Category: Romance

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Hating God – a love story

Joe Whitcomb is a preacher, but he’s starting to hate God. Blaming God for killing his wife and daughter, Joe calls himself a “recovering Christian” and vows to leave religion and its crutches behind.

Ellen Leads used to be a promising student even though she came from an abusive home. Off at college, all was going well, she thought, until her whole life was derailed by drink and now she calls herself a “recovering alcoholic”.

Sometimes, running from your problems is easier if there’s someone running with you.

Neither has actually dealt with their problems, though, just shoving them further and further back into the recesses of their minds. One night, just as love seems theirs, their carefully-crafted web of self-deceptions blow up on them and everything falls apart.

Was there ever enough substance there to put their friendship—let alone love—back together?

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…

Reading Sample

With the little strength she had left in her, she struggled over to the sink and pulled herself to her feet. The taste in her mouth made her want to not just brush her teeth but paint the entirety of her mouth and throat with toothpaste. With shaking hands, she put the paste on the brush, dampened it with water, then stuck it in her mouth.

It was a mistake. Having anything in her mouth was a mistake. She was soon sick again, though she had emptied herself just moments before and now was left with only dry heaves.

When the convulsions were finally over, she thought about just crawling—literally crawling—from the bathroom and back into bed. But her head was pounding from the dull thump of her heartbeats and she was determined to try and get some aspirin down. If she could just keep it down for a few minutes—which she acknowledged was a longshot—maybe it would do some good. What she needed, she told herself, was a little “hair of the dog,” but if her faulty memory served she had polished off her last quart the night before.

Or early this morning.

She couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t really a big deal, she thought. Most of her days were like all her other days so which morning or night she was currently dealing with was pretty much a moot point.

The aspirin was in the cabinet behind the mirror, which she reached with a struggle. Her legs were weak and her hands still shook but she managed to open the door and, with blurred vision, locate the right bottle.

One aspirin.

Why would there only be one aspirin? She always took two at a time and there were supposed to have been an even number in the bottle to begin with. Too sick to puzzle over the question further, she leaned over the sink for a handful of water and took the one aspirin. It was all she could do to keep from gagging, but she managed to stifle her urge to vomit by literally holding her mouth shut with her hand.

Then she stood there, bent over the sink, hands firmly gripping the edge of the vanity, willing the aspirin to stay down. She wasn’t sure how long she would need to stand there to make it go into effect, but she was willing to stand there forever. Or until her legs gave way. She figured she had about two minutes before that happened.

Determined to go find some place comfortable to just sit and close her eyes she straightened up, only to bang her head against the open door of the medicine chest. With a shouted swear word that made her head come just millimeters from exploding, she slammed the cabinet door then winced from that sound, too. She touched the spot on her head that had collided with the door and found that she was bleeding. Not bad, but there was a little blood. So she opened the cabinet and found some analgesic cream, then closed the door again so she could look in the mirror as she applied it.

As she was putting the cap back on the cream, she took the first good look at herself in a mirror in . . . she wasn’t sure how long. She washed her hair regularly (she thought) and combed it, but when had she last taken a good look in the mirror? A while, she admitted.

What she saw revolted her. Her hair sure didn’t look like she had been washing it regularly, though she was sure she had washed it the day before—or maybe it was two days ago. Could have been three, she admitted. What had once been thick, full, light brown hair, now was a limp, lifeless mass of dark greasy . . . swamp weed.

There were bags under her once bright green but now blood-shot eyes and her cheeks had the drawn in, sallow look of someone who—someone who abused themselves, she thought. Her whole complexion looked like something from a zombie movie. There were bags under her eyes that weren’t the result of just the previous night’s lack of sleep. They were a cumulative effect.

And why didn’t her clothes fit like they used to? It was like everything she wore had gotten stretched or something, as if they were a size too big. Was she wearing her roommate’s clothes?

She realized she looked like the people she had always looked down on.

“I gotta do something ’bout this,” she muttered. It took her a moment to remember what day it was, but she finally became fairly certain it was Sunday. “First day of the week,” she muttered, still tightly gripping the vanity. “This’ll be a good time to start.”

The first thing she had to do, she soon realized though, was throw up again.

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A Star Falls on Oklahoma

a Mended Lives story


Rising star Sonya Kiel suddenly drops off the grid and lands on the doorstep of her cousin Lynette, who lives in western Oklahoma. Telling herself she’s just slumming and slowing down, Sonya finds herself enjoying the bucolic lifestyle … and Lynette’s best friend, a youth minister named Andy Brockton. Her life begins to be pulled in two directions as part of her desires to return to the bright lights and the silver screen, but another (and previously unknown part) wants to leave it all and follow Andy onto the mission field. Her dilemma becomes, literally, a life and death decision for her family.

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Andy and Sonya also appear in the murder mystery “Ghosts of Families Past“, so make sure you read that one, too!

