in, engagement is low (big-eyed worried face).

With this week in the books, there’s a sliver of myself that’s worried. What if this is an epic fail? What if I sunk a ton of money into something that is dead on arrival? As a perfectionist, I’m putting a ton of pressure on myself - I can feel it. And then there’s a part of me that recognizes this journey is several marathons in succession - nothing worthwhile is built overnight. Even as cliche as it is, the cliche exists for a reason. That is why I wake up and try again everyday, because I know this dream is worth it. The hope, however, doesn’t necessarily calm the fears that I’m going to fall flat on my face. That’s the risk, though, I suppose. And I’m not sure I’ve been one to back down from the challenge, fear and all.

Next week: Indie Marketing Update No.2

CLWalters Blog RSS

Indie Author Marketing: A Hope and A Dream

I’m tripping along bolstered by hope and a dream. As an independent author, the publishing journey often feels like wading chest deep through a swamp. But I’m still holding onto the strings of hope and a dream like balloons floating above me, guiding the way through. That and the plethora of blogs, resources and information to wade through trying to figure it all out.

I followed the advice:

I wrote a book. Check.

I edited the book - again and again and once more. Check.

I bought my ISBN. Check.

I hired a cover artist. Check.

I edited the book. Again. Check.

I think it’s ready to offer to the world, but here’s the struggle for traditional and independent authors, alike: How do you make it through the noise so your book’s message has a chance?

I’ve got a marketing plan. Check.

This doesn’t mean I have any of it figured out (I’m not a marketer or a publicist. I’m a writer and a teacher for goodness sakes). Mostly, this marketing business feels like I’m throwing wet paper towels at the wall and hoping they stick.

My attempt at a marketing plan.

My YA Contemporary series, The Cantos Chronicles (Swimming Sideways, The Ugly Truth, and The Bones of Who We Are), rereleases under the new imprint Mixed Plate Press March 31, 2020. That’s eight weeks from now. I might have a marketing plan, but will it work? I don’t know. So here’s what I want to do: make it an anecdotal, nonscientific experiment. I’d like to invite you to go behind the scenes with me and follow along as I sludge through the marketing swamp. Will it work? I don’t know, but I’m wondering if those of you who are looking for answers, maybe you can learn from my journey - things to do and pitfalls to avoid.

And so we’re off, those balloons - hope and a dream - guiding the way.

Next week: Marketing Update No.1

CLWalters Blog RSS

The Letters She Left Behind: It's here!

Want to buy the book? First, I suggest a call to your local, independent bookstore who can order it for you (buy local and support your independent bookstore whenever you can); But if you live in a place where independent book stores are limited, here’s a list of options. :)

Online @ Powell’s Books

Online @ Amazon (Kindle and paperback)

Online @ Barnes and Noble

I can’t wait to hear what you think. :) Be sure to instagram your thoughts and tag me (@cl.walters); facebook (@clwalters), and leave a review (that is the best thing you can do if you like an indie author’s work!).

Sign up for my newsletter for promotions, free content (you’ll get a free chapter of my upcoming release) and current updates on what’s happening. I’m so excited you’re here!

CLWalters Blog RSS

The Letters She Left Behind: Free Chapter 3

Rereleasing January 14, 2020 online and with retailers.

CHAPTER THREE

Alex pulled a worn envelope from her purse and glanced at Adam who was motionless across the room. He leaned against the back of the couch, his glass of scotch held in one hand, loose, like it might drop to the floor. His other hand gripped the sofa’s spine. His eyes watched the envelope, as if she’d pulled the embodiment of Megan from her bag. If it wasn’t for the grief, it might have been worth a smile, but Alex understood his pain. She understood the desire to find Megan in the concrete objects of the world around them.

“Would you like to read it?” She held it out, the weight of the words far more than the paper that held them.

“It’s yours.” He looked down at his drink, brought it to his lips and took a sip.

She set it on the white marble countertop in front of her and cupped her hands around her own glass of scotch.

A strained silence ensued; one that epitomized the canyon between them. On one side stood Adam, who’d made it clear he blamed her for everything that went wrong in his marriage. He carried a love for his wife in the very essence of his identity. On the other side was where she stood, and she’d made it clear Megan and her family – by extension, him - was everything to her, the very essence of her own identity. She loved Megan like a sister, and Adam… well, Adam was complicated.

Being here was bittersweet. She’d spent most of her adult life here, sitting on this barstool and laughing with her best friend. She could picture Megan, blond hair drawn into a ponytail, chasing one of the kids – probably Bekah – who’d done something naughty again through the room. Alex smiled despite herself, wishing things were different, that Megan was still here. She pictured Emma, their oldest, on one barstool doing homework and Megan on another working on a new article, with Alex in between grading essays. But being alone with Adam had been infrequent; perhaps only after the kids had been born and he and Megan had needed help.

She sighed wishing things were different.

“Adam, I-” she started.

“Look, Alex-” Adam said at the same time.

They both stopped when they heard the other’s voice.

“Let me,” he said and crossed the room stopping on the opposite side of the counter.

She looked up at him, and her frustration effervesced like steam. Despite the animosity that existed between them, they’d fought silent wars of even passivity and disconnection for the most part. Only on occasion had they openly engaged in verbal warfare. And when battles of open warfare were instigated, they’d been waged by Adam. She’d been willing to keep the peace because to her detriment, she couldn’t stay mad at him. It would have been easier if she could.

He looked at his glass and then up at her. His eyes were warm. “I don’t want it to be like this between us. Megan was important to both of us. I don’t want now – you know, being able to be in the same room - to be only because of her.” He set down his drink and ran a hand over his face. “Honestly, when I came to find you today, I was still bitter. But when I saw you, and you threw the same words at me I’d hurled at you after Megan’s funeral, I understood I wasn’t angry at you at all; I was pissed at myself. Then and now. I just took it out on you.”

Alex looked at him, delved into the fathoms of his dark eyes and glimpsed regret. They’d softened, the edges worn down by time and grief, and a narrow plane of something she didn’t recognize in their depths.

“I’m sorry for what I said that day. Hell, for the last twenty something years between us.”

The hope stirred by his words was almost too much. It made her uncomfortable wanting the words so much but being afraid of them. “Me too.”

He smiled, a real one that transformed his handsome face and reminded her of a night so long ago, his guard down due to alcohol and the bravery to go after what he wanted. He’d smiled like that. Alex’s heart split in two and raced in opposite directions. “Peace treaty? A real one?” He stepped around the end of the counter and followed him with her head.

