Amber Laura's Blog, page 8

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Four

The next morning, the first thing Cat did after pouring herself a cup of coffee was to search the internet for videos on how to properly take off a cabinet door. Though she hated admitting, even to herself, that she couldn’t do something as simple as that without guidance, she also wasn’t interested in having two broken doors to replace.

Matthew was right; there were scores of videos at her disposal. And much to her chagrin, they seemed pretty easy. Still, she watched four of them before taking herself to task. Pulling out her drill once more this time she checked her bits for the right size and, without any difficulty, managed to unscrew the hinges. Holding the door safely in her hands, she grinned.

“’Atta girl,” she pronounced, setting it down carefully on her countertop. It stared back at her in all its undamaged glory. “See! That wasn’t so hard. You’ve got the makings for house renovation yet.”

Wiping her hands together in a self-congratulatory way, she shuffled into her livingroom. Blowing on her third coffee of the day, she plunked down on her couch. The blank screen of her television set stared back at her uninvitingly. She glanced furtively at her phone. There were no notifications—no calls, no texts, no social media comments… She took a big gulp of coffee. Leaning back against her cushions, she felt her gaze roam over to her computer—but there wasn’t really much of anything she wanted to do with that, either.

She drummed her fingers against the ribbed wood of her armchair. She set her coffee cup down on the polished oak of her end table. “Now what?” she wondered to the empty apartment. “God, you really need a cat. Then at least you could pretend you were taking to it instead of yourself.” Before she could help herself, she looked at her phone again. No one had tried to contact her.

Pretty much the status quo as of late. Her stomach knotted at the thought.

Groaning, she let her head drop back against the top of her cushion. In a matter of twelve or so hours the weekend she’d so been looking forward to—binge watching a TV show and never getting out of her pajamas—seemed endlessly boring. Just a bunch of hours to get through.

“Oh, who are you trying to kid? It hadn’t actually sounded that good yesterday,” she scolded herself. “Watching other people live fun, active lives was only going to further reinforce who utterly lame yours is.”

And really, with pep-talks like that, who wouldn’t have a good start to their weekend?

 

 

By Sunday afternoon, Cat was almost ready to go back to work. The four walls of her apartment were practically screaming at her. She itched to do something—go to a coffee shop or a restaurant, or hell, even just go shopping around the mall.

Except… going out alone held little appeal. It felt no different than making a solitary meal in her own kitchen and sitting down to eat; at least at home she didn’t have to see other patrons out with their family and friends, laughing and talking and generally feeling like they belonged. At home, she wasn’t forced to feel so conspicuous about her aloneness; she could pretend she preferred it that way.

At home she was only bored.

She could have called her mom, Nancy, of course. While mother and daughter were close, Cat had found herself oddly reluctant to reach out to her.

Maybe because not one single person had tried to get in contact with her.

Ironically, the only thing she had to look forward to was that damn cabinet door. All of Saturday and Sunday, every time Cat walked into her kitchen a fissure of anticipation swept over her. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement, but she found herself inexplicably eager for Monday afternoon to arrive. If nothing else, it was something to shake the ordinary routine of a life that had grown stale.

Which was probably the most depressing part of it all.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, either. All through her college years, though she’d sometimes stop and wonder what it would have been like if she’d gone away for school, she’d never quite found she regretted staying at home.

Her mom was here.

Everything she knew was here.

She’d had friends here.

It was only recently, probably when Ashley had moved to the city that she’d realized, rather belatedly, that something was missing. And it wasn’t just Ashley. Ashely had merely been the catalyst, the presence (or lack thereof) which had thrust this acknowledgement to the forefront of Cat’s mind.

“I need a distraction,” Cat mused. She was sitting on her bedroom floor, reorganizing her bookshelf. But she didn’t know what that would be.

So, with these thoughts rolling along aimlessly through her mind, by the time Ashley called her Sunday afternoon, Cat practically raced for her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey girl!”

Plopping down on her livingroom sofa, Cat smiled. “So. Tell me everything. How’s the new job?”

Ashley didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s great. Hectic and I’m still training, but it’s great—”

“And obviously you’re making friends.” Cat winced at the words, which had popped out unguardedly.

If Ashley heard the latent resentment in her friends tone, she chose to ignore it. “Yeah, a couple of girls at the office are around my age. The first Friday of every month they go out for cocktails after work.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You know, it was a pretty good time.” Ashley laughed cutely. “I mean, mostly it’s a way to vent out some frustrations with people who get it, but the girls are nice.”

“Yeah? How’s Tyler enjoying it down there?” Tyler was Ashley’s long-term boyfriend.

Ashley sighed. “Well, he hasn’t found a job yet…”

A terrible sort of glee filled Cat’s person at the words. Huh. So maybe Ashley’s life was perfect, after all.

“But there’s loads of opportunities down here. I know he’ll find something soon.”

“I’m sure.”

“But what about you?” Ashley asked. “How’s life at home?”

“It’s…” For a moment, Cat wasn’t sure what to say. The same? Totally predictable and exactly what you’d imagine? That felt way too close for comfort. For some reason, Cat didn’t want to admit that her life was something direly less than glamorous. Not when Ashley had just landed her dream job. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, nothing major…” without quite meaning to, Cat’s eyes flicked toward her kitchen, where the edge of her newly disconnected door lay on the countertop. Her stomach clenched at the sight again. “I did a little redecorating this weekend.”

