Allegro - by Deanne Wilsted

This is one of my all time favorite Free Reads Stories. I hope you enjoy the re-post!

ALLEGRO
By: Deanne Wilsted

Prelude

Sandra took a final swipe at the make-up on her face and then let her hand fall to the faux granite vanity where she sat. She stared at herself in the mirror, a wall of glass which spread the length of the room. Her image taunted her; shoulder length curly auburn hair pulled back with a glimmer headband, skin, pale from her many hours spent indoors practicing piano or composing, short nails, like stubby exclamation points at the end of a ten run-on sentences.

After years of being known as a child prodigy, it was so much a part of her identity that she barely recognized herself as the twenty-six year old woman she had become. An image of her younger sister, Marie, skimmed through her thoughts. Marie had played the dark angel to Sandra’s light one. Sexy as soon as she had grown breasts, her appeal had only become more sophisticated and classy, leading men to trail her like notes lingering on the piano.

It had been weeks since she’d seen Marie. Weeks, in fact, since she’d seen any of her family. She picked up the phone which she had tossed onto the vanity before heading onstage. The text from Marie was still there- the words still as nonsensical as when she had first read them.

Sandy… Dump the gig and come meet me in Barcelona. You need a break and I need an excuse to escape Antonio.

                  As if she could just back-out of a concert, thought Sandra. Marie’s way of looking at the world was so different as to be incomprehensible to Sandra. And yet, there was something about the text which nagged at her. She’d been studying it for days now. And as the weekend closed in on her the niggling idea that she could, indeed, sneak away if she really wanted to floated its way into her consciousness. It was preposterous. But aside from the girlish hair, pale skin, and filed nails, the dark circles under her eyes made a compelling case.

                  She pulled up the calendar on her phone and studied her schedule. She’d need travel time, she calculated. And time to practice when she returned. It didn’t leave much of a break. Maybe two days, max- assuming she could reschedule the recital for the local school. Still, two days was better than nothing. Her fingers played unconsciously with her phone, like keys on the piano, until the decision was made.

Okay. She typed; then pressed reply.

Sonata

Sandra made it to the airport with minutes to spare. Her plan to meet her sister in updated clothes had been discarded alongside the plan to reschedule the recital. The school’s disappointment had simply been too severe to ignore. Instead she had re-jiggered her flights and run, literally, to make it.

“Excuse me.” The tall man in front of her didn’t seem to hear her plea to pass. “Excuse me,” she said, more loudly this time.

The stranger continued to face forward, holding up one finger at his shoulder to let her know he’d heard but chosen to ignore. Sandra tapped her toe, peeking around him at the ticket desk where she had hoped to upgrade at the last minute. She had a finger she’d like to show him, she thought. Sighing in frustration she accepted that she would have to stick with the cramped middle seat- the only assignment available on such short notice.

They called the flight for boarding and Sandra moved away from the crowd at the ticketing desk and into the crowd at the gate. Behind her she heard a man’s baritone talking on his cell phone. One glance over her shoulder told her it was the same man who had blocked her way to the agents. The annoyed words running through her brain dyed on her lips. He was- beautiful. Like when she heard a piece of music played flawlessly, her heart beat was a recognition of his perfection.

Bright blue eyes stared out unseeingly from a face darkened by a 5:00 o’clock shadow. The V opening of his dark shirt highlighted his strong jaw; a jaw which formed the foundation for his rugged cheek bones. But more than anything it was his mouth which had Sandra staring. The flat, clearly annoyed lips, hinted at straight white teeth underneath, and quirked up to one side as if perpetually mocking life.

Sandra would have dropped her eyes, if she could have. So it was with a horrifying blush that he caught her unintentionally listening in on the last of his conversation.

“It’s not enough to put them on the cover. You need to give them credit. ”… “Of course they said they can’t fit it. What else would they say?”… “Right. Well, I don’t care if they threaten to cancel your contract; we’re talking about a hospital of kids here. Get their name and information on the cover or find a new agent.”

“Idiots,” he mumbled, hitting the end call button with his finger and finally noticing Sandra.

The red crept up her chest, climbed her neck and felt like a glowing spotlight on her cheeks. Sandra prepared herself to apologize. But before she could get a single word out, his glance skimmed right over her and landed on the open doorway to the gangway.

Sandra spun on her flat, ballet style shoes and shuffled toward the door, even more embarrassed to have been so completely discounted by him. She fumbled with her luggage, checking her ticket and comparing the seat numbers with her assignment. At least she wouldn’t be at the back of the plane, she consoled herself. She threw her purse onto the seat and got ready to heave the suitcase up to the overhead. Before she could raise a finger, though, strong arms lifted it into the small space.

“There you go, miss.”

Sandra scooched into her seat and turned to say thank you, but was again tongue tied when she realized the same, sexy man was lowering himself into the seat next to hers. Was this a good thing, or a bad thing? Two hours would surely be enough time to find her voice, wouldn’t it? She watched the way the man tapped his cell phone on his flat palm and thought, perhaps not.

So, what do you do? Sandra was trying out opening questions when the flight attendant began her emergency spiel.

“So,” she began; then noticed the rapt attention with which the man listened to the flight attendant. In front of them the woman, clicked and unclicked a fake seatbelt, and Sandra wondered what could be so engaging about that. Until she noted the way the woman’s breasts squeezed together every time she fit the two pieces together. Sandra had been on her fair share of flights, but this was the first one where the emergency directions felt ‘R’ rated.

Sandra stared down at the pearls which lay against her own, black silk blouse. It was certainly feminine. But sexy? The buttons which hit above her collarbone hid any sign of cleavage. She tried scrunching her elbows into her side like the flight attendant had done, and proceeded in bulging the blouse, but not much else. She looked up and caught the passenger on the window side of her watching her with a bemused expression. The older woman smiled briefly, and then returned to the book which lay open on her lap.

