Fiction Friday: Some thoughts about when I know a story is starting to click

On April 15, 2022April 19, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn Fiction Friday11 Comments

The best part of writing a fiction story is when the characters start to come to life in my mind. When that happens, I start to daydream about them— including their interactions, personalities, and conversations they might have with other characters. The magic really happens later on the page as I start to write it all down and the character starts to tell me their story from their point of view.

The daydreaming phase has started with Mercy’s Shore, book four in the Spencer Valley series, when I thought it might never come. This week I started to get to know Ben Oliver, the main character, better Now that we are getting a feel for each other, I’ll be able to tell his story.

It will take me a few more chapters before I really know Ben, obviously, but he’s starting to give me a peek at who he is, which he also did when I started to write a character biography for him a month or so ago.

Only through his actions, conversations, and interactions with those around him will I really find out who he is, though, and that will require me to just write.

As I write scenes begin to piece themselves together, other characters begin to show themselves, and conversations evolve from one piece of dialogue to the next as I imagine what one person would say and what the logical, or more interestingly, the more illogical response will be.

Before I know it, I’ll have Ben’s full story down on the page.

Now I just have to get to know Judi even better than I did in Harvesting Hope and add her story to the mix. Or maybe I’ll just stick with Ben telling the story. I plan to make that decision this weekend, but I have a feeling that Judi is the kind of person who isn’t going to let someone else tell her story. Not again that is. Ellie told it for the most part in Harvesting Hope. Now it’s Judi’s turn to speak out.

Now a little update for my blog readers on future plans for the Spencer Valley Chronicles:

As it stands now, I have (possible) plans for at least one more full-length novel and three novellas.

One novella will focus on the story of Molly’s grandparents Ned and Franny Tanner and will be historical in nature as we go back to when they first met.

Another novella will focus on the origin story of Robert and Annie, Molly’s parents.

A third novella will focus on Ginny and Stan Jefferies’ (you will learn more about them in Beauty From Ashes if you didn’t read the chapters on here) daughter Olivia and . . .well, you’ll have to wait to find out.

The full-length novel will feature Alex from The Farmer’s Daughter as the main character as he works through issues with his father, who, if you remember from The Farmer’s Daughter (spoiler if you have not read that) had been diagnosed with cancer.

I won’t give a time frame for when all these books and novellas will come out since I do have a couple of stand-alone books I am interested in writing in between.

I had considered writing a book about Spencer’s newspaper editor, Liam Finley, and I may still do that but I don’t know if I will include that book as part of the Spencer Valley Chronicles, or make it a separate, stand-alone novel. That story is starting to capture my attention more and more, probably because of my own background in newspapers and my current connection to them as well.

If you’ve been following along with these stories, what storyline most intrigues you? And are there stories of other characters you would like to see expanded on as well?

Fiction Friday: Why I’ve been struggling to write fiction lately

On April 1, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction49 Comments

Several times in the last couple of weeks, I’ve started a blog post about why I have been struggling to write fiction recently.

Each time I’ve started the post, I’ve stopped because no matter how write out my feelings, it comes out accusatory and whiny, with me alternating between defense and offense.

I know it’s not wise to try to explain something while a hurt is still raw, but my blog readers have been with me through many ups and downs, in my writing and in my personal life, so I feel like I need to share a little with all of you about what has been weighing me down lately. If it comes out as over dramatic to you readers, I totally understand.

A few weeks ago, I somehow got tossed into a situation where a last minute topic was needed for a writing group I was in. Long story short, my writing was tossed up in front of a bunch of people and critiqued as a “learning moment” for other writers.

This type of critique was something I had been avoiding for a while now, but especially recently because of the health issues and personal issues I’ve been going through. The author who conducts the critiques is very good at what she does but she’s also pretty hard on writers and I wasn’t in a good place emotionally for that.

I had explained that to one of the leaders of the group (a very sweet woman with stresses of her own) that I could not currently handle one of her critiques. I can only guess this leader was not fully listening when I expressed the desire to not be critiqued since, much to my horror, my work appeared on the screen during the weekly meeting/presentation. This weekly presentation is held with somewhere around fifty other women in attendance. Lines and red marks were scratched through most of the chapter being shared, with several comments off to the side listing of all my writing sins.

I didn’t ask for this critique. What I had actually suggested for the session was for the author to answer advice on how to handle what critiques on our writing. I had recently received what I felt was a critique, but it was sent privately so that made it easier to digest.

I wanted to know how to choose what to keep and what to dismiss from a critique, especially when it comes from someone who is not a professional author. I thought that my situation would be used to teach others how to handle a critique, not that my work would be critiqued again in a much more public setting. Even though the critique was anonymous, I knew many of the women watching knew the work was mine because I had mentioned my difficulty in processing part of the original critique.

I ended up turning off the second critique before it really got underway after it was launched by several minutes of mocking comments about my choice of metaphors. I did not feel these comments were constructive. Instead they seemed to be setting up what I gathered would be several more minutes of unhelpful comments. The unhelpful remarks continued until I felt like I was openly being mocked by the two women, one with 20 years of experience and another with a few. I knew I was in a poor place emotionally to handle any more mocking.

I turned off the session and tried instead to mentally prepare myself for a doctor’s appointment I had the next day that I hoped would help me with some of my longstanding health issues.

It’s one thing to know that your work is cliché and rather silly but it is entirely different to be told that in front of a group of fellow writers on a live feed while two women cackle and laugh at the absurdity of your writing, while not actually calling it absurd. (Clarification here: it felt like cackling and laughing at me but I’m sure they don’t feel that’s what they were doing. They most likely thought they were being lighthearted and trying to make light of a situation because they were preparing to eviscerate my writing for “educational purposes”.) I had watched this happened the month before to another writer and knew I didn’t want it to happen to me. It was extremely disheartening to see her on a video chat a week later looking completely downtrodden about her writing and like the joy of writing had been completely sucked out of her.

I was told later that I shouldn’t feel bad about my writing flaws because MANY writers do the same thing I did. I felt like I was being told that not only was I an idiot, but I was an idiot among many other idiots.

“You are cliché and silly but so are many authors,” is how I read a “somewhat apology” sent by one of the women in the group after I canceled my subscription. I say somewhat because the apology was more along the lines of “sorry if the critique of your work displeased you.” Yes, the word displeased was actually used. To be honest, it was not the critique that “displeased” me. I never had the chance to hear the critique. It was the fact I was critiqued when I never asked for the critique and that the so-called critique seemed more mocking than instructional.

I received the replay of it all a few days later, hoping to watch it again and see if I had over reacted. I was sure I had because many people have told me over the years that my feelings are wrong, my reactions are wrong, I’m too sensitive, too easily offended, too…whatever I am too much of that day. And sometimes they are right.

Unfortunately, the replay had been edited to remove the critique, as if it had never happened. I would hope that this was out of kindness, knowing I was upset, but I would instead guess it was for self-protection to make sure this author and her writing business didn’t look bad. I really hope my second theory is wrong because I do believe these women truly believe they are writing and serving in the name of Christ.

I would not disparage these women or the writing group based on this situation. Even if they were careless with their words, the program is a good one, offered at an amazing price and it is filled with wonderful Christian women who truly mean well and support each other. This is why I am not naming the group here. I would recommend the group to other writers with one caveat — make sure you communicate better than I did and if you ask for a critique be prepared to be absolutely shredded. That’s okay. The shredding can help you improve after your wounds heal.

In the end, the proof I needed to show myself that I had been overly sensitive was gone. So, there I sat in a weird kind of limbo of wanting to be wrong (because, hey, maybe I really was way too sensitive this time. I can totally own up to that and even now I feel I probably was.) but really not sure since I had no way to confirm what I had actually heard and what else was said after I logged out of the meeting.

Needless to say, all of this has taken a mental toll on me in relation to my fiction writing and why that may not be positive, what has been a positive is that it has brought me back to the path God originally set me on.

Even though the writing group was wonderful in many ways, part of me wonders if by joining it, I overstepped God’s desire for what role writing would fill in my life.

“I never told you to do this,” is the sentence kept popping up in my head when I first joined the group.

I promptly ignored it every time.

After the forth of fifth time this sentence popped into my head, I decided that maybe God was trying to get a message across to me. If he was, what was his message? He never told me to do what? Try to improve my writing? Try to make what I enjoy also something I could make money from – even if it was only a little?

It isn’t that I think God doesn’t want us to improve and get better at what we enjoy doing. What I do think is that for me, God was, and is, saying he never told me to push this writing journey to the point where I hate it as much as I ended up hating photography years ago.

I’ve said before that when it comes to writing I hold on to the words “just have fun.” It’s what drove my writing when I first started sharing it on the blog. I wanted to have fun sharing and connecting with my blog readers, focusing on something other than my medical issues or my loneliness. It served that purpose but then I began to believe that it needed to be something more if it was going to take up so much of my time. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be better at the activity you enjoy but God didn’t ask me to ruin my love of writing while trying to improve.

A lot of Christian authors would say they feel God has called them to write fiction because has called them to change and grow his kingdom with their writing. This may be true — for them.

However, I don’t feel that way about my writing, or at least my fiction. For me writing fiction is about having fun and entertaining a little. Do I want to share messages of hope, redemption and forgiveness in my fiction? Yes. Do I feel like maybe God wants me to do that? I think so, but I also have never looked at my fiction as some grand ordination from God that makes me something special and my writing a gift to humanity. My writing is fun, silly, probably cliché and childish and that’s fine with me.

I think a lot of Christian fiction authors feel their stories and books are going to change the world and maybe they will. I have never felt that way about my writing, though. Could my writing change a few hearts and minds here and there? Yes, I hope so, but like I told a friend this week, part of me feels like God didn’t give me the passion for writing so I can change the world. He gave it to me to help change me first and foremost.

I need to change in many ways, I am the first to admit that. I need to change my attitude and my tendency to be offended, and the way I feel hurt so easily. I don’t think that’s all that needs to be changed in me, though. The change I believe God has wanted me to make is in how I think about life.

He doesn’t want me to see life as something where rules are followed and others are appeased at the sacrifice of my own mental well being. He doesn’t want me to see it as a place where I don’t fit in and I am never good enough. He wants me to see the world as somewhere where we all have our place, even if it isn’t at the front of the crowd or the same place as others. God wants me, and you, to know that he placed us where he placed us for a reason and sometimes that reason may not be as somber or as serious as we think.

Sometimes God places us where he placed us because he simply wants us to have fun, to have joy, to look beyond the challenges and realize that not everything has to be perfect or polished.

Sometimes life and what we do in it simply needs to be fun.

