Listen ...To Be Continued

NOW WHAT? by Charmaine Gordon
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Chapter 1

Sun sneaked through blinds. Eyes shut tight. Not quite ready to open.

Elizabeth Malone wanted to revel in memories of the great sex she and Frank, her husband of forty years, had last night. At his insistence, for God’s sake. She practically had to seduce him before they did it anymore; was on the verge of suggesting those little blue pills the girls talked about, when out of nowhere he became amorous. And it was great. No. . .wonderful. No. . .Fan—fargin’—tastic!

“Mmmm.”

Fingers crept along the sheets searching for her mate. They groped to where Frank could be found most early mornings except on golf days or scheduled surgery. She touched the edge of his pillow but no Frank.

Turning her head, she called his name. At the same time she saw an envelope lying on top of the pillow. Never like Frank to leave a note but how sweet is this? A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she sat up. The sheet slipped down and there she was. Naked. Liz, you’re such a slut. Where oh where is your nightie, you naughty girl. A heap of green satin lay on the floor next to the bed, evidence of last night’s pleasure.

With care, one long polished nail sliced through the envelope. The nail snagged on an edge and broke. “Shit.” Nothing was going to spoil the moment because this was the first letter from Frank in all the years of togetherness and she planned to keep it. She withdrew the letter.

Stumbling off the bed, letter clutched in her hand, she groped for reading glasses, found them, dropped them, on hands and knees patting the carpet, found them again. Naked on the floor, she read:

Dear Lizzie, It’s not you. It’s me. I have been uncomfortable in my own skin for a long time and have decided I must make a change in my life. I sold my half of the practice to George. You, dear Lizzie, are well taken care of. Call Bruce Bradley. He has all the papers, investments, everything you will need to live in comfort. The house is yours. Last but not least, I signed my portion of divorce papers so whenever you want to, sign yours. Bruce will take care of it.”

She leapt up—made it to the toilet and retched. Foul taste in her mouth, Elizabeth returned to the bedroom and stared down at the despicable letter. “He called me Lizzie. Twice. He knows I hate that name. Liz was okay but the despised Lizzie, never.” Her skin crawled with pain and fury. “Oh God. What am I going to do?” No answer in the silent room. “Divorce,” She shouted to the empty house. “People like us, we don’t divorce, you stupid ..” Tears streaming, she pounded her chest with the letter, crumpled it into a ball and flung it across the room.

She staggered to his closet, slid open the mirrored doors, heard empty hangers clicking against each other before they came in sight. Gone. Wiped out. Nothing left but dust and a few empty shoe boxes, lids tipped over. Elizabeth’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor, head in hands. After a few moments, her head snapped up. When did he do this? Maybe he slipped a little something in my drink last night to make sure I slept while he packed and flew the coop. “That son of a bitch. That God damn son of a bitch.”

Listen ...Starting Over

STARTING OVER by Charmaine Gordon
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Chapter 1

She ran as fast as she could on the hard packed sand this early morning in February, still cold in St. Augustine, Florida. Cold and beautiful with the tide out and no one around. Almost always surefooted, not as steady since Larry died eight months before, Emily Kendrick stumbled and caught her balance. There was a sense of someone watching her, close to her, yet she ran into no one on the deserted beach. It was almost an everyday occurrence. Tears spilled down her face just as the hurdles set for the track team came up. Easy leap over the first one, the second knocked over by a careless foot. Emily fell and didn’t get up.

A lone runner sprinted through the waves and hurried to aid the fallen woman.

Binoculars slammed against the railing of the widow’s walk where two eyes had been watching the long-legged runner for months. From his well hidden perch high up on the mansion over-looking the Atlantic Ocean, under investigation the infamous Clifford Lansdale said, “She’s mine.” Fragments of the expensive binoculars lay at his feet.

“Are you all right?” the runner said.

Emily laughed and cried. “Oh sure. I never stumble like this and the kids will be coming down for practice soon. I’ve got to be on top of my game to train them.” She stood up, checked all her parts to make sure nothing was damaged and brushed off sand. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m Emily Kendrick.” She noticed the runner checking out all her parts too and shook her head. Guys. They just can’t help it.

“Patrick Corwin. What kids?”

“I coach the women’s track team at the college. We’re at the beach most days before the crowd.” She opened a thermos and offered tea. Patrick begged off.