She nodded. “A peace treaty,” and swiveled around in the stool to him with her gaze as he walked into the family room. His back to her, she took a moment to appreciate him - his wide back, the sinew of his muscles, the taper of his waist, musculature of his legs. Still surfing, she thought. He picked up a book from the table and returned with it, sitting on the barstool next to hers. After setting the book on the counter, he pushed it toward her across the countertop.

Alex caught the scent of his clean, citrusy cologne and leaned toward him to take the journal. Her hand brushed his as he transferred the journal to her. She drew back, the heat of his touch leaving an imprint on her skin. She suppressed the familiar feeling; she was used to tamping down.

“The first post-it,” he said.

Alex flipped the book open to entry Adam had marked. She read it and noticed the underlined words. “I see what you mean about the randomness of the words,” she observed and turned to the next entry, then another. “What were you trying to tell us?” Alex muttered and continued through the entry - a letter to Adam about when they’d met.

If I remember correctly, you had a thing for Alex at first.

Alex’s stomach clenched, constricting with anxiety, but she tried not to overreact. She checked the date and breathed a little easier. It was written long before she’d ever told Megan her secret. “Megan was deliberate about everything.” Alex turned the page.

“My thoughts too.”

“We can assume she underlined these words for a purpose.”

If Megan was trying to communicate something to Adam through her journal, why would she do the same thing in a letter to her? Could Megan have been trying to bring them back together? Alex was confident Megan knew she and Adam would have fallen away from one another after her death if for no other reason than Adam’s stubborn pride. Without her as the bridge between them, how would they cross to one side or the other? An ache encircled Alex’s heart thinking about her friend. “Have you made a list of the words, yet?”

Adam shook his head. “No. I’ve been preoccupied with reading the entries. I noticed, though, she stopped underlining the further I get into the books.” He reached across and flipped it open to an entry in the back of the book free of markings. “See. There are none in later journals.”

“Let’s list them.”

Adam retrieved paper and a pen from a desk in the kitchen. “You write. I’ll read them.”

They traded.

Twenty minutes later, heads together and bent over the same paper, Adam and Alex looked over the list of underlined words compiled from the few journals and Alex’s letter, they didn’t seem any clearer about them. 

“Let’s read them aloud. Would you read them to me?” She asked pushing the paper to him. ‘Maybe if we hear the words?”

“Sure.” Adam held up the list, leaned back, and recited the words and phrases. “First one – ‘dependent on us for her life’."

Alex closed her eyes and listened to the words as he read them. The first one she pictured Emma, Trey and Bekah; Adam and Megan’s children.

“Alex.”

Alex couldn’t imagine why Megan had underlined her name. But she imagined Megan smiling at her, pictured her as a co-ed roommate challenging her to do something brave.

“Football.”

Alex pictured Adam, sleek and sinewy, dropping back into the pocket for a pass. The image made her body ache. So, she pictured Trey, now a sophomore at HSU - a quarterback like his dad.

“Hide.”           

That one seemed strange. Hiding like her? In work? Her feelings?

“Campus.”

Alex worked on a campus. She and Megan had met Adam on a campus. Both of which included HSU. Trey played football for HSU.

“Assumptions. Rose-colored lenses.”

What could she possibly mean - to look at the message ideally – to look at this pragmatically?

“School in Hawaiʻi.”

Which? There were over thirty high schools alone. Ten colleges and community colleges. Countless other schools to consider. It was like a needle in a haystack. Except, Alex thought, she’d thought of HSU more than once.

“Ignorance.”

Alex opened her eyes and stole a glance at Adam as he continued to read the list. He’d put it back on the counter and leaned over it, his arms folded in front of him. His eyes were focused, a thick fringe of long dark lashes and a strong, masculine profile. Was he still ignorant to her secret, she wondered? She took a sip of her drink to purge the direction of her thoughts.

“Been blind.”

She glanced at him again. His dark hair, interlaced with silver was cut short, but long enough to look touchable. His dark complexion was vibrant, healthy. His features bold, like rocks in an ocean tide. That all-familiar tug pulled at Alex’s innards and she denied it.

Adam continued reading pausing between separate words. “Malicious. Anger of. Family. Ignorance of. Families.”

“Wait.” She tapped the paper. “Read those again,” Alex said, “But try and combine them and let’s see if they make sense.”

“Malicious. Anger of family. Ignorance of families.” He glanced at her. “They kind of do.”

“But whose family?” Alex wondered.

Adam continued. “Go with my instincts.”

Whose? Alex wondered? Megan’s instincts? Someone else’s?

“Don’t let.”

Alex ran her finger a long a gray vein of the marble and thought of most of her adult life spent in denial; She’d never allow herself to want.

“Do that to our kids.”

“Adam!”

He stopped looking up from the list.

“Read the last two together.” She leaned toward him and pressed closer to read the list with him.

“Don’t let do that to our kids.”

Alex turned her face to see him better. They were so close their noses almost bumped. She sat back. “She thought your children were in danger. What would motivate her to be cryptic? You. The kids. Your safety.”

She stood up and paced the floor between a couch and the barstools where Adam still sat. “Megan must have found out something she thought put you and the kids in danger.”

“That seems… far-fetched. Why not just tell me?”

“I don’t know.” Alex said and bit the nail of her thumb of one hand, the other pressed against her belly. “Try read the underlined words from the letter.”

“Adam. Emma. Trey. Bekah. Take care of them. Scared.”

She moved back to the barstool excited and laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I remember thinking when I first read them, she was scared because she was leaving you all behind. But what if she was scared about something else?”

“How would they be in danger? Who could possibly want to hurt the kids?” He shook his head. “It seems… ridiculous.” Adam glanced at her hand, looked back at the list, but didn’t shrug away from her touch.

Self-conscious, she removed her hand, flexing it by her side. “Maybe, but Megan wasn’t illogical about things she did. That’s what we have to figure out. We need to figure out what the rest of these words mean and how they relate.”

“They are all looking the same to me.”

“Let me snap a pic of them, and I will try to make some sense of them too.” Alex took out her phone.

“What about these numbers?”

Alex glanced at his finger pointing to a six-digit number on her letter. She paused. “I’m not sure. I thought you might know.” She put her phone away.

Adam sighed and shook his head. He stood and walked back into the kitchen carrying his glass to the sink. “Would you like another drink?”