Ashley snorted. “Whoa, hang on to your hats. Party animal.”

Cat frowned. She knew Ashley hadn’t meant to be insulting, only her words were uncannily close to Cat’s own thoughts. For a moment she considered telling Ashley just what had happened to her weekend, she wondered for a split second how her friend would react if Cat told her how she’d chucked her cabinet door at the wall, causing it to snap in half…

But of course she wasn’t going to tell her any of that. It was embarrassing. Mortifying and all together, well, childish.

In fact, Cat refrained from making any mention to her disastrous kitchen fiasco this weekend. It probably would have made for a good story, even with some of the, er, facts omitted. She could have smoothed over the broken door and plunged instead into it—if nothing else, it would have given her a few talking points. But the words died on her lips.

“Yeah, honestly I didn’t do much this weekend. Lazed around.”

“Well, good for you. We all need weekends like that.”

Cat’s frown deepened. All of her weekends were like that lately.

“Yeah, I guess.” She was starting to regret having asked Ashley to call her. Instead of cheering her up, it was only highlighting what she was becoming all too uncomfortably aware of: just how pathetic her life was turning out to be.

For God’s sake she wasn’t even thirty yet.

“Oh, did I mention—”

“Ashley, what kind of hobbies did I used to enjoy?”

“Huh?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cat could hear the thick confusion cloud her friend’s voice at her abrupt change of topic. She shrugged. “My hobbies—what are they?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, what did we used to do together?”

“What?”

“Stop asking me that!” Cat was mildly surprised at the vehemence in her voice.

“Okay. Well…let me think.” That was hardly promising. “Oh, I know! Reading. You love to—”

“No.”

“No?”

“Nothing solitary.”

“Oh.” Ashley cleared her throat. “Okay…”

Another bout of tense silence passed. Cat waited.

“What about volleyball. Remember we played on that indoor league for a couple winters.”

Cat felt tears prick her eyes. Much like her violent outburst with the kitchen cabinet, the feel of them pulsing against her eyelids not only surprised Cat they outright shocked her. But damned if she wasn’t about to start crying again.

Great. Volleyball.

To be fair, Ashley was right. It was far from a solitary event. Only—it required five other people. Five seemed like an awfully high number. At which estimation, her stomach dropped. Totally pathetic.

“What else?” Cat didn’t even care anymore that she sounded desperate.

Volleyball was definitely out. For one thing, both Ashley and Carly used to be on the team, but as they’d moved away, Cat would have to find replacements for them… and really, the only other person she’d known well on their team was Mariah and she’d always been more Carly’s friend.

“First, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m just…” Cat swallowed hard. “I’m feeling a little…bored lately. That’s all.”

Ashley was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t I come up next weekend for a visit?”

“Thanks, but that’s kind of the problem.”

“I’m the problem?”

“No!” Cat laughed. “God, no. It’s just—”

“Come on, Cat,” Ashley prodded. “Don’t hold out on me.”

“I don’t have any friends anymore.”

A static, unnerved sort of silence answered her.

Cat laughed. It had a shaky sound. “Please, don’t think I’m some pathetic…”

“Oh, shut up. We’ve been friends we were six years old,” Ashley informed her. “I’m never going to think you’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I won’t. I’m just…surprised, that’s all.”

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“Because you left me?” Cat’s attempt at a joke fell flat.

“Because I hate the hurt I heard in your voice just now.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m not interested in your pity.”

“Good, because I’m not giving it to you.”

“I’m fine. Really Ashley.”

“So. Hobbies.” Ashley’s voice sounded determined. “Yeah. Okay. Get a pen and paper. We’re going to figure this out.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Shut up. Just get a pen and paper. Ready?”

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Three

It was nearing eight o’clock by the time Cat swung her small car, for the second time, into the parking spot across the street from the hardware store. Checking her radio clock, she winced. In her rush, she hadn’t considered what time the place closed. Peering hopefully up at the glass-front doors of McBoy’s Hardware & Supplies, the store’s OPEN sign stared back at her. Thank God.

With a sigh, she unbuckled her seatbelt. At least that was going her way. Easing out the vehicle, she hurried quickly across the street, her fingers yanking the door open with probably more force than was absolutely necessary. Keeping her eyes downcast, she kept her eyes from wandering to her right, where the check-out counter stood. It was mortifying enough, coming back here twice in one day. But to have the same staff member ring her up…though, to be fair, she doubted there had been a change-over in staff in the two and some odd hours since she’d last been there.

Marching down the first aisle she came upon, she stalked her prey. Coming up on a wall hung with an assortment of cabinetry, she felt an instant rush of both relief and fear. She’d found what she was looking for, but what if it wasn’t here? Her stomach knotted as her eyes roamed over the items on display. Taking out her phone, she glanced at the picture she’d taken before leaving her apartment—a close-up of one of her kitchen cupboard doors—the one that directly mirrored the one she’d well, snapped in two. Glancing at the photo earnestly, she tried to compare it to cabinets lined up and down the aisle. She squinted. She glared…but no matter the scrutiny, she knew when she’d been beat. In fact, she knew she’d been beat all day.

She wasn’t interested in another situation like the one with the screw.

“And really, what are the odds that I would magically pick the exact replica of the door that used to cover my snacks,” she muttered to herself, her fingers feeling the wooden grain of the door before her. It had a rounded edge.