…

Reading Sample

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he grumbled as she straightened his tie. “Tell me again how you, a girl from western Oklahoma, have a cousin from England.”

Lynette let go of Andy’s tie and said, “My father’s younger brother was a Rhodes scholar. Smartest member of the Kiel family they say—before me, of course,” she chuckled. “He went to England to attend Oxford and avoid Vietnam and became a stuffy college professor. At forty, he married one of his students and proceeded to have eight children with her before he was fifty.”

“Eight?” Andy asked, though he was afraid of getting distracted from his original objection. “So, which one of the eight are you setting me up with?”

“Number five,” Lynette chuckled. “Or, Sonya, as her family calls her.”

“And she’s how old again?”

“Nineteen. And before you can object again, it’s only a three year difference and she’s very mature for her age.”

“The age is the only thing about this whole deal I’m not objecting to,” Andy quipped as he put on his suitcoat.

“For starters—well, actually, I’m not sure where to start. I’ve only been on one blind date in my life and it was a disaster.”

“Really? When was this?”

As they walked out to her car he said, “Back when I was doing that summer internship in Houston one of the girls in the youth group invited me to go out and play miniature golf with a bunch of her friends. I didn’t realize it was a date until about thirty minutes into it and I started counting heads.”

“‘Counting heads’?”

“Yeah, I realized there was an even number of boys and girls and all but one of the girls was already holding someone’s hand.”

“Was it that bad?” Lynette chided.

“Oh yeah.”

As they got into the car it occurred to Andy that he hadn’t complimented Lynette on how she looked, and she did look nice. The thing was, he and Lynette had known each other since seventh grade and had been best friends since about tenth. They had tried dating a couple times and realized it was like going out with a sibling and had called it off by quick and mutual agreement.

Lynette was pretty, if not a knockout. She was tall and a bit on the thin side, but had a winning smile and green eyes everyone envied. She was very smart, which had intimidated some guys, and it was true that she had a low level of patience for stupidity, but she was his best friend and he wanted the best for her. He thought the guy she was dating now might be the one for her, but he knew her well enough not to hold his breath.

Andy, Lynette thought, was just the type of guy she would like to find—in someone else. He was her intellectual equal, shared many of her interests, and wasn’t too bad looking. A little short for her tastes, but that was mainly because she was taller than average. He had thick, curly black hair that he kept cut too short, and an intriguing face if not actually handsome. His skin was dark but his eyes were atypically shaped and made her think that there might have been some Polynesian blood somewhere in his ancestry. He did have some Native American blood in his veins—Choctaw, to be exact—but it was so far back that it was doubtful if it were a contributing factor to his looks.

The way the evening had gotten started was that Lynette had shown up at his place an hour before, all dressed up, and saying she needed his help. Unwary, he had of course said yes before inquiring what sort of help would be needed. Lynette had then explained that she had tickets to the Wichita Falls Philharmonic Orchestra’s season opening concert for herself and Stephan but that her cousin from England had suddenly arrived unexpectedly and Lynette couldn’t just leave her at home and three was a crowd and so on.

It should probably be explained to the reader that very few inhabitants (i.e. “one”) of Lawton, OK, thought of the opening of the Wichita Falls Philharmonic Orchestra’s season as a big deal. Lynette, though, was an aficionado of classical music, a player of the viola herself, and had not missed an opening in Wichita Falls or Oklahoma City in five years. For four of those years, Andy had accompanied Lynette to the concerts out of friendship and had come to rather appreciate classical music, even if he had yet to buy a classical CD for himself. As a result, he had not been at all upset to find this year that Lynette had talked someone else into going with her to the concert.

Now, most people in Lawton facing a similar circumstance would probably have either called off the concert trip or given the tickets to someone else. This idea had never occurred to Lynette, even after Stephan suggested it. She promptly got online and purchased two more tickets to the concert. She had quickly dressed, then gone to get Andy, knowing if she called him on the phone with the idea of a blind date he might have some way to escape the issue.

So here they were, two well-dressed people on their way to Lynette’s apartment to pick up Lynette’s date and meet

Andy’s. Of course, Lynette knew her, but Andy had never met her, as far as he knew.

“How is it,” Andy asked, as if reading the narrator’s mind, “That I have never met this cousin?”

“You have, actually.” As Lynette sped down Cache Road, she said, “She came and spent a week with me when you and I were fourteen. I remember you came over one day and we all went swimming.”

“Just the three of us or was anyone else there, too?”

“Her sisters, your brother, and the rest of the youth group,” Lynette explained.

“So eight years ago I met an eleven year old girl and you expect me to remember her?”

“No, I don’t expect you to remember her, you just asked if you had ever met her. You’ve seen pictures of her, though.”

“Really?” Seeing all the restaurants they were passing, he asked, “Do I get a supper out of this or am I buying?”