“I’m Sandra, what’s your name?” Even the voice in her head sounded like a little girl now. She had yet to come up with a conversation starter- let alone the courage to ask it. You can do it, Sandra. You perform in front of thousands of people all the time. Just do it. The Nike quote was a favorite of Marie’s and finally motivated Sandra to go for it.

“Do you have cranberry juice?” Directed at the flight attendant who was waiting for her order, the question also finally got the man’s attention. His curious eyes were more like, does she need it in a sippy-cup, than, how about a shot of vodka for to go with it.

His own, low voice rumbled out an order of diet coke- with a side of rumpled sheets and a steamy shower. The flight attendant was back before Sandra had a chance to regain his attention. And, although Sandra had her hand out, ready to take the pink cup of juice, the flight attendant leaned across the man. She placed it on Sandra’s tray table, never taking her eyes from the man’s.

He, on the other hand, was busily drinking in the mounds of skin which threatened to topple out of what should have been the very conservative blue dress shirt on the flight attendant. She stood back and raised her arms over her head in a stretch, as if her job serving beverages was that strenuous.

A jolt of turbulence sent her swaying toward the man, who reached out to stop her from falling.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, apparently surprised that at 5,000 feet, with her hands over her head, she might lose her balance.

“Happy to help.” His smile was warm. And the little quirk at the corner now appeared ironic and knowing. It didn’t seem to bother him that the woman was obviously working him. His amusement created the intimacy of a shared joke.

While he was otherwise engaged, Sandra decided to take a cue from the very obvious flight attendant. She reached up and casually flipped open the top two buttons of her silk blouse. Waiting until the two of them were alone again, Sandra shifted her body toward him and with fingers graceful from playing piano, lifted her glass of cranberry juice to her lips. Perhaps the red color would dye her lips a luscious red like the flight attendant’s.

With her free hand she pulled the hair band from her head and shook out her curls. The movement reverberated down her neck, across her shoulder and through her arm, sloshing the cranberry juice out of the cup and into her lap.

“Damn.” She leaned forward to set her glass on the tray table, but when she leaned back to dab at her skirt her pearls got caught and she found herself jerked forward again. She bumped the tray table, and more of the pink juice spilled from the plastic cup.

“Perhaps a juice box next time,” the man suggested with a chuckle. He laid his spare napkins on her tray table and Sandra watched the drips from the juice circumvent it and continue to drip into her lap. Marie would have had a snappy reply, Sandra was sure. But Sandra was at a loss. Playing a man was nothing like playing a piano. She threw in the towel, metaphorically, and called for the flight attendant to return. As she had guessed, the woman was at their seat before Sandra’s fingers had left the call button. Sandra consoled herself with the thought that at least she would get good service on the flight.

Crescendo

Sandra woke up to heavy breathing in her hotel room. Near her on the floor, her sister, Marie was doing some sort of Pilates pose which must have required some intense effort to hold. She dropped down to her side, and hugged her knees to her chest, before rolling up to a sitting position.

“How long have you been awake?” Marie asked.

Sandra yawned and lay back against her pillow. “I just woke up,” she admitted.

“Good. I was trying hard to stay quiet.” Marie’s stretch was far more demanding and less calculated than the flight attendant’s had been the day before. “But, now that you’re awake, what should we do today?”

Although Marie had been at the hotel waiting for Sandra when she arrived from the airport, she had promptly gone out when it became clear that Sandra’s objective was room service and an early bedtime. “Kinda seems like it misses the point of a weekend away,” Marie had huffed, before spritzing herself with a musky scent and shimmying out the door.

Her late night had clearly done her no harm. Marie was as perky as ever, even without cosmetic surgery.

Sandra played with the edge of the sheets and considered how to answer her sister’s innocent question. She’d reached an uncomfortable conclusion while sitting silently on the airplane. A twenty-six year old woman should know how to talk to a man. Should know, in fact, how to entice him to bed. But not only was Sandra clueless, she also lacked confidence that the word entice could be used around her with anything but humor.

“So, I was thinking,” she began hesitantly. Marie was known for extremes, and Sandra was looking for a subtle change, not a train wreck. “Maybe we could go out shopping.”

Marie clapped her hands and spun in a circle. “Fantastic. A sexy dress for me and…” she stared at Sandra for a moment and then huffed. “Forget it. It’s too depressing to go shopping with you.”

Sandra put her hands on her hips. “That’s not nice,” she said. “And anyway, I was thinking you could help me pick out some new, more, uh, mature clothes.”

Marie snorted. “Mature? God, please don’t tell me you want to replace the headband with a red hat.”

“I’m serious.” Sandra jumped out of bed, filled with purpose. “Tease me all you want, but with or without you I’m going out to find something fun and sexy to wear tonight.”

Marie slowed her with a hand on her arm. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She sounded amazed and a bit alarmed. “Sandy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, pulling out of her sister’s hold. “I just, I’m tired of being overlooked. I’ve handled the pressure, the expectations, the image for 20 years now. Did you realize that?” she demanded. “I counted it up. For twenty years I’ve been known as the child prodigy. Well, guess what? I’m not a child anymore.”

Marie stood right in front of her and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Sandra, you haven’t been a child in your whole life. Since you were six you’ve never had a tantrum, broken a rule, done anything crazy, other than writing that really weird piece you called Taco.”

“I didn’t know the other meaning of the word, I swear.” Out of steam, Sandra lowered herself onto the bed.

Marie laughed and sat down next to her. “I’m just saying, if changing your clothes makes you act more care-free, then I’m with you a 100%.”