Watching him move, the slope of his shoulders and the way his shirt stretched across his back, the unbidden flutter vibrating against her nerves, she remembered that night so long ago – the one she was supposed to have forgotten. Emotions: guilt, relief, grief, want overwhelmed her. She stood.

“No. Thank you.” She stood and gathered her things. “I should go. It’s late and I have an eight o’clock class tomorrow morning.” She took the letter and her purse and walked past the kitchen into the hallway.

Adam followed her.

Tears threatened, the burn of them tormenting her earlier peace. She didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Adam. And she knew her tears were for the wrong reason now. The overwhelm wasn’t for Megan - it was about her.

“Slow down. There isn’t a fire,” Adam joked and caught up with her in the foyer. “This has been rather enjoyable.” He turned her around to face him. “I liked…wait. What’s wrong?”

Alex kept her eyes fixed on the dark tiled floor. She didn’t want him to see her crying. She never wanted that. “I just miss her,” Alex said and looked up at Adam. That was the truth. Then she couldn’t help herself and heaped more coal into the fire, “As much as I wished for her life, I want her back.” Tears spilled leaving a trail on her cheeks.

Adam pull her into his embrace, and she collapsed against him. Though he’d hugged her briefly after Megan’s passing, this was different. Then, it had been consolation for news, two people clinging to one another in the high tide of grief, both drowning. This felt like comfort, as though he’d become a sheltering island in the storm while it crashed around them. She should step away, but she didn’t.

“I miss her too,” he said his lips moving against her temple.

“She asked to watch over you and the kids before she died. I failed her.”

“Alex.” His voice was soothing, his hands comforting as they caressed her back.

“Don’t,” she said. “I have.” She tried to compose herself and she took a step away from him the feel of his compassion more welcome than he understood. But he didn’t let her go; his hands still on her shoulders. She looked up at him. “I have stayed away when Megan asked me to help you and the kids through your grief.”

He reached for a tissue on the table in the hall and held it out to her.

She accepted it but didn’t use it, just stared at it as she rubbed the soft paper between the fingers that held it.

“How could you have, Alex? I was so awful and hostile at the funeral. I guaranteed you’d stay away. It took me ten months to apologize. Why would you – should you – have done any differently?”

“I should have. Megan would have.” Alex answered. “She would have known you were hurting.” A fresh wave of tears hit her.

“Please don’t cry, Alex. You were hurting too.”

Adam took her face in his hands and nudged her to look at him. He wiped a tear away with his thumb. She searched his eyes while they darted around her face. Alex saw that look again from earlier, the one she couldn’t name, soften his features.

You don’t remember do you, Adam? She wondered. But she knew the answer to that question. He didn’t.

He leaned in and kissed the place on her cheek where he’d wiped away the tear with his thumb.

Warmth spread from the graze of his lips on her cheek into her body like a wildfire. She stepped away when reason stepped in to remind her who she was. Who he was. She noticed he’d also stepped way, his expression stunned.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I shouldn’t have done that.” His hands were up and at his sides with sincerity.

“Maybe you were right, what you said that day.” She took another step away from him toward the front door. “I’ve spent countless hours analyzing your words, poking holes in your argument,” she said and then looked up. “Even as angry and hurt as I was that you said them.”

She paused with her hand on the door, then turned back to face him. “Thank you for the drink.” She reached into her purse and withdrew the worn envelope. “Here’s Megan’s letter,” Her tone impersonal, business-like. With equal efficiency when he didn’t take it, she set the missive on the table in the entryway. “I’ve got to go.”

“At least let me walk you out?”

She shook her head. “This is far enough. I’m okay, Adam. I’ve always been okay.” She turned. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” Then she willed herself to walk away.

Adam watched Alex get swallowed by the night.

He took a couple of steps after her but stopped on the front porch of his house unsure why he was trailing her. He watched her start her car and drive out of the driveway. A bizarre sensation tugged at him, a sense of urgency perplexed by her words: Maybe you were right. It was as though the sea were rolling under his surf board, but he couldn’t find his balance. It was unfamiliar territory with her, and he wasn’t sure what to make of the new emotions colliding within him.

Adam shut the front door, picked up the letter Alex had left, and went back into the kitchen where the light felt inviting and safe. He glanced at the spot she’d occupied while there, and the emptiness of the house suddenly felt cavernous and lonely.

He sat back down at the bar and opened the letter Megan had written to Alex

Alex, my friend, my sister:

I don’t know where to begin, really, how to tell you my heart, but it needs to be done. So, I should start with the blaring truth of the matter. The cancer has returned and my doctor fears I have less than six months. I could ramble on about how angry I am, and I’m sure I will have already done that with you by the time I give you this letter. I’ve already beaten this disease once, and I was willing to come out victorious again – but it isn’t meant to be this time – this time I’m meant to put my responsibilities in order, my ducks in a row, so to speak. Who could I trust more than you, Alex, and Adam to help me?

 Alex, you have been the best of friends. You have been there for me, guided me when I ventured off the path, and counseled me with the truth, even when it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. What kind of friend you have been to help me see light when sometimes I was enshrouded in darkness? Know that I respect you and respect the choice you made so many years ago when you shared what you did. There was nothing to forgive, and I hope that you know that.

Adam stopped and reread the last paragraph contemplating the meaning behind Megan’s words. But he couldn’t puzzle it out, couldn’t connect the dots. It made him curious. What had she meant? What could Alex have thought that Megan needed to forgive her?

Alex, I don’t know how my family will take the cancer; and my inevitable passing. I’m frightened to think that they won’t be able to move on. Though that sounds vain and presumptuous, I know that if I were to lose Adam, or one of the children, I could imagine myself getting stuck in vicious cycle of denial, anger, self-doubt, and hopelessness. Promise me that you will take care of them .

I know you and Adam haven’t always seen eye to eye. I can appreciate how patient you have been with him. Please continue to be. He is notorious for being hard-headed, but he isn’t hard-hearted. He is a loving, kind, and generous man and though I know you are well aware of that, I know how easy it is to lose patience with his stubborn streak. He is prone to fighting tooth and nail against that which he perceives as a threat, even if he misunderstands, but he will go to battle for those he loves, and Alex, despite your differences, I know that deep down Adam loves you too, just as I do. I don’t presume he will never move on after I’m gone, Alex, but please make sure that he knows I don’t want him to waste his years, that I want him to find love again.