“After the concert,” Lynette answered as she turned off the main road. “We’ll just barely have time to make it there before the overture. And we can go dutch treat if you like.”

“We better,” Andy replied.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex where Lynette lived, she turned to Andy and said, “I really do appreciate you doing this. And I’ll explain it all to Carly if you like.”

“I’m not seeing Carly,” he said as they got out of the car. At Lynette’s skeptical glance, he said, “I’ve been out with her twice. I don’t know if there will be a third. And I know for a fact she’s dating other people. Which is perfectly fine with me, by the way.”

“Well, thank you, anyway.”

As they walked up the steps, he said, only half-joking, “I never asked you what she looks like.”

“You going to back out if she’s ugly?” Lynette asked, a laugh in her voice that made him curious what she was concealing.

“No. But I’ll get you back somehow.”

“Don’t worry,” Lynette said as they neared her floor. With an even stranger lilt to her voice, she added, “If she’s not the prettiest woman you have ever been out with, I’ll buy your supper tonight.”

“The world’s cheapest graduate student is offering to buy me supper?” he chided in return. “For the first time today, I’m actually anxious to see her.

Andy opened the door to Lynette’s apartment and let her in. As he followed her in, he saw Stephan sitting on the couch. Stephan looked up from a magazine and smiled. “Hey, Andy. How’s it going?”

Andy came over and shook Stephan’s hand as he sat down. “Not bad. You doing all right?”

“Can’t complain … too much,” he added with a laugh, showing perfect teeth in his dark face. Stephan was a first year assistant coach and biology teacher at Lawton High who loved his job but also found it exasperating at times. He had been introduced to Lynette by one of his fellow teachers, who had attended MacArthur High with Lynette four years before. Their personalities had seemed like oil and water initially (she very Type-A, he exactly not) but the fact that he was more than her intellectual equal—and a shared passion for volleyball—had led to, so far, multiple dates.

“I’ll go see if Sonya’s ready,” Lynette said, disappearing into the back of the apartment. It was a one bedroom affair, with the kitchen, living room and dining area all being the same, but it was a nice place and Lynette had fixed it up pretty well. Her parents still lived in town and would have loved for her to move back in, but the idea was anathema to Lynette, even though she had returned to Lawton after her undergrad work.

When Lynette was out of earshot, Andy leaned close to Stephan and asked in a whisper, “This Sonya, is she as pretty as Lynette says?”

Stephan chuckled, then noticed the look on Andy’s face and asked, “Are you kidding?”

“What do you mean?”

Stephan was about to reply when they heard the bedroom door open and Andy sat back in a more normal and casual position. He looked up (again, casually) to try to take a casual first glance of the cousin. His mouth casually hit the floor.

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The Woman Caught

a Mended Lives story

Alexander “Opie” Gates, a young man from west Texas, finds himself being greeted by a woman in a bar in New York City. At first glance, she’s kind of pretty and he likes the attention. But over the evening, he begins to think she is considerably older than she appears and worn down by life. Over the next few days, Opie finds himself drawn to this woman (who proves to be younger than he thought), but then he makes a horrible discovery about her lifestyle. Telling himself he’s emulating Jesus, he continues to be her friend. But then, two things Opie never anticipated happen almost at once: The woman comes to share his faith, and he begins to fall for her. Suddenly, he’s no longer just trying to be understanding and forgiving of a semi-nameless person. He’s trying to be forgiving of someone he wants to fall in love with but he can’t get over the idea that she’s already violated something he holds very dear.

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…
Reading Sample

Alexander “Opie” Gates sat at the dimly-lit bar of the dimly-lit dive a few blocks from Times Square reading his Bible and sipping on a Sprite. It was an attention-grabbing spectacle and he knew it. It was completely intentional.

He’d got the idea from an old roommate in college. The guy was short of stature and tended to dress like he’d just gotten off a gator-hunting swamp boat, which wasn’t as much of a stretch as one might think. He’d take his Bible—a big, leather-bound job with study notes in the margins and hundreds of handwritten notes on sticky-papers stuffed here and there from Genesis to Revelation—and he’d go to a bar, order something obviously non-alcoholic, and sit and read. He told Opie that, invariably, someone would come over and ask what he was doing, and then Allen would share the gospel with them. The long-term efficacy of such an evangelism approach Opie had always doubted, but he had admired it, nonetheless.

So, with nothing else to do on a night in Manhattan when he couldn’t sleep, he had decided to give it a try. He’d left a note for his host and, wisely or no, had slipped out into the big strange city and found his way to this bar, not so far from his friend’s apartment as the crow flew, but more than half a world from home.

With his red hair and a father who adored “The Andy Griffith Show” to be nick-named “Opie” had almost seemed pre-ordained. When he had read in a book that the kid from the TV show had actually been named after one of the star’s favorite performers, Opie Cates, the name had seemed inevitable. He knew he had been born bald as a bowling ball, so he guessed the only reason he hadn’t been named Opie officially was that they had been waiting to see what color his hair would take.