“After all, I thought the screw I bought earlier looked right and we see where that led—”

“Can I help you with something?”

At the question, Cat felt her shoulders stiffen. She’d been right. There had definitely not been a shift change. That voice belonged to the same gentlemen who’d checked her out earlier. Bracing for the flicker of familiarity when he realized she was the same person he’d checked-out not two hours before (because it’s not like the place was so hopping with business he’d be bound to forget), she slowly turned around, a grim smile marring her face.

His face registered neither surprise, recognition, or really even interest.

“Yes. I’m actually, well, I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m looking for…” She could feel the tips of her fingers running up and down her collarbone. “That is…”

Spit it out, Cat. But other than a slight lift of one dark eyebrow, he didn’t interrupt her babbling attempt at speech.

Urgently now, she flapped one wrist in the air. “That is, I’m looking for a door,”

“I figured.”

“For my kitchen.”

The smallest of smiles played at his mouth. A tiny dimple formed in his left cheek. “Well, you’re in the right place.”

She squirmed under his patience gaze, as he waited for her to explain herself. “But I’m not sure exactly what door I’m looking for. I mean, I have a picture of it. I just don’t know…” Ugh. She was sounded stupider and stupider by the second.

He held up a hand, thankfully warding her off. “I think I understand. Doing a remodel?” But before she could clarify that, he nodded down the aisle. “This is everything we have in stock, but if you’re looking for something else, we can pretty much order anything in…even custom specifications.”

She blinked. “Well, umm…I was hoping you’d have one of these?” With a grimace, she held out her phone for his inspection.

Looking at the picture, he smiled. “Oh, sure that’s a basic free shaker cabinet door. We have a couple of different options here in the store.” He was already craning his neck, trying to locate them.

“You do?” Her eyes widened with relief and disbelief. “Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure…you know, it looked similar to a couple of these doors here, but I wasn’t sure if they’d be exactly the same—”

Now it was his eyes that widened. Holding up a hand, he shook his head. “Exactly the same? Do you mean…”

Hefting one shoulder, she said: “I need to replace one.”

“Oh. I see.” That didn’t sound promising. He cleared his throat. “What, eh, what are the dimensions of the door you need replaced?”

This time, Cat was ready with an answer. Turning her phone back toward her, she flipped through the photos until she located the ones she needed. Flipping the phone back to the man, she announced: “I figured this was the safety way…” It was a picture of her front cabinet door, with a tape measure running horizontally from one end to the other. “I took length, depth, and width…just swipe right to see the others.”

With patent hesitation, he reached for her phone. His mouth turned down in a frown as he studied first one photo and then the next. “I see.”

Cat fidgeted impatiently while he looked. “And? Do you have any of that door?”

He blew out an exaggerated breath. “Yeah, no I don’t think so…” Still, to his credit, the man looked, his look taking carefully inventory. But alas: “No,” he finally admitted. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have that in stock.”

Cat swallowed. “Oh.”

“Not that I’m that surprised,” he admitted, giving her phone back. “It’s an odd width.”

Cat felt her teeth raze over her lip. “Right. Okay. Well…”

“Hold on,” he said, holding up his hand. “Let me check some manufacturers websites. We may just get lucky yet.” With a wave of his fingers, he urged her forward.

Cat didn’t need to be told twice.

But five fruitless minutes later, she heard his fourth of fifth sigh as he surfed yet another website’s product listing…

“Do you know when these cabinets were originally put in?” He asked glancing at her quickly.

Cat shrugged. “No. I mean…I think the house was built in the forties.”

There was another sigh. She wondered if he knew how loud they were. “I’m going to guess they’re original to the house.”

“Oh.” Cat wasn’t sure what that meant. When he didn’t immediately respond, she ventured. “Is that a bad thing?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “No, not necessarily. It’s just, it might help explain the door’s size, which is both taller and narrower than today’s standard design.”

She nodded heavily. That didn’t sound like a good thing.

He glanced at her set features. “Hey, we can always custom order one. That’s not out of the realm of possibilities here. It’s just—”

“It’s expensive,” Cat guessed.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Usually.”

“I see.”

“But I’m not seeing any other stock cabinets in your size,” he sigh, gesturing toward the computer screen over his cash register.

Cat tried to smile. Luckily, at that moment the tinkling sound of the bell over the store’s door chimed, signaling the arrival of a new customer. Glancing up, the man smiled in greeting before turning back to Cat.

“Can I ask, does this door have anything to do with the single screw you bought earlier today?”

Cat blinked. She hadn’t expected the question. Up to now, she’d been under the illusion he’d forgotten all about her. Certainly, he hadn’t made any other reference up to this point.

“Oh, so you remember that.”

He grinned slightly. “It was two hours ago, not two weeks ago.”

Cat squirmed. “Right.”

The man grinned a little wider. “What happened?”

Cat squirmed, her eyes dropping down the counter, where her fingers were clenched tightly together. “It broke.”

“Kind of figured that.”

She shook her head. “It, ah, it snapped it two pieces.”

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw his brown eyes widen with surprise. Worse, she heard the soft patter of footsteps, which belonged to the customer who’d just entered, pause at the wording. Good. Just great.

“I see.” But it was clear from his tone of voice that the man most certainly did not see anything.

Shrugging, Cat tried to explain. “The hinge was broken, and so I thought—”

“So you thought you’d buy a screw,” he said, cutting her off. “But you bought the wrong size.”