All this being said, I hate that this post sounds like I don’t welcome critiques of my work, especially when I ask for it. I wholeheartedly appreciate the written critique I was given. I was merely trying to process it and how it should lead to changes in my work when the second, more public critique, slammed into me. I will definitely be asking for critiques of my work again in the future and I am open to them, even if they are harsh. Harsh can help me improve. I simply don’t know if I think public harsh criticisms are all that helpful to writers who aren’t career-driven but are instead fun-driven when it comes to their fiction.

I like movies and books about quirky smalltown characters

On March 30, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings8 Comments

I love stories about small town or rural folk (as some might say instead of people) and maybe that is because I grew up in a small town and have interacted with so many interesting real life, small-town characters over the years.

Books or movies that feature interesting or “down home” characters with a bit of a quirk are my kinds of books and movies.

A few movies that scratch this itch for me include The Quiet Man, Fisherman’s Friends, The Englishman Who Went Up A Hill and Came Down a Mountain (that’s a mouthful), Road Less Traveled, Steel Magnolias, Pure Country, Forever My Girl (an overused trope is in this plot, but it was handled better than most) and a little known movie called Sweetland. Some of these movies were, of course, books before they were movies.

What I don’t like, however, is how Hollywood often portrays people who live in small towns as “backward”, weird, uneducated, stupid, close-minded, or like they are “yokels” or “hillbillies.”

What they don’t seem to get is that when they do that, they are the close-minded ones and maybe even a bit backward themselves. I actually think people who live in small towns are a little bit more grounded and normal than those who live in cities.

Books that fill this love of smalltown characters for me include the series of books by James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small, etc.), the Mitford series by Jan Karon, To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee, the Miss Julia series by Ann B. Ross, the Home to Harmony series, The Cat Who series by Lilian Jackson Braun, and the Anne of Green Gables series.

Are you a fan of books and movies about small towns or do books about larger cities interest you more? Which movies or books featuring each location are your favorites?

Fiction Friday: Book update and a glimpse at the next book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles series.

On March 25, 2022March 25, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday10 Comments

This week I thought I’d give an update on where the manuscript for Beauty From Ashes is. It’s now in the hands of a couple of editors but one of those editors has been piled under work and the other is sick with Covid. For those reasons and a couple of others, I’ve pushed back the release date of the book from April 26 to May 10. This will hopefully give me time to implement some suggestions from early readers and make any changes my editor wants me to make before the book is released, without my head exploding.

The book will have some extra scenes from what I shared on the blog and it will also be missing a couple of others. There have been several changes from the first draft, which is mainly what was shared on the blog, but none so huge they change the entire plot of the book.

The biggest thing I have had to remind myself during the process this time is my author tagline of “just have fun.” I wasn’t having fun with writing recently, was taking myself a bit too seriously, and trying to be something I am not. I didn’t start writing these stories to be a traditionally published author so focused on career that they lose site of who they really are. This isn’t to say that traditionally published authors don’t know who they are but I know that I would lose that if I was traditionally published and being told what I have to write, how to write it, and when to write it. It would stress me out to no end but that is because I am stressed out by a lot. There are other writers are not stressed out by every little thing and while I’m working on not being stressed out by things (I swear I’ve come a long way, even though I have a long way to go), right now in my life I need to take the easiest road possible to tell my stories.

So, anyhow, while I wait for more rewrite suggestions for Beauty From Ashes, I am starting to write a couple of other books, including Mercy’s Shore, which will be the next book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles series.

Because I often share everything first with my blog readers, this is the tentative cover of the book.

It could definitely change before the final publication sometime next year (or maybe late this year if I really get some inspiration and push forward fast on this book).

Mercy’s Shore will focus on Molly Tanner’s ex-boyfriend Ben Oliver and possibly on Ellie’s obnoxious, recovering-alcoholic sister, Judi Lambert. I haven’t definitively decided if Judi will be in the story or not. Similar to Beauty From Ashes, the book will not be a strict romance. I won’t give too much away, but it is possible Judi and Ben will not be romantically linked throughout the book.

After all, Ben has some amends to make to his ex-girlfriend Angie and to their daughter, Amelia, who he abandoned while trying to earn his law degree and pass the bar. In Mercy’s Shore, we will learn more about why that happened and what led Ben to be so focused on career over family.

I’m still plotting this one out, but thought I would share with you what I’ve written so far, which is literally a few paragraphs that may or may not end up being in the final book.

When the world stopped spinning, Ben Oliver was upside down, his seatbelt digging into his chest. Underneath him were shards of glass and something warm and slippery dripped into his eyes.

For a moment he thought it was oil from the engine. Even when red splattered the shattered windshield beneath him he couldn’t comprehend it was him that was bleeding. Of course it was him bleeding. He’d been the only one in the car when he’d jerked the wheel to the right to miss the deer and had sent his silver BMW careening over the embankment.

So, this is it, he thought. This is how it all ends. Not with a whimper but a bang after all.

A lot of bangs actually. He was sure that his BMW was totaled but worse than that was the pain searing through his sternum, back, and head, not to mention the blood now pooling in the shards of broken glass. He was beginning to wonder if he was totaled as well.

His hand slipped up to the seatbelt buckle, searching for the button to release it, but then he hesitated. If he released it there was a bed of glass waiting for him. He had to think this through, brace his legs and arms somehow before he released himself from his upside down prison.

In the end it didn’t matter anyhow. The seatbelt buckle wouldn’t release, no matter how many times he hit it and he was left to listen to the metal of the car creaking and groaning as it settled into its new position on its roof in the middle of the woods.

I’m not sure if I will share this one on the blog or not.

I’m also not sure if I will be sharing any of Lily on the blog, which is a different type of book for me and the other book I am working on. Lily will be based on the character Lily from A New Beginning, the book about Blanche Robins and Judson T. Wainwright.

Spoiler alert if you haven’t read the book — If you remember, Lily became pregnant at 15 after she slept with a man who had drugs she wanted. Blanche’s sister, Edith, and brother-in-law, Jimmy, were going to adopt Lily’s baby and in the end, decided to take Lily in as well.

Lily will be written in the first person and though the topic matter will be dark, I’m going to try to not make the entire book dark and depressing. There will be hope, especially as the book progresses and marches to the end. I am in the plotting stages of this book as well. When I write “plotting” I should mention that I have considered myself a “panster” writer in the past. A panster in writing is a person who writes by the seat of their pants and simply sees where the story will go.

For future books, I’ll be considering myself a hybrid pantser-plotter fiction writer. I will be plotting some of the book while also writing away and seeing where it goes. I want to plot more of the stories out from now on but also not plot so much that the book feels stale and cookie-cutter or formulaic. All books are formulaic in a way, I recognize that, but some genres make a book feel even more formulaic and predictable than others and Christian fiction is one of the worse for that. I don’t know if I will continue writing under the strict Christian fiction genre, but I do know my books will remain “clean.”

I’ve shared a little of Lily on here before, but will share a few paragraphs here to give you an idea of why it will be a different book for me.

That lady social worker said it didn’t hurt to push out a baby.

She lied.

It hurt like that place Mama said I was gonna go for getting pregnant in the first place. I never felt so much pain in my life. I thought I was going to die.

They wanted me to hold the baby, but I didn’t want to. She wasn’t mine anyhow. She belonged to those people I’d met at the agency.

That baby was squawking and hollering; all red and squishy and ugly. I told that nurse to take it away and let those people who were going to be her parents deal with it.

I don’t remember much after that. I slept for hours and hours. Everything in my body hurt and I was so weak I could barely stand. When I opened my eyes, it was dark, and I knew I had to get out of there.

Having something growing in you for nine months is weird.

Pushing it out through your private area while you scream is weird.

Giving that baby to people you only met once is weird too.

It’s all as weird as what that man did to me that left that baby in my belly in the first place.

The nurses didn’t hear me leave.

That social worker wasn’t even there.

My clothes were in a drawer by the bed at the hospital and I changed into them quickly. I cried because it hurt so bad all over. The area where that baby came from hurt the worse. Blood ran down my leg and I wiped it away.

I walked a long way to get to Mama. Wind whipped my hair across my face, cold bit at my bare skin. My stomach ached from hunger and my body screamed for sleep. I didn’t think I’d makeit.

I could barely lift my hand to pound on the door to her apartment when I finally got there. She didn’t open it for a long time and when she did, she was angry.

“How did you even find your way back here?”

She spat the words out like chew in a bucket.

“Mama, I’m tired.” I clutched at my stomach. “Hungry.”

“What do you want me to do about it? Didn’t those social workers feed you anything?”

“Mama —“

“Don’t call me Mama. You know I don’t like that.” She scowled in disgust. “You’re bleeding all over the hallway. You have that baby yet?”

I nodded weakly, wincing when she grabbed my upper arm, ripping me forward into the darkness of the apartment, bouncing my side off a wall.

“Get in here and stop bleeding on my rug.”

She shoved me down the hallway toward the living room. I collapsed on the couch, grasping at the musty smelling cushions as the room began to spin.

Maybe it was days. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it was weeks before there were voices at the door and strong arms lifting me. I don’t really remember. It was all a blur of sweat and pain and Mama’s pinched and angry face, her screams cutting through my nightmares.

That day was the last time I saw Mama.

Now I’m living here in this place with a bunch of trees and open fields and a stream like I saw a picture of once in a book.

I don’t know what life will be like now, but anything has got to be better than where I came from.

So that is my Fiction Friday update. Hopefully in future weeks, I will have some original fiction to share with you, especially if I decide to blog Mercy’s Shore, which I hope to be able to write a little bit faster than other books.

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 24

On February 25, 2022February 25, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction FridayLeave a comment

We are getting toward the end of this one and toward the release date for the final book. If you want to pre-order the book you can do so HERE and HERE.

If you want to catch up with the rest of the story click HERE.

*I think this is my final book cover. I think anyhow.*

Chapter 24

Matt rolled over and groaned as pain shot up through his back. Splitting wood for two days in a row was definitely a lot harder on his body than most days as a police officer in Spencer Valley. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to splitting wood. It was that he usually did it in smaller spurts, not two days straight. But what else did he have to do until the investigation into his incident with Gabe was over? He’d already cleaned out the fridge and Alex’s messes, picked up his deer from the butcher and loaded that in the freezer, and been to the gym every day this week, despite hating every second of working out.

Eventually, he was going to have to accept the fact there was a very good possibility he wasn’t going to be a cop much longer and start looking for a new job. Looking out of the area wasn’t an option now since it would mean leaving Liz and Bella, unless, of course, they wanted to go with him.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, wincing as muscles he’d forgotten he’d ever had protested their overuse the day before.

Even answering his phone when it rang sent pain shooting up through his biceps and shoulder. “Yeah?”

“McGee. Got a problem.”

Dan. Great. Now what?

“What’s up?”