Now here he sat, clearly a tourist and clearly out of sync with the rest of the bar’s patrons. They seemed a reclusive lot—hiding back in the shadows like rats—and if they paid him any mind at all, it wasn’t for long. He’d only been in the Big Apple for a couple days, but he’d seen enough to know that there wasn’t much that would garner the attention of the locals and a tourist with a Bible barely even registered on the meter.

He’d read a good bit of the middle section of the book of Ezekiel and was thinking about heading back to Rory’s pad when a voice said from beside him, “Is that a Bible?”

He looked up in surprise, answering “Yes” before even seeing who had spoken. He was getting ready to go into his old roommate’s routine when he saw her.

She was a pretty woman, probably in her mid-twenties, just like Opie. She had dark hair and was dressed in tight jeans and a loose-fitting top that showed some cleavage. He caught a glimpse of a tattoo of a rose on her left breast and quickly looked away. Glancing back, making sure he looked only at her face, his second glance made him think she was probably a lot older than him, maybe even pushing forty. But she had expertly applied makeup which created the illusion of a much younger woman.

Suddenly, he felt very sad for her. Probably not the impression she wanted men to take away from her looks, he thought ruefully. If he knew her, he thought, he’d tell her to lose the makeup and just look her age. She might not be as striking, but he was sure she would actually be prettier. He wasn’t about to say such a thing to a complete stranger and any further thoughts were stricken from his mind by the question, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you sitting in a dump like this and reading your Bible at,” she glanced at the clock over the bar, “Almost midnight?” She tapped a finger against his glass, watched the bubbles move, and added, “And drinking a Sprite?”

He thought back to what his roommate always said in such situations, and suddenly it seemed canned and disingenuous. So he told her the truth, “I couldn’t sleep and I figured if I did this someone would eventually ask me why and I could tell them.”

“So, go ahead and tell me.”

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So Many Books

a Mended Lives story

He had never seen so many books in one room. Stacked on rickety shelves from floor to ceiling, they overwhelmed the room, and the visitor. Chris Farmer, investigator for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, suddenly felt like he knew nothing about the person he was trying to help. But he was suddenly curious. Why would someone so young-why would anyone-have so many books? Alyste Smith was a young woman who lived with an abusive step father and longed to escape. The only way she knew how was through books. So she read and read and read, hoping beyond hope that, one day, a hero like the ones in her books would walk through her door and rescue her.

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…
Reading Sample

I had never really noticed her until I saw the books. Hundreds of books (thousands, I was to learn later) adorned her small room. She had bookshelves she had brought in from somewhere at, I guess, the start of it. Between them she had built other shelves. They would have made Norm Abrams cringe, but they would have warmed the heart of any librarian.

Some shelves were built by putting a board across cinder blocks, then more cinder blocks, then another board and so on up to the ceiling. In some cases, where cinder blocks or other bricks couldn’t be found, larger books were used to hold the shelves above off the books below. Here and there an ineffectual nail had been driven into a board to secure that board to the side of another shelf or to the wall itself. The whole business showed a profound lack of engineering knowledge but would have made even Rube Goldberg envious.

How the whole mess stood and hadn’t collapsed and killed her years before I have no idea. My own experience with dismantling it all brought a few paper avalanches that threatened to take my own life, but I’ll have to get back to that later.

“You’ve read all these?” I asked in dubious wonder as I looked at the books that lined the walls from floor to ceiling, making the little eight by ten room about seven by eight and a half. If she could have figured out a way to attach a bookshelf to the back of the door, I was sure she would have.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. Then, in the apparent need for accuracy, she amended, “Everything but these two shelves. I haven’t read them, yet. But I will.” Pulling back the covers on the bed, she revealed a weathered paperback and, picking it up, said, “And this one. I haven’t finished it, yet. I …can I take it with me?”

“Yeah,” I told her, still looking in awe at the walls-which I couldn’t see, but assumed they were back there-somewhere-behind the books.

I knew there were more important and pressing matters, but I couldn’t help stepping closer to the books for a moment. There was no discernible theme in the volumes chosen. I saw a few romance novels, of the kind I would have stereotyped a young woman in her position to read. But I saw much more. There were psychology textbooks and biographies of famous people, from Teddy Roosevelt to Tacitus, and books by Twain, L’Amour and Kafka. There was a shelf of books by CS Lewis, just above a shelf of books by Tolkien (having never read either, I had no idea of the significance of this paring). I saw books on horticulture and agriculture and books of poetry by people with names I couldn’t read, let alone pronounce.

“All of them?” I asked again, though not necessarily meaning it to be out loud.

“All of them,” she confirmed.

“Do you have a favorite?”