Please watch out for Emma , Trey and Bekah . They all love you, their Aunt Alex, and on days that their terrible mom wouldn’t let them get away with being awful humans, would have gladly called Aunt Alex mom. I laugh thinking about raising them, and I’m very proud at how they have grown, into beautiful souls with so much promise of being wonderful adults.

Emma is just married, and I know that within time will think about starting her own family with Grant. Oh, my heart aches to think that I won’t hold my own grandchildren, but Alex, you can. You will be able to be there for Emma when she experiences the ups and downs of motherhood. Please tell her when she feels as though she’s ready to go insane because she’s lost herself in them that it won’t last – that one day her selfless giving to her children will mold them into their own and she will return stronger and more vibrant than when she began the journey of motherhood. Tell her how much I loved her. How she made me strive to be a better mother, because my inadequacy was always so transparent.

Trey makes my heart feel full. Though I love each of my children, I love them in their own unique ways. Where Emma makes me proud, she humbles me for I see me in her and can remember all of the choices I made that I would change. Whereas Bekah fills me with joy, she reminds me of mortality, for I’m frightened of them leaving me behind. Trey makes me rest in today and acknowledge that today is more important than yesterday or tomorrow. It is written in James, chapter four verse 14, “Why you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” Please tell Trey when the time is right how very much, I loved him. How he changed me to enjoy each day of my life and to keep living purposefully.

Oh, my Bekah, my baby, my joy. I will miss her in ways that are indescribable. I’m saddened that I might not see her graduate from high school next year. What if I won’t see her graduate from college or watch her continued to develop into the strong, independent woman that she is becoming. Alex, I ask that you help Bekah realize how strong she is as a woman, that she wouldn’t defer her dreams to anyone or anything, that she can be exactly who she wants to be - she can have it all if she wants it. That she can be just like her Aunt Alex. I know of no better person to guide Bekah than you, my friend, the epitome of a woman of strength, who knew her mind and followed it. Please tell her how much I will miss watching her grow into the woman I know is there, waiting to bloom.

Alex, I will miss your fellowship. Though we aren’t related by blood, I don’t think that blood would have made you more of a sister to me than you are. I’m so blessed that I have you as a friend. I’m so blessed that I shouldn’t feel scared , because I know that you will take care of my family. And I thank you for your loyalty and devotion – there aren’t many people who would exemplify such dedication. I love you, Alex, for all that you have been in my life and for all that you will continue to be even after I’m gone.

Grief welled up in his chest and flowed into the deep recesses of his heart. He fought to control the emotion that threatened to spill over, and his throat constricted as he held back. He imagined Megan writing those words, having just found out that she had cancer again. Her feeling like she needed to take care of her family and turning to the one person that she knew would. Guilt hammered at him for having pushed Alex away, begrudging her presence in his wife’s life, being angry she was always there.

Emotion stung his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He dropped his face into his hands and leaned against the counter, allowing the tears their time and space. The loss of Megan was still deep and alive, but there was a new rawness scraped over his heart. While he missed his wife, he accepted she wasn’t coming back. He’d spent the last ten months grieving - hell - he’d spent the last year and a half grieving as Megan wasted away in front of him. He’d been left behind to exist as a shadow.

Today though, like seeing the house for what it had become and picking up the clutter, his tears felt cleansing. He was renewed knowing his wife had loved him so deeply; she’d sought the aid of her best friend to keep watch over them like a guardian angel. He felt, for the first time in a year, hope that he might be able to find peace in existing without her.

Adam wiped his face, and folded Alex’s letter, putting it back in the envelope. He imagined her and her face as they’d gone over the words. Her eyes closed and a myriad of expressions traipsing across her face like a parade.

He smiled and picked up her glass and remembered her tears, her words: Maybe you were right.

He frowned.

The moment he’d offered comfort, his lips against her skin, he recognized where his thoughts had gone, and an image of a woman lit by moonlight on a drunken night over thirty years ago. He reached for it, but it was hazy. He remembered being drunk and hadn’t thought much about that night. Alex had made him think of it. Her words: I’ve got to go. The way she’d said them. Something painted his periphery, but she’d walked out. He’d dismissed it watching her leave.

Adam carried Alex’s glass to the sink and set it inside. He looked up at his reflection in the darkness of the window. Before today, he’d been able to disconnect from Alex in his anger. The peace didn’t offer distance. And, like the warmth of their peace treaty, Alex was a newly sprouted seed in his heart.

For more: The Letters She Left Behind ebook & Print available January 14, 2020

CLWalters Blog RSS

The Letters She Left Behind: Free Chapter 2

Available January 14, 2020

CHAPTER TWO

Most nights Adam would finish a second scotch – or a third and fourth - in front of the TV and then take himself to bed to lose the loneliness in sleep. Over the course of the last year, days and nights ran together with no beginning and no end. Just moments mixed up without Megan.

But tonight, Alex was going to be at the house putting a doorstop in his routine existence. For some reason, knowing it made his heart palpitate, press against his chest in an awkward rhythm reminding him he was human.

The last time he’d seen her, before today, he’d been so raw. It had been after the funeral and she’d been a rock. So, when he’d turned at the sound of her voice to find her standing inside the doorway of the office with pain he felt etched on her face, he’d had a desire to grieve in her arms. The fleeting wish had been followed by such ravishing guilt for even thinking it. His wife just in the ground even if it had been nearly a year watching her die. He’d lashed out at Alex, made his terrible accusation, even though there was a time in their history he’d been sure that was exactly what she’d done.

He moved through the kitchen toward the living room and stood at the top of the two steps that descended into the space. That’s where the box was now. Full and waiting. He’d carried it down a few nights ago. He’d remembered it was there. The last ten months taunting him with its existence. Megan’s office was a room he avoided because it reminded him the most she was gone. And something in him acquiesced to its call, a loosening in his chest that reminded him he was still alive. So, he’d finally opened the door to her office, collected the box and brought it down into the heart of the house he’d once shared with her.

Now, he recalled stumbling into the office a few days after Megan’s funeral; he’d gone into her office to be closer to her because his need to be near her had felt like his body was being crushed, every bit of air in his lungs pressed out. It was exactly as she had left it before she died. He imagined the smell of her perfume lingered. It didn’t. She’d spent so little time in her office the last year before she passed. Instead, they’d spent it in the awful in-between prison of the wait. Chemotherapy. Radiation. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. Waiting. Dying.

Everything in there, however, was Megan. The L-shaped desk pressed against the wall was neat, a place for everything and everything in its place. Each picture frame, each craft made by the kids, every paperclip in order. The large chair was pushed under the desk and her closed laptop sat in in the center. Waiting. For the last year and a half, everything was waiting for her return, just like him, but she wasn’t ever going to come home.