“The patronizing note in your voice is duly noted,” she responded. “But yes, you happen to be correct.”

He grinned. “Well, don’t let the shame eat you alive.”

She gasped. “Excuse m—’

“It happens to everyone.”

“What does?”

“Home improvement mistakes. It’s part of the DIY gimmick.”

She felt her lips stiffen with silent outrage.

“But I do have one question still,” he persisted, his eyes twinkling “You said the cabinet door snapped in two? Well, a screw wouldn’t have done that much damage…”

Cat felt her body enflame with the mild intimation. Rounding her shoulders, she was searching for the most plausible answer when a third voice entered the conversation.

“Well, really Matt. What kind of question is that anyway?” A woman asked, coming into view to stand beside Cat. “Is this an interrogation?”

He gave the woman, who must have been pushing seventy, an impatient glance. “No, I was just…”

Cat held up her hands, heeding off any more interruptions. “Look, I’ll pay whatever it takes. Custom-order it if you have to but I need another door. I need another of the that door.”

At her insistence tone, all conversation died away—two pairs of eyes watched her steadily, curiously.

Cat bit her lip. “The thing is, I’m a renter and, and if my landlord knew what happened, well…” she shrugged fatalistically.

“Oh dear,” the older woman said, sending ‘Matt’ a distressed look. “Of course, we have to help her.”

“We’re trying,” he informed her through his teeth.

“Good. Then that settles it.” Turning her large blue-eyed gaze on Cat, the older woman’s frightfully pink painted lips smiled. “Matthew here actually does some wood-working. Perhaps he can look at your door.”

“No. No,” Matthew repeated, his gaze never leaving the older woman’s. He turned to Cat. “That’s just a hobby.”

“He’s very good.”

“He’s also not a professional.”

“Well, really,” the older woman said, shaking her head. “What’s the worst that could happen? It doesn’t turn out and she has to buy a customized door anyway?” She turned back to Cat, who was watching all of this with her mouth slightly agape. “What would you really lose? A couple days.”

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “Margaret—”

“That’s Grandma to you,” she retorted quickly, her gaze moving from Cat’s to his. “And I’ll thank you not to sass me.”

Cat smothered a grin. Poor Matt looked positively harassed. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Margaret and Cat said in unison.

Matt switched his eyes to Cat. “If you want, I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything. It might not turn out.”

Cat rarely felt stupid. But she did at that moment. The conversation was progressing in such an unexpected way. “You mean, you’ll make me a door.”

His lips thinned. “Yeah. I’ll make you a door.”

“Really?”

He sighed warily. “Yes. Really. But as I said, I’m not a professional.”

“Oh, pish-posh. He’s fantastic,” Margaret informed her. “He did my bathroom remodel last year.”

“How much?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll need to see the door first—”

“But, but I told you,” Cat sputtered. “It’s broken.”

“No, not that one,” he returned with a bite. He gestured toward her phone. “The one in the picture. Bring it in and I’ll take a look at the material, create a mold, and cost everything out for you.”

“Huh.”

“That a problem?”

Cat blew out a breath. “I’m not exactly sure how I’ll get the door off.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s sort of what got me in this mess in the first place,” she confessed.

He grunted. “Yeah, well, a picture isn’t going to cut it from here on out.”

“No, I know…”

“Go online. There’s about a million videos on how to unscrew a door hinge.”

Cat felt her back stiffen again. It was the way he said it—unscrew a door hinge, that made her fingers flinch, that made her pulse skip in her throat. He may have been an attractive man with a nice voice, but just at that moment, she could have happily slapped him across his high cheekbones, turned on her heel, and marched out of that door.

Instead, she smiled tightly. “Oh, I’ll make sure to do that. Thanks for the tip.”

“Great.” With a knock of his knuckles, he added: “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, that’ll be it.”

“Good. Ah, why don’t you bring the door back here by Monday afternoon. I’ll see what I can do.”And with that, he rounded the cashier stand and went to the front door where he unceremoniously flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED before turning down one of the long aisle ways toward the back of the building.

“Oh, don’t mind him dear,” Margaret said, bringing Cat’s attention back around. “He’s just cranky because it’s the first Friday of the month.”

“And what happens on the first Friday of the month?” Cat asked, playing along. After all, Margaret had more-or-less saved her sorry butt.

“It’s our standing game of Bridge,” Margaret informed her. Leaning toward Cat, she glanced over her shoulder, to make sure he was out of earshot. “And he’s never been very good at the game.”

Cat couldn’t help herself. She laughed. It had a freeing effect on her stomach. This had been one of the worst nights in her recent memory. Then again, it had also been sort of…well, invigorating. Different to say the least. Yes, this Friday night had certainly been different.

“Umm…” Biting her lip, Cat tried to smile. She couldn’t quite meet Margaret’s eyes. “Thanks for, well, for helping me.” With stiff movements, she stuck out her hand. “My name’s Cat Cryer, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Margaret returned, shaking her outstretched palm. “My name’s Margaret McBoy.”

Cat pursed her lips. “As in, the owner of the hardware store?”

“Yes. Well, me and my husband.” She laughed richly. “I suppose I’ll let him claim some ownership, too.”

It was official. Margaret McBoy was delightful.

Cat grinned.

“And anyway, if there are any two things that owning a hardware store has taught me it’s that us women have to stick together in this man’s haven,” Margaret continued. “And two—never ask how something managed to get itself snapped in two.” Then she winked.