“Your buddy Bernie took off on us when we tried to question him about the drug cave.”

Matt rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes to chase away the sleep. “Took off? What do you mean?”

“Took us for a run in the woods, jumped in some old junker, and took off. He was gone before we could get back to our cars. Any idea where he might have gone?”

“No idea.”

“Keep an eye out for him, will you? Because we got a search warrant and found about five kilos of heroin in a shed on his property. It’s clear he was trying to throw you off the scent by implicating Martin.

Matt pressed his hand against his forehead. No way. Bernie couldn’t be that stupid. “It could have been planted.”

Dan let out a breath. “Listen, bud, I know you want to think this guy turned his life around. We all wish that would happen with the guys we arrest but more times than not, it doesn’t. Just let me know if he contacts you, okay?”

“I definitely will. Anything more on Gabe?”

Dan sighed. “Not yet, but we’ll keep looking. Did you find out who owns that building through your real estate friend? I haven’t had a chance to get over to the register and recorder’s office.”

Matt stood and opened his dresser, pulling out a T-shirt. “No. Not yet.”

Dan took a sip on the other end of the phone and Matt imagined it was coffee he was sipping since he was an avid coffee drinker, which reminded him how much he needed some coffee right now. “I know you have your heart set on it being Gabe, but all the evidence is pointing toward Bernie. Why else would the drugs be in his shed, for one, and two, why else would he run?”

Matt trapped the phone between his shoulder and chin while he pulled a pair of jeans over his boxers. “Afraid of going back to jail for one. He’s married now with a couple of kids.”

“He should have thought of that before he stored all those drugs in his shed. The running makes him look even guiltier. Just call me if you see him.”

The line went dead, and Matt tossed the phone on his bed.

He needed coffee if he was going to be able to tackle the rest of this day.

A lot of coffee.

***

Ginny’s hands shook as she poured coffee into a travel mug. It wasn’t helping her situation that her mind was racing and causing her heart to do the same, or that she hadn’t slept more than three hours the night before. The bed had been cold and lonely. Physically this time. For years it had been cold and lonely emotionally but having it cold and lonely both physically and emotionally had been almost too much to bear.

She’d considered calling Liz more than once, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Liz was in a place of happiness at the moment, swept up in newly discovered love, or more accurately newly admitted love. Calling to dump all her emotional baggage on the poor young woman seemed cruel.

“I really need to get some friends my age.” The words came out of her softly, even though she knew no one else would hear her. Stan had kept true to his word and spent the night away from home, hopefully at the Blueberry Inn. Olivia was most likely still asleep and even the cat had chosen the warmth of the comforter on her freshly made bed over watching her mope around the kitchen this morning.

“Having friends your own age is highly overrated.”

Ginny jumped and almost screamed at the sound of her daughter’s voice behind her. “Olivia!” She swung to face her. “Where did you come from?”

Olivia walked past her on the way to the refrigerator, turned her head and winked. “Your womb, my dear lady.”

Ginny shook her head, laughing. “Very funny, young lady.”

Olivia snatched up the cream cheese and a carton of milk. “What’s all this menopausal depression this morning? All this worrying about not having friends your age?”

Ginny smiled faintly and returned to packing her lunch. “Oh, just lamenting the loss of friendships over the years, I suppose.”

Olivia took a bagel out of the bread box, broke it, and slid it into the toaster. “But you have Liz. It shouldn’t matter she’s not your age. Having friends of different ages, sexes, and backgrounds gives you different perspectives on things, right?”

Ginny zipped her bag closed. “Well, that’s an interesting way to look at it. I was just thinking that sometimes we are in different stages in our lives so sometimes we might not be able to relate to each other.”

Olivia poured a glass of juice and took a sip. “What can’t Liz relate to that’s going on in your life right now?” She turned away from the counter and leaned back against it, her eyebrow cocking like a revolver. “Tell me, Mom. What’s going on right now that you’re worried to talk to Liz about?”

Ginny smiled, shook her head twice, and reached for her jacket. She couldn’t tell her daughter what was going on. Not yet anyhow, not unless Stan demanded a divorce. Then, of course, she’d have to tell her. But for now, she simply couldn’t let her daughter know what she’d done, the horrible mistake she’d made. She looked at Olivia, who was looking at her and took a deep breath. Olivia was so young, so beautiful, so bright. She had her whole future in front of her. Maybe she did need to know what mistakes her mother had made over the years, including last week. Maybe then she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

She told her quickly, the words rushing out of her as if by saying them faster they wouldn’t hurt as much. “Keith kissed me last week when we went out to dinner. I didn’t want him to, didn’t expect it, and I told him I didn’t appreciate it. Your father found out before I could talk to him and was very upset. That’s why he wasn’t here last night for dinner and why he hasn’t been home all night.”

Olivia’s eyebrows rose in unison this time. She let out a quiet gasp, her mouth dropped slightly open, and she leaned forward as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Excuse me? Are you serious?”

Ginny sucked in a breath. Maybe this had been a bad idea. “I wish I wasn’t, but yes, I am serious.”

Olivia’s eyes stayed wide as she slumped back against the counter, her arms at her sides. “Wow. Okay, well, I knew something was going on, but I did not expect that.” She whistled and looked at the floor for a moment before looking back at her mom. “So, what’s the deal? Do you still love Dad or what?”

“Of course, I love your dad!” Tears filled Ginny’s eyes. “More than I ever have.” She touched a fingertip against the corner of her eye to catch a tear before it ran and messed up her makeup.

Oliva bit her lower lip for a brief moment before asking, “He’s been ignoring you lately, hasn’t he?”

Ginny’s lower lip quivered in a silent answer as she looked away from her daughter. She shrugged a shoulder. “He’s been busy.” Her gaze drifted out the kitchen window, into the neighbor’s yard where a hummingbird was hovering at a feeder under the edge of the porch roof. She looked back at Olivia. “But that is no excuse. I never should have been alone with Keith or swept up by his charm and sweetness. Or the way he noticed my hair when your father didn’t. Or how he seemed to be excited about going out to dinner with me.” She rolled her eyes. “When your father wasn’t.”

The bagel popped up and Oliva turned and began to spread cream cheese on one side, her back to Ginny. “Mom, listen. I understand. You felt neglected. It makes sense how you lost sight of who you are for a few moments.”

It was clear Oliva was missing the point. Ginny needed to be sure she didn’t miss the point.

“But it doesn’t matter if I felt neglected. I made a commitment to stay with your father through it all — the good and the bad, sickness and health. All of that. Liv, look at me.” Olivia looked over her shoulder to look at her mom and Ginny took a step toward her. “I made vows with your father. That’s important, okay?”

Oliva set the butterknife down and turned to face Ginny. “Yes, Mom. I do. Really.” She walked to Ginny and slid her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “I know. I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I understand. I know you made a mistake. You know you made a mistake.” She leaned back, placing a hand on her mom’s shoulders. “Dad should understand that too and listen to you. Did you tell him how much you still love him? That you didn’t want the kiss from Keith?”

Ginny nodded. “Yes, and he still walked away.”

Olivia sighed. “Give him time. That’s all he needs. If he can just see that part of this is his fault, then maybe he’ll realize he’s also part of the solution.”

Ginny slid her coat on and began to button it closed. “I hope so. For now, though, I need to head to the library. I have to meet Liz and brainstorm plans for the new story hour we’re going to start and finish the final details for the fundraiser and — oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! I forgot to order the cake for Clint and Tiffany’s homecoming party.”

Oliva walked over and buttoned the top button on Ginny’s coat. “Mom, calm down. I’ll order the cake. What am I ordering? Who am I calling? Give me all the details and I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, honey, thank you. I would appreciate it. I’ll text you the details when I get to the library. I need to go unlock it so Liz and Sarah can get in.” She blew out a breath. “And hopefully no one else.”

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 23

On February 19, 2022February 19, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday2 Comments

I shared Chapter 22 yesterday and you can catch up with the rest of the chapters HERE, or wait for it to come out as an ebook and in paperback in late April.

Chapter 23

The coffee on Ginny’s tongue was bitter, like her thoughts about herself at this point. She’d replayed the kiss with Keith over and over in her mind, not because she’d enjoyed it but because she still couldn’t believe she’d let it happen.

It had felt good to be wanted, for lack of a better word, but Keith wasn’t who she hoped to be wanted by. She’d barely spoken to Stan in the last few days. Thankfully he’d been at meetings or showings most of the week and she’d been busy preparing for Clint and Tiffany’s homecoming. It all kept her from having to feel any more uncomfortable around him. She had no idea how to even broach the conversation. Thank God he hadn’t asked her how dinner with Keith had gone. What would she have said?

“Nice. Food was great. The atmosphere was cozy and calming. That kiss at the end of the night was a bit of a shock, but what’s one to do when your husband is too busy to notice you’re still alive?”

She groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead, wishing she could chase away the ache increasing there. No, she couldn’t and wouldn’t say that. It would make it sound like she’d wanted the kiss, when she hadn’t.

The squeak of the back door alerted her she wasn’t alone. It was either Liz or Sarah and she was hoping for the latter because she knew Liz would want to know why she hadn’t been answering her phone the last couple of days.

Sarah, however, hadn’t been early or even on time lately so it was most likely —

“Ginny? You up there?”

Of course, she was up there, hiding in her office, waiting for the coffee to kick in and help her figure out how or even if she was going to talk to Stan about what had happened. He quickly swiped at the tears on her cheek as footsteps thumped on the stairs outside her door.

“Hey, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” Liz set her bag down on a chair and unwound the scarf around her neck. She didn’t wait for Ginny to answer. “I was going to call you last night, but it was too late once Matt left so I decided to wait until this morning.”

Ginny abandoned her self-focused thoughts at the words “too late once Matt left.” She looked at Liz with a quirked eyebrow. “Once Matt left?”

Liz’s eyes widened. “Oh. Not like that. He just stopped by to talk.” Red flushed along her cheekbones. “Well, and there was a kiss.” She looked up at the ceiling, biting her lower lip. “Or two or three.” She brought her eyes back to Ginny’s, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “But it really was only kisses. The rest of the night we tried to help Bella calm down and get some sleep.”

At least someone was finding happiness. Ginny raised her arm in a victory fist pump. “Yes! I knew you two would finally figure it out.”

Liz moved her bag and sat in the chair laughing. “Thanks. Yeah, it took a bit but we got there.” Her smile faded as she tipped her head and studied Ginny. Ginny turned in the office chair quickly. Maybe she hadn’t wiped all the tears away or was her mascara running? It was supposed to be waterproof. Why was Liz looking at her that way?

“What’s going on? You look funny.”