“I run early before office hours. Have to get up to Jacksonville before morning rush.” He fished a business card from his running shorts. “Call me. I’d enjoy getting to know you better, Emily.”

Patrick left before she had a chance to say no. How could she ever go out with another man? Larry was the best husband in the world, her high school sweetie. Emily didn’t know how she was going to spend the rest of her life without him. Their children were grown up and married. They loved her but had their own lives to lead. “Go out, Mom,” Tommy said. “Have some fun. Dad wouldn’t want you to be alone.” Her daughter wasn’t eager for her to date. “Play Bridge, learn how to use the computer we bought you. I’ll have a baby for you to play with.” Emily hated card games, computers were scary, babies sounded wonderful but is that how life would be?

From sounds of a bus coming over the nearby dune, Emily knew the team had arrived. Time to work and work was the answer for now. After a grueling two hour work-out, the sweating pony-tail crowd waved goodbye to the coach and headed back to school. Emily pedaled her way up the beach to the lovely old house with the wrap-around porch purchased thirty years before when beach front property was affordable.

The mail and paper were dumped on a table purchased years before to accommodate a family of four, now too big for one person. She poured hot decaf coffee over one packet of sweetener and sighed as she sat down on the old captain’s chair. The rubber band slipped down easily and Emily sorted the mail, bills in one stack, discount coupons for cleaning, movies, and food in another. Ready to fling the pizza delivery flyer in the garbage, she reconsidered with a shrug of her shoulders and placed it in the second pile. A catalog for men’s clothes went flying, followed by one with seductive lingerie for sale. Emily retrieved it just in case she lived long enough to change her mind about dating.

She slowly made her way to the big mirror in the hall and looked at the gray roots, the few wrinkles, and shook her head. Emily Kendrick, femme fatale. A woman with grown children and no husband. At her age. Fifty something. Too scary.

The glass is half full. Got it? Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Time to take charge of your life. Yes, you’re a coach and phys ed teacher but it’s time to buckle down and learn a new skill like the dreaded computer. Everyone uses one. Why not me? Take a course and learn.

A quick call to the college and she learned that a beginner course in computers was starting in a few weeks. Before she could change her mind, Emily signed up, credit card information over the phone. Sashaying over to the dusty laptop computer box, she cleaned it off and said,”Hey pal, you and I are going to get acquainted.”

Unaware that the stalker had taken up his position in his hiding place, Emily made plans for the afternoon. Clifford Lansdale knew Emily Kendrick’s schedule.

Listen ...Now What?

NOW WHAT? by Charmaine Gordon
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

It was 2:30 a.m. when the phone rang. I fumbled for it, my heart starting a race toward bad news.

Our doctor’s voice urged me to hurry. I crammed into clothes as if I expected this call. Actually I thought all would be well, or did I? It was only a fever that wouldn’t go down.

Only a fever yet the dogs had curled up next to him on his favorite couch and never left his side all week. His ruddy complexion drained to gray. Only a fever.

I cried all the way driving too fast on Eden’s Expressway. Then the slow elevator ride to the fourth floor, a sprint down the dim corridor to his room. He lay on the hospital bed where I’d kissed him goodbye not so many hours before. I’d said, “See you tomorrow.” My husband of thirty years replied with words I hadn’t heard in a long time. “I love you.” Not since the heart attack two years before when he began listening to his heart beat and forgot about me. When he said them, other words flashed across my mind, like writing on a sign: Too late, Bobby. Maybe we both sensed the crossroads ahead, the impending doom.

Our doctor shook his head. “Bob had difficulty breathing. They called me. We did everything possible to save him. I held him in my arms when he took his last breath. Carly, I’m so sorry.”

I asked him to have everyone leave me alone. Settling in beside my Bob, I held his cooling hand and asked the two words spoken many times during our years together.

“Now what?” This time there was no response. I was on my own for the first time.

My hands caressed his sweet face knowing he wasn’t there. Only his shell lay on the bed. The essence, the beauty of his spirit had moved on. I let my eyes gaze around the colorless room; the water glass half empty now, straw bent for easy access. His toothbrush leaned in a container, toothpaste smeared down its side. The scuffed leather slippers under the bed and striped terry cloth robe—a Christmas gift from the kids, draped over a nearby chair.

Homey and homely. And the saddest sight I’ve ever seen.

When my fingers touched his wedding ring, I slipped it off and held it in my fist. The gold band was warm. I clung to him. “Come back to me, dearest.”

I knew from past experience, loved ones always return.