Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

Yes, that question was haunting me. What was I going to do with all my free time?

I'd made the move from Philadelphia. I was settled at the Cottage. My medical condition was improving. Support services were in place. Now, I should focus my efforts on writing a book. I had lots of information and stories, but I didn't want to write my first book about witches. The kids might like it, but stories about witches and ghosts always scared me as a child.

If I were honest with myself, the story of Daniel and Emma had captured my imagination as I was piecing it together. But a picture book about a young couple in love who'd lived at Waterwood so long ago? I laughed out loud thinking about the "I'm gonna vomit" look on the boys' faces and the girls' moon-y expressions. The young lovers' story was for adults. What did I know about writing for adults? The thought almost made me break out in a cold sweat. I worked with little ones. I understood little ones. Not love.

I thought I’d found my forever love in high school. Our hopes, our dreams, our plans meshed. Our relationship even survived four years of college. He majored in pre-med. I studied elementary education with a concentration on kindergarten. Right after graduation, we married in what I thought was a storybook wedding. Armed with my teaching certification, I got a job in the same city as his medical school. We planned to start our family when he knew where he’d do his internship. Everything was set. What I didn’t see coming was the fact that I wasn’t the only woman in his life. I was his ticket to becoming a doctor while he chased after everything in scrubs. How could a woman who’d locked away feelings of betrayal and rejection write about true love? I’d packed away my dreams of love and family so I could get up every morning. I gave what love I had to the kids. I touched the place where I’d once worn my necklace and smiled. My kids.

No, I needed to find a story for a picture book for my kids. The clock was ticking. Information resources were in place now with the support of Stephani, my researcher, and the soon-to-be installed internet connection. I needed an idea. TJ was right. I hated to admit the support of other writers was important, especially to a newbie like me. And my first writing group meeting was tomorrow night. They'd want to know what I was working on. It was only natural. I wished I could answer one question: What are you writing about?

Maria flew through the door with a tray of goodies and more commentary. "I have a surprise for you and you're going to love it so much."

Behind her stood a man in jeans and a plaid shirt with a belt of tools hanging at his waist. In one smooth motion, Maria offered him the plate of cookies. While munching, he made sure I could connect to the internet.

“Well,” he declared. “We know that works and—”

A sound of a ringing telephone came from inside the house.

“And we know the phone works, too.” He smiled. “Even though I’d already checked that.”

I signed all the paperwork and insisted the man take a handful of cookies with him while Maria waited with the cordless receiver. It was supposed to be only for emergencies and to piggyback with the internet connection.

“It’s your sister.” She hustled over and handed me the phone before I could wave her off. Well, I guess even good days must have a dip or two to make us appreciate them.

I plastered a smile on my face and lifted the phone. “Hello, sister.”

“Oh, Emma, thank goodness! I haven’t heard from you. Why haven’t you called? So many horrible things kept popping up in my imagination. I thought I was going to have to come down there myself to protect my sanity." She sighed. “How's my little sister?"

When I realized my sister and Maria had something in common, I had to smother a giggle. They both could spew out a flood of words in a single breath.

She barely paused. “How are you doing? All moved in? And I have wonderful news. I think I can come down in two weeks. Still have a few things to work out, but I have to make sure you’re okay. Mother would never—”

"Caroline!" I said and winced because it was a bad idea to yell at my big sister. Her tears would flow for the smallest reason. I should be polite. After all, she was the only close relative I had left. I didn't want to think about Uncle Jack right now or my sister would notice and bombard me with calls, questions, and eventually, a visit.

“Caroline,” I repeated in a gentler voice. “It’s wonderful that you care so much. You don’t need to worry about me.  I’m fine. I’m making spectacular progress.” Silently, I gave thanks that I didn’t have to lie about my progress. “I think the worst is over. I only need to rest and do my exercises.”

Like fuel tossed on a fire, she pounced. “Are you doing your exercises? Is there someone there making sure you do? Would a personal trainer help?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip to keep myself from screeching at her. After taking a deep breath, I calmly responded. “I’m surrounded by good people who are helping and encouraging me. One highly-motivated individual is keeping me focused.”

I swear