Ginny picked up her mug of coffee, breathed in deep the smell of coffee beans, vanilla, and sugar. She sipped slowly, savoring the flavor on her tongue, wishing she could spend the rest of her day sipping coffee and focusing on flavor instead of failure.

“Ginny, did something happen?” Liz’s voice thickened with full-blown concern. “With Stan?” Ginny shook her head slowly and Liz’s eyebrows raised as she tilted her head forward to listen. “With Keith?”

Ginny didn’t answer, simply sipping again, staring into the light brown liquid.

Liz took a deep breath and let it out again. “I knew I should have kept calling. Molly told me I needed to keep an eye on you.”

Ginny looked up sharply. “Molly told you what?”

Liz pulled a small travel mug out of her purse. “She was worried about you and Keith.” She stared at Ginny pointedly. “Should she have been?”

Ginny folded her fingers around the mug and nodded slowly. “Yes. Or about Keith anyhow.” She looked back into the mug. “He kissed me the other night when we went for a walk after dinner.”

Liz flopped back against the back of the chair. “That jerk! Are you serious! Didn’t he understand you are a married woman?” She slapped her hand against her leg, leaning forward again. “Of course, he understood. He just didn’t care. I knew there was something off about him and that dimple of his.” She made a face. “So charming and dashing. No. He’s neither of those things. He’s manipulative and devious.”

Ginny set the mug on her desk between a stack of papers with information for the fundraiser and a pile of damaged children’s books she either needed to replace or repair.

“I let him kiss me, Liz.”

Liz cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, running her fingertip along the top of her mug as if trying to decide how to respond.

“And —um — did you enjoy it?”

Ginny pushed a hand back through her hair and held it there, at the top of her head, clutching, for a few minutes as she spoke. “At first, yes. I forgot where I was, and it felt good to be touched in a romantic way again. Luckily, though, I came to my senses and pulled away.” She let her hair go and clutched her hands together in her lap. “I was horrified at myself. I never thought I’d become someone who could forget who they were, be swept up in a moment like that.”

“Why not?” Liz leaned forward. “You’re a woman, aren’t you? A human being who needs human interaction, to feel wanted. It doesn’t make it right, but your feelings are natural and real, Ginny.”

Ginny’s eyes stung with tears, and she closed her eyes. “Natural maybe, but acting on our feelings can often get us in trouble.”

Liz breathed out a small laugh. “Yeah, as I know.” Ginny felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Liz watching her with a deeply furrowed brow. . “Does Stan know?”

Ginny shook her head slowly. “No. I haven’t told him yet.”

“But you feel like you need to?”

Ginny’s answer was a slow nod as she cried against her hand. She tried to speak, but her voice choked with emotion.

Liz kneeled next to her, sliding her arms around her. “It’s going to be okay, Ginny. Keith kissed you. You didn’t pursue it. Stan will understand.”

Ginny swallowed hard and tried to speak again. A sob came out of her, and she took a deep breath. “Part of me worries that even if he understands he won’t even care anymore. He hasn’t cared for so long, maybe he won’t even care if another man kissed me.”

“Oh, Ginny. I don’t think that’s true. I’m sure Stan loves you. He’s just lost sight of what’s really important.”

Ginny accepted the tissue she handed her and though she nodded she couldn’t help thinking, But what if I’m not what’s really important to him anymore?

***

Paperwork, check.

Briefcase, check.

List of clients he needed to call today, check.

Stan started his car, but paused, looking at the house, thinking back on his morning with Ginny. She’d been quiet, barely looking at him all morning. Was she angry at him? For what? He really didn’t have time to figure it out. Matt had called him last night to tell him who owned the property where the drugs had been found. Someone named Richard Lantz. Neither of them recognized the name. It wouldn’t matter until the police released the site anyhow. He hoped the commercial buyers were still interested in the site. If he could track this Lantz down, hopefully, he would agree to sell.

His phone rang as he shifted his car into reverse. He tapped the speaker button on the dashboard.

“Clint. How’s it going?”

“Dad, is that really you?” Clint’s laugh was warm and teasing. “I didn’t know if you were still alive. I’ve been kicked to voicemail for weeks.”

Stan’s jaw tightened. Great. Another family member calling to tell him he worked too much.

“Yeah. I’m alive. What’s up?”

Clint cleared his throat. He must have sensed the annoyance Stan was trying to hide in his voice. “I’ve been trying to reach Mom and she’s been going to voicemail too. Anyhow, I just wanted to let you guys know that Tiff and the kids are flying out Friday. Frank and Marge are going to pick them up at the airport. I’m going to be driving the U-haul and the moving company has the other U-Haul. Just thought I’d update you.”

“Great, son.” A kid on a bicycle darted out into the street and Stan slammed the brakes on. His travel mug of coffee flew from the cup holder to the floor. “That’s great. We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

And he was looking forward to seeing his son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren again and on a more regular basis. He didn’t know if he’d have as much time with them as he would like, at least at first, but he’d find the time. Somehow.

He chatted with Clint for the rest of the drive to the coffee shop to pick up the muffins he’d promised his secretary and partner he’d bring. The sun was bright when he pulled into the parking space in front of the shop but he knew it was misleading. A chill nipped at his nose as he climbed out and shut his car door. He reached out and held the door open for a woman wearing a colorful knit cap, a bright red scarf wrapped up across the lower part of her face, and a knee-length, fluffy gray winter coat. He didn’t think it was that cold just yet but to each their own.

“Stan?”

He paused from walking in, still holding the door open. “Yes?”

She pulled the scarf down. “It’s me. Janine from church.”

“Oh, yes. Good morning, Janine. Sorry I didn’t recognize you with the scarf.”

She laughed. “Yes, it’s a little early for the scarf but I have a skin condition that gets flared up in the cold air.”

Stan felt a pang of guilt for having judged her before. “You do what you have to do. I hope it feels better soon.” He also felt guilty he couldn’t remember her last name. She’d been attending their church for a couple of years now. He needed to be more observant.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t ask this, but have you and Ginny split?”

What an odd question. Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “No. Why would you ask?”

“Oh.” Janine pressed her lips into a thin line. “Um. . .nothing.”

A strange buzz slid up Stan’s arms. “Did someone say we had?”

Janine shook her head. “Oh no. No. Not at all.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Forget I even asked. I just wanted to be sure I didn’t stick my foot in it later if I was around either of you and now . . . Well, I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.” She tipped her head back and laughed.

Stan persisted. What did this woman know that he didn’t? “There must be a reason you asked though.”

Janine’s cheeks had turned a bright red and Stan had a feeling it wasn’t from the skin condition. “I — it’s just — I thought I saw Ginny kissing some other man along the river walk in Clarkston the other night. I have to get new glasses, though. It must have been you and I was just too far away.” She laughed again, a nervous twitter more than a laugh, fiddling with her scarf, which she quickly yanked up over her face again. “Good thing I didn’t say anything to anyone else. That’s how rumors get started, right? Anyhow, have a good day, Stan!”

She rushed off, leaving him standing with the door still open, his mouth slightly open, his brow crinkled together as his mind raced.

Ginny? Kissing another man?

Janine must have been mistaken. Maybe it was someone else instead of Ginny. She’d had her haircut recently. Maybe the other woman had longer hair and Janine didn’t know Ginny had had her haircut. Of course, Janine had seen Ginny in church since the hair cut so . . .

“Stan! You comin’ in? You’re letting all the cold air in.”

The voice of the coffee shop’s owner cut through his musings. Stan looked at him but didn’t register what he was saying. “Hmm? Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door, staring at his car. What was he doing again?

Oh, right. Going to work. He needed to get to work.

He climbed back in the car and sat for a few seconds behind the steering wheel. Surely Janine had been wrong.

He turned the key in the ignition and sat for a few seconds longer. Maybe —.

He took a deep breath, shook his head as if to clear it, and shifted the car into park.

“I thought I saw Ginny kissing some other man.” Janine’s words played over and over in his head as he pulled the car onto the street and took a right, driving past his office and heading back toward his house.

***

Stan looked at his watch again.

Where was she?

She usually took a lunch break at this time. Well, if she hadn’t taken lunch with her that day. Had she packed lunch that morning? He couldn’t remember. He’d been on the phone with Patrick Stanton about selling his farm and right after that, he’d walked upstairs to load the rest of his paperwork into his briefcase. When he’d come back down, Ginny had been gone.

Gone. Without saying goodbye like she usually did.

She had acted like someone with a guilty conscience but he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t known that he should be noticing how she was acting.

Apparently, Olivia was right. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to Ginny lately. If he had, then he would have known she obviously wasn’t happy with him and was finding her happiness somewhere else. Like in Keith Stafford’s arms.

He paced the living room, running his hand across his chin and jawline, barely hearing the chirping of birds outside the window. His gaze fell on the picture of him and Ginny on their wedding day. He snatched it up, looked into eyes young and innocent. He’d had more hair then, that was for sure. A trimmer waist too. Stronger jawline, less wrinkles.

His older image reflected in the glass of the picture, lines along the corners of his eyes, a pinched mouth that hadn’t smiled in ages, and was his forehead higher too? No wonder Ginny was looking elsewhere for affection. She probably wasn’t even attracted to him any longer and looking at his reflection, at the bags under his eyes, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

He sat on the couch, the picture in his hand, images of that day playing in his mind like a movie. The white roses in her bouquet, the way she watched him as she walked down the aisle, his racing heart that he thought might burst from his chest. He could still smell the lilies in the arrangements at the front of the church and the honeysuckle when they’d walked out into the sunlight into a rain of rice from their friends and family.

Her dad hadn’t been a fan of him when they were in high school together, but his opinion seemed to change some after college when he saw Stan had a clear direction for his life. On their wedding day, her dad and shaken Stan’s hand at the front of the church before the ceremony, pulled him in close and whispered, “I brought her this far. Now it’s your turn. Don’t let me down.”

Had he let her father down? He didn’t think so. All these years he’d earned a living to support her and the children, he’d loved her the best way he knew how.

Maybe he wasn’t the man he used to be, physically or emotionally but that didn’t give Ginny the right to throw away their marriage, run around behind his back with her ex-boyfriend.

He laid the picture down on its face and started pacing again. As he lifted his arm to look at his watch the front door opened, bringing a stream of sunlight with it. Ginny’s head was down, focused on pulling the key from the lock. When she looked up a soft scream came from her and she jumped back.

“Oh my goodness! Stan! What are you doing here? You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Stan placed his hands at his waist, jaw tight. “what do you mean what am I doing here? I live here, don’t I?”

For now, he did anyhow. Maybe he wouldn’t much longer. Maybe Ginny was planning to kick him out and move Keith in.

Ginny seemed taken aback by his tone. She nodded slightly as she set her purse on the floor by the door. “Yes, of course, you live here. You’re just usually at work at this time.”

“Well, I came home, okay?”