Cat blushed, her eyes dropping down to the tops of her shoes. “Yeah…”

“Oh please, child, you think you’re the first person to take a flimsy piece of wood over their knee. Think again.”

Yes. It had definitely been a different Friday night. Walking out to her car moments later, Cat wasn’t sure she could explain it, but there she was anyway, smiling.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Two

As the glass-fronted door to the hardware store shut behind her, Cat tried to find her bearing, her eyes flicking with reservation to the long, wide aisles which greeted her—a quick glance confirmed the fears which had morphed as she’d parked her car in the parking lot. Rows upon rows of wood, carpeting, plumbing, gardening, and holy jeez!—an entire wall of small cabinet drawers holding sundry nuts and bolts and other miscellaneous thingymabobs…

Her eyes widened as Cat paused in momentarily consternation.

“Anything I can help you with, ma’am?”

At the masculine question, Cat unfroze, her head turning naturally toward the sound—to the right were a long wood hewn cashier’s counter stood, behind which was a tall, broad-shouldered man. Most of his face was obscured by the brim of a black baseball cap, but what features Cat could make out weren’t exactly unpleasant: a square jaw with more than a shadowing of a beard, thin lips, and the finest of lines creasing the skin of what she assumed were high cheekbones.

She felt her stomach clench. Hell, he was even wearing a blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt. She felt her nose crinkle. It was almost too typical of a handyman ensemble. All he needed now was tin of chewing tobacco in his back pocket and he’d be the quintessential man’s man…

But when that manly man’s thin lips twitched in the beginnings of a telling grin Cat realized, too late, that she’d stared a little longer than was considered quite polite. Jerking her eyes down to the flooring, she cleared her throat noisly.

“Ah, no. No,” she assured him, flicking one finger nervously against her nose. “I’m just, ah, browsing.”

Which was a flat-out lie. But sometimes lying was the best option. When it was that or look like an idiot. And so, securing her purse more firmly against her shoulder, she sent him a cool smile before turning down an aisle blindly.

“Seriously,” she muttered darkly, her eyes darting almost dizzyingly from left to right and back again as she scoured the shelves, her feet tromping from one end to the other. “The door only needs a screw…at least, I think that’s what it needs. Well, whatever… I think I can handle that by myself.” Turning down the next aisle, she felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m an intelligent, independent woman..I don’t need Mountain Man Mike to help me out.”

What was that saying: How do you get God to laugh? Make a plan.

But at last she found what she was looking for—the aisle she’d spotted upon first walking into the building, the one housing the end-to-end wall of small drawers holding bolts and other fasteners; she’d have found it quicker but, well, in her haste to get away from the cashier’s quietly mocking gaze, she’d sort of forgotten about it.

For half a second, she almost swallowed her pride: there must have been twenty different screws on display. Scrunching up her nose, she tried to picture the cabinets in her kitchen. The hinge was a burnished sort of brass, smallish…but not too small (although, what that meant, she hadn’t a clue…)

She was sure it was only her imagination, but Cat thought she felt the gaze of that man from behind the counter—could practically see in her mind’s eye those thin lips jerking a little to one side in a poor attempt at hiding a smile. Her back practically tingled with an awareness of him…standing almost directly behind her. It’s not like there was anyone else in the store to occupy his attention.  And really, what’s more entertaining than a obviously mechanically-disinclined blonde nodding stupidly at drawer upon drawer of screws?

Probably very little.

Gritting her teeth, Cat could feel her chest constrict. She felt like an art exhibit. As the sensation spread over her person, her hand shot out, reaching anxiously. Jerking one of the small drawers open, she grabbed the first one her fingers brushed against. Holding it up to her eyes, she studied it—honestly, it looked just like any other screw she’d seen before, though maybe a bit longer than usual. Or maybe it was shorter? Fatter….

Oh, holy hell.

“Don’t overthink it. It’s just a damn screw,” she scolded. With a determined clamp of her fingers, she pocketed it confidently in the palm of her hand. Smoothering a sense of accomplishment, she turned, marching up to the cashier.

“That it?” The cashier asked, his eyes flicking at the solitary screw she placed on the counter.

To her consternation, he didn’t appear interested in her selection. Okay. So maybe he hadn’t been watching her, after all.

“Yeah.”

Wait.

“Umm, no.” Smiling tightly, for as her mother was so fond of saying, Cat had a tendency to take herself perhaps a bit too seriously, she added: “I guess I’ll probably need a um…screwdriver or a drill or something, huh?”

If the man’s eyes widened a little at this statement, he managed to keep thoughts of his incredulity silent. “Ugh. Yeah, probably.”

She nodded tightly. “Right.”

Standing this close to him, Cat was able to see that his eyes were brown—and at that particular moment, filled with mirth. The laugh lines running down either side of his nose were more pronounced now, too.

She lifted her chin just a fraction of an inch. “And where would I find one?”

“Screwdrivers are down the second aisle. If you want a drill, then you’re looking at aisle four.”

Tossing her shoulders back so hard it hurt, Cat forced herself to speak—and with it an uncomfortable, unreasonable embarrassment flooded her system. “And which would you, ah, recommend?”

He glanced down at the screw sitting on the counter. “For a screw of that size…I’d say a drill. We have two different set that we sell and both come with three of the most common bit sizes.”

That sounded rational. And helpful.