I happened to be looking at her at that moment and realized from the look that flew fleetingly across her face that I had asked her a question akin to asking a mother which of her children were her favorite. When her composure was regained, she replied, “Probably whichever book is in my hands at the moment you ask.”

I pointed to the book that she had picked up off the bed and asked, smiling and trying to make it sound friendly, “So right now it’s that one?”

She looked down at it, a slight grimace at the corner of her mouth, then back at me and replied, “No. Not this one. It’s not that good.”

“So why read it?”

There was just the slightest hesitation before she answered, “Because I started it.”

For the first time, I took a look at this remarkable person who had, up until that very moment, just been a part of another complicated if strangely routine and boring case.

The way he looked at the books intrigued me.

Not many people had seen my collection of books, but some had. All the others had had pretty much the same reaction, though. Wondering why I had so many books, why I wanted so many books, or complete incredulity at my claim to have read them all.

People my age were the worst. The couple times I had met people my age who claimed to be readers, when they saw all my books, they usually looked at me like they thought I was crazy. Most of them, I would find out (if given the chance, most were gone after a glimpse into my room), read more than the average teenager, but they only read one thing. All romance books, or all mystery novels or all books on a single subject. That, to me, sounded like eating the same thing meal after meal, year after year. I like pizza, but I have to eat some other things now and then, you know?

So when he looked at the books with amazement, I thought I had found a soul mate. I was so surprised later to find he wasn’t a reader. Oh, he knew how, of course. He had just never known why anyone would do it on purpose. What struck me, though, was that he didn’t dismiss my reading. And when he found out just how many books I had, he didn’t renege on his offer to carry them all out. For the first time since my mother died, someone saw my books and didn’t treat me like a freak.

On the other hand, I have never been able to understand people who don’t read, or don’t love reading. I love reading. Even when my life was going well, I loved reading.

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Last at Bat

a Bat Garrett story

A ghost. Bat has to be seeing a ghost. While recuperating in Houston he stumbles across a shopgirl who looks and sounds just like someone he lost a year before. As his friends think he’s going crazy, and even he’s starting to wonder if he watched “Vertigo” one too many times, he tries to piece together the background of the shopgirl. The investigation takes Bat from Houston and Dallas, to Arkansas and Durango (where he meets a young Garison Fitch) and closer to the conclusion that he may not have been the only one set-up by the Home Agency.

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To read more about Bat Garrett, be sure and check out “The Nice Guy“, “The Return of the Nice Guy” and “Up to Bat“. All available on Kindle & in paperback! And, if you want to read this story from Jody’s perspective (as well as find out what happened next), be sure and read “Cheerleader, Gymnast, Flautist, Spy“!

…
Read a Sample

“What is it we’re going to go look at?” Dave asked as we walked through the mall. I was surprised how few people were there shopping, but I guessed it was because it was a week day.
“Sunglasses. I’m telling you, Dave, these are the ugliest you’ve ever seen. They would have been great for that day in college when we had the ‘Ugliest Outfit’ contest.”
“I didn’t know the Galleria had a gag shop.”
“It’s not intended to be, but these will make you gag.”
As we were nearing the store, I saw a girl walk into the shop ahead of us who just about took my breath away. I stopped dead in my tracks and could feel my heart pounding in my chest like faulty pistons in a Ford Granada. If I had been prone to such things, I think I would have had a heart attack. The quick and unexpected (even to me) stop on the crutches almost made me fall on my face, so I had to take a moment to regain my balance.
“What—what is it?” Dave asked. The look on my face must have scared him. I imagine I went almost completely white—maybe even green.
“That girl that just walked in.”
“So? She was cute; but we’ve seen several of those today. She wasn’t as pretty as Heather, I didn’t think.”
“No. This girl looked like … like someone I used to know.”
“Let’s go see her,” he said. “Maybe it’s her.”
“Couldn’t be.”
“Why not? Houston’s a big city.” He smiled, “Shoot, I bet there’s more than two hundred people in this town. I hit that many cars in the parking lot.”
“But this couldn’t be her, Dave.”
“It’s a small world, Bat.”
“But it’s not the Twilight Zone.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The girl she reminded me of is dead.”

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Joyfully Ever After

a Mended Lives novel

Sean Clarke moves to the town of his dreams, to a house he loves, to a life he’s always wanted.  There he meets and falls in love with Angie. a beautiful young woman.  Sean’s family is happy for him, but they are waiting: for that moment when Sean discovers something he doesn’t like about another perfect woman and dumps her.

A novel of self-discovery, about finding out that the things that irritate us most about the faults of other people are when they mirror our own.

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To read more about Brad, Allie and Angie, make sure you read the novel Mended Lives!  To read how Joe and Ellen met, check out Hating God – a love story!