She visibly tensed, pulling her shoulders back and walking toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. He watched her, seething inside at how nonchalant she seemed about it all. She’d been lying to him, sneaking around with Keith, but acting like nothing was going on. He thought he knew her. Apparently, he didn’t or he would have known she could be so cold-hearted. What had happened to her anyhow?

He followed her into the kitchen, ready to burst with anger. He tried to keep his tone even as he spoke, though. “So, did you have a good time with Keith the other night?”

She paused in front of the open refrigerator for a brief second before resuming retrieving the deli turkey and a jar of Miracle Whip.

“Yes, I did.” She kept her back to him. “Why do you ask?”

He huffed out a small laugh. She was something else. Really? She was going to act like nothing had happened.

“It’s just that I ran into Janine from church this morning.”

“Janine Taylor?”

Taylor. That was her last name. Right. “Yeah, Janine Taylor.”

Ginny spread Miracle Whip on the bread, keeping her back to him. “And how is Janine?”

“She thinks we split, that’s how Janine is.”

“Oh?”

The innocent lilt in her voice sent him over the edge. He dragged a hand through his hair. “She saw you, Ginny.”

Ginny turned slowly, the butter knife still in her hand. Light pink had spread across the skin exposed at the top of her shirt and was spreading up toward her face. “Saw me what?” She swallowed hard.

“You can knock off the innocent act, Gin.” He heard his voice raising but couldn’t seem to lower it, keep it under control. “I know you were kissing Keith along the river.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t let her. “How long has this been going on? Weeks? Months? When were you going to tell me our marriage is over?”

Ginny’s eyes glistened with tears, which is exactly what cheaters did when they were caught, Stan thought, fury clouding his mind and judgment.

“It’s not like that at all, Stan.”

“Isn’t it? Then what is it like?”

“He kissed me. I didn’t want that kiss.”

Stan slapped a hand against his leg. “Oh, yeah. Sure you didn’t.” He held his hands up in front of him, palms out. “I don’t even want to hear it. I would have never done anything like that to you. I can’t even believe this.”

A tear slipped down Ginny’s cheek. “Haven’t you though?”

Stan thought his heart was going to explode through his throat the way it was pounding. “Excuse me?”

Ginny took a deep breath, swiped at the tear. “Nothing was happening between Keith and me but haven’t you been cheating on me for years with your job?”

He lost the control he’d been hanging onto by a thread and slammed the palm of his hand on the counter. “How dare you suggest that my working to support this family is anywhere close to you running around behind my back with your ex-boyfriend.”

Ginny stepped back against the counter, clutched at it as if for support. “I was not running behind your back. You were supposed to be there Thursday night, where were you?”

“So you’re saying because I missed some dinner with you that you decided to kiss Keith?”

“Missed some dinner? You’ve missed probably a hundred dinners over the last couple of years. I barely see you.”

“More excuses? Really? I can’t even believe this.”

She stepped forward, tears in her eyes, but anger in her voice. “I didn’t kiss Keith, Stan. He kissed me. I didn’t want him to kiss me. I told him that.”

Keith stepped back, threw up his hands. “I don’t even want to hear this.”

“Hear what?” She snapped out the words sharply. “Hear that it isn’t Keith I wanted a passionate kiss from? That —”

“Oh so it was a passionate kiss, was it?”

“You’re not listening Stan!”

“I can hear you perfectly fine. You had a passionate kiss with your ex-boyfriend along the river the other night.”

“I didn’t want a passionate kiss from Keith! I wanted one from you! I’ve wanted one from you for months! You don’t even know I’m alive anymore.”

Stan shook his head, his hands up near his head. “I can’t listen to this right now. I can’t do this.”

He snatched his keys off the island and pivoted on his heel toward the back door. “I’m going for a drive.”

“Fine. Walk away like you always do.”

The parting words from his wife sent even more anger rumbling through him. He swung around and faced her. “Stop talking, Ginny! Just stop! I’ve heard enough today. I’m going for a drive and then I’m coming back and packing a bag.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I’ll get a room at that inn. Blueberry Inn or whatever it is called. I just can’t be here right now.”

The door rattled when he slammed it behind him and he heard the sobbing, but it only made him angrier. How dare she think she had the right to sob like she was the victim when she was the one who had betrayed him, throwing all they had away for — for what? A passionate moment to get back at him for what she thought he’d done wrong? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d gone to work day after day to make sure she was fed, that Olivia could keep going to college, that they didn’t lose all they had built over their 35 years of marriage.

He slammed the car door closed and started the car, slamming his hand against the steering wheel and wincing. He didn’t even know where he was going. He couldn’t go to work. Not in the state he was in. All he knew was he couldn’t stay here. Not with the woman who’d treated their marriage like it was optional, like loving him was optional.

How had he not noticed how bad things had gotten? How had he not noticed that his wife no longer loved him?

Sunday Bookends: I finished another book (it’s a miracle), cabin fever, rough draft finished

On February 13, 2022February 12, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Sunday Bookends3 Comments

Welcome to Sunday Bookends where I ramble about what I’ve been reading, doing, watching, writing and listening to.

What I/we’ve been Reading

I finished another book last week. It’s a miracle. I know.

It was The Cat Who Saw Stars and it was not one of Braun’s best at all.

I was very disappointed with the book because it meandered around, which she always does, but this book never got to the point of Qwill actually investigating anything. It was merely him visiting other people and judging contests and having odd things happen to him. The end of the book was one of the worst endings I have seen in a book as well. I’m guess this was one of her later books. She wrote 29, I believe, before she passed away and she must have been running out of ideas.

To cleanse my pallet this week, I am reading a Love Inspired romance by new-to-me author Lisa Jordan called The Road to Redemption. Love Inspired books are part of Harlequin’s inspirational romance line.

I also started a book by Sara Davison called Every Star in the Sky. It is a Christian Fiction book that deals with the topic of sex trafficking so I have a feeling I will need to take a break from this one a few times. I’m on the fifth chapter and it is very well written, but also a tough read. It is for a book tour so I have a deadline, but luckily it is a fairly long one.

After these two, there are a few books I hope to get to in March and April (but I’ll probably read only one because you know how slow I read), including:

Miss Julia Renews Her Vows by Ann B. Ross

The Reckoning Trees (which I have started) by Alicia Gilliam

Relative Silence by Carrie Stuart Parks

Until I Met You by Tari Farris

Cape Refuge by Terri Blackstock

But I also have books I am reading for book tours and author friends.

I will have to take some breaks from

What’s Been Occurring

This week the temperatures were terribly cold again in the beginning of the week, while we tried to chip our way out of the ice that fell the week before. Our driveway was a mess and I wasn’t able to go anywhere the whole week.

By the end of the week, the weather warmed up and things finally began to defrost some, clearing the driveway at least, but today the temps have dropped again, and we are once again in subzero temperatures. We are supposed to have a couple more days of this and then a slow warm up. My sinuses are just going to love the up and down temps. Ha. Ha.

*This is what happens when your children have cabin fever. They stand in window frames and look like a scene from a horror movie.*

My children are definitely having some cabin fever and sadly the only time they got out this week was to a memorial service for a good friend of our family’s. Ginger was 89 and quite a character. She and her husband Ernie were pianists who played beautiful music together. Ernie passed away in 2020 and she passed in January. She was originally from New York City and told some of the funniest stories. She was also very blunt, which created some hilarious situations. Honestly, she warrants an entire blog post so I should probably consider doing that for this week.

This week they will have another “exciting” outing when I have to drive 45 minutes north to take our dog to the vet for her annual vaccines. It will be in the town where we used to live, so my son will be excited to visit his old stomping grounds.

What We watched/are Watching

We started watching a new British comedy (new to us) called Ghosts and are hooked. It is about a group of ghosts stuck in an old house who can’t leave, which is a real problem for the new owner, who inherited the house from a step-great-aunt.

It’s the main thing we’ve been watching, and I can’t actually think of anything else I watched this week because I was working so much on finishing my next book. Which brings me to . . .

What I’m Writing

I’ve been working all week on A New Chapter, which I have renamed Beauty From Ashes.

I’ve been writing for 2-3 hours a day during the week as part of writing sprints with the Novel Academy ladies, but, of course, with two children and a dog, I’m not able to actually write the full time. I’m usually interrupted every ten minutes or so to let a dog outside or feed a child. Why do children think they have to eat every day? Sheesh. It does get tiresome after a bit. Anyhoo . . . despite all the interruptions, I was able to finish the rough draft and will start editing and fleshing out this week.

I also shared posts on the blog last week, including:

The many adventures we do and do not have in very cold weather.

You Are My Sunshine is not necessarily a ‘happy song’

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 1

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 2

How to improve dialogue and capture your readers’ attention

Book Review: Freedom Crossing

What I’m Listening To

This week I listened to Matthew West, Johnny Cash, and a bit of Jack White to get through the week.

Now it’s your turn

So that is my week in review. How about you? What have you been reading, watching, listening to or doing? Let me know in the comments.

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 21 Part 2

On February 11, 2022February 18, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday1 Comment

We are getting closer to the end of this story and I just wanted to let regular readers know that the book will not be called A New Chapter when I am done with it and publish it in book form. Last week it struck me that I already have A New Beginning and now I was going to call this book A New Chapter. It seemed a bit lazy on the naming side so I have changed A New Chapter to Beauty From Ashes and at this point it is scheduled to be released in full on April 26. I haven’t decided if I will keep the book in Kindle Unlimited or not yet.

For those who are new here, I share a chapter of a novel in progress on Fridays for Fiction Friday but sometimes I also share a part on a Thursday or Saturday. The version I share here often changes before I push publish on the final book down the line.

If you want to read the other chapters click HERE and if you want to read the other books click HERE.

Chapter 21 Part 2

“Ooh, boy, Bella. That’s a stinky one.”

Liz sat back on her feet and made a face. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

She reached for the wipes and the new diaper while Bella kicked her feet on the blanket she was lying on on the floor.

She should call Matt after she was done. It had been a week since she’d witnessed him arrest Gabe and she hadn’t heard a word from him. She’d been wondering why she hadn’t been hearing his voice on the scanner at night and should have asked, but then she’d have to admit she listened to hear his voice on the scanner.

Awkward.

Instead of calling Matt last night, like she’d considered doing, she’d tried to call Ginny and make sure she wasn’t somewhere alone with Keith. Molly’s suggestion that hanging out with Keith could be a temptation for her had alarmed her. Ginny hadn’t picked up the phone, though, and she’d been about to drive to her house when Molly had walked in after milking at the barn.

Calling Matt would have been awkward though What was she going to say? “Hey, how’s it going since you kicked the crud out of my ex in front of half the town the other day?”