He knew that now, but then, amidst her things, in the room that felt like maybe she would just walk through the door and get right to work, Adam had sunk to the floor and broke. All of him - his essence - peeled away from his soul and melted into the space feeling as though he’d never return to the land of life, where his kids needed him, where his business was circling, waiting for him to return. When he’d found his breath again, opened his eyes to the ceiling, nothing had collapsed. It all looked so normal despite how wrong his life felt.

He’d gotten to his knees and that was when he noticed the box marked with Megan’s perfectly capitalized penmanship sitting on the floor next to the file cabinet - out of place and unusual for Megan. Where he was unorganized and cluttered, Megan complimented his nature by keeping him in order. She’d kept everything neat, just like her office. He remembered teasing her she was meant to be an architect with handwriting like the structural scrawl on blueprints he worked with every day. The block letters matched her personality. Adam had known he was supposed to find that box.

With care, he’d removed the lid. Inside had been several bound books in a nondescript burgundy color with gilded edging. He’d looked at each of them removing them one-by-one, recognizing them as the same books Megan had written in each day before she left her office for the evening. He’d always assumed they contained ideas for her work. There were twenty books in all.

When he’d opened one and saw her neat handwriting decorating the page, he scanned it. Midway down the page he saw a heading that read, Dear Adam, and it was dated four years earlier. Adam had flipped through the journal and eyed the dates. Megan had written him each day. Some entries were pages; others were single lines. Each entry started with Dear Adam. He’d dropped the book back into the box as though he’d been burned and left the room. He hadn’t been back in there until a couple of days ago, finally ready to face her words.

It hadn’t been that he didn’t want to read her words. God, he had. Every fiber of him wanted to immerse himself in her world, but her words weren’t enough. He’d wanted her. He’d wanted her arms, her voice. He wanted to bury his nose in the space between her shoulder and her neck. He wanted to kiss her and hear her laugh. Adam remembered he’d felt the wall around his carefully preserved emotions crack as his heart imploded. He hadn’t been sure he could ever read them. He poured himself a scotch.

But as time passed, and the pain grew less acute and more like the dull ache of an abscessed heart, Adam finally returned to her journals. At first, the idea of reliving the relationship he’d had with Megan through her eyes was frightening, but when he started reading, and he’d had difficulty putting the books down to reconnect with the real world--a world without her.

Now, he drew a book from the box, part of his routine, this one was the first journal. It had what he needed to show Alex. He opened it and smiled as the memory of giving Megan the first journal caressed the edge of his consciousness. It had been the day after Emma was born: “Write your story, Meg,” he’d said and then kissed her. They’d only been married a year and barely old enough to start a family.

He returned to the kitchen, mixed himself another scotch and settled in an overstuffed chair in the far end of the family room. He opened the book and read:

Dear Adam. . . I never thought this. I never thought about how full I would feel when the baby was placed in my arms. I love you so much Adam, and when Emma arrived, that love exploded into a supernova of emotion. I didn’t know I could feel this way. To see her and then to recognize you in her face, to know that we made her through our love, to understand that we created this tiny creature dependent on us for her life is awesome and frightening …

Dear Adam. . . Remember the day we met?

Adam smiled at the recollection. Though the edges of the memory were faded like an old photo because of the years, he could still see her, a new freshman at Hawaiʻi State University. He been a sophomore football player testing the waters of being macho.

She’d been walking the mall, pathways that were lined by parallel trees creating a tunnel affect under their green colored hoods. There were grassy knolls in which to sit, benches to stop for a break, and all along the outer edge of the trees were concrete buildings. Adam had been sitting with his football buddies talking about a party they’d all been to the prior weekend. Adam had been so drunk, he could barely remember what he’d done, but there were flashes of a gorgeous girl though no details remained. It made him feel embarrassed he’d gotten so wasted, so he avoided the banter with the guys and spied Megan walking toward them, a piece of paper in hand.

He’d been taken in by her ingénue appearance and appreciated her angelic smile. Her rich golden hair had been slicked straight and reached midway down her back. Her hazel eyes, adorned with only the natural color of her light skin, turned at the corners when she smiled. Her smile had knocked him clear off the back of the bench where he’d been sitting; he’d had to steady himself. She’d been wearing hip hugging pants and tight top, and he remembered because he could recall her curves.

Oblivious to actually feeling timid around a group full of overgrown jocks, Megan approached the bench where they gathered. “Excuse me?”

“You lost?” a fellow teammate had asked, his tone mocking.

“Actually, yes,” she replied and arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Could any of you point me toward Anderson Hall?” His friend had backed off, and Adam had been impressed by this female who wasn’t intimidated by a bunch of overgrown jocks.

Another of his friends, Michael, the one notorious for thinking about his next lay, spoke up. “Sure. I’ll take you.” He’d climbed from the bench and stood beside her. “Anyone want to come?”

“I have to hit the library anyway,” Adam had lied trying to seem cool. “I’ll walk with you.” He gave his remaining friends a quick jock version of a handshake and followed Mike and the beautiful blonde. It was then he’d noticed the brunette. He’d learn her name was Alexandra, Megan’s best friend. Michael attempted to charm Megan strolling ahead of Adam who walked beside Alex.

Unsure of what to say, he’d walked in silence. From the corner of his eye, he’d checked her out. She was also a knock-out. Her dark hair streaked with red highlights was wavy around her face and dropped below her shoulders. Her green eyes framed with dark lashes were downcast as they walked, looking up every so often to check their progress on the path. Her body, rounded in all the right places, filled out her clothing. She was so pretty, Adam couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence. Looking at her, though, Adam felt a tug of something familiar and reached for it but wasn’t sure how to grasp onto the hazy feeling.

By then, they reached the library, Adam hesitated to leave, but for the sake of appearances had to follow through. He slapped his hand against Michael’s which turned into a handshake, “See you at practice,” he’d said. “Ladies,” he nodded to each.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Megan had asked before he walked away.

“Adam.”

“I’m Megan,” she said and offered her hand. She looked up into his eyes and flashed him a heart stopping smile. Megan introduced him to Alex, but he’d barely paid attention. He couldn’t concentrate but for the feeling that his hand was on fire from her touch.

Adam stared at the page in front of him. He watched the words come back into focus, pulling him from his memory. He picked up his drink, took a sip, and returned to Megan’s words.