…

Sample Passage

He let go of her to hold the picture in both hands.  He was looking at it, but he wasn’t seeing it.  He wasn’t seeing anything.  His mind was gone and it didn’t show any signs of coming back any time soon.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, when she didn’t think he would ever speak again.  “I never meant to hide this—to hide anything—from you.  But I was so ashamed—”

“You should be!” he blurted out.

“I know, I—”

He jumped to his feet and demanded, “What else are you going to tell me, Angie?  When am I going to start meeting all these guys you slept with?  What about the millions who saw you nude?  When are more of them going to show up and start asking me if I’ve seen what they’ve seen?  When, huh?”

She stood up in front of him and tried to reach out to him.  “I wish I could take back all those pictures, Sean.  I do.  But I can’t.  What can I do?”

“You could leave.”

“Sean!”

“What do you expect me to say?  ‘Hey great!  All the men of England have already seen my fiancé naked but I haven’t!’  Just leave, please.”

He picked up the folder, stuck the picture back in it (but not before seeing that there were other similar pictures in it and actually letting one slip out unnoticed that slid under the rocking chair), and thrusting the folder at her demanded, “Take these with you.”

“Sean—”

“Please, go.”

“Can I come back?”

He took a deep breath and replied, through clinched teeth, “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Sean—”

He stepped around her and opened the front door.  Gently but firmly, he pushed her outside and closed the door behind her.

She turned around to face the door, but heard the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt being thrown.  She thought about knocking but didn’t think it was the right time.  She sat down on the front porch steps, put her head on her knees, and started crying.

It was almost half an hour later that she got up, smoothed out her dress with her hands and, taking the folder, walked back to the café.  Inside, the cook asked if she were all right, to which she nodded but didn’t answer out loud.  She just put on her apron, then put on her customer face, and went out to deal with the public.  She was relieved that the British couple was gone.

She looked around, though, at the crowd now there and wondered if any of them had ever seen her ads for Sutley’s, or Liverpool football, or any of the other ads she had done?  What about just the magazine layouts?  She remembered when she used to pat herself on the back because she had never done full-frontal, but now it didn’t seem like such a big deal.  “Partly evil is still evil,” she muttered to herself.  Then, noticing that a customer had overheard, she smiled, said, “Excuse me,” and took his order.

After that order, though, she went back and relieved the cook.  Not only did she want to be away from the general public, working with food had long been a way to calm down and think.  She did so, now.

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Medicine Park

Brad Reynolds comes home to Medicine Park, OK, to take over his father’s old business and try to put his life back together after a divorce.  He’s fitting in, he’s meeting great new people, he’s even started attending a Bible study.  Brad’s a great guy by everyone’s account.  What they don’t know is that he has an addiction.  He’s kept it well-hidden so far, but it’s already destroyed his marriage and it will soon destroy his whole life.  So Brad tries to bury it, to ignore it, to power his way through it … but it keeps escaping from the box he keeps it in.

(Cover photograph (c) 2012 Derrick Bias)

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What the Readers are saying …

“I really liked it.  I had never read a book with that viewpoint of the guy with the sex addiction.  It was interesting as he grew in Christ.  I thought it was very encouraging as we all have aspects of ourselves we need to put under Christ’s Lordship.” ~KD, LA

And the “sort-of” sequel …

If you would like to read more about Brad, Allie and Angie, be sure and pick up the novel Joyfully Ever After.

…

Sample Chapter

The divorce was final the same day his parents died in the car wreck.

He thought about not even telling Darria, or trying to tell her in such a way as to hurt her.  But he didn’t.  He just called her and, as she prepared for one of his trademark snide remarks involving either the postal service or how relieved he was to finally be rid of her, he calmly told her he had gotten the papers and his parents had just died.

Darria didn’t know what to say, except that she was really sorry to hear that.  She meant it and hoped she could convey her sincerity but knew she had her own reputation for caustic remarks, especially where Brad was concerned.  Still, she had always gotten along just fine with the Reynolds and they had even reached out to her recently, as things had begun to go sour in her marriage to their son.  She had bristled at the intrusion, but secretly appreciated it, too.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go.  I’ve got to go pick up Mike at the airport.  Then, we’ll, um, head over to the mountains.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding at the phone even though he, of course, could not see the motion.  Then, she quickly added, “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry it finalized today—of all days.”

“I’m sorry they had to die today, of all days.”  He tried to think of something else to say, then, not even sure if she were still there, told her, “Good bye, Darria.  Be seeing you, huh?”

“Yeah.  I’m really sorry, Brad.”

“Thanks,” he told her as he hung up.

***

They hugged at the airport, cried a bit, then things got so quiet as they left the airport in Brad’s car that they jumped into as banal a brand of small talk as they could muster before they were even onto I-44.  “You have to wonder whose idea it was,” Brad quipped, “To build the Wiley Post Terminal of the Will Rogers Airport on Amelia Earhardt Drive.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked.