Sandra bit her lip and considered what Marie had said. She was ready for new clothes, maybe even a new hair style. But a new outlook seemed like a bit much.

“How about we keep it at 80%,” Sandra said. The last time her sister had given a 100% to anything she’d disappeared for two months. She still wouldn’t talk about that period of her life, though she’d once mentioned it had something to do with Richard Branson.

“Deal. Go shower and I’ll make some calls.”

Sandra didn’t even want to think about what sort of shopping would require phone calls.

Four hours later, head covered in foil, Sandra wished she’d asked a few more questions and limited Marie’s involvement to 30%.

“If my hair is purple, I swear…”

“I told you, nothing too crazy. You have to trust me.”

Sandra raised her eyebrows skeptically but kept quiet. The hair person had already done something with her hair that required a sharp looking razor and a heated stone. Okay, that last part had been sort of nice. Still, she wondered how much money, and time, it was going to take to revert back to her original hair style.

Marie leaned against the counter, flipping through a fashion magazine. Every now and then she’d hold a picture up for Sandra to judge. So far the pictures had received four head shakes, two emphatic “no’s”, and a laugh so loud the other customers had shot them curious stares.

Confronted by a pair of suspenders made out of fur, Sandra got ready to ask what on earth she was thinking.

“Not that page, dimwit,” Marie said. “This one.”

Sandra stared at the photo of the woman, head down, hair covering the top of the cocktail dress. It was obvious why she’d overlooked it. The photo was meant to be about the large gold watch on the skinny wrist. But taking in the dress Sandra understood what her sister was getting at. The short dress was a bright emerald green and landed in graceful folds above the model’s knees. Peeking from the very bottom edge was a line of light purple lace which hinted at something sexy and forbidden underneath. One purple silk ribbon at the ankle managed to somehow suggest bondage, even in its fragility.

“Yep,” Sandra said. “That would work.”

Marie got a Cheshire cat grin on her face and began to dial again.

If it weren’t for the loud bass in the music pumping through the clothing shop Sandra imagined the song might have been worth listening to. She shifted her weight in front of the dressing room mirror, admiring how the fabric of the newest dress she had tried on slid up slightly as she moved.

“Are you going to let me see?” Marie huffed. “We’ve been shopping for, like, two hours and I’ve seen a total of three dresses on you.”

Sandra considered making her wait for fun, but couldn’t stand the excitement of her sister seeing her in this dress. She stepped out of the dressing room, stomping to the beat of the loud music in spite of herself. At the three way mirror, she executed a perfect turn, placed a hand on her hip and shot Marie a sassy look.

“Well?”

Her sister’s open mouth was enough acknowledgment. This was the dress.

Sandra spun back to the mirror and Marie walked up behind her with a long necklace. She placed it around Sandra’s neck, hooked the clasp, and stepped back. Sandra’s now short, straightened black hair clung to her neck, seamlessly flowing into the metal link chain of the necklace. The look was both hard and sexy at the same time.

“Now for make-up.”

Sandra’s confidence fled and was replaced again by alarm. There was no time to argue. Marie had her paying for the dress and out the door before she could explain that the only time she wore make-up was when a professional make-up artist applied it before a big performance.

Finale

Sandra was glad the club they went to didn’t have any mirrors. Given the amount of black eye-liner Marie had applied she was sure her eyes looked like two smeared half notes. Dinner had been a rotation of tapas spots. Sandra couldn’t remember what she had eaten and had lost count early on of her normal 2 drink limit. She felt nothing like herself, disembodied from the pixie-like rock-n-roll creature that had stared back at her in the hotel room mirror.

                  “Over here.” Marie grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bar, as if either of them needed more sangria. “Two Cosmopolitans,” Marie told the bartender then turned to look out at the night club, people streaming toward a cookie.

“So, who’s Antonio, anyway?” Sandra asked the question she’d wondered about for days.

“Who?” Marie’s eyebrows rose dramatically, and Sandra wondered if that was what hers looked like now that her sister had defined them? “Oh, right, Antonio.” She rolled her eyes as if it weren’t even worth talking about. “Some businessman who thinks he can buy everything.”

The pointed look Marie gave her raised Sandra’s protective hackles. Had the guy hurt her sister?

“I’m fine.” Marie waved away the worry she must have noticed on Sandra’s face. “He should be out of the apartment by the time I return.”

 Sandra made a somewhat drunken note to herself to double check that all was fine when they both went back to reality. Struck by a sudden closeness with her little sis she threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss.

“Oh yeah.” A disgusting jerk standing near them was practically slobbering on the bar counter.

Instead of getting upset, though, Marie laughed and kissed Sandra on the neck. “Come on babe… let’s find someplace more private.” She grabbed their drinks, hooked an arm through Sandra’s and pulled her away from the bar.

“Seriously, I don’t get how you do that.” Sandra shook her head, taking the drink Marie held out. “Weren’t you at all embarrassed?”

“By what that idiot thought? Right! Now if had been that gorgeous guy standing near the musicians I’d have been totally embarrassed- that is, embarrassed to be hanging out with my sister.”

Sandra rolled her eyes and glanced over to see what sort of mega-star Marie had set her sights on this time. She nearly dropped her drink. It was the guy from the plane. The one who’d ignored her like she was twelve but who now couldn't seem to tear his gaze from her cat eyes.

“Well, well, well… it appears it’s my big sister who’s 'gonna get lucky tonight.”

“Of course not Marie,” Sandra started. But her sister was already wandering her way back toward the bar. Sandra was happy to note that the pervert had at least left the spot he’d held. She scanned the crowd, debating whether to follow after her sister, or find a quiet spot to hide, and came face to face with the airplane guy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Brows furrowed he seemed truly perplexed. “Do, I know you?”