If I remember correctly, you had a thing for Alex at first.

Adam smiled rereading it and replaced the sifter on the coaster.

I’d been so jealous you’d chosen to walk with Alex instead of me. I was the one who noticed you right away. It had been my idea to coerce you into helping me find my class. I knew where it was, but it seemed the best way to get your attention.

You’d been sitting on the back of the bench surrounded by other football cronies. And you barely noticed me when I came to ask directions. I’d told Alex prior to approaching the group I could get you to talk to me. She’d said you didn’t seem like that type of guy. I was so irritated that she’d been right. She told me later that day, after I’d pestered her to know what you talked about on the walk to the library where we’d parted ways, and she eventually told me you hadn’t said a word. She’d been right. You’d been too nice to try to get into either of our pants with slick words you didn’t mean.

After that day, before our first date, I looked for glimpses of you everywhere on campus, but the only place I could find you was at the practice field, so I took to dragging Alex with me to football practice every day so I could watch you. Oh, the sight of you dropping back and throwing the ball as though it was an extension of yourself, so smooth and perfect. It was such a turn on. I laugh remembering how I couldn’t stop talking about you. Poor Alex, she just listened and supported my infatuation.

He set the book in his lap, picked up his scotch, took another sip and closed his eyes. More interested in Alex? What could she have been thinking? He set the book on the table, stood and walked into the kitchen.

When had a monster started growing out of the sink, he wondered? He glanced around, walked the main floor of the house realizing everything was in disarray. Megan is scolding me from heaven, he decided with a smile and realized his ability to smile when he thought about her had only begun to happen.

He glanced at his watch. Alex was probably on her way over. “Shit,” he muttered. There was no way he wanted Alex to be witness to his weakness. He went from room to room and picked up stray items, threw away junk mail and trash. As the rooms began to hint of their original selves, he felt a shift in his attitude. The constant pressure that weighed on him over the last year eased.

Adam went to the kitchen and tackled the messy sink. The hot water steamed the window that afforded a view of the stream behind the house. Though the blue-gray night obscured the view and instead offered a strange reflection of him in the misty glass pane. He washed the dishes, scrubbing the food, rinsing, and placing them in the dishwasher and thought of Megan standing in that same spot with a daughter on each side. He and Trey clearing the dinner dishes away from the table, teasing the girls until they were all laughing, and the dishes remaining undone.

Adam wondered if he had envisioned the complete happiness they would share together as a family when he first knew Megan was the woman with whom he wanted to share his life. He knew for certain he’d never envisioned the heartache.

The night he’d realized that he wanted Megan to be his wife he’d taken her to a tiny little Italian restaurant on the edge of the HSU campus. It had been a cliché little Italian place with the red checked tablecloths and the half-burned candlesticks in recycled cans with sand to hold the taper. They’d passed the time getting to know one another, sharing their goals and laughing about stories each had of their life. It was as though they had been created to share the other’s space. In the candlelit moment of their camaraderie, it dawned on Adam why he’d been so nervous about asking her out, about making a good impression. Subconsciously, he’d already known: this was the woman with whom he was going to share his life. He hadn’t known it would only be part of it.

Adam finished the dishes, wiping the counter around the sink with a cloth. He looked around the kitchen and family room at his handiwork, a sense of accomplishment made him smile. He decided he needed a weekly cleaning service and made a note to call the next day. He was attaching it to the refrigerator with a magnet when the doorbell rang.

He opened the wide door. “Since when did you start ringing the bell?” The sound of his voice was harsh to his own ears and he chastised himself; he didn’t want to be that way with Alex. He didn’t want to restart in anger. There was just so much history, so much bitterness and resentment that had built walls between them.

“I didn’t think you’d find it very appropriate for me to just walk in.” Alex’s smiled a quiet smile that didn’t touch her pretty green eyes.

Adam had the distinct feeling she wanted to be somewhere else other than his doorstep. He supposed he didn’t blame her after what he’d done at the funeral. He moved away from the doorway to allow her entry. “Sorry. That was a stupid comment considering.”

“Right.”

“Can I offer you a drink?” He asked as she passed him. He noticed her light gardenia scent and then frowned.

“I’m not sure,” she walked into the kitchen.

Adam followed her and scolded himself for looking at her backside in her shapely black pants. He shook his head. Get it together, Kāne.

She stopped and turned at the bar and looked at him as he walked into the kitchen, the look of an internal battle waged apparent on her face. ‘Thank you.” She nodded as though giving herself permission. “I’ll have what you are having.”

“Scotch?” Adam stood in the center of the kitchen and waited for her reply. He was unsure of how to proceed with her and felt ridiculous because of it. He could deal with multimillion-dollar projects, negotiate with owners and corporations, wheel and deal with architects, suppliers and subcontractors. But being alone with Alex, he felt as though he were walking on ice, treading a very slippery slope. They had never coexisted in peace, their battles epic. He hadn’t wanted to seek her advice, to reopen old wounds, but he didn’t know where else to turn.

“A scotch would be perfect. Neat. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away sooner. I just, well, the life of a teacher is never convenient.” She stood at the end of the counter looking as though she were as unsure as he felt.

Adam finished pouring her a scotch. “Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like to go into the living room?”

“This is fine.” She chose a barstool facing the kitchen.

Adam placed the drink in front of her but remained in the kitchen on the opposite side of the counter from her.

She was reticent. Adam wondered where her thoughts were as her gaze drifted with the waves in the glass of amber liquid she swirled. Then she broke the silence and said, “I really miss her, Adam.”

Adam turned away from her and walked to the kitchen sink. What could he say? “I know. Perfectly.” He turned back to her, then, leaned against the counter. He crossed his legs at the ankles and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I,” she started and then stopped again.

“What is it?” Adam paused. He watched her stare at the glass in her hand and continue to swirl the liquid around into a whirlpool. A piece of her mahogany hair, styled so that it shone and waved against her tanned skin, fell forward as she looked down. She pulled the strand off of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She looked up to pin him with her emerald gaze.

The look connected with his spine and threaded it with a new strand. Something confusing. He’d always viewed Alex like the snake in the Garden of Eden, whispering in the ear of Megan, tempting her away from him. At least that was his justification for accusing her of trying to break up his marriage. Now, as she looked at him, and he at her, heat spread through his body chasing away excuses for all the reasons he’d blamed her. It was a heat he didn’t want to acknowledge, a heat built from memories; those memories weren’t her fault.

