Ten-year-old Caleb Tanner wants nothing to do with Sylvie Cranston, the annoying weird girl who
moves next door to him and gets him in trouble for swearing. But at twelve, they become friends when
he teaches her how to hook a fishing line and she shows him the value of a selfless act. At fourteen, he
falls in love with her.
At sixteen, she dies.
Or so he’s told. But Cal never believes it. Sylvie has become part of his soul. He knows her like the
steady beating of his own heart. He’d know if she was dead. Cal looks for her, prays for her and
finally he just waits for her.
Nine years later, she walks into the community college English class Cal is teaching. Only this girl
claims her name is Sophie Becker and she doesn’t know him. Cal knows better. He’s determined to
get the girl he loves back—and protect her from the danger that took her away all those years ago.
Dedication
Dear fellow romance lover, thank you for choosing my book! I hope you enjoy Cal and Sylvie’s story
as much as I loved writing it.
There are many people whose support made this work possible.
Thank you to Totally Bound for believing in my work, and my diligent editor,
Eleanor Boyall.
Thank you to my loving family for all their support and living with all the sacrifices of having an
absentee member while I was focused on Cal and Sylvie’s world.
Thank you to Nicole, Roberta and Etheleen, my beta readers,
for your feedback and suggestions.
Thank you to all the readers who continue to support indie authors like myself and invest themselves
monetarily and emotionally in our work.
Keep reading and never stop looking for your happily ever after!
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks
mentioned in this work of fiction:
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn:
Mark Twain
Adventures of Tom Sawyer:
Mark Twain
American Pie
: Don McLean
American Express: American Express Company
Barbie: Mattel
Brown-Eyed Girl
: Van Morrison
Cadillac: General Motors LLC
Casino:
Universal Pictures
Chuck Taylor: Converse
Citibank: Citigroup, Inc
CliffsNotes: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Converse: Nike, Inc
Craftsman: Sears
Crazy Love
: Van Morrison
Doc Martens: R. Griggs Group Ltd
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
Ford: Ford Motor Company
Forrest Gump:
Paramount Pictures
Frankenstein:
Mary Shelley
Glenlivet: Chivas Brothers Ltd
Glock: Glock GmbH
Goodfellas:
Warner Bros
Google: Google, Inc.
Home Depot: Homer TLC
iPod: Apple, Inc.
I Will Wait
: Mumford & Sons
Jack Daniels: Brown Forman Corporation
Jane Says
: Jane’s Addiction
Ken doll: Mattel Corporation
Laffy Taffy: Nestle
Mama Said Knock You Out
: LL Cool J
Mine Would Be You:
Blake Shelton
Moby Dick
: Herman Melville
Monk
: USA Network
Mrs Dalloway
: Virginia Woolf
Of Mice and Men:
John Steinbeck
Only the Good Die Young
: Billy Joel
Pride and Prejudice:
Jane Austen
Remington: RA Brands, LLC
Rolling Rock: Latrobe Brewing Company
Saks: Saks & Company
Save Me, San Francisco
: Train
Schwinn: Nautilus, Inc
Sherlock Holmes
: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Sister Golden Hair:
America
Snickers: Mars, Inc
SparkNotes: SparkNotes LLC
Suzuki: Suzuki Motor Corporation
Tabasco sauce: McIlhenny Company
The Gambler
: NBC
The Great Gatsby
: F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Mayor of Casterbridge
: Thomas Hardy
The Raven
: Edgar Allen Poe
The Weight
: The Band
Tombstone:
Bueno Vista Pictures
Transformers
: DreamWorks Pictures
Walk Away, Renee
: The Left Banke
Walkman: Sony
Walmart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
Who Says You Can’t Go Home
: Bon Jovi
Wikipedia: Wikimedia Foundation
Yamaha: Yamaha Corporation
Velcro: Velcro Industries BV
Chapter One
Excerpt from
Raven Girl
The worst part of being a kid was that you never knew how good you had it until it was too late.
Childhood was simple. My parents told me it was because I didn’t have bills to pay or mouths to
feed, but it was more than that. It was because nothing was planned. When you didn’t plan for it, you
didn’t worry about the consequences. They just happened naturally without the coercion, manipulation
or mindfuck games that came with becoming an adult.
I never planned for Sylvie Cranston to be my best friend. I never expected her to be the muse in
all my dreams, or the girl who later haunted my nightmares. I certainly never planned to fall in love
with her, but that was exactly what happened.
Everyone told me I needed to move on. That was like asking me to pierce my own flesh and
crush my empty, beating heart. They wanted me to toss it away and continue to breathe. How could a
man function without his heart?
Age 10
“Caleb, the neighbors are moving in. Come on, I need you to carry the casserole.” My mother’s
hurried voice echoed down the hall to my room.
I didn’t think that woman knew the term ‘lazy Sunday’. I had no desire to meet the new neighbors
let alone bring them a casserole. I wanted to get out of my Sunday suit and fish before it was time to
worry about Monday.
“Why can’t Mandy carry it?” I asked. My little sister and my momma were pretty much a
package deal. Wherever Amelia Tanner went, Amanda Tanner followed. Mandy was my momma’s
mini-me with long, curly red hair and dark green eyes that my father fondly referred to as sharply
sweet. They even had the same pattern of freckles across their noses. However, my momma was
elegant whereas my sister was as clumsy as a blind dog in a figurine factory.
“It’s way too heavy for her, and I’m not risking it. I worked too darn hard on it. Now get your
butt in gear and help me.”
I begrudgingly walked out of my room to the foyer where the two females in my life waited for
me impatiently. “Can I at least change first?”