“What do those three people have in common?”

Mike thought a moment, then nodded, “They all died in airplane crashes, didn’t they?”

They ran out of small talk just as they passed Norman, however, and were stuck with silence, again.  Suddenly, Brad said, almost to his own surprise, “I’d like the store.”

“What?” Mike responded, completely thrown off guard.  His thoughts had already gone to his wife and baby, who were driving down from Colorado and would be joining him (hopefully) the next day.  He hadn’t wanted to do it that way, but the fact was they just couldn’t afford three airplane tickets on such short notice but still felt Mike should be there for his brother as soon as possible.

“The bait shop,” Brad explained.  “I’d like the bait shop.”  Suddenly thinking it through aloud, he offered, “I’ll buy your half from you for whatever you think is fair.  I can take what I got from mine and Darria’s house and make you a down payment.  For the store and your half of Mom and Dad’s house.  I’ll get a loan to cover the rest.”

Realizing how impetuous he was being, he suddenly added, “Unless you want it.  I was just thinking that I’ve kind of been wanting out of my job—and out of Oak City—for a while now.  But I don’t think that little bait shop makes enough money for us both to live on.  So, you can have it, if—”

“No,” Mike replied, just as suddenly.  “You take it.”  After a moment, “I’m serious.  Annette and I really like Aurora.  It’s where we want Collin to grow up.  It’s home now.  Why don’t you just list me as a silent partner in the store and then slowly buy me out?  That way you won’t get nailed for all that interest.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything like that—”

“Why not?  It works out for both of us.  I get a monthly payment I haven’t been getting and you get the store.”  After a moment, Mike asked, “Why do you want it?  I don’t remember you showing any interest in it before.”

They were several miles further along before Brad answered, “You grow up in a small town and you can’t wait to get out.  Now, I want to go back.  I know it won’t be the same.  But maybe I can recapture a little bit of what it was . . . once.  I’m a grown-up now.  As of today, I’m officially divorced—”

***

“I really feel bad about that.  Wished there was something I could have done.  Wished I had seen it coming.”

“The only people who could have were me and Darria and we waited too long to acknowledge it, and then longer to do something about it.  And you didn’t see it because we tried so hard to hide from everyone, including ourselves.  I think that’s part of why I want to get out of Oak City.  I’ll always associate this place with my marriage.  Now I can get out.”

“Do you really think going back to Medicine Park is the right answer?  You want to get away?  Come back to Aurora with me.  You’ve always liked Colorado.  You can get a job in Denver.  You’d be near family.  Lots of accounting jobs there.”

“Uhg.  I’ve done accounting, Mike.”  He smiled and added, “Maybe I could go to Texas, where cousin Denny lives.  Maybe there’s a job in Frognot.  I’ve always kind of wanted to live there just so I could have that name on my letterhead.”

***

The funeral home had done a good job, as far as such jobs went.  Instead of two people who had been in a car that had gone off a rain-soaked highway, they looked like two people who had just chosen a strange place to take a nap.  After a few moments of “viewing,” Mike commented to Brad, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to close the lids.”

“Yeah,” Brad nodded anxiously.  He motioned to the funeral director, a thin woman with iron grey hair perfectly coiffed   She came over and, with the help of a young assistant, closed the caskets.  “Remember the line from that cousin in Arizona—I can’t ever remember his name.  I just remember being at a funeral for some uncle or other and someone comments about the body looking natural and he said, ‘No he doesn’t.  I’ve known Uncle Chuck for twenty years and not once can I remember him getting dressed up in his best suit, coming down to the church, then taking a nap in a box at the front of the room.’”

Mike actually smiled as he said, “I remember that.  Uncle Leonard, wasn’t it?  The man who died, I mean.  Lived in New Mexico somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Las Vegas, it seems like,” Brad nodded.  “I just went so I could be with Mom and Dad.”

“Yeah, and I met ya’ll there mainly so I could see everyone.  Can’t remember that cousin’s name, though.”

“Private detective, wasn’t he?  I remember that just because he was the only private detective I ever met.”

“I think you’re right.  We’ll be back in the morning,” Mike told the funeral director suddenly, when he realized the director was still right behind them.  The two brothers had already cried on each others shoulders to the point that now they were just drained and ready to leave and the moment’s laughter had been genuine under the relief it had brought.  Neither had seen the other cry like that ever, so it left a surreal picture in their minds as they left.

***

Standing in the living room of their parents’ house, dressed now in casual clothes, Annette nearby playing with Collin on the floor, Brad commented, “It just doesn’t seem real.  I keep expecting them to come in here.  For Mom to try to feed us something.”

Looking around, Mike asked, “Are you sure moving here is the right idea?  The fish and tackle shop is one thing, but this house?  Sell it and buy another one nearer the shop if you want.  You always joked you were going to buy a house in Paradise Valley just because you liked the name.  Do that.”