“Maybe you were right,” Alex stated and stood.

“Right about what?” He walked into the sitting room to retrieve his glass, needing to do something with his body, move, spend the energy moving through him. His thoughts were not sane.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

He turned and looked at her. Her nervousness perplexed him. “Alex,” he said with more control than he thought he possessed at that moment. “I asked you to come, remember. I’m the one who needs your help.”

She sat again, but Adam had the distinct impression she would bolt toward the door with any sudden movement. He treaded with light steps and careful words. “Would you like to see the journals?”

“I should have mentioned this earlier. But I didn’t.”

Adam waited.

She stared at her drink, then lifted it to her lips and sipped.

His gaze fixated on her lips, and his stomach fluttered thinking about them. And kisses. Moonlight. More.

He looked away.

She set the class back on the counter. “Megan left me a letter. She wrote it before she died. You mentioned that there was something strange about her journal entries.”

“Wait. What?” The disorienting effect of her admission on his mind had to be written on his face. “Why didn’t you say anything about the letter?”

She stopped swirling the glass with her hands, and her brows arched over her eyes, incredulous with his last question. He thought maybe they looked like mirror images, both of them stubborn and defensive. “Because it was my letter,” she said and then her brows dropped, coming together with ire, “and why should I? Because, like you, I didn’t think anything of it. I’m sure there all kinds of reasons I didn’t have to tell you Megan wrote me a letter.”

“So like you, Alex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stood. She shook her head and reached for her bag. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for one second?” He asked. He hadn’t wanted to fight with her, but here they were right back to where the path they tread always led them.

“So like you, Adam,” she parroted back at him.

He stared at her.

She stared right back.

The warmth that spread through him, the sudden urge he had to take her in his arms, wasn’t welcome. He didn’t like the vision he had of kissing her until she didn’t have any fight left in her. And he certainly didn’t like that he felt when he shouldn’t. He was a widower. He blinked the images from his mind, focused on the infuriating, obstinate woman in front of him. He just missed his wife; that was all.

Alex took a deep breath the tension draining from her back and shoulders. She sank back onto the stool. “She did the same thing in her letter.” Her anger was gone.

“Did what?”

“She underlined words in the letter too.”

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 3The Letters She Left Behind available 1/14/20

CLWalters Blog RSS

The Letters She Left Behind: Free Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

(Honolulu, 2006)

A silhouette darkened the student essay Alex was reading. She looked up from the typed page at a figure whose face was obscured by the sun. The outline of the shadowy form was male: tall, built and sinewy, the muscles of his frame outlined by the sunlight. She shaded her eyes with one hand and held the essay she’d been grading against her lap to keep the soft breeze from blowing the pages away. She squinted at the figure. “Can I help you?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Alex’s breath caught at the familiar voice, deep and resonant. She’d have recognized it anywhere. “I find that hard to believe.” She looked down and hoped she sounded detached. It wasn’t how she felt. Her heart raced now that she knew it was Adam, just like it always had. But instead of anger, this time the bridge between them had been burned by death.

Adam Kāne crouched down in front of her, and she met his gaze. Still the perfect picture of a man. His chestnut-hued skin, the handsome Hawaiian features, large chocolate eyes and a strong nose framed his face. His lips were the perfect shape, kissable, masculine, appealing, but what undid her – always – was the dimple when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling. The strength of his arms and legs were obvious in his cotton pull over shirt and his blue jeans, both taut in his present position. He still looked the athlete, even at forty-seven.

Alex suppressed the urge to reach out and run her hand along the dark skin of his forearm to feel the velvet of his skin but resisted. So inappropriate, she thought and shook her head.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” he said.

“Why not? After the last time we spoke?” She made a noise of dismay that caught in her nose.

He was quiet, then asked, “May I?”  He nodded to the space on the bench next to her.

Alex lowered her foot to the ground and scooted a fraction. She looked away from Adam as he sat. The outside of his thigh pressed against hers and the heat of his body burned through the layer of skirt into her skin.

The significance of this particular bench was not lost to her, though she was sure he hadn’t made the connection. It was where they had officially met so long ago. He had been the all-American quarterback then. The only Hawaiian quarterback to lead Hawaii State University to two major bowls.

He leaned forward, the shirt stretched across his back, his elbows rested on his knees. He still wore his wedding ring and twisted it around his finger with his thumb. He cleared his throat but didn’t talk.

Alex looked away and waited for him to speak. She knew he would when he’d worked out what it was he wanted tell her. So, she waited, staring out at the trees beyond the walkway in front of her. Students milled about in a rainbow of colors, but she didn’t focus on any of them more curious as to what Adam was here to say. The last time she’d seen him, he’d berated her at Megan’s funeral. That had been almost a year ago, time she’d spent running from her grief alone.

Last year, she’d been so consumed by the haze of working, numb to anything other than the refuge of being busy, she hadn’t had time to focus on her own pain. And after what Adam said, she hadn’t had them - her family - either. While she usually enjoyed her summer off and spent the months traveling, this summer had provided little more than free time to spend grieving the loss of her best friend and life as it had once been. The last four weeks back at work provided the relief from the loneliness and the opportunity to bury herself in the monotony of her existing world at school. It was difficult to believe that November would mark one year since Megan passed.     

“I owe you an apology,” he said breaking the silence between them.

Alex looked at the green pen she was rolling back and forth between her fingers. Her eyebrows arched a moment in disbelief.

“I said some terrible things to you, Alex. Things I’m ashamed to have said.”

“But things you believed nonetheless.”  Alex turned her head to look at him.

He scrutinized his hands, calloused from manual labor of his youth. They still looked like quarterback hands, strong and wide with long tapered fingers.

“Do you still believe what you said that day?”

Adam hesitated.

She noticed the planes and ridges of his back and wanted to run her hand along the muscle to feel his strength. She was stupid longing for something she would never have.

He turned his left hand over and looked at it. The gold of his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon sun peeking through the trees. “It was wrong of me to say them.”

Alex shoved the essay and pen inside her satchel. “I guess there’s nothing left to say then.” She stood to go.

He grabbed her wrist.

She turned to look at him. His touch was gentle, and her skin burned beneath his touch. Though she was fuming, his brown eyes kept her from yanking her hand away. His gaze held a look of regret, of anguish. She had never seen that look in their depths before. Even in the heat of their best battles, she had never seen anything other than control and at times amusement. Her heart quickened and her resolve faltered.

“Please stay,” he said. He pulled her with a steady pressure back toward him.