Nodding, Cat took herself off down aisle four. At least, he’d been cool about it. No doubt, he still thought she was an idiot (she was starting to have some serious reservations about this little projection, herself), but at least he’d been professional about it.

Locating the drill, Cat took her final purchase up the cashier. Within minutes, she was leaving the hardware store, her shoes beating a hasty retreat. Her experience there had been hardly ideal, and even though she knew it was silly to let it bother her, Cat felt certain her discomfort and self-doubt were an omen for what was to come.

On that score, she was absolutely correct.

 

 

 

Forty-three minutes later, Cat absolutely forbade herself from crying. Her eyes stung from the command, but by sheer determination she kept her rapidly expanding chest from exploding with the force of her upset.

In her hands lay her kitchen cabinet—newly splintered and split in two jagged pieces… For a moment, the moisture in her eyes gave way and Cat was temporarily blinded from the wrecked door in her hands.

She wasn’t sure what had happened. One minute she’d been happily fitting the screw into the hinge, and okay, admittedly she had noticed it was something of a snug fit, and the next thing she knew a terrible crunch had ripped over the buzzing whirl of the drill—and before she’d had time to react, a thin crack had appeared. And then, just like that, it’d spread, and the wood had snapped.

But not quite in half. That came next.

Her chest shuddering with the force of her feelings, Cat would never ever admit to a single soul what had happened next. Glaring down at the broken piece in her hand, her lips had snarled as a warlike sort of fury had broken from her mouth.

“Stupid, goddamn, mother-fuc—” with a surge of strength, Cat had taken the cupboard door she’d still held in her hands and, with a sharp motion, she’d brought it down hard against her countertop. It had made the most satisfying whack. And then she’d done it again. And again.

Breathing hard, she’d spat: “No good, rotten piece of—!”

And that’s when things had gotten perhaps out of control. With a vicious flick, she’d flung the door as hard as she could against her kitchen wall. That’s when it had fallen in two fractured pieces to the floor.

Exhausted, her knees wobbling with the force of her thrashing, trying to catch her fast-releasing breath, Cat had let herself slowly slip down to the floor, her back resting against the doors to the pantry.

As her senses returned, she’d forced herself to stare at the remains of her temper-tantrum; the vile taste of humiliation and disgust had risen in her throat. Mortified by the sight of her violent outburst, her unacceptable anger in the wake of something so, so minor, Cat had gasped heavily for air.

It was just a goddamn door. What the hell had she freaked the fuck out about?

“Thank God no one saw that,” she’d mumbled, her eyes reddening as she considered the mess on her floor.

What the hell had gotten into her? With deliberate movements, she’d carefully picked up the ravaged pieces of the door—

And that brought her back to the present. Gingerly, she tossed them inside her garbage bin. There was no point crying about it now. Done was done.

Wincing, she looked up at the now doorless cupboard—

“Grant will kill me if he finds out about this,” she moaned. Grant was her super—and he wasn’t exactly what Cat would call a friendly kind of dude. Most of their conversations to date had consisted of her asking questions and him grunting half-structured responses in return. Not exactly the makings of great good friends.

Shivering a little, she wondered what his reaction would be if he were to see the door in question—hard to imagine it had snapped itself in two. No, telling Grant was out of the question. Cat absolutely detested lying. Couldn’t abide by it usually. But she had a feeling getting kicked out of her apartment would be worse.

 

 

And so, for the second time that evening, Cat found herself walking into the hardware store.

World-Building in Fiction (Parts 1 and 2)

Hey guys,

As authors, it’s so imperative that we create real, believable, and individual worlds for our fictional characters to live in–after all, they can’t actually coexist with us in the real world; without this layer of authenticity, of intimate awareness, a story can easily become one-dimensional, uninspiring, or even…dare I say it, boring?

It’s not just that, either. You want a place for your readers to go, as well. When they read your words, you want their imagination to take them on a trip–to the city, the town, the store, the house, etc. that you created. You want them to not just read the words you’ve written, but to experience them. A lot of that has to do with world-building–because, as individuals, we are a product of our surroundings, our personality is stamped in our decor and style, in our habits and proclivities.

In these videos I’ll talk about the what, why, and where/how of building worlds in your fiction: what it means to your novel (and your characters), why it’s so critical, and where and how it’s created (at least, where/how I create my worlds.) And then, in the second vlog, I’ll endeavor to show you what it looks like and/or how to transfer the concept of your fictional world–or your map–into your actual writing.

 

Please watch and enjoy! (And, as always, tell me what you think.)

 

 

Happy First Anniversary to My Small Business, LitLiber!

I truly can’t believe it was one year ago today, when it all started–the newest adventure in my writing journey. I’ve learned so much, grown so much, and I’m ready to take on even more this year!

My theme for 2017: New Beginnings

My 2018 theme: FEARLESS

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Life Reconstructed: Chapter One

With dogged steps, Catherine Cryer let herself into her small, second-story apartment. Juggling the long, thin strap of her leather purse and three paper bags of groceries against her hip, she just managed to wiggle through the doorway. Without bothering to kick off her shoes, she strode purposefully down the long narrow hallway, her feet turning when it veered abruptly to the left—at the end of which was her kitchenette.

Dropping the bags unceremoniously on one of the counters, she just bit back exhaustion. It wasn’t quite five o’clock on Friday evening, and she was definitely in need of the looming weekend.