She would have laughed at the overused line, if she hadn’t known that, in fact he did know her from somewhere. And it only confirmed what she’d thought… she’d been pretty well overlooked by him the first time around. She decided this time he wouldn’t get off quite so easy.

“Perhaps,” she said, scanning her excellent auditory memory for what he’d said on the phone conversation she’d overheard. “You’re an agent, right?”

Oops, that must have been the wrong direction. His body language changed from interested to closed-off in the blink of an eye.

“Ahhh. I see.”

This time she did laugh out loud. As if she needed an agent. She’d never needed to pursue anyone. Agents, artists, producers, other performers, they’d all thrown themselves at her- or more precisely her mom- since she was eight. Her laughter confused him. Once again he looked at her curiously. The quirk in his mouth gave the impression that he was calculating the odds of being wrong about her. It amazed Sandra how one little muscle could be so expressive.

“What are you drinking? Can I get you another?”

Sandra squinted at her glass, surprised it was almost empty. “It was some sort of cranberry drink,” she said, belatedly realizing the connection with the drink she’d ordered on the airplane. “But I’d rather have water, if you don’t mind. I think I’ve had enough.”

“Huh!” He rubbed his chin and studied her face intently. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He turned to walk off then spun back as if to check that she was still there. “Don’t move,” he said again.

Sandra barely took a breath before her sister popped up in front of her.

“Well?”

“So, it turns out I sat next to that guy on the plane here and he never even noticed me. In fact, even now he doesn’t remember who I was. I mean, it was just yesterday,” she huffed.

“Cool, so you have the advantage then.” As usual Marie’s reasoning was both smart and also a little lopsided.

“But, what do I say?”

Marie cocked her head and gave the question serious consideration. “Well, I know what I’d say.”

“Okay, what? Hurry, He’s coming back.” Panic gripped Sandra. She held Marie’s arm so she wouldn’t escape.

Marie smiled. “No… I don’t think my way would work for you. But hey, what if you treated him like a composition? What’s that first part again?”

“A prelude…”

“And you told me a prelude introduces the main movement and sets the theme. Right?”

“Okay, yes.” Sandra tried to return the guy’s smile as he wound his way toward them.

“So, this is your prelude. Your theme isn’t my theme. But if I had to take a guess, it would have something to do with a new stage in your life, something anyone could relate to. Good luck.”

She pulled from Sandra’s death grip and shot her a parting smile and a last piece of advice before gliding out to the dance floor. “Probably you should start with your name.”

Sandra set down the sweating glass and rubbed her palms down the side of her dress.

“So, I’m Sandra,” she said when he got close enough to hear her. “And I’m not the girl I was yesterday. That’s why you don’t recognize me. What’s your name?”

“I’m Sam.”

He still didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t matter. Sandra realized it gave her the freedom to be whomever she wanted. The thought was as freeing as a lively allegro. A new composition began to circle in her brain, something with sultry tones and a strong beat. Something that sounded like the woman she could be.

If you liked this story, you can find more by Deanne at her website:

www.deannewilsted.com

Journeys Insprised by Love

Thank you to all of the Genre-istas for letting me be part of this terrific Free Reads blog. I am so sad to see it end, but wish each of them amazing success.

Deanne

BIRTHDAY PROMISES - Part 2

Birthday Promises - Part 2
By: Deanne Wilsted

Noah searched Julianna’s face. While she appeared jovial, he knew she had to be suffering inside. After all, no one wanted to end up divorced. In truth, when they’d made the promise to get divorced if either of them were in loveless marriages when they turned thirty-five, neither had really believed it would end up that way. They’d been at each other’s weddings; had been best woman and man of honor. He’d seen the love and confidence glowing from the inside when she’d taken her vows with Mark. And, if he’d had some doubts about the guy’s character, well he’d also known Julianna would be strong enough to bring out the best in him.

Yet here they were, seven years later, with Julia standing in front of him telling him she wanted to keep the promise.

“Are you sure, Julianna? I mean, isn’t there anything you can do?”

Julianna sighed and set her champagne glass down. Noah followed her lead. He really didn’t feel much like toasting anymore either.

“Oh Noah. I’ve tried. You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to let go of Mark’s unfaithfulness. I just, he just, well, we just can’t seem to move beyond it.”

To Noah’s way of thinking, moving beyond infidelity seemed like the wrong approach. It felt like something you would need to tackle head-on in order to grow and re-establish a bond.

“It probably doesn’t help that I’m pretty sure he’s still messing around with other women.” She barked out a wry laugh. “Of course he claims it’s not true. He says it’s my imagination.” She shrugged, deflated. “Which may be right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Noah watched Julianna square her shoulders then look him in the eye.

“Besides, a promise is a promise, right?”

He reached out and pulled her into another huge hug. More than anything he wished he could take away some of her hurt. “I wish you’d told me,” he said.

“I would have. I wanted to. But after everything you’ve been through these last two years I really didn’t want to add to your troubles.”

Noah felt his insides curl, twist, and tighten like a Cheeto. He glanced at the photo of Mattie that he’d placed on the table. What was he going to do?

“When Mattie died….” He swallowed the grief that still overwhelmed him whenever he spoke of it. “After she was gone, it felt like she took the very best part of Leslie and me with her.”

“Oh no, Noah!” Julianna was emphatic. “The two of you have always been like rays of sunlight shooting from the same sun. Even when you were young and thought you hated each other.”

Noah remembered those days. It was high school and Leslie, the cheerleader had seemed like everything wrong with society. Her perfect little curls always bounced in time with her steps- a walk that was always done in sparkly, name-brand, sneakers. She smiled and giggled and totally intrigued him, though he would never have admitted it to anyone. But he didn’t need to tell Julianna. She saw it in him from the beginning. “You really should get to know her,” she’d claimed. “She’s really nice. And she likes Tito Puente.” She’d looked at him slyly. But Noah hadn’t bought it. How could anyone who cared so much about being popular appreciate music by the King of Salsa?

