Recalled (41 page)
He died so I could live. He did so more than once. And I was so very afraid that death would not be his only punishment. I didn’t want him to suffer.
I loved him.
I probably always would.
I knew being with him wasn’t our destiny, but I would’ve at least liked to know wherever he was, he was happy.
I walked to the window to look out at the snow-covered street, but my eyes never made it that far. They zeroed in on the frozen flower box that decorated my windowsill. It was iced over and mounded with a white cap of snow. Yet, in the center something grew…
It grew impossibly—wonderfully—right out of the snow and ice.
Its green stem was sturdy and it stretched up toward the morning rays of sun. Its petals, wide and smooth, were completely open and welcoming. It was the most perfect daisy I’d ever seen and it was growing in the middle of winter.
It wasn’t lost on me that this was mine and Dex’s flower. It represented so much.
And it was an answer.
I sat my coffee aside and opened the window, laughing when snow fell onto my slippers. I ignored the harsh biting wind to reach out and tug the perfect flower from the ice. It wasn’t cold like it should be.
It was warm.
It radiated heat in the center of my palm.
I knew then without a doubt that Dex was okay. He was better than okay. He wasn’t being punished for the things he did.
A single tear fell from my eye and landed on one of the perfectly formed petals. When the moisture touched, it shimmered purple and then soaked in.
Dex was in heaven. He was safe and warm… He was at peace.
I knew someday I would meet him again and whenever that was, it wouldn’t matter what form either of us took because…
We would be together.
The End
The definition of success is
“
The achievement of something desired, planned, or attempted.”
(Note: all definitions in this book are courtesy of
http://www.thefreedictionary.com
). One could say finishing this book is a success. To be frank, sometimes I wondered if there was other life during/after the
Heven and Hell
series (my first fabulous publications). I wondered if that series would suck all my writing mojo right out of me and leave me empty and soulless. Okay, I never worried about being soulless… That’s just creepy and weird. But I did wonder if I would ever write again. Yes, I am dramatic.
Anyway, so when Dex started talking to me about bodies in the closet and how he hated wearing glasses (apparently, I am not the only dramatic one around here) I decided to keep
Recalled
a super secret project in case I couldn’t hack it. That brings me to the reason I gave you the definition of success. I not only finished
Recalled
, but I rocked it out. Ha ha ha. Note: that’s my personal opinion. But it IS a success.
But don’t let the fact that this was a super secret project fool you into thinking I did this all on my own. I had help—as every author does. That’s what this section is really for, to acknowledge those people (and not for my longwinded monologues—I’ll save those for my husband!).
As always, I would like to acknowledge my family. To my husband, Shawn, who read the first twenty pages of this book (when that was all that was written), declared it was going to be a good read, and then I never looked back. Thanks for never doubting my writing mojo. To my children, Kaydence and Nathan, for never complaining too much when I sit at the computer for too long. To my mommom, Aurora, for always buying copies of my books and then sharing them with all your friends. To my mom, Elizabeth, for babysitting my “angelic” children and my very hairy, sporadically peeing dog.
And to my other family who aren’t relatives, but still family all the same. These are the people I go to for writing support, for advice, and to talk about the business of being a writer (Yes, people, it’s more than sitting around a computer, looking fabulous). To Jennifer Pringle, for being the first to read
Recalled
in its finished, uncut draft. For always telling me that I can do it even when I think I can’t. To Cassie McCown, a true book doctor, who sees my writing naked and still doesn’t laugh (my writing wears polka dot undies). Thanks for using your shovel to get rid of my favorite word: that. Thank you to Regina Wamba for designing me a cover that makes my heart race and for being patient through the process of working with me.
I want to mention my fellow writing buddies—Airicka Phoenix, Cameo Renae, Amber Garza, Melissa Andrea, Alexia Purdy, Ella James, Alivia Anders, Tara Brown and Ambear Shellea. When I first started in this business, I didn’t know any other writers and now I have a list… a list of women who inspire me every day. It’s awesome to be in your company.
Also, I want to acknowledge Gladys Gonzales Atwell for your enthusiastic support. Someday you will wear a color besides black… one as vibrant as the rest of you. To the maker’s of Puff’s Plus tissues, I like that lotion you put in your tissues. I did a lot of crying when I wrote this book but my nose never got red. And finally, to the maker’s of Lipton tea. I practically lived off Ginger Twist tea while I wrote this book… and now I can’t find it anywhere. I’m going through withdrawals…. Please, someone find me some of that tea!!!!!
P.S. If I forget to mention anyone, we can just blame it on my withdrawals. Ha ha ha ha.
Cambria Hebert is the author of the young adult
Heven and Hell
series and the
Death Escorts
series. She loves a caramel latte, hates math and is afraid of chickens (yes, chickens). She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured, her characters will always have good hair. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and children (both human and furry), where she is plotting her next book. You can find out more about Cambria and her work by visiting her fan page on Facebook or her website
http://www.cambriahebert.com
.
Please turn the page and
enjoy an excerpt from Airicka Phoenix's novel, Games of Fire.
Grandma Valdez had a saying,
beware surprises that come with gloomy weather
. Sophia had never put much stock in the prediction. Grandma was a ninety year old woman who thought tux wearing mice were giving her winning lottery ticket numbers. But during that rainy January, Sophia Valdez became a believer and it all started with the enormous white truck parked next door.
“We’ve got new neighbors.” Dishtowel wringing between slender fingers, her mother joined her at the living room window. They peered out over the quaint, cookie-cutter suburban neighborhood with its neatly trimmed lawns, soft, pastel tones and nosy housewives.
Sophie folded her arms and propped a hip against the frame. Rain splattered against glass, running like teardrops down the smooth sheet. It was just a drizzle, but the movers didn’t seem to mind getting wet. They trudged down the metal ramp, making a world of noise while balancing a cream-colored sofa between them. Her gaze dropped to their scuffed, mud encrusted boots and she nearly smirked. If the lady of the house was anything like her mother, she was no doubt having a heart attack at all the filth being dragged across her polished floors.
“We should go over,” her mother said decidedly. “I have a casserole in the freezer we can take. It’ll be nice.”
What her mother really meant was,
let’s make sure our new neighbors aren’t serial killers or worse, salesmen.
“I’m good,” Sophie replied.
Her mother smacked her lightly on the arm. “Don’t be silly. Go get dressed.”
Sophie frowned down at her faded jeans and Green Day t-shirt. “I am dressed! Overdressed if you take half the girls in my school into account.”
But her mother was already walking away, back to the kitchen and the many casserole dishes stacked in the freezer.
No one pulled Suzy Homemaker off the way her mother did. Standing at the same height as Sophie in all her five foot five inch glory, with dirty blonde hair and green eyes, her mother was every Stepford Wife’s role model. The only thing missing was the 60s hairdo and the fondness for words such as gee and golly. The woman did her own upholstery for crying out loud. Sophie couldn’t imagine the number of valiums her mother had to take daily to maintain that level of perkiness, but it was certainly working.
“Sophia!” Casserole dish in hand, her mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, dishtowel tossed neatly over one shoulder. “You’re not dressed.”
Sophie arched a brow. “I’m not naked, either.”
Her mother’s lips pursed, disapproval defining every line in her heart-shaped face. “I’m not taking you over there dressed like that. What will the new neighbors think?”