She might have jumped in his lap with enough coaxing. Instead, she wrenched her hand free and returned to the spot she’d vacated, but she didn’t get comfortable, keeping to the edge of the bench.

“I did believe my words at the time. Wait, let me finish,” he said when she moved to stand again. He grabbed her hand, holding it with his strong one, but all Alex could feel was the gentle stroking of his thumb against her palm. The motion, the contact with his skin against her own ignited a longing she’d repressed. A million bolts of lightning electrocuted her lower back.

He continued, “A year can change a person and his perspective.”

Alex couldn’t fault him for that truth. She had spent the last year wondering if his vitriol had been right.

“My anger that day was wrong, and I’m sorry for the things I said. They have no significance anymore.”

She pulled her hand free and turned on him. “You self-centered, self-righteous, son-of-a-bitch,” she said. The venom of her words hit their mark when he leaned back. “No significance?” she continued. “Let me call you a bastard and then accuse you of trying to break up my marriage because you didn’t want your best friend to be happy. And while I’m at it, let me rip away the only family you’ve known for the last thirty years.” Alex noticed his jaw flex. She had struck a nerve. It had always been this way between them. “Is this why you were looking for me, Adam?  To rub it in. To throw that day in my face and make me feel worse?”

He looked away. “No.”  The tight sound of his voice hinted of his strained patience.

“Then what is it?  I have things to do.”

“I found something.”

Panic seized her. She could think of only one thing that would have him come looking for her after the way he’d shared his true feelings for her the last time they were together. Did he know? Alex remained silent afraid to give away her fear, but she held his eyes with her own when he reconnected with her gaze. She could easily feign disinterest. She’d been doing it for years.

“Look, Alex. I know things have always been,” he paused looking for a word, “strained between us, but I need your help.”

“You?  The great Adam Kāne. Hawaii Businessman of the year five times running.” Sarcasm laced each word. “How could you need the help of a lowly college professor?”

“It’s for Megan.”

As she anticipated his response, she’d been brainstorming possible retorts to whatever he might say, but Adam’s words stopped her short. Megan was all she needed to hear to calm her. The tears pooled in her eyes and blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t cry in front of anyone. She still could not believe that her best friend, so much her sister, was gone.

Alex had met Megan when she and her family had moved to California. She had walked into her Kindergarten classroom afraid and alone. California had seemed a new country to her five-year-old mentality. She’d entered a classroom to cold stares from the other kids who didn’t really know any different how to behave toward strangers. The only kindred spirit, a little blond girl who’d come over to show Alex her new shoes. A kinship had been born. She and Megan had been inseparable from that moment on even attending college together on the very campus where she now taught.

Alex fiddled with the black leather satchel in her lap. She waited for Adam to continue, her anger simmering.

“She left me journals and letters. Journals she’d been writing since she had Emma.”

Alex felt the panic again. “I know.” She’d known they existed, but the secrets they contained were a mystery. She wondered if Megan had included the one secret that would prove Adam right.

“You knew about them?” His eyes narrowed in anger.

“I assumed you did too. You were married to her.”

Adam stood and ran his hand through his short black hair the other hand rested on his hip as he paced. He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She nodded, accepting his apology, but surprised by it as well. This was new territory for them.

“I did, but I didn’t think about them until I rediscovered them in her office a few months after she died; I couldn’t bring myself to read them until a few days ago. They’re like reopening old wounds reliving memories of our relationship.”

The panic hit Alex again and nausea gripped her. She blinked to right the world that seemed to be spinning. “What does that have to do with me?”  She measured her words. She watched him move his feet. He’d put his hands in his front pockets which pulled at the front of his jeans.

Her stomach twisted.

“I don’t think anything; that’s not exactly why I’m here. I found something that doesn’t make sense to me. I thought maybe you’d know what it is. You knew her so well.”

“What is it?”

“She’s underlined words. At first, I thought they were just underlined for emphasis, but the more I’ve read, the stranger the words. Some are nonsensical. We both know Megan was too deliberate to do something that didn’t make sense.”

She thought about her own letter. “Even toward the end?” Alex asked remembering Megan in her last days fighting the cancer. It made her feel heavy with sadness. Megan’s coherence had been thin.

“I began when she first started writing them. I don’t think so.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his feet wide apart. He looked vulnerable, like a boy, but trying not to be. “I’d hoped you might take a look at the entries – you might know what Megan was doing.”

Chills ran a course along her skin. She wondered if it was a good time to tell him about her letter. “Do you have them with you now?”  Maybe it was a coincidence. She was overreacting. She was good at that too.

Adam shook his head no. “Can you come to the house?”  He looked down at the ground. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A memory of him surfaced in Alex’s mind: she’d left the library to go to her next class. Adam had been waiting for her, his mannerisms of today reminiscent of that day so long ago. He’d looked nervous and a bit unsure of himself- a rarity for him. Though he was humble, he didn’t lack self-confidence.

Alex hesitated, though she wasn’t sure why. She had nothing to worry about with Adam. He hated her. This olive branch was for Megan. His grief. “When?”

“What about now?”

“I can’t. I have a class in thirty minutes,” she said looking down at her watch. “What about later?”

Adam nodded. “Thank you.”

After agreeing on a time and offering an awkward farewell, Alex watched him walk away, his stride assured and confident. He put a hand in his pocket and pulled something from his jeans. Then he disappeared around Jensen Hall, a brick building across the mall of trees.

Alex went to her office to spend a few moments trying to catch her breath. She leaned against the closed door and shut her eyes. Images of Adam reeled through her mind’s eye like a slideshow. His smile – that dimple. His adoration of Megan. Holding his children. And even deeper and further, his hands on her. She shook her head and pushed away from the door and set the satchel on her desk while collecting what she would need for her next class.

She couldn’t let him do this to her – not again. She couldn’t allow Adam to break her resolve to move forward, to move ahead with her life.

Like you’ve been doing any moving forward, she heard her inner voice say.

I have, she snapped at the voice in her head.

When you stop lying to yourself, then you might begin moving forward, the voice answered.

A sudden sense of loss so glaring hit Alex, she was blinded by the ache of it. She sunk into her desk chair. Her inner voice was right - she hadn’t finished her grieving process. About Megan. But also, about Adam. Alex didn’t know if she could move forward until she faced Adam with the truth. But that, she knew, she could ever do.

Next Week: Chapter 2The Letters She Left Behind Available 1/14/20

CLWalters Blog RSS