Noah had watched her enthrall the school for four years. It wasn’t until their senior year lock-up that he finally too succumbed to her charm. A bunch of the kids had begun to get out of control and Leslie had stepped in and described all of the important work around the school that would be destroyed if they sprayed the classrooms with fire extinguishers as they were planning on. He’d watched her that night, ponytail whipping around, as she mapped out the entire school and all of its valuables. He’d suddenly realized that what looked like superficiality in fact hid an observant, intelligent and caring heart.

Love had grown from there. It had inspired the many novels he’d written over the years. There was no better story than love found.

But like a tilt-a-whirl his view had shifted when their five year old daughter Mattie had died. Astoundingly, Leslie had bounced back, like the curls which still jumped around on her shoulders. She’d demanded the same of him. But he couldn’t give it, didn’t know how she could.

He was beginning to think his original assessment of Leslie’s character had been correct.  After all, what sort of person, he wondered could recover so easily from the death of their child?

* *

Late that night Julianna and Noah sat on his balcony looking up at the night sky. The champagne had kicked in and they were both sleepy and a bit maudlin.

“Do you think we’ll ever find love again?” Julianna asked.

Noah tried to imagine himself with anyone besides Leslie and came up blank. “Not sure.”

“Well, I don’t care.” Julianna pounded her fist on the iron railing and then looked at her hurt hand as if it weren’t attached to her own body. “Ow?”

He grabbed her fist and rubbed the spot below her pinkie where she’d hit. “Silly girl. That’s going to leave a bruise.”

She looked at her hand again curiously and then shrugged. “I don’t care,” she repeated.

Noah got the impression she was referring to finding love rather than to her hurt hand.

“I think I do,” he said quietly, almost to himself. But as always, Julianna knew he was saying something important and pinpointed him with a laser-like gaze.

“I think you care too,” she said. “But not about finding new love.”

Noah huffed. Even though they’d been talking about things all night it was impossible for her to understand what the last six months had been like for him. His daughter was gone. His cold wife was constantly either at work or at the gym. He couldn’t even write. He was lost.

“You’ve always been Leslie’s strongest cheerleader. But try living with someone who acts like nothing has changed; like the worst thing in the world hasn’t just happened. You try showering with someone who still sings; eating with someone who somehow empties their plate; sleeping with someone whose eyes close as soon as the light goes off.”

“Um, but Noah, isn’t that just things we all do in life?”

“Not after your DAUGHTER is killed!”

Julianna pulled back as if slapped. And Noah’s hands tightened into fists on the arm of the chair. God damn it! No one, not even Juliana understood that life- even the word life- didn’t mean anything to him anymore.

* *

Noah’s head was pounding the next morning when he awoke, half-way on, half-way off, the couch. He’d insisted Julianna take the bed. She didn’t know he never slept in it anymore and there was no way he would have slept in Mattie’s room.

An image of Leslie cleaning out Mattie’s closet hit him like a slap on his whiskered face. He’d yelled at her about it; thrown the coffee cup he’d held at her to make her to stop. She’d moved out that day four months ago. Now they only saw each other at the counselor’s office. Their appointments had become fewer and fewer, so that Noah wasn’t even sure when their next one was. He shut down the ache inside himself, not noticing how tightly he held the couch pillow.

In the other room he heard the shower turn on and knew Julianna was awake. But Noah could feel the darkness taking hold and couldn’t find the motivation to move from his prenatal position on the couch. Like a curtain falling on the final scene, the room went black and silent. He heard his own breath, but even the sound of the shower was now a distant, indistinct noise, like the meaningless hum of a refrigerator.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. The sound of whispering voices- of Leslie’s whispering voice, eventually cut through the heavy lethargy that took hold after one of his blackouts. Not wanting to move in any case, he simply lay there listening.

“Does this happen often?” Julianna asked.

“I, I’m not sure.” Leslie’s hesitation was in contrast to her rigidity of late. “He told the counselor and me the blackouts had stopped. I thought he was getting better.”

It was Leslie’s sob that finally snapped his eyelids open. Across the room the two women he loved most in life sat across from each other at the dining room table. Julianna held Leslie’s hands, cushioning Leslie’s forehead which had dropped onto them.

“Oh Julianna, I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried so hard to hold it all together for us- tried to be the strong one. But I just can’t anymore.  I can’t live like this.

Her sobbing grew until it was impossible to ignore. At the same time, Noah didn’t know what to think of Leslie’s atypical emotions. At least she was finally showing some. And a part of him wanted to rush over to reassure her. But another side, the one that was omni-present, wanted to yell and throw things. All of this time, after all that had gone on, and only now she cried? Could it even be believed?

“Bravo!” he called across the room, clapping his hands at her theatrics. “What a performance. I’m sure Julianna is impressed with your heartfelt emotion.”

Noah lay back on the couch and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. “But if you don’t mind, I’m resting after a champagne fête last night. Perhaps you could take the theatrics outside.”

The room went silent for a moment and then he heard the front door slam shut. Good! They’d left.  It wasn’t like Julianna could do anything to help him anyway. He knew from past experience he wouldn’t have the energy to deal with anyone for at least a few hours. He took a breath and tried to sink into sleep.

Slap!

The noise reverberated across his cheek and out into the otherwise quiet room. His eyes flew open and found Julianna standing over him, fury making her cheeks as red as his now was. Still she remained silent; the only sound her huffing breath.

He rubbed his cheek with the palm of his hand and sat up against the pillow that had cushioned the blow.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” His calm tone belied the anger and hurt beneath the words.