Molly took her coat off and hung it on the hanger next to the door. “Have you talked to Matt recently?”

Liz hooked Bella’s diaper and looked up. “No, I haven’t tried him yet. Why?”

Molly slid her shoes off, sniffed them and then placed them outside the door. “He might need a friend right now.”

“Yeah, why? And thanks for putting the shoes out there this time. This apartment stinks enough with all the diapers. We don’t need to smell like manure too.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Why? Why would he need a friend? You were there, you saw why he would need a friend. Did that really look like normal Matt McGee behavior to you?” She turned and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Not only that, but Alex just told me he got suspended from the police force.”

Liz straightened and sat back on her heels. “Are you kidding me? Reggie suspended him?”

“He had no choice. The council made him because of the charges Gabe filed against him and the threat of a lawsuit.”

Liz’s chest tightened and her throat thickened with emotion. This wasn’t fair. Matt was a good cop. What was this going to do for his acceptance to the academy?

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I will be.”

“It’s not your fault, Liz. Matt made his own choice. It’s exactly what he told Alex.”

The old familiar tingling spread from Liz’s hands up her arms as she stood and sat on the couch. Yes, Matt had made a choice, but it was her choices that had landed him in the position to make that choice.

Molly sat next to her and slid an arm around her. “It’s all going to work out, okay? Listen, I wasn’t really supposed to say anything to you. Matt didn’t want you to know, but since I already knew you were there, I just figured you would want to know what happened.”

Liz leaned against her friend. “I did want to know. I just wish I didn’t know. You know?”

The women laughed and Molly leaned back to look at Liz. “Yeah. I know.”

They laughed again and then Liz leaned out of the embrace. “Don’t you need to get ready for your sleepover?”

Molly and her grandmother had a sleepover once a month and usually Liz was invited, but this month she’d opted to stay home and let the ladies have some together time without their third wheel.

Molly sighed. “I do, but I hate to leave you alone after I just dropped that on you.”

Liz shrugged a shoulder. “The only thing you could do is stop me from eating the entire pint of chocolate Haagendas in the freezer.” She winked. “But really, you couldn’t even do that, so go on. Have fun at Grandma Fran’s and tell her I’ll be back next month.”

Molly stood and stretched. “She’ll be happy about that. She says you make better hot chocolate than me. Plus she wants to see Bella again. You’ll have to bring her by before then.”

Liz folded one of Bella’s blankets and laid it on the back of the couch. “I will. What’s on the agenda tonight?”

Molly wiggled her body in a type of dance. “Spa night. Facial masks, manicures, pedicures, and I’m giving her a massage.”

Liz laughed at the picture of 76-year old Frannie wearing a facemask.

Molly left after a shower and change and Liz headed for the freezer, her phone in her hand. She would call Matt and check on him, but first — ice cream.

She was swallowing the first bite when her phone buzzed.

Matt: Hey, you home?

Good grief. It was like he could read her mind.

Liz: Where else would I be? I don’t have a life you know. *wink emoji*

Matt: Be over in ten?

Huh. Not even a joke back. This couldn’t be good.

Liz: Sure. I’ll be here.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window on her way to the couch and winced. She should at least comb her hair, or put it in a bun, or something. She looked down at the baggy sweatpants she’d stolen from Molly and the stained Needtobreathe T-shirt. And change her clothes. Yeah. She should change her clothes. Sure, Matt was a friend, but she could at least look half way decent for him.

How should one dress when their friend was about to tell them they’d slammed their ex-boyfriend’s head off some concrete? She decided on casual, but not too casual, slipping on a white tank top, covered with a beige sweater and a pair of blue yoga pants. She was yanking a brush through her hair when the knock on the door came. Apparently her ten minutes was much different than his ten minutes because for her it had only been about six.

She’d needed that extra four to finish brushing.

She pushed her fingers through her hair instead and attempted to fluff it, as much as straight hair would fluff. Since it was shorter now, it didn’t look as crazy with just a quick brush as it had when it fell down her back, but still.

That whole saying about absence making the heart grow founder seemed to hold water when she opened the door and saw him standing on the landing, hands deep in his front pockets, looking out over the town. A cold breeze ruffled his hair and his normally smooth jawline was speckled with a few days growth, which gave him an entirely more rugged look. That rugged look sent her heart thudding fast against her ribcage and her bottom lip between her teeth as she took in the rest of him — his dark blue jeans, tan cardigan hugging his newly fit torso.

He turned his head toward her, and she ceased her pursual, hoping red wasn’t spreading across her skin as fast as the warm flush of appreciation was spreading under it.

“Hey.”

The husky tone of his voice tipped her stomach upside down.

Just friends, Liz. You two are just friends. That is all. Stop staring at your gorgeous friend and let him in your apartment.

“Hey. You want to get out of the cold?”

Of course, he wants to get out of the cold, idiot. Just step out of the way and let him in.

She stepped back and opened the door fully. “Come in.”

He stepped past her, and she drew in a sharp breath. Wow. He smelled amazing. She needed to focus. He wasn’t here for a pleasure call.

He stepped into the kitchen area and turned to face her, hands still in his pockets, cheekbones flushed soft pink from the cold. “Sorry I haven’t called. You been okay?”

He was apologizing? She hadn’t spoke to him barely at all since the day in the parking lot at the art class and he was apologizing.

He really was something else and that something else was wonderful.

“Yeah, I’ve been good.”

“Bella?”

“She’s great. Just taking a nap on the blanket right now.”

“Good. Good.”

He nodded as he spoke, then looked at the tip of his boot.

She knew she should put him out of his misery but wasn’t sure how. Should she tell him she knew about what happened with Gabe? Should she admit she’d been upset because she found out he’d been in her apartment the night of her overdose? Debating it in her head wasn’t going to help move either of them forward in their lives so she’d better pull one trigger or the other.

“Listen —”

They spoke at the same time, then laughed together.

“Sorry.”

In unison again. Really? Liz laughed softly, tugging gently on her earlobe. This was getting weird.

“Listen.” He spoke first this time. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now what happened the other night at Mooney’s.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck then held it there, pulling down. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior and if I made anything worse for you. I should have controlled my anger. I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

He peered at her with what she could only describe as puppy dog eyes. His sincere contrition made her want to slide her arms around his neck and comfort him, tell him she wasn’t mad, not in the least, but there was still a part of her that was upset at him for this and for not telling her he was at her apartment that night

She bit her lower lip for a few seconds before speaking. “I know. I was there that day.” Matt winced and looked back down toward the floor as she continued. “I’m guessing that hadn’t gotten around yet.”

He shook his head. “No. Not yet. And if Alex knew he didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah. He knew. He was sworn to secrecy until I could figure out how to tell you.”

Matt looked back up at her again and his green eyes locked on hers. “I guess we both had secrets we didn’t want to talk about.”

A chill shivered through her and not just from the cold blast that had come in when he’d stepped inside. That statement held a meaning beyond what had happened at Mooney’s. She knew it, but did he?

“I wasn’t honest with you about the night you overdosed, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected a confession, yet she should have. It was Matt she was talking to. Of course, he was going to be open with her. Time for her to be honest too.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Ginny accidentally told me.”

“How did Ginny — Oh right. Stan. I asked the guys at church for prayer for you. He didn’t know the full story, but I’m guessing he put two and two together.”

A faint smile pulled at Liz’s mouth. “Yeah, he’s a horrible husband but he’s still got some brains left up there.” She played with the necklace around her neck. “I lied to you too. More than once, which, of course, you know.” The sting of the tears surprised her, and she swallowed to try to keep them at bay. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.” She looked toward the living room, struggling to make eye contact. “You’ve been a good friend and I haven’t.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, bending his hands over the edges. “We both screwed up by not being open with each other.” He pushed himself off, stepped toward her. “I don’t want to do that anymore. Be dishonest with you.”

Her breath quickened at the heat coming off him. He needed to step back. She was having trouble thinking clearly and this time she knew it wasn’t alcohol causing issues.

“I don’t want to keep holding my feelings back or keep them hidden.” He took another step and now he was definitely too close. She started to step back but he placed a hand at the small of her back, stopping her and pulling her gently toward him. He slid the other hand on the back of her neck, leaning his head close to hers.

“And I don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

The words sent her heart slamming inside her ribcage, forcing her to take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. She glanced at his mouth, then moved her gaze back to his eyes. She’d imagined him kissing her a few hundred times over the last few years, but now that he was this close, she was suddenly terrified. What if changed their friendship and not for the better?

“You know, seeing you do that to Gabe? It showed a whole different side to you.” She was stalling, she knew it.

He laughed softly, his breath tickling her cheek. “Yeah. Not a good one.”

“It showed me you’re not as perfect as everyone — as I — thought you were. It showed me you have a lot more passion in you than you let on.”

He moved his hand from the back of her neck to the back of her head, sinking his fingers into her hair. “Liz, you and are I a lot similar than you think. You’re not who people think you are, and neither am I.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she smiled. “Is this confession time? Are you going to tell me you’re actually a bad guy, secretly running an underground drug ring?”

Matt laughed softly. “Yeah. Right. That’s me. A secret drug lord.” He grinned. “No. What I mean is, I’m not perfect.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“What do you do that makes you not perfect, McGee?”

A playful grin turned his mouth upward. “I rip those tags off pillows that say ‘do not remove’. One time I left my cart in the middle of the parking lot. I actually like pineapple on pizza.”

He pressed his hand more firmly against the small of her back and pulled her against him. “And I think about kissing you way more than I should.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her voice fading to a whisper as she pressed her hands against his chest. “You can’t think of kissing me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re just friends. Remember?”

“Then let me give you a friendly kiss.”

She closed her eyes as his lips brushed against her forehead, her cheek, and then found her mouth, capturing her upper lip.

Heat shot through her as he slipped his mouth to her lower lip next. She moved her hands to his face and leaned into the kiss as he found her whole mouth, savoring the feel of him.

If this was what it felt like to kiss a friend, then she wanted him to be her friend for the rest of her life.

He smiled as he pulled his mouth away several seconds later. “That went better than I thought it was going to.”

“Kissing me?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “That and talking to you about all the things I should have talked to you about already.”

“Did you plan to kiss me?”

“Not necessarily, but I thought it would be nice if it finally happened since I’ve been thinking about it so long. I needed to take the chance and let the chips fall where they may.”

She smiled and slid her arms behind his neck as his arms slid behind her back.

Her hand moved automatically to the back of his head, up into his hair, like she’d imagined doing many times before. She finally felt comfortable enough to mess up that perfect Officer McGee hair. She smirked. “Does this mean we’re more than friends now?”

The huskiness of his tone slid over her senses like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, transforming her smirk into a smile. “I certainly hope so.”