Pulling out a carton of milk and stalk of celery, she opened her refrigerator door. “I’m going to slip into a pair of fleece pajamas, order in pizza and binge watch TV straight through to Sunday evening,” she vowed, depositing the food items quickly before reaching back into one of the bags and pulling out a couple cans of soup and tomato paste.

Padding over to a cupboard door, she nodded firmly. “It’s going to be absolutely delicious. I don’t want to set eyes on another human being until Monday morning.”

Slamming the door shut, she smiled thinly.

“No more people will suit me just fine.” Moving robotically, she emptied out the last of her groceries.

“No more, ‘Umm, excuse me, Miss Cryer,’” she muttered, replaying an unfortunate encounter she’d dealt with earlier that afternoon at work, her voice a caricature of a long-suffering client. “But, I think there’s a bit of discrepancy with your interest calculation…”

That had come from the one and only, Mrs. Agnes Barnes.

Having looked up from her admittedly outdated computer system at the voice of a frail older woman standing—unannounced—in the doorway of her office, Cat had barely suppressed a sigh.

From three years of experience at the Fireside Credit Union, Cat was well aware that if Agnes looked frail, her particular style of speaking was anything but.

“Agnes.”

“That’s Mrs. Barnes when I’m at the bank.”

“The credit union.”

Agnes had flipped one wrist dismissively in the air.

“Fair enough. Mrs. Barnes—”

“I got this statement in the mail.” Without waiting for polite conversation, Mrs. Barnes galloped quickly into the reason for her visit. “And, as I’m sure you’ll see, it’s wrong.”

Nodding, hoping the quick action would disguise the impatience marring her forehead, Cat had reached across the desk to grab the offending item from Mrs. Barnes outstretched hand. Warily, she’d done as requested.

It’s not that Mrs. Barnes didn’t have a right to question her loan (of course she did!); it wasn’t the fact that long before Cat even had a chance read through the invoice she’d known that there was no accounting error; it wasn’t even the fact she had to have this conversation at least twice a week with harried overworked and underpaid community members who couldn’t afford the price of their car payment anymore…

Or, at least, Cat didn’t think it was any of those reasons. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was but…she’d suddenly experienced a sharp, searing discontent steal over her person. An irrational, underserved, but all the same, very real weariness settle upon her chest.

This was all the more unsettling because it wasn’t the first time she’d felt this feeling of late—this overwhelming, aggravating sort of fatigue. It’d been haunting her the past few weeks. A sort of merry-go-round of the same boring old routine.

And it wasn’t just work.  Hell, if it were just work…well, she could have easily found a solution to that.

“Is that so?” she mocked herself, carefully folding up the empty grocery bags now and placing them on a shelf in her pantry. “And just what would you do? Find a new job. Hah. How many times have I heard that before.”

Opening the refrigerator door again, she brought out a can of sparkling water.

“Whatever,” she mumbled, popping the top off the citrus-flavored drink. Shuffling out of the kitchen, she crossed the narrow hallway into her living room. The bank of windows against two of the four walls flooded the room in the early evening light. Normally, she would have found the pinkish glow warm and cozy. Today, it only seemed to highlight her staid existence—the large oval lamp, a relic of the nineties, the bulky coffee table her parents had given her when she’d first moved out, the oatmeal colored carpet…

Sinking down into her bamboo-framed couch—the cushions a magnificent splash of lime green and white geometric designs—she sighed. Setting her drink down, she scooped up the remote. With a push of the power button, the TV flickered to life.

What she needed was a distraction.

“Here’s to the beginning of a weekend spent doing absolutely nothing…”

Three hours later, in the midst of one of those home renovation shows the networks seemingly aired on repeat, Cat felt her mind wandering. The television show buzzed on in the background as the hosts discussed the best, cheapest way to tear out the bathroom—

It started with a twitch of her finger against the wooden armrest, and then her foot was tap-tapping impatiently in its slippered stocking—and pretty soon Catherine could feel her thoughts taking over…

For Christ’s sake it’s Friday night and what are you doing? Good God… are you eighty? You should be out, partying, having a few cocktails with friends, not sitting at home, alone—again.

With a snap, Cat leaned forward to grab her silent phone off the coffee table. Automatically, her fingers scrolled through her contacts, stopping when they landed on Ashley. With a tap of her finger, she dialed.

One ring.

Two.   

Three.

Four.

“Hello, you’ve reached Ashley Meredith’s voicemail. I’m not availabl—”

Frowning, Cat disconnected. Staring dejected at her phone, she was startled when, seconds later, it dinged with a text notification.

Opening the message, Cat’s frowned deepened. It was Ashley

Hey girl. Sorry, can’t talk. Out with some coworkers.

            “Of course you are,” Cat fumed, staring down at her phone. “You’ve still got friends. New friends. New friends to go with your new city life.”

With lithe movements, she replied: No worries. Just thought I’d check in. Miss you!

Three seconds went by when she received another message: Me too. It’s been absolutely ages—I want to hear all about that new promotion at work. How about Sunday evening? Girl chat….

Cat swallowed her disappointment. Sunday seemed a long time away. Still, being desperate and sounding desperate were two very different things.

Sure! Sunday works for me.

