Sweet Salvation

Sweet Salvation

By

Maddie Taylor

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Maddie Taylor

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Maddie Taylor

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Taylor, Maddie

Sweet Salvation

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Image by The Killion Group

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

The dark blue awning provided little relief to the two dozen mourners sweltering on the fabric-draped folding chairs beneath it. The midday sun relentlessly inched the thermometer upward toward triple digits, expected for summertime in Atlanta, but highly unusual in the second week of May. Paper rustled softly as the women, who were literally wilting in the mid-day swelter, used their programs as makeshift fans, waving them uselessly trying to create enough breeze to cool their sweat-dampened skin. The men had long since stripped out of their suit coats and loosened their ties. Damp rings appeared on their dress shirts, the material clinging to the perspiration on their backs. The oppressive heat cast a pall over the gathering, perfectly expressing the mood of the group.

An early heat wave was the least of Stacy Altman’s problems, for her world had changed irrevocably. Her emotions had been on a perpetual roller coaster ride for three days. Ever since a man, after consuming enough beer to inebriate four adult men, decided to get behind the wheel of his Mercedes. Of course, he had walked away, unscathed, after running his car into the side of another. His new fully loaded Merc, and the fact he crashed head on, had deployed the airbags, which was what saved his life according to the officer at the scene. James and Sarah Altman had not been so lucky.

As she stared at the identical rose-draped caskets, the doctor’s words ricocheted endlessly in Stacy’s exhausted brain. The side impact collision, what he called T-boning, had killed her father instantly. Even though he’d been buckled up, the high rate of speed from the oncoming car was lethal, the impact of two tons of metal plowing into his side door was deadly, and even if he had air bags in his well-preserved twenty-year-old truck, they wouldn’t have saved him. He was ‘dead on scene,’ so the police report said. Her mother, also buckled in, had survived the initial impact, but the vehicle had rolled at least twice and by the time EMS had extracted her from the mangled cab, her blood loss had been too severe and she had not survived transport. Stacy, who had arrived at the emergency room within an hour of the crash, overheard the awful term, DOA. Her mom had been dead on arrival.

The dull drone of the minister’s voice was background noise in her brain that screamed the horrible words repeatedly—dead on arrival. She hadn’t been able to shake it for three long days. A tear spilled over and clung to her lashes. At the same time, a drop of perspiration trickled from her hairline by her temple. She blinked and as the tear rolled slowly down her cheek, the bead of sweat kept pace. Not a good look—blubbering and sweating, her makeup most likely melting off her face—but why should she care? What she cared about most in her life was sealed inside the cheap bargain coffins and in a few minutes would be lowered into the ground, lost to her forever.

A drip fell from her chin and landed on the back of one clenched hand. She stared at it, uncaring. A tissue was pressed into her hand and she looked up. Her friend Kristie was staring at her with concern.

“The minister is done, Stacy. It’s time to stand.”

Robotically, she responded; Kristie taking one arm and Lana the other, supporting her through this horrendous ordeal. These two friends, both sorority sisters, were all she had left. Her mother was an only child, as was her father, her grandparents long passed. This left Stacy with no one: no aunts, no uncles, no cousins twice removed. Except for these two wonderful young women, she was alone. It wasn’t fair; she had graduated ten days ago and her life was supposed to be starting now, a new beginning. She was going to get a job, get married one day and have babies. She and her husband were to take the kids to Nana and Papaw’s every Sunday for a traditional home-cooked dinner. The kids would adore their nana, who would dote on them, baking cookies each week, and for Christmas, her special black walnut fudge. Papaw would take them fishing at the little spot he’d located on the outskirts of the city, just as he’d done with his little Rosebud.

That thought hit her hard. The stunning realization that she’d never hear his gravelly voice call her Rosebud again was almost too much to bear. Her children would never know their Papaw Jim’s kind, gentle soul or their Nana Sarah’s bright sunny disposition. She felt anger stir on the behalf of her unborn children. It was so unfair.

A sob escaped, the first since the graveside service had begun. She felt Lana’s arm encircle her shoulders, squeezing her tight.

“Just a few more minutes, sweetie, then we can leave,” came the soft words of reassurance. It was almost over.

Stacy reached up and grabbed Lana’s hand as the preacher approached. He stood before her, this near stranger who’d been her parents’ minister. They’d met a few times, but in passing. He didn’t know her at all. He offered pithy words of comfort, trite platitudes about no more suffering, and their job on earth was done, and being in a better place. These were just words to her, providing no ease to her pain, no glimmer of hope, no sense of comfort or safety. Would she ever feel safe again?

She could only nod at his expression of concern when he asked if she was going to be all right. Kristie spoke up and reassured him that they would be with her. She’d be at the sorority house, surrounded by her sisters constantly for the next two weeks, at least until the new semester started. Dread rolled through her as she stood silent and stiff. More change was coming.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Stace? It’s a big move.”

“No, but what choice do I have?” she asked, distracted by the million and one things she had to do between now and when she left for Michigan tomorrow.

One monumental task was to finish moving out of her room at the sorority house. Lana was helping her pack and there were already half a dozen boxes stacked in the hallway. Stacy had procrastinated. Now, at the last minute, she was rushing around like a mad woman trying to get it all done. Kristie’s boyfriend was bringing his truck first thing in the morning, and between the five of them—Kristie and Matt, Lana and her husband Jason, and herself—they were moving everything into her parents’ basement for storage in the morning.

