The Gingerbread Boy (38 page)

Now, I know. It was out of love. He spared me his last moments on Earth — moments I would later learn I would not want cemented in my memory for the rest of my life if it could be helped.

Yet, there will forever be a Paul-shaped hole in my heart. I’ve come to believe and hope that it is now a much kinder heart, a more gentle and understanding heart. One that holds a unique appreciation for true love, even a lost love, and how marvelous it was I’d been lucky enough to have known it at one time.

And, the sweetness of the realization that true love can be found anew.

Mr. Paul Esquire, you will always be an “epitome.”

~
Lori

Look for the upcoming sequel “The Cinnamon Girl” in 2014!

Seven years have now passed, and Catherine is preparing to marry a wonderful young artist named Abel. Then bizarre things begin to happen… Could Daniel be haunting her? Prepare for a surprising and satisfying ending to this wonderful story!

Sneak Preview:

Chapter One

“I think Abel is going to ask me to marry him,” said Catherine.

Lynell rested the spade next to Daniel’s tombstone and looked at Catherine in silent wonder.

Catherine couldn’t quite look the former Mrs. LaMont, now Mrs. Geller, in the eye. Her gaze wandered from the urn, where she and Lynell had just planted red and white impatiens, to the gravestone. “What would you think of that?” she asked, then added with a hesitant smile, “I could wind up being your daughter-in-law after all.
Step
-daughter-in-law, anyway.”

Mrs. LaMont did not answer. There was a far-away look on her face.

Tears misted Catherine’s eyes as she gazed at Daniel’s headstone, dappled in sunspots beneath the sprawling oak. Daniel had been lost to them both, so long ago.

“Lynell?” Catherine asked weakly, fearing she may have revealed something terribly wrong in telling her about the possible proposal. She summoned the courage to lift her eyes and look steadily at Daniel’s mother, terrified to find a hurt or some form of betrayal on the lovely woman’s face.

She still looked so much like Daniel.

But Lynell was now smiling. Joy glowed on her face as she said, “That would be a dream come true.”

Catherine’s shoulders sagged in relief. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

She shook her head. “It’s time, Catherine. It’s been seven years now.”

“Seven years,” Catherine whispered.

Seven years since she’d received Daniel’s final letter. Longer since she’d actually last seen him—when he’d tried so hard to be cruel and make her hate him. But that wasn’t the memory she held of him now. It’d taken months to understand what he had done and why he’d done it, and many strange, recurring dreams—dreams she didn’t even like to think about—before her memories of Daniel had at last blurred into a cozy fog of peace. And the dearest memory she still held was him standing next to her by the door of the rooming house at MSU the first night they’d met, bundled up in that old hat and scarf, snowflakes glittering on his eyelashes.

It was hard to imagine snow on this calm, sweet spring morning on a hillside. And at a gravesite where Catherine had never gotten to see Daniel laid to rest. She swallowed hard against a tightening in her throat. For so long, that hadn’t seemed fair. Even after Daniel’s final explanation in his letter, which she’d finally…after many years, understood. He’d wanted to protect her from his illness, so she could move on.

And at last, she was.

Lynell took Catherine’s hand, and their dirty, flower-planting fingers entwined. “Daniel would want you to marry Abel,” she said. “He appreciated Abel’s friendship. There was some kind of understanding between them I think only creative souls can connect with.” She squeezed Catherine’s hand, and a stream of light broke through the leaves and settled on her face, making it seem angelic and much younger than her fifty-eight years.

“You truly think Daniel would understand?” asked Catherine.

“He’d be doing cartwheels in heaven.”

Catherine smiled and gently reached forward to trace Daniel’s name on the tombstone. As she did so her long braid fell forward and settled in the grass.

“Maybe you can cut your hair at last,” said Lynell. “That is, if you want to.”

Catherine straightened and pushed back the braid. She hadn’t cut her hair since Daniel had died, and the thick, four-foot braid she always wore had become a burden to her sometimes. A burden she’d willingly imposed upon herself. Daniel had loved his long hair, and when she’d found out he’d had to have it shaved off near the end of his life, she’d grown hers as a kind of compensation.

“Maybe I’ll shorten it one day soon,” said Catherine. “Although, Hazel would miss batting it around.” She looked to her left, where a scrappy, older white cat basked in the sun on top of another headstone. Catherine had taken Hazel the feline with her after leaving the VanHoofstryver estate in Maryland five years ago to begin her own veterinary practice in Daniel’s hometown in Michigan. She’d grown so fond of Daniel’s mother that, in the absence of Mrs. VanHoofstyver, Lynell became much like the mother she had never really known well.

Simply put, they’d needed each other.

And so had JoAnne and Joey, college friends of Catherine’s. They were now married and lived in a nearby town. An added delight was little Juliette, their adorable four-year-old daughter. Juliette had inherited so many of both her parents’ goofy mannerisms that it was impossible to remain blue any time the child was within range.

It had become a good life, just as Daniel had honestly wanted for her. So good, in fact, that her memories of Daniel became fragmented. Even when she’d wanted to cling to them, hold onto them for dear life and wedge them deep into her soul, they’d begun to slip away. Now, some of her memories were mere memories of memories, and it shocked and saddened her when she’d first realized it. It seemed she was losing him all over again, although it didn’t hurt in the same way. For the longest time, just looking at Lynell would fling her back into the past…and Mrs. LaMont’s eyes would become Daniel’s eyes… her hair, Daniel’s hair, her nose…Daniel’s nose. But now, she was just a beautiful, compassionate woman Catherine couldn’t imagine not having in her life. Finally, when looking at Lynell now, Catherine saw only Lynell.