“Seriously?” Julianna’s stare turned to one of pity. “Thirty-five and it’s like I’m dealing with a fourteen year old.” She sat down next to him on the couch and he shifted ever so slightly away from her, not allowing her body heat to sooth her blow.

“Flashback,” she said, waving her hand in the air in front of them to paint the picture. “Sophomore year and your art representation of Nelson Mandela being freed was displayed in the hallways with the question: What is Freedom? Do you remember?”

Noah nodded. People had written things all over the school walls, and the principal had allowed it.

“It was huge. But instead of seeing freedom in the very act of writing on the walls, you obsessed on one quote…  Leslie’s. Choosing how to wear my hair, she’d written. You ranted and scoffed and told everyone who would listen that it was the very definition of blond.”

“Yeah, right. See, even back then I was a great judge of character.”

“Yes, except you weren’t. Even worse, I can’t believe that in all these years you never stopped to ask what she’d meant by that quote…  or by any of the other myriad of actions you self-righteously declared superficial back then. You claim that she deserted you. But I think she just finally lived up the judgment you’ve never really let go of.”

Noah wanted to deny what Julianna was suggesting but memory after memory of his and Leslie’s fights over the years flew at him and dug at his conscience. He’d never actually accepted, let alone understood her differing views, just decided, whenever they’d disagreed, to forgive her apparent shallowness because of her kind heart. Seen in this light his doubt of her and even his own self-righteousness was glaring.

Noah let his head fall back on the couch. He expelled the breath he’d been holding and looked around the room. Every space, every corner, was Leslie. It was why he’d hated the condo…. Sunny and warm and optimistic, it was like his grief was being ridiculed in the very cushions he sat on.

“Why did she write that?” he asked.

Julianna’s eyes searched his face as if looking for a cure for cancer. She must have found what she sought because she leaned over and gave him a hug.

“Why don’t you ask her,” she said. She walked toward the bedroom, but then turned back again. “I’m going to pack and get out of here. I’ve got to get back so I can hit my divorce deadline. Mark’s divorce papers will be in his hands by the time you call for my birthday. But what are you going to do about the promise?”

Noah smiled and stood up. He looked at the front door then back at Julianna.

“I’m not sure I ever met the original criteria,” he claimed. “The promise was we’d divorce by thirty-five, but only if we were in a loveless marriage right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then. Leslie and my love might not have been up to the task of healing after Mattie died, but I can’t believe it’s lost entirely.”

“Well then.” Julianna smiled and ran over to him. On tiptoes she reached up and hugged him with all her might. “Happy birthday, Noah.”

“Happy birthday, Julianna,”

THE END

In the mid-1990 the United Nations recognized the growing awareness of Women’s Rights, Inequality and Empowerment.

They aggregated the outcome of a number of conferences on this important topic in a paper called, Guideline on the Empowerment of Women. Quote: “Clearly, a common thread uniting each of the major international conferences of the 1990's is women's empowerment. Furthermore, the international community is now accountable to the world's women for fulfilling the significant commitments it has made to help make empowerment a reality of women's lives.  What, then, is women's empowerment?  Women's empowerment has five components:  women's sense of self-worth; their right to have and to determine choices; their right to have access to opportunities and resources; their right to have the power to control their own lives, both within and outside the home; and their ability to influence the direction of social change to create a more just social and economic order, nationally and internationally.”
 

For more on this original paper refer to: http://www.un.org/popin/unfpa/taskforce/guide/iatfwemp.gdl.html

I hope you enjoyed, THE PROMISE, a Journey Inspired by Love.

Find more from Deanne Wilsted at: www.deannewilsted.com

Birthday Promises

BIRTHDAY PROMISES By: Deanne Wilsted

An animal-like scream pierced the air and Julia dove for cover. A bloody hand descended, edging over the desk where she trembled in fear. It was gnarled with age and lord knew what else. Feet kicking out in front of her, Julie scrabbled back in the corner, as far as she could get from the zombie looking appendage. It was no use. The fingers caught the hem of her apron and began to pull.

“Cut. That’s it for today.”

Finally!

Julia wiped the sweat that had begun to trickle down her forehead five takes earlier. Someone arrived to disengage the mechanical hand from Julia’s clothes and she pulled herself out from under the desk, rolling her shoulders to release their tension.

“Thank God you finally got that wretched hand working, Arnie. I’m not sure my body could have handled another take.”

She smiled to relieve some of the sting from her words, but she was serious. It had been a long day of throwing herself to the ground over and over while the technicians tried to fix the hand that kept jerking to a stop before actually grabbing her.

“You were brilliant as always, Julia.”

Julia wanted to roll her eyes at the director’s statement. Sure. It takes all kinds of talent to yell like a banshee and hit the ground like an anchor. The sensation of tunnel vision was threatening to return, so Julia shook her head and shrugged.

“Thanks Arnie. You know I love working with you.” And it was true. If she had to do thriller movies, she was happy to at least be working with the tanned, eighty-six year old genius. There was something about his direction that made even the most redundant script come alive.

Julia scrubbed the make-up off her face. And, not caring that her normally shiny-clean, brown hair still had flecks of fake blood and dirt in it, twisted it into a ponytail. She grabbed her stuff from her studio locker and plugged her nose to block out the smoke which permeated the LA air after a slew of unexpected springtime fires. Back in Oregon she’d be lounging in the cool sunshine, watching the robins build their nests. Or perhaps she’d be cuddled up inside listening to the rain. Either way, she wouldn’t be facing an hour long commute in smog so thick it was like fog. She’d be reading a great book. Not a thriller, a nice, steamy, rose-colored glasses sort of romance. The kind of story Noah knew how to tell.