Chucking her phone on the empty seat beside her, Cat knew the conversation, short as it was, was now over. Ashley would read it with relief before getting back to her friends from work. At the thought, Cat wondered what that would be like: if she went out with her coworkers. Not that she’d ever had the opportunity. She hadn’t exactly built close bonds at the credit union. Most of the other employees were either fifteen years her senior or college kids just picking up part-time hours as tellers, while she sat alone in her office down the corridor.

She’d never minded that before; she’d certainly never intended to make friends there. The job had been temporary, or so she’d thought. While Hannah and Ashley had left to go to colleges out of the state, she’d stayed home, gone to the local university. It had been the safe choice. She’d lived with her parents, saved some money. And besides, she hadn’t been the only one. Mary hadn’t left either nor had Carly. Well, not at first. Then Mary’s husband had been transferred to Ohio, and Carly’s band had moved to Minneapolis….

Cat had never meant to stay, except, well, there’d been no reason to leave. She’d gotten a couple of promotions at work, enough to afford this apartment, had received a generous benefits package and all the trimmings of a safe and secure future. And while she’d been doing that, she’d let herself get left behind. Her friends had gone out and explored, and she’d—

Cat’s eyes roamed desperately around the peach-painted walls of her living room, her sight catching on the leafy peace lily by the window, the slightly ajar door leading to her bathroom, the television set….

At the scrutiny, she felt the newly familiar dragging weight claw at her stomach, the nausea that lately accompanied such self-analysis. Pressing her hands against her sides, Cat focused on her breathing: In, one, two, three…Out, one, two, three…

The television screen flickered in front of her as a contracting crew knocked down a shower stall, one guy succinctly chipping away at yellowed tiling lining the walls.

Scrambling to her feet, Cat took herself into the kitchen. Her weekend of relaxation was turning out to be anything but—and she was only four hours into it! “It’s fine. You’re fine. Your life is fine,” she assured herself along the way. “Probably, you’re just hungry. Get something to eat and…”

Entering the dimly lit kitchen, she took herself to the cupboard reserved for snack food. Opening the door carefully, for it hung loosely and crookedly, ready to fall off its half-secured hinge at any moment, she peered inside. Reaching up, she grabbed down a packet of popcorn but she knew almost as quickly as she retrieved it that she didn’t want it. Tossing it down on the counter, she went to shut the cupboard door, her fingers guiding its handle cautiously as she pressed it closed against the magnetic latch on the frame. Letting go, she watched the door sink a little with the weight of gravity.

“Stupid damn door.” She’d only asked her landlord to fix it about five times now. She squinted. It only needed a screw on the lower half of the hinge and it would be good as new.

“It’s not like it’s difficult,” she muttered. “Even I could do that…”

 

 

 

Which is exactly how she found herself walking into the local hardware store some twenty minutes later. Cat was done letting her life slowly fall apart.     

 

 

Life Reconstructed: Story Blurb

LitLiber is super excited to introduce our NEWEST web serial, LIFE RECONSTRUCTED!

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Cat wasn’t sure what was wrong, she only knew a sudden, dull throbbing in her stomach—a disquiet with her safe, predictable existence. What had happened to the life she’d always dreamed of living, but had somehow never found the time to pursue? She wasn’t sure. She only knew it was fast becoming the remnants of a wasted daydream.

What started with a broken cupboard in her kitchen soon leads Cat down a long, winding journey of self-analysis as she fights to be brave, to conquer her anxieties, to beat back the nauseating fear of doubt, and to embark on new beginnings of self-discovery and love.

Writerly How-To: World-Building

Hey guys,

As authors, it’s so imperative that we create real, believable, and individual worlds for our fictional characters to live in–after all, they can’t actually coexist with us in the real world; without this layer of authenticity, of intimate awareness, a story can easily become one-dimensional, uninspiring, or even…dare I say it, boring?

It’s not just that, either. You want a place for your readers to go, as well. When they read your words, you want their imagination to take them on a trip–to the city, the town, the store, the house, etc. that you created. You want them to not just read the words you’ve written, but to experience them. A lot of that has to do with world-building–because, as individuals, we are a product of our surroundings, our personality is stamped in our decor and style, in our habits and proclivities.

In this video I’ll talk about the what, why, and where/how of building worlds in your fiction: what it means to your novel (and your characters), why it’s so critical, and where and how it’s created (at least, where/how I create my worlds.) I hope you enjoy!

**GIVEAWAY HAS ENDED** Amazon Giveaway: Twenty-Seven Tiered Almond Cake!

THIS GIVEAWAY HAS OFFICIALLY ENDED. THANK YOU.

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Hello,

I’m running an #AmazonGiveaway — enter for your chance to win a Kindle Edition ebook copy of my latest novel, Twenty-Seven Tiered Almond Cake.

This Christmas-time story is the perfect companion to cozy blankets and hot cocoa around a fireplace (then again, it’s also the perfect accessory for a day at the beach in the sun….) However you prefer it, enter now and you could win! Click the link to enter now: https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/ff2a3fa2d8f02af3

 

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Amazon Giveaway: Happening Now For Twenty-Seven Tiered Almond Cake!

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Hello,

I’m running an #AmazonGiveaway — enter for your chance to win a Kindle Edition ebook copy of my latest novel, Twenty-Seven Tiered Almond Cake.

This Christmas-time story is the perfect companion to cozy blankets and hot cocoa around a fireplace (then again, it’s also the perfect accessory for a day at the beach in the sun….) However you prefer it, enter now and you could win! Click the link to enter now: https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/ff2a3fa2d8f02af3

 

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