She’d been to the house a few times since the funeral, but never alone. The memories and emotions were too overwhelming. She certainly couldn’t live there alone, but also couldn’t bring herself to sell it just yet. With Kristie’s help, she’d found a realtor who would manage the property and rent it for her while she made a decision about what to do. In the meantime, the rent would pay the mortgage.

While Lana began packing another box of clothes, Stacy was hanging her navy blue interview suit—her only suit—in her garment bag. She carefully buttoned her taupe blouse so it would stay on the hanger, and then draped the one-button jacket on top. She wished she hadn’t cut off the clear plastic strips that helped it stay on the hanger. With her luck, it would be wadded up in the bottom of the bag by the time she got to Detroit. She needed to make a good impression, which meant looking neat and professional. Maybe she should bring a steamer.

She crossed to the walk-in closet and reached for her ‘Travel Butler.’ Spotting her matching taupe purse—one of only two purses she had to her name—she grabbed it too. If she ever found a job, she was going to have to do a major wardrobe overhaul. She couldn’t wear the same suit every day.

“You could stay with me for the rest of the summer.”

“What?” Lana was hard to follow sometimes. She jumped from one subject to another or picked up the thread of an old one ten or fifteen minutes after the topic had changed. Sometimes it made her head spin. Stacy had learned to go with the flow because Lana was one of her best friends and she loved her for all her quirkiness.

“Instead of going to Detroit, you could stay with me. Give Atlanta’s job market another chance and get your bearings before you start job hunting out of state.” Lana’s worried expression spoke volumes. Although she’d move out a while back when she and Jason got married, she’d still acted as the mother hen for their sorority, coming by daily to check on ‘her girls,’ especially Stacy. Now, with all of them graduated and going their separate ways, she was concerned her littlest, move vulnerable chick wasn’t ready to head out on her own.

“Lana, you’re moving to Birmingham in six weeks. After that, you won’t be here to hold my hand anymore. I have to learn to stand on my own two feet. That means finding a job and finding one now. Besides, I can’t sleep on your pull-out couch all summer. You and Jason have been great, but you’re newlyweds and need your space. I couldn’t impose.”

“You’d be in the spare room so it’s no imposition. Besides, Jas doesn’t mind.”

“You’d tell me if it was causing a problem, right?”

“No.”

“Lana!”

“I’m not going to tell my best friend that she isn’t welcome in my home, so forget it. Now, about this trip…”

Stacy rolled her eyes at her persistence. She was in Mama Lana mode this morning.

“I worry about you, especially driving that twenty-year-old Jeep cross-country all by your lonesome. What if you get a flat or that heap of yours breaks down?”

“Miss Scarlett is not a heap. Dad rebuilt her engine back in April. He also replaced the shocks, brakes, gave her new tires and a brand spanking new paint job.” Stacy’s eyes got misty as she remembered him tinkering in the garage every spare minute getting the Jeep road ready. He’d presented the keys to her as a graduation present. Unable to afford getting her a new one, her sweet daddy had done the next best thing. He’d restored one and had it running like a top. “You don’t have to worry about me. Dad taught me to change a flat when I was fourteen. I was changing the oil in our cars when I was sixteen. He told me I needed to know how to maintain a car before I started to drive one. I might look like a Barbie doll but I’m not one.”

“Hey, that could be a thing. Instead of Malibu Barbie, there could be Mechanic Barbie with cute little pink coveralls and in miniature, like you.”

Stacy wrinkled her nose at that. Lana probably didn’t know how condescending that sounded. She didn’t make it better when she added, “As soon as those Yankees get a look at you, they’re going to scoop you up and keep you.”

Being five foot two, blond and blue-eyed, she’d heard it all before. Adjectives like cute, adorable, and sweet rubbed her the wrong way. She’d been on ten interviews in the past two months and got the same vibe from each one. They took one look at her baby face, smiled politely at her thin resume, and sent her on her way. She was sure it was tossed in file thirteen before the door shut behind her because she hadn’t gotten a call back on any of them. She didn’t know why Michigan would be any different, but they were paying her travel expenses, so she thought, why not?

“It’s a good job, if I can get it. You and Jason will be starting your new lives in Alabama. Kristie and Matt will be far away in Boston. I might as well look beyond Atlanta. Find something new and interesting. See more of the world beyond Georgia where I’ve spent my entire life. Lord knows there isn’t anything keeping me here after you and Kristie are gone.”

“Yeah, but it’s Michigan!” She shuddered with revulsion, or maybe it was from cold because the way she scornfully said
Michigan
made it sound like some remote and uninhabited place, like Siberia, not a state within the continental U.S. “Isn’t it always freezing up there and snowing all the time?”

Stacy grinned. “It’s not the north pole. It’s June there too, and last I checked about eighty degrees.”

“Well, how do I know? I’m a communications major.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want you to move so far away.” Lana looked at her, eyes wet with tears. “If you need money—”

“It’s covered, Lana, they gave me a travel stipend, remember? Besides, I’ve taken enough from you as it is. It’s time for me to cut the apron strings.”

“I still don’t know why you won’t just fly.”

“Plane tickets are expensive. Even with gas through the roof, I can come out ahead if I drive. I’ll have a little left over for living expenses if I don’t get the job and clothes if I do.”