He kissed her again, as soft and sweet as before, no urgency, just a comforting sense of leisure. She slid her hands down the back of his head, resting them on the back of his neck to hold him close, almost afraid he’d pull away and disappear and this would all be a dream.

A few minutes later, a small cry from the living room interrupted them and Liz pulled her mouth from his, her eyes on the living room. She slipped from his arms, and he followed her as she walked toward the blanket in the center of the floor. They found Bella looking up at them with a firm pout in place and fresh tears on her cheeks.

He stooped down before she could and lifted Bella into his arms. “Hey, little girl, jealous of all the attention your mom is getting tonight?” He winked at Liz. “Can’t be helped.”

He sat on the couch with the baby cradled in his arms, her small form practically dwarfed against his much larger arms.

Liz couldn’t believe how natural it all seemed, him with a baby, relaxed, smiling. It stopped her in her tracks, left her holding her breath without even realizing it.

She finally let herself breathe again and walked to the kitchen, lifting a bag of breast milk from the freezer and setting it to warm in a bowl of warm water. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask this,” she said as she returned a few minutes later with a bottle. She braced herself mentally, sitting next to him and handing him the bottle. “What happened with the academy?”

He took the bottle and kept his eyes on Bella. “They rescinded my application because of the charges filed against me.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Guess God has different plans for me.”

Liz’s chest felt tight, and she rubbed the top of it under her throat. Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up at her. “It will work out. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal. This was your dream and it’s my fault you’re not going to be able to realize it.”

Matt kept his eyes on hers. “Not everything is your fault Liz, and this definitely isn’t. I made the choice to react the way I did to Gabe. It was my decision to slam him against my patrol car, not yours. Actions have consequences and losing that spot at the academy was mine.”

Liz dropped her gaze, watching Bella drink from the bottle. “Liz, I want you to listen to me.” She nodded but kept her eyes on Bella. “Look at me.” She lifted her eyes and once again, the green of his eyes startled her, pulled her in. “This is not your fault. I’m serious. We all make poor decisions at some point in our lives. What happened with Gabe? It was a poor decision. That’s all. That night in your apartment? The same thing. Those mistakes do not define you, though. You get that right? You are what God says you are, and He says you are his child, mistakes and all.”

It was a message Liz had resisted over and over. That God loved her, no matter her poor choices and that she could learn from those poor choices and make better ones in the future. She’d usually roll her eyes and move away or make a joke or change the subject, but something about the way Matt said it, the way she could tell he meant it, truly believed it, and wanted to her to believe it too, broke her.

She didn’t stop the tears this time, didn’t look away from him when they came. She nodded as they flowed, trying her best not to ugly cry as she let the words sink in.

“Thank you.” She finally managed the words, leaning forward and brushing her lips against his cheek. “You know it too, right?”

He looked at her with a questioning rise in his eyebrows.

“That your bad decision to react the way you did to Gabe does not define you.”

He smiled sheepishly, tilted his face down toward Bella again. “Touché, Miss Cranmer. Touché.”

She slid next to him, her feet under her, one arm across the back of the couch, watching him feed Bella, and wishing she’d let her walls down before, let herself believe she could be happy and that she deserved it. Like him holding Bella, this — her leaning into him — felt natural and right, like how her life should be and hopefully would be in the future.

Special Fiction Saturday: A New Chapter Chapter 20

On February 5, 2022February 4, 2022 By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday1 Comment

I thought I’d share an extra chapter this weekend as I am marching toward writing the final chapters during the week. I shared Chapter 19 yesterday.

To catch up with the story click HERE.

If you would like to read the first books in this series, you can find them HERE.

Chapter 20

Ginny looked at her watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Where was he? He’d told her this morning he’d be here.

“Don’t stand me up this time, Stan.”

She did not want to have to tell Keith they’d have to reschedule because her husband was, yet again, too busy with work.

Oh great. There he was. Keith, parking his car in a space a few spots up from hers. She looked in the rearview mirror.

“Stan, come on.”

Maybe she could simply drive away and text Keith, telling him she’d have to cancel. That would work. It would be awkward, but no more awkward than having to admit her husband cared more about his job than his family, especially his wife.

She slid the key in the ignition, preparing to leave before Keith reached the sidewalk next to her car, but it was too late. Curse that man’s long legs. He spotted her and waved, sliding his sunglasses off and slipping them into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

She forced a smile and waved back, opening the door to the car.

Keith reached out for her hand as she stepped up on the sidewalk and pulled her into a hug. “Hey, there. Where’s the ball and chain?”

Ginny breathed in the smell of his cologne, a pang of guilt stabbing at her for enjoying it, the manliness of it. She longed to have Stan hug her this way so she could breathe in his cologne while nuzzling his neck.

She pulled back from the hug and looked at her watch, frowning. “Running late, I guess. He should be here soon.”

Keith gestured toward the restaurant’s front door. “Shall we get a seat and wait for him? We can order drinks and an appetizer.”

Ginny chewed her bottom lip, hesitating. “Um. Yeah. Okay.”

She looked back over her shoulder as Keith opened the door for her, searching the street for Stan’s car.

Come on, Stan. Be here. Just this once. Please.

Inside the restaurant was warmly lit, tables set under lightbulbs casting off soft, orange glows.

“Two?” the hostess asked looking between Ginny and Keith.

“Three actually,” Keith answered. “The other member of our party is running late.”

When they sat, Ginny glanced at the empty chair and her jaw tightened.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Keith placed his jacket on the back of his chair. How many times in the last two years had she attended events without Stan, making apologies, waiting for him to call and explain or make another excuse? Too many to count.

She was tired of it.

After hoping for a year to taste the food at this restaurant she was here, but not with the man she’d wanted to be with.

It didn’t matter. She was going to make the best of it and hopefully, he’d show up before the waitress took their orders for entrees.

Keith folded his hands on the table. “So, at the art class, you were telling me your daughter was trying to decide if she wanted to stay in California or not. What did she decide?”

Ginny pushed aside her thoughts of Stan and sighed. “I came home from the class and found her in my kitchen.”

Keith laughed. “Ah, I see. So she made up her mind to come home then?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, and she’s dropped out of school. She has no idea what she’s going to do and it makes me want to scream.” She laughed. “I love her and I love having her closer to home but all that money and she’s not even going to get a degree. It’s infuriating.”

The waitress approached and Ginny ordered a glass of water with lemon, Keith an iced tea, and an appetizer of blini with caviar. Stan loved caviar. Ginny hoped he arrived in time to have some.

“You know,” Keith propped his hand under his chin. “It might be good for your daughter to take some time off. She may decide she wants to go back and get her degree later on or she may not, but either way, she’s finding out what makes her happy.” He winced. “Of course, that doesn’t replace all that money you and Stan shelled out. What was her degree going to be in?”

“Social work.” Ginny’s phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Stan. I should take this.”

“Of course.” Keith nodded toward the phone. “Definitely take it.”

“Hey, hon’, listen, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

She’d known what he was going to say before he said it, but hearing it didn’t make it any easier.

“Yeah.” She didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in her voice. “Okay.”

The waitress arrived with her water and Keith’s iced tea.

“Are you upset?” Oh, how perceptive of him. “Listen, I’m sorry, but the client was running late. He just got here and this is a possibly big sale.” No surprise he didn’t even wait for me to answer. “The Henderson farm. They’re looking to make it into a commercial farm. It could mean jobs for the area.”

Ginny didn’t answer. She tapped her fingers on the table and scowled into her glass. She’d heard it all, this was no different.

“Gin, you still there?”

“Yep. I’m here.”

“Send Keith my apologies. I’ll find another date we can do this again. My treat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll tell him. See you later.”

Ginny slid her finger over the end button without even a goodbye. She was tired of faking cheerful goodbyes after he let her down. It was getting old.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Not going to make it?”

Ginny shook her head, sipping her water.

“I’m guessing by your demeanor this isn’t a new thing?”

Looked like Keith was perceptive too.

“No,” she said. “Not at all.” She pushed her hand back through her hair, enjoying the feel of it soft against her skin. She’d used a new conditioner Liz had suggested, hoping Stan might finally notice her new haircut, or at least comment on it. She’d caught him starring at her one day, thinking he might have finally noticed, but then he’d told her he’d sold a property that had been on the market for three years and walked away.

“Well,” Keith spread his hands out. “We’re already here. The appetizer is on its way. We might as well have some dinner.”

Ginny felt insanely uncomfortable agreeing to have dinner with a man who wasn’t her husband, but Keith was right. They were already there, seated, with appetizers on the way and she was hungry. She was also antsy for a night out. Between the fundraiser, planning for Clint and Tiffany to come home, helping Liz with Bella and her new job. She was ready for a break. It wasn’t her fault if Stan couldn’t be bothered to show up. She was tired of waiting on him to live her life.

“Remember that night we climbed the water tower?” Keith asked the question ten minutes after they’d sampled the caviar and ordered their entrees.

Ginny looked up with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh, my goodness. I had forgotten about that.”

The dimple in the cheek popped up again as Keith smiled. “You were terrified and kept saying, ‘Keith, no. We shouldn’t be doing this. Won’t we get in trouble?’” He laughed. “You pressed your back against the tank, closed your eyes, and it took me five minutes to convince you to look out over the town.”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, I remember. I was so scared. I’m glad I finally opened my eyes, though. It was beautiful.”

“You should open your eyes more often.”

Her gaze met his, noticed the way the candle in the center of the table reflected in the light brown iris. She’d forgotten how hints of green blended into the brown. “What do you mean?”

Keith kept his eyes on her. “It’s just, I’m afraid you’ve forgotten how to live Ginny.”

She pulled her gaze from his, dropped it to her hands folded in her lap. She opened her mouth to speak but he continued. “Be honest with me. There’s been something missing your life, hasn’t there? That spark. The spark for life. Don’t you want to get that back again?”

She rubbed her fingers along the edge of the tablecloth. He was right. She did want to get that spark back again. How to do it was the question that had been poking at her for months now.

The server bringing the entrees was a welcome sight and a welcome interruption. She changed the subject to the food, to how long it had been since she’d eaten out a restaurant like this and he, thankfully, followed her lead and began to talk about his new love of cooking.

The server’s appearance came as they finished their entrees and he was describing how he had discovered how to cook the perfect pot roast.

“Desert for the lovely couple?” The server was a young man who looked like a seventh grader to Ginny. He’d been attentive the entire time, asking every ten minutes if they needed anything or if he could refill their drinks and each time she felt like asking him if his mother knew where he was.

She raised a hand in response to his question. “Oh, no. We’re not a —

“Sure.” Keith smiled at her and winked. “We’d love some dessert.”

“Keith, I —”

The dimple appeared again, his eyes sparkling. “Have some fun for once Ginny.” He ran his index finger down the desert list. “How about the Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. That sounds good, right?”

