December 6, 2009 by admin
Filed under Contemporary Romance, Looking for Home, Nan Donahue
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M leaned back against the closed door and looked at her watch. Only eight fifteen. Far too early for bed.
Making a snap decision, she ran upstairs to get her cell phone. Back downstairs she stopped in the kitchen and snagged a can of pop out of the fridge, then headed outside.
Hopefully, the elements would prove to be a balm to her wounded spirit.
Over the years she’d lived in a variety of places, and she’d learned that fire, water, and the soft brush of an evening breeze were better than the pharmaceutical haze any tranquilizer could provide.
While the house boasted multiple fireplaces, including one in her room, no one with an ounce of sanity used a fireplace during a Toronto summer. And although the backyard—her destination—didn’t offer the hypnotic pounding of oceanic surf, it did have a first rate substitute.
She stepped out the back door into an oasis.
M closed her eyes and let the sound of water spilling over rock and air whispering through leaves, console her.
Opening her eyes again, M looked at the scene before her. Just as her bedroom was light years away from her childhood sleeping conditions, this bore no resemblance to the dry, scrubby ground her and Summer had to play in as children.
She stood on a huge flagstone patio leading to an irregular shaped pool. Attached to one end of the pool, a large round hot tub in matching flagstone gurgled. At the other, a waterfall rushed over a mountain of hewn stone, about four feet high. The patio eventually gave way to lush gardens, what seemed to acres of the greenest grass imaginable, then a tennis court.
M made a beeline to the two person poolside hammock standing between the gardens and the pool itself. Settling herself in, she drew a shaky sigh.
How did she come to grips with the events of the last day and a half? The indictments against her family just kept piling up, and with every new crime she learned of, she felt as if she were losing personal ground. As if she was being buried by the weight of their sins.
Could she keep her promise to Alicia? To Jonathan? She vehemently denied being drawn with the same brush Summer had been painted with, but what if she was wrong? She’d never spent much time around youngsters, so she didn’t have any experience to rely on. Maybe she’d lose her patience one day, then haul off and start whaling on Alicia.
No. You’re not capable of that. And you know it.
There’d been times in her life when she’d truly wanted to lash out at someone—and could have justified it before anyone—but she’d never done it, no matter what the provocation.
Her parents had often used either her or Summer as their personal punching bags. M chose to believe it hadn’t been premeditated. The excuses she offered up in her parent’s behalf were fatigue, inebriation, high on drugs. Any of those were far more acceptable to her than believing her parents had deliberately—with soundness of mind—done what they had.
She opened her can of pop before wriggling into a more comfortable position. With her foot, she set the hammock in motion, enjoying the whoosh of air on her cheeks as the seat moved forward.
Maybe she was wrong in thinking she wasn’t capable of hitting a child, or any form of violence. She knew there are all kinds of things we, as human beings, are capable of. The difference is most people, through the strength of their convictions and self control, would never allow themselves to go to those extremes.
M knew all about convictions and self control. The intensity of her belief in herself, the knowledge that with hard work and perseverance, she could be a better person, had led her to where she stood today.
It wasn’t like she’d just learned Summer had chosen a different path. That had been evident when they were still kids. But there were different paths, and then there were aberrant choices.
That’s what it was all about, right? Choices? She prayed to God every day asking for clarification on the issue. And asking for the power to stay true to her choice. Because the alternative wasn’t acceptable. The belief her choices had been made for her based on genetics or environment.
M heaved herself out of the hammock, kicked off her shoes, and sat her can of pop on the ground. She needed to feel the water. Sitting down again on the pool deck, she let her legs dangle below the surface and laid back.
She looked at the sun, now a huge fiery ball sitting on the western horizon, about to fall behind it. The softness of twilight would soon envelope her, and she planned to enjoy it. This constant state of angst, her continual over-analyzing of whether or not she could raise above her beginnings, wore her down. But she couldn’t stop. She was afraid to. Maybe it was the fact that she beat herself up over it that kept her on the straight and narrow.
Swishing her feet back and forth, enjoying the soothing caress of the water, she forced her thoughts ahead instead of behind.
Should she accept Jonathan’s offer of help? She’d probably be a fool not to. She hated the thought of admitting to him she didn’t have a full fledged plan, but that was part of her nature. For all she could be very task oriented in some aspects of her life, in other’s she flew by the seat of her pants. Spontaneity, and the ability to pick up and leave whenever she desired, kept her sane. At least that’s what she tried to convince herself. She was afraid it had more to do with running away, and less to do with spontaneity. More to do with a constant search for what she’d never had, than the ability to pick and leave on nothing more than a whim and a prayer.
Time to talk to Charlie. While he couldn’t always be counted on to conduct himself in the most reasonable manner, he’d often been able to talk some common sense into her.
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Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.