And that was how it should be. How it was meant to be, she supposed.

A smile nudged Catherine’s lips as her eyes wandered past Lynell to the lazy cat still hanging over the edge of the tombstone. “I think it’s time Hazel leaves her unconventional new sunning spot and we get back to the clinic. I’ve got two more cats to spay and a black lab’s hip to check on before Abel comes over this afternoon. He said he wants to take me someplace, ah…
interesting
.”

Lynell lifted a knowing eyebrow. “With Abel, it’s probably not going to be a new restaurant or trendy hangout.”

“No, as a matter of fact, he said I should bring my medical bag. Just in case.”

Both women arched their eyebrows in bemused wonder.

You just never knew with Abel.

Catherine took a long, final look at Daniel’s resting place then she and Lynell clasped hands and pulled themselves to their feet. They collected their things and wandered down the hill to the parking lot with a ghostly white cat tiptoeing behind them.

About the Author

Born in the small town of Wayland, Michigan, Lori has been writing since she was about 10 years old. Raised in the country with goofy siblings, a few strange neighbors, and many animals, Lori has cemented her own “quirkiness” through a series of unusual factory jobs and a two-year stint in art school. Presently she works as a graphic artist, while at long last realizing her true dream of becoming a published author of off-beat, Midwestern novels.

Acknowledging that most people who hear voices in their heads are called schizophrenic, she knows that when these voices are put to paper and assigned names, the creator of these characters are then labeled…writers! Lori believes her novels will especially resonate with people in “fly-over” country.

Lori grew up and spent most of her life in the small town of Wayland, Michigan. She now lives in Grand Rapid, Michigan, with her ball-obsessed German shepherd, Maddy, a three footed cat named Tippy, and the formerly Mr. Starvin’ Marvin the marvelous kitty.

Also From Astraea Press:

I first saw him in 2007, at a cancer fundraiser concert in Atlanta, Georgia. I drove four hours from Alabama to see him because my curiosity was stronger than my common sense.

He wasn’t what I expected, to be honest. He was just as famous for his blue eyes as he was for his voice, and I wondered why disappointment filled me. I guess he just wasn’t quite what I’d imagined. Sitting across the auditorium, I couldn’t tell much about him except his face was a little scruffy and his dark hair longer than Emily had described.

I stood there, among all his fans, watching him. I felt like a stalker with the picture tucked securely in my back pocket. But I didn’t want to think about the picture at that moment. I wanted to see him for the man he really was.

He sang their latest ballad, his voice a scratchy, honeyed whiskey. The girls up front swayed as they waved their cell phones and lighters. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the grin. If I had been a little younger, I might have been tempted to join in. My twenty-eight years owned too much sadness for me to feel so carefree.

As he sang, my heart broke a little more. Emily would have smiled her brilliant smile and been so excited, because after all, I knew now the song was about her.

I’ll breathe life into you
Just tell me when you need me to.
I’ll give you what you need
If only you’ll believe in me.

Tears shone on his face from across the stadium. I could hear the tremble in his voice as he sang the words. This was Emily’s song, and it was obvious he sang it for her, no matter who else listened. His eyes were closed and occasionally his fingertips tapped his heart.

When the song was over, tears streamed down my face and I clapped until my hands hurt. I looked around me at the unfamiliar faces and pretended I didn’t know the story behind the song. Almost everyone was here for entertainment. The occasional few might have come out of support for a loved one with cancer. But I was here for a reason.

I just wished I knew what it was.

Chapter One

I paid good money to get into the after-party with the band. In fact, I spent pretty much my life savings just for the off chance I might get to speak with him. But the second I walked in, I realized my mistake. I didn’t belong here among the half-dressed women with their fumbling footsteps and slurred speech.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who threw herself at someone. Not even him. Someone offered me a drink and I immediately declined and sought the nearest corner of the room. Maybe observation would give me a clue as to what I needed to do next.

I sat down and looked around, spotting him immediately in the opposite corner of the room, surrounded by fourteen girls. Yes, I counted. Fourteen pairs of lust-filled eyes enticed him like they were his own personal harem from which he could choose one or several. Disgust rose thick in my throat and threatened to choke me. This was who he was. It was what he did.

I should have known.

I didn’t mean to stare. But I was much closer to him than I had been at the concert, and I could see those eyes now. Magazines and the internet would never do them justice. They were the color of the sky. But the analogy still didn’t seem to adequately describe how...electric and full of life they were. They missed nothing, those twin blue flames, deeply set in a strong, chiseled face.

He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. There was something about the way he filled out that shirt with muscles straining against the sleeves and his chest obviously the product of a lot of gym time. Those wide shoulders and his narrow waist made him the perfect upper body specimen–not too small and not too large. He wore boots that made him look both sloppy and put-together.

After a few minutes, he broke free of his groupies and went to get something to drink. The refreshment table was situated next to the back wall close to where I sat. I tried to look away but my eyes were glued to him, taking in every movement, each breath. He was magnificent in his confidence, surveying the room as he twisted off the cap of a beer, but I still felt like a stalker.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a few swigs. A moment later, a frown creased his brow and he tossed the full bottle in the garbage. He looked frustrated or bored; I wasn’t sure which. As if he waged an inner war with himself, his hand hovered over a different brand of beer, but at the last minute, he grabbed a bottle of water instead with a glance in my direction.

My heart stopped when those eyes met mine. A marathon of introductions were running through my head but they all sounded so trite in light of the reason I was here.