His French accent when he pronounced the desert impressed her, she had to admit. She smiled and propped her chin in her hand. “Yeah, actually, it really does. Even though I have no idea what it is.”

Keith winked. “Then that is what we’re having.” He handed the list back to the server. “We’ll take two. One for each of part of this lovely couple.”

Ginny sipped from her water, the word couple lingering in her thoughts, apprehension sneaking along her senses.

***

Matt stretched his legs out and propped his feet on the coffee table. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Normally at this time he’d be pouring coffee into his thermos and grabbing a slice of toast on his way out the door to work.

There wasn’t a job to go to this morning, though, so all he could do was sit and think about the last 24-hours.

He’d expected it, of course, but the meeting with Reggie had still been uncomfortable.

“I can’t stand that I have to do this, Matt.” The man shook his head, leaned bag in his chair, and huffed out a breath, his gaze on the top of his desk. “You’re the best cop I’ve ever had in my 25 years on this force.” He shook his head, leaned forward with his hands folded in the shape of a triangle on top of the desk, and looked up at Matt. “What in the world happened, boy? Never in my wildest imagination did I think I’d be suspending you for excessive force.”

Answering Reggie had been even harder. How did he explain that what Gabe had said about Liz had incensed him, left him mentally black for several minutes, and when he came to his senses Gabe was already bleeding on the sidewalk?

In the end, he’d simply said, “I lost my cool. I was out of line. I’m really not sure what came over me.”

Reggie had scoffed, flopping back in this chair. “A woman came over you, that’s what. Women will be the death of us and our careers, I swear.” He winked. “Don’t tell my wife I said that, of course.” Reggie slid a sheet of paper across to him. “This is your written warning and suspension conditions. You’ll be reinstated by the council after a full investigation and pending the outcome of any criminal legal proceedings against you.”

After that had been the call from the State Police Academy

“Mr. McGee we regret to inform you that due to a criminal complaint filed against you while on duty as an officer with the Spencer Police Department, we are going to have to rescind our acceptance of your application to join the state police academy.

The entire situation was surreal, yet he knew it was all entirely his fault. Those ten minutes with Gabe were still a blur. Looking back, he realized he must have had some kind of mental break. He’d heard the term blind with rage but never thought of it as a real occurrence until that moment. Then there was the saying “I saw red,” and he supposed he could say he had seen red, figuratively anyhow, when Gabe said he’d forced Liz into sleeping with him that night.

“Don’t tell Liz about this,” he’d told Jason and Alex when they’d met him outside the police station later that night.

“It’s a small town, dude, she’s going to find out,” Alex reminded him.

“Just – maybe she’ll be too worried about finding a new job or too busy with her classes to hear,” Matt said, dragging his hand through his hair. He really didn’t know, but he didn’t need to add more stress to Liz’s life.

Would she feel like it was her fault that he’d been suspended from his job and lost his place at the academy?

He hoped not.

Maybe she’d be angry instead. At this point, he had no idea. Liz was hard to read at times, especially recently. He wished they had more moments like they’d had at the bowling alley that one time or during movie nights when she laughed and joked with him, forgetting about her worries. She let her guard down during those moments and he wanted more of that, more moments of the real and unhindered Liz. The Liz he remembered from high school and before she hooked up with Gabe.

Those were the moments when he could see himself reaching over, laying his hand behind her head, clutching that beautiful dark hair, and kissing her mouth the way he’d imagined doing for years now.

Wouldn’t that shock her? Knowing he had thoughts like that. Thoughts of kissing her, thoughts beyond being a police officer or teaching young boys about how to live a good, righteous life. No, he didn’t think imagining kissing her was inappropriate, but he wondered if it would shatter her preconceived notion that he was some kind of saint.

Someday he’d have to tell her and find out if she was shocked that he wasn’t so perfect after all, but right now he had to figure out what he was going to tell her when she eventually found out he’d been suspended for slamming her ex-boyfriend off the hood of a patrol car.

He yawned and stretched. Doing nothing sure was exhausting. He hadn’t done nothing for years now. Even his days off were normally filled with activity. This time, though, he didn’t have the mental energy to keep himself busy. Plus, the idea of going into town or anywhere people could see him wasn’t appealing right now. If Liz was right and everyone thought so highly of him, they probably wouldn’t as word got around how he’d treated Gabe.

He clicked the TV off and stood, stretching again. A series of cracks sounded up his back and he reflected how that had gotten a little better since he’d started going to the gym with Jason and how he hadn’t been to the gym with Jason for a week. Lifting a few weights and a few rounds on the stationary bike might be just what he needed to lift his mood.

He turned toward his bedroom to change out of his t-shirt and sweatpants when a knock on the door stopped him. Alex was still at the farm and he had a key, so it couldn’t be him.

The sight of Bernie standing at his door sent a shiver of uneasiness sliding through him and he kept the door partially closed.

“Bern?” How did he even find his cabin? “What’s up?”

“Hey, Matt, sorry to bother you like this, and I hope you don’t mind I asked Evan Starks if he knew where you lived.” Matt had graduated with Evan. He’d have to remember to talk to Evan about handing his private information out to people he’d arrested. Bernie pushed his long strands of dirty blond hair back from his face and laughed softly. “I probably should have told him you’d arrested me once. He might not have been so forthcoming with the information.” He winked. “I’m not here about that, though. Really. Can I talk to you about something?”

Matt hesitated then opened the door wider. “Um, yeah.” It was too cold this morning for them to stand on the porch and have a conversation. “Come on in.”

Bernie looked around the inside of the cabin as he walked in. His gaze drifted upward to the high ceiling and second story. “Nice place. Didn’t this used to be just a cabin you and your dad used?”

Matt walked to the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot. “Yeah. I decided to remodel it a few years ago and turn it into a house. I was tired of living in an apartment over the hardware store.” He held the pot toward Bernie. “Coffee?”

Bernie nodded. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

Matt gestured toward the chair at the kitchen table. “Have a seat if you want. Sorry the place is a bit of a mess. I’ve got a new roommate and he’s not the cleanest guy around.”

Bernie laughed. “I hear you. Chrissy isn’t the best housekeeper and the kids trash our place pretty good. This is nothing compared to what it looks like there this morning.”

Matt set two mugs of coffee on the table and sat down, sliding the sugar bowl toward Bernie.

“Listen, Matt, I know this weird, but despite everything I trust you and I need to tell you about something that’s been going on.” Bernie sipped the coffee. “I’m in some trouble and before you ask, it’s not what you think. I did something for somebody, but I didn’t know I was doing something illegal, you know? When I found out, I panicked. I can’t go to the police about this, for obvious reasons. I mean, officially go to the police.”

Matt leaned forward, brow furrowed. His stomach clenched. Where was this going? “Hey, I understand. This is between you and me for now. Let’s figure out if we even have to go to anyone else.”

Bernie cleared his throat. “Okay, so I did this job for Gabe Martin. He wanted me to deliver a package for him. I knew it was wrong, but I needed the extra money. He told me if I didn’t do it, he’d find a way to pin something on me. He knew the police wouldn’t believe me. I couldn’t risk getting sent away again so I agreed.” Bernie stared into the mug. “I know it was stupid. I should have just told him to get lost, but, again, I needed the money. The mechanic business isn’t going great yet and we were running out of food.” He shook his head slowly. “So, I picked up the package and I delivered it for him about two hours away. I met some guy that just gave me the wrong vibes, you know? I didn’t ask any questions. Just took the package to him.” Bernie took another sip of coffee, winced. “The guy starts asking me if this is the good stuff. I’m thinking, the good what? I don’t know, right? Because I’m just delivering it for Gabe. I’m like, ‘yeah, I guess’ and the guy goes, ‘because I don’t want any of that fentanyl mixed crap you sent last time. It got one of my customers killed and I’m not messing with that again. If it’d got linked to me, I would have been sent up to state.’”

Bernie chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds and then looked at Matt. “I didn’t know, Matt. I didn’t know about the drugs, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. The cops are never going to believe me.” He pushed a hand back through his hair, clutched it at the top of his head, and drew in a breath. “Do you even believe me?”

Yeah, for some reason Matt did. Not only because he knew the real Gabe Martin but because if Bernie was guilty he wouldn’t have walked into the lion’s den this morning. Unless — he didn’t want to think it. Unless Bernie was trying to frame Gabe.

Gabe wasn’t a great guy, no doubt about it, but was he a drug dealer?

Matt studied Bernie for a few seconds then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I do. I mean, as far as I know, burglary is more your thing. I never really pegged you for messing with drugs.” He rubbed his hand across his chin. “Of course, as much as I dislike Gabe, I didn’t peg him for that either.”

Bernie nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t either, to be honest. I don’t know if this is his thing or if he’s just transporting like I was. The guy is a jerk, but a drug manufacturer and dealer.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t see it either. All I know is he is the one who sent me the package.”

The state police hadn’t released a report about the discovery at the abandoned building. They didn’t want it in the newspapers until they knew more. Alerting the media might tip off the owners. Matt wondered if Bernie knew anything about it.

“Where did you meet Gabe for the package pick-up?”

“Outside some building about five miles out of town. Looked abandoned.”

“Did you go in?”

Bernie shook his head. “No. Gabe met me outside at his truck. About 1 a.m.”

“Anyone else around?”

“No, not that I know of. Place was dark. Creepy actually.”

Matt took a swig of the coffee, swished it in his mouth. “You tell anyone else about this? Even Chrissy?”

Bernie laughed. “No, and especially not Chrissy. She’d kill me.”

Matt leaned back in the chair, arm hanging off the back of it. “Good, keep it that way for now. Let me look into some things and I’ll get back to you.”

Bernie cupped his hands around the mug. “Is it true that you got suspended for decking Gabe?”

Matt grimaced. “Yeah. That’s around town huh?”

Bernie tipped his head down slightly. “Dude, it’s Spencer. Of course it’s around town. You think people aren’t going to talk about the town’s saint police officer kicking the crap out of a guy on Main Street?”

Matt ran his hand across his face and laughed. “Saint police officer. Sounds like how someone else described me. Yeah, it wasn’t my best moment. Not in the least.”

Bernie grinned. “I thought it was cool.” He lifted the mug and peered over it. “Showed me you’re not as uptight as I thought you were.”

And it showed you I might be the prime person to help you set up Gabe if that’s what you’re doing. Matt hated even having the thought and he hoped it wasn’t true. While hoping Bernie really had started a new chapter in his life, he also hoped he was right that Gabe hadn’t known what was in the package either. He didn’t like Gabe, that was for sure, but the last thing he wanted was for Bella’s biological father to be a drug dealer, for the sake of her and Liz, and for Gabe.