Noah! For the last few months he’d be constantly in her thoughts. Today though, on his birthday, she knew she would finally need to make the phone call she’d been avoiding. Her hand dropped from its spot holding her nose, to the pocket where she kept her cell phone. It had been so long since she’d last called him that she had to search for his number in her contact list.

Did she want him to answer or not? Perhaps he’d forgotten.

“Julianna!” It must have been the artist in him; he was the only person who used her full name.

“Noah. Happy Birthday.”

Since her birthday was a week after his she always got the first call. It was a tradition. And no matter how infrequently they spoke during the year, they never missed each other’s birthdays. Perhaps it had something to do with the promise they’d made so many years ago, back when they were too young to know better. It seemed unlikely Noah even remembered the clichéd promise. After all, twenty years old was a long, long way from thirty-five. Julia was sure they’d both since realized that marriage was to be taken more seriously than their youthful pledge would have others believe.

“So, what amazing birthday plans do you have?” she asked.

“Ahhh, well, as you know, this is a big one.”

So he did remember! Julia’s stomach fluttered and she took a big breath, then heard Noah laugh on the other end.

“Relax! You’re still thirty-four for one precious week. Enjoy your freedom. In fact, I can picture you now; top down on your Mercedes, hair gleaming in that LA sun, nails bitten to the quick.”

“Well, you needn’t point out that last part.” She huffed, curling her fingers under the steering wheel though there was no one there to see the blunt nails but her. “And for your information the top is up to keep out the toxic mix of smog and smoke.”

“Riiiiight. I heard there was a fire. But you’re okay right?”

“Just fine, though I’m missing home right now.”

“Home? Aren’t you in LA?”

“No, I mean Portland. You know, where you are.” She visualized him in his loft in the Pearl. He’d have his computer open and be unconsciously tapping his toe along to some jazz music while staring vacantly off into space.

“Well.” Noah’s voice softened and sounded as far away as it was. “I’m not in Portland much anymore. I’ve been doing a lot of book signings. It’s just easier to be gone, you know?”

“So, still the same then?”

“Same, same.” The false cheer in his voice was hollow even to her ears.

“Sounds lonely.” Shoot, she shouldn’t have said that. She knew exactly where it would lead. Still, they were friends, and she cared for him… was worried about him.

“No worries Julianna. Just because my life is ready for a change doesn’t mean I’ll hold you to the promise.”

Julia wanted to cry. If only he knew how much she desperately needed change. She talked with her counselor about it every single week. It was the theme of her life. And yet she found she couldn’t quite take the next step.

“I’m surprised you remembered.” She said quietly.

“Like I could forget.” His wry laugh sounded like a cough it was so abrupt. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months now.”

“Do you think...? I mean, maybe we should get together. You know, give each other some courage to decide.”

“What!” Noah’s shock was so powerful it had probably shorted out a cell tower somewhere. “I thought things were going well for you and Mark.”

Tears came to Julia’s eyes and she bit her lip hard to keep from really breaking down.

“I didn’t want to say anything when we talked last time. I thought… I thought we could still fix it. I thought I could make it better.”

But how did one make cheating better? It was like silly string wrapped around her. Every time she tried to rid herself of the hurt and distrust, she’d find it attached to some new area of her life. He said she wasn’t trying, but that just wasn’t true. She’d been fighting like a pit bull for months now and was beginning to feel like the horrified victim she was playing in her most recent movie.

“So is it…” Noah didn’t have to finish the question. She knew what he was asking and why.

“Yes. It’s way past time for it to be over.” The freedom of simply saying those words aloud made her want to put the top down on the car, as he’d suggested, and drive until she hit the Made in Portland sign.

“Come to Portland,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “We need to talk.”

“I’ll be your birthday present,” she said wryly. “Don’t start celebrating without me.”

* * *

Arnie was surprisingly flexible when she called to tell him she was heading out of town till Tuesday. “I knew something was going on. Your scream had an even more frightening chill in it than usual.”

Free of the smog and smoke that had haunted her in LA she stopped briefly in Santa Barbara to lower the top before getting on with the drive. She turned the music up louder to compensate for the wind. She would never have blasted it in LA. Celine Dion just wasn’t something everyone enjoyed as much as she did.

Singing along to the music, sun warming her face, the power of the car responding easily to her slightest move, Julia felt her mind begin to expand beyond the beautiful views that surrounded her. She and Mark had made this drive. Or at least this part of the drive. They’d stopped in San Francisco and they’d acted like kids, going to all of the tourist attractions- even riding the carousel at Pier 39. They’d talked about kids and travel and work. The plans they had made on that trip had bound Julia to him even when everything else had fallen apart.

Julia’s hair, freed of the tight ponytail, flew in the wind as she shook her head in both disbelief and anguish. Things had seemed so perfect for a while. It was still almost impossible to believe it could have unraveled so quickly. Her counselor told her what she felt was grief. But mostly Julia thought she felt confusion. Well, that and distrust. It was one of the things that had kept her from calling Noah to vent and seek support. The ground of all of her relationships felt as shaky as the ground beneath the last 6 point earthquake that had rocked Southern California.

Ahead of her Julia saw a sign for u-pick strawberries. She turned off highway 101 and wound up a hill, following where the signs pointed her. Direction feels good, she thought, smiling at the simple pleasure of knowing where she was going. She planned to spend the night in Napa, cutting over to I-5, a less scenic but much quicker route, to finish her drive to Portland the following day.

She parked the Mercedes next to a quaint shack which advertised jams, frozen berries, and early vegetable starts. A few minutes picking strawberries wouldn’t kill her, she thought, ready to stretch her legs out after 6 hours in the car. A cute girl wearing overalls and sparkly high-tops handed her a basket and pointed her to row after row of berry bushes.