My mother sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “They’re going to see you looking like a bum
every day this summer. At least make a good first impression. I hear they’re from up north, and we
want them to think of you as a perfect Southern gentleman, not the wild ruffian you are.” I shook my
head, but didn’t protest. You didn’t argue with my mother. Even a peaceful protest was out of the
question. “You know, there is no hospitality like the Southern kind, so let’s go show these folks how
lucky they are to be living here.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, but it was exactly what I wanted to do. She smiled at me, ruffling my
hair. “You never know, they might have a little boy your age.”
“Geez, Momma, you act like I’m five. I’m not a little boy and I don’t need a playmate.”
“You sure are throwing a temper tantrum like a little boy,” Amanda chimed in, who actually
was
five.
“You will always be my little boy. Now come on,” my mother stated.
I led the procession of Tanners, carrying the cheesy casserole dish that felt like it weighed at
least twenty pounds. We marched outside our little brick ranch, walking all the way out to the
sidewalk and crossing over the ten slabs of cement to the driveway of another almost identical brick
ranch. It was easier to cut across the grass, but I knew better. My momma would have a few remarks
if I dared cross the patch of grass between the houses. It was not proper. It was not neighborly. And
we had manners. This philosophy applied even though the other house had been vacant so long it was
more like weedy thistle than a real lawn. Still, my father mowed it down once a week for
appearances’ sake when he tended to our lawn. “Can’t let the neighborhood go downhill,” he’d say. I
knew with his promotion to sheriff, he would be working longer hours, and the chore would soon be
mine. At least I’d only have to mow our lawn.
I stepped aside so my mother could knock on the door. A moving van was in the driveway and
several men were unloading it. The whole thing was a little weird. No one ever moved to Prairie
Marsh, Texas. Sure, there were people who left to pursue life in other parts of the country, only to
return homesick or bitter from their experiences, but it was a strange occurrence to see a new family
here. We were a small town in the middle of nowhere, East Texas. Even at ten, I knew that much.
A tall dark-haired man in black trousers and a crisp white shirt answered the door. This was
strange too. People around here either wore Sunday clothes or regular clothes. This man was in semi-
Sunday clothes. If you were doing heavy lifting, you definitely wore jeans. I doubted he would fit in.
“Well, hello, we’re the Tanners, your neighbors next door. I’m Amelia. This is my son, Caleb,
but you can call him Cal. And this little princess is Amanda, but please call her Mandy.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry Cranston.” He shook my mother’s hand and smiled widely at
Amanda. I one-armed the casserole dish to shake his hand, happy he wasn’t ignoring me like most
adults. “Nice grip, son.”
We walked into the three-bedroom replica of our house I’d always known as Mrs Miller’s
place. Mrs Miller had died last year and her son had sold it, but that had been months ago. We’d
begun to think the new owners had changed their mind until my mother had spotted the moving van
this morning. The old house appeared new again. The oak floors were so shiny they looked wet, and
the furniture was brand new with the store tags still on it. The whole house smelled of fresh paint and
lemon juice. That would please my mother. She liked a clean house.
I held up the casserole and thankfully Mr Cranston took it from me before I dropped it. I had no
idea how my mother made that pan feel heavier than my dad’s old medicine ball in the garage, but she
did. My dad always said, “The heavier the casserole, the better it is.” If that was the case, I was
pretty sure my momma made the best casserole in the county.
“I hope you like this,” my mother said, pointing to the pan.
“It smells divine.”
Did he say
divine?
“My husband, John, would be here too, but he’s on duty today. He’s the sheriff.”
“I’ve heard. I’ll feel very safe living next to the sheriff.”
“We don’t want to intrude. We know y’all must be busy today.”
“It’s no interruption. The workers are still bringing in boxes.” Mr Cranston went to the kitchen
and set the pan down slowly, as if he was afraid it might break. “Thank you for this. It’s been so long
since we’ve had anything homemade.”
“Oh, your wife doesn’t cook?”
Mandy started snooping, picking up random items and turning them in chubby fingers. I grabbed
her arm before she could touch one of the walls and smudge her grimy fingerprints on it. The
‘princess’ had a problem keeping her hands to herself. I stood with her against a corner, hoping my
momma wouldn’t ask for a complete breakdown of the man’s dietary history.
“My wife passed away six months ago. It’s just Sylvie and me.”
Oh boy, this wasn’t good. My momma’s gossip senses were spinning. I knew she was already
lining up a number of churchgoing single ladies to set Mr Cranston up with when he was ready.
“I’m so sorry,” my mother cooed. I knew what that meant. I’d be bringing over a casserole to
this man every week.
“It’s been difficult on my daughter, but we’re adjusting.”
“I can’t even imagine. A girl needs her mother.”
“Can I offer you some coffee?” Mr Cranston said, gesturing to the round oak table by the kitchen.
“Maybe one cup if you’re sure.” My mother took a seat. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if I
could ask to leave. Unfortunately, Amelia Tanner had other plans for me. “How old is Sylvie?”
“She’s ten.”
Momma clapped her hands together, forming a huge grin. “Cal’s ten. That’s wonderful. They’ll
be in the same grade.”
Mr Cranston smiled, but it looked more like a grimace, as if it was painful to make the muscles
in his face work. “That’s great. She has trouble making friends. It’ll be nice that she’ll have someone
her own age next door.”
The last thing I wanted was to hang around some girl. Obviously, if she had issues making
friends, there was a reason for it. Sylvie Cranston was going to be as irritating as a pound of blood-
hungry mosquitoes trapped inside a camping tent.
“Where is your daughter?” my mother asked, adjusting a loose red curl from the heavy bun that
sat on the nape of her neck. My father said she looked like Reba McEntire, and my mother always