“Naw, this is home.  I may have never thought about having the bait shop, but I always dreamed about having this house.  Pictured Darria and I having kids and moving here.  You know, Mom and Dad always said they would move somewhere when they retired.  Figured they’d move near you in Denver and we’d get this place.  Maybe telecommute to a job in Oak City or just over in Lawton and drive in one or two days a week.”  He sighed and shrugged, “The Darria part’s gone now.  I can get the house, now, though.”

Mike bit his lip a moment, then said what he’d been thinking, not just all day but ever since he had heard that his brother was getting divorced, “Are you sure there’s no chance of you and Darria getting back together?  You two were so great together—”

“I think she’s got somebody else,” Brad answered.  At the looks in his brother and sister in law’s eyes, he quickly explained, “Don’t get the wrong idea.  She was never unfaithful.  Neither was I, for that matter.  Anyway, I heard from a mutual friend that she had met somebody at her work that she was going to go out with as soon as the divorce was final.”

“It’s not like she’s already remarried,” Mike said, ignoring the look from his wife that was trying to tell him to just shut up.  “Can’t you work things out?”

“I used to think so.  Went to counseling and everything.”  Another big shrug as he leaned on the mantel and looked into the low fire.  “Didn’t work.”  He looked over at Collin and said, “Kids were part of it, you know.  Sometimes wonder, if we had been able to have kids . . . “  After a bit, he added, “On the other hand, sure am glad we didn’t put any kids through this.  Divorce is hard on kids.”

“Well,” Mike said, stumbling over the words, “I don’t want to bug you about it.  But if you, um, get the chance, talk to Darria.  Maybe you two just needed some time away.”

Brad was too worn out to argue, so he just nodded and said, “Yeah.  Maybe so.  That’s what Dad said, too.”

***

“Thanks for coming,” Brad said as they walked away from the graveside service.  The minister from the Reynolds’ church had delivered the eulogy and had done quite well.  Brad and Mike had both thanked him for the words, and everyone else for coming out on such a cold, if sunny, day.

Darria nodded uncomfortably, then threw her arms around his neck and, sobbing, told him, “I am so sorry for you.  And for Mike, too.  But I’m really sorry for, for everything happening.  Now, of all times.”

“Well, it wasn’t just you,” he told her as he held her close, feeling her for the first time in months.  It had a strange familiarity that was surprisingly comforting.  “I know the timing was an accident.  But I, uh, do thank you for coming here today.  It really does mean a lot.  Can you come over to the house for a while?  There’s a lot more food there than even Mike and I can eat.  Give you a chance to see Annette.  And Collin, too.”

“He sure is getting big, isn’t he?” Darria commented wistfully.  She then let go of the hug, wiped her eyes and said, “I better get back into town, though.  I told the office I would try to make it back for the afternoon.”

“Well, don’t go so fast you . . . drive carefully, huh?”

She was prettier than he remembered.  Maybe it was the black dress.  He had never seen her in black because she had always said it made her look washed out.  With her reddish blonde hair and freckled skin, he had always taken her at her word.  But now, looking at her, he realized she looked pretty attractive in black.  And she had lost weight.  She wouldn’t have been able to fit in that dress when they were still together.

But then, he had lost weight, too.  He didn’t think it was stress so much as that he just hadn’t eaten as regularly since the split.  He was almost back to his college weight.  And what with walking every day in the sun, the red had come out in his brown hair and a few freckles had resurfaced that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

People used to say they belonged together but he always figured it was because they were both red haired and fair skinned.  He wondered if, that day at the cemetery, they looked like they ought to be together again.  He wondered if she were wondering the same thing.

She nodded, then kissed him on the cheek and walked away to her car.  He watched her go, not knowing how he should feel.  If it were a movie, he knew, he would run after her and catch her in his arms and convince her to stay with him.  Or he’d watch her go and cry.  But he didn’t feel like doing either.  He didn’t feel like doing anything.  So he just watched her go.

***

“You sure you don’t want me to hang around for a while?” Mike offered.  “I’ve got a couple weeks coming.  I could help you move and get settled in at the shop and all.”

“No.  Your family needs you with them.  I’ll be fine.  Old Simms is going to run the shop until I can get out there, and most of my stuff is in storage so it won’t take all that much to move it.  Got some friends that can help with that.”

“Well, if you need me, you call, all right?  It’s just you and me now, brother.”

“Hey, same here.  I mean, if you need anything, you call me.  I know how to get to Aurora.”  Brad snapped his fingers and said, “Let’s plan on getting together in a couple months.  Maybe head into the mountains or something.”

“Sounds great,”

Brad hugged Annette, thanked her for coming, and held a very wriggly Collin one more time, kissing the little boy on the forehead.  “I can’t believe how fast you can move, little guy.  You’ll be walking by the next time I see you, I bet.”