Kneeling in the soft dirt, Julia lifted the leaves to get at the juicy red fruit. One for me, one for the basket. She smiled as the juice ran down her chin. Hopefully they didn’t mind her eating a few since the red stain would be a giveaway that she’d been sneaking them. She’d only made it down a row when her phone rang. Thinking it was Noah, trying to hurry her, she answered with a bubbly, “Hiya. I’m almost halfway.” It was a bit of an exaggeration but close enough that she didn’t feel too guilty.

“Halfway where?”

Mark’s questioning tone was like a bucket of ice water over her sunny mood.

“I’m going home for the weekend,” she said. Julia didn’t know why she felt defensive. “It’s not like you are even around this weekend.” He was on another of his many business trips of late that Julia had stopped believing had anything to do with business.

“I came home.”

Once again the idea of home struck Julia. They might live in the same house, but it had stopped being home many long months earlier.

“Okay.” She really wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I thought you’d be here. You could have called.”

“Mark, when exactly was the last time you called to tell me where you were going to be? I’ve stayed home the last four weekends thinking you would be around, and never heard a word about your extended trip until Monday morning when you showed up to grab more clothes.”

“I’ve told you, business is lousy right now. I need to be there when my customers call.”

He’d completely skipped over the point about a phone call to apologize, or to even just let her know.

“Right. So, now there’s something I need to do.”

“Ahhhh. Now I see. You’re going to visit him, aren’t you?” Mark spit the name out like it was something disgusting; like she was the one sneaking around behind his back rather than the other way around.

“Yes. In fact, for the first time in a year I’m going to go visit Noah. If you’d been around we could have gone together. But obviously you had more important, uh, plans.”

Julia wiped the dirt off her hands and picked up her rather small basket of berries. The moment was ruined, like grocery store fruit, processed to the point where it held no essence of its original beauty.

“There’s that tone I know and love,” Mark said. Julia could picture the sneer narrowing his otherwise huge blue eyes. “I knew that’s what this was all about. You’re never going to get over this, are you Julia?”

Whereas the thought made Julia sad, Mark’s guilt translated to anger. Julia pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache she could feel sitting there.

“No Mark. I don’t think I am. Maybe you should use the time alone this weekend to pack.”

The words hung there. It was obviously not what he had expected to hear. Maybe he’d grown used to the discussions that always deteriorated into arguments. But Julia was too tired to do it anymore. Like she’d told Noah, she was done.

“I’ll call you next week when I return.” She pressed end, wishing it were that simple to finish things in real life.

* * *

 

Too tired to do anything more than fall into bed, Julia awoke the next morning still dressed in the sweats she had thrown on when she checked into the hotel the night before. The cool early-morning spring temperature felt fresh, so she pulled the top back on the convertible and let the wind draw out any leftover angst from the day before.

Having flown back from wherever he’d been hiding out, Noah was waiting for her when she got to his place in the early afternoon. He opened the door before she even knocked and pulled her into a huge hug. His height encompassed her and she let herself melt into his solid strength.  Dark hair, green eyes, and pale skin… whether he knew he was gorgeous or not, it really didn’t matter to him. He was a quiet, earthy sort of guy for whom looks mattered only as a means of describing his characters.

“Noah?” Her voice was muffled in his large Portlandia sweatshirt which smelled of fabric softener.

“I know,” he said, petting her hair to comfort her.

“No… I mean, I can’t breathe.” She laughed.

He pulled back, laughing too, but still not entirely letting go. Julia tilted her head up to see his face.

“Oh Julianna, I’m so glad to see you.”

“Me too!” She stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Happy Belated Birthday!”

“Come in.” He stood aside and ushered her into the large open room that was part living, dining, kitchen, and game room all in one. It was devoid of personal items, except for a photo of Noah with a beautiful girl.

Julia walked over to the photo to study it. “I sometimes forget how angelic she looked.”

Noah came to stand next to her and picked the framed picture up off the side table.

“Mattie’s smile could light up a room.” His own smile was sad and Julia wondered, not for the first time, how he stood the grief. She wished there were someone there to comfort and support him but the accident had stolen that as well.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was time for a change.” Her eyes scanned the nearly empty room searching for any sign that a happy couple had once lived there.

“Yes. Happy Birthday to me,” Noah said ironically, going over to the dining room table where he’d put a bottle of Champagne into an ice bucket. He laid down the photo and reached for the Champagne he’d put on ice earlier. He popped the top and poured them each a glass before raising his in a toast.

“Here’s to birthday promises.”

Julia clinked glasses and took a huge swallow looking deep into Noah’s eyes in order to gauge his seriousness.

“Okay, I’m ready to keep the promise if you are.” She held her glass up again. The bubbles floated from the bottom, freeing themselves from their liquid prison which bound them. Freedom. She took a deep breath.

“Here’s to ending loveless marriages by the time we turn thirty-five. Crazy our insight at age twenty, right?”

 

Author note:

What . . .   Divorce?
Bet that was a twist. Well, there’s a lot more to the story…. What will Julia do now? Who was the girl in the photo who died? And who exactly is Noah divorcing and why? If you want to read more about the BIRTHDAY PROMISE you’ll have to check back May 19^th when I’ll reveal part two of The Promise that these two intriguing characters made.

 

Deanne Wilsted Bio - Journeys Inspired by Love
With an English teacher for a mom, DEANNE WILSTED grew up reciting conjugations instead of nursery rhymes. Now, forty years later, she's sharing that special skill through her writing and her mothering. Her first book, a contemporary romance called BETTING JESSICA, was published October 2011. Her second Novel, UNTANGLING THE KNOT, was released February 13, 2013 from Soul Mate Publishing. She is currently marketing her third book for publication and writing her fourth, fifth, and sixth while blogging about the crazy things she overhears while writing.

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