by Lyn Gardner
Choices
By Lyn Gardner
Copyright 2019 by Lyn Gardner
Cover by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
To Duke–
For some, it may seem odd to see that I'm dedicating this book to a cat, but then again, you didn't know Duke. He was special in so many ways, from his demanding need for attention while I tried to write, to the fact he couldn’t sleep at night unless he was touching me; he was as strong as he was soft, as beautiful as he was devilish, and as unforgettable as the day is long. There wasn’t one person who met my four-year-old tuxedo who didn’t fall in love with his gentlemanly nature, and there wasn’t one who didn’t cry when cancer took his life.
I miss you, boy.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Other Titles by Author
Prologue
Twenty paces from her home, she stopped and looked back at the door. Inside on a peg was her cloak, and on the shelf above it were gloves made for their winters, but other than her scarf, she had left all else behind. She didn’t need to be warm any longer. She only needed to be invisible.
She turned and continued along the path, thankful for the full moon that illuminated everything around her, its brilliance dimmed only slightly by translucent clouds as they drifted by. Much snow had fallen in the past few weeks, and packed down by those who had come before her, its surface now glistened a warning, and it was one she heeded. She could not afford to slip. Bruises and bumps could be easily overcome, but an ankle twisted or snapped would end her journey, and the questions that would have followed she was unprepared to answer.
As she walked past a stand of conifers, the wind gusted and a branch, no longer able to withstand the weight of the snow precariously perched on its tip, bent with strain. The mass of flakes fell to the ground, and landing with a muted thump, it cratered itself into a drift. She stopped and stared at the depression, saddened that the pristine surface of the snowy mound had been marred, but then again, so had she. Scarred by secrets too heinous to reveal, each time they had harrowed up, she had tried to push them away, but she knew she would never win the battle. She had fought it for far too long.
She resumed her journey, and as she filled her lungs with the frigid air, the scent of pine found its way to her. A thin smile appeared on her face. The fragrance of the boughs reminded her of her beloved mother, and the remembrances found their way to her heart. In only a few weeks, her mother’s favorite season would be upon them. A season when the house would smell of goose and potato, and sprigs of evergreen would drape the mantle and wreath the door. It always seemed to her to be the warmest time of the year, although it was hardly that.
Consumption had taken her mother away. It had started so innocently, just a fever with some chills, and her mother assured her the broth and blankets would cure it, but then the coughing began, and before too long, her mother was gone. She had wailed at the loss, mourning the woman she loved so dearly, but deep inside, there was also relief. Not for the passing of her mother, but for the freedom it brought with it.
As those around her tittered and chattered, growing up to be what was expected of them, she hid in the shadows of her new duties. Complaisant, she perfected each and every one of her obligations in hopes she would become indispensable. Her mornings began early and her nights ended late, and never once did she bemoan her lot in life for it protected her from the inevitability of her gender.
So, the years slipped by. As she had hoped, lost in his grief and active in his teachings, he hadn’t noticed as winters came and went, but as his hair grayed, his mind cleared. She was his to protect, and to safeguard her from a future, bleak and empty, he made a decision. He would ensure her a life that included a roof, food, and companionship.
She stopped again as she reached the turn toward town and looked at the little homes lining the road. Their windows were dark for those inside slumbered under quilts of down or blankets of wool. Snuggled in the warmth, they were oblivious to her presence just outside their doors, but even if one had awoken, peered out into the moonlit snow to stare at the sky smattered with stars, she would have gone unnoticed. Her neighbors had guaranteed that.
No one had raised eyebrows when the news had spread through their town, and those knowledgeable in the needle had volunteered to assemble the frock she would wear. In the color of dandelion fluff with sleeves long and neck high, the broadcloth was not embellished with anything to taint the purity of the rite, and even the tiny buttons that held it fastened to her form were in the hue of frost. Standing in the sheen of the moon, with her brown hair hidden under a scarf the shade of cream, her persona and her truth had melded. She was as unseen as her secret.
A burst of wind caused her to hunch her shoulders and pulling the knot of her scarf even tighter, she moved through town like a ghost in the breeze.
There had been many a night she had lain awake, silently damning herself for the bent that had dogged her, but his edict had given her no choice. She would no longer be able to melt into the background as her duties would soon change, and it was those duties that had led her to this. Unable to stomach what was to come, like him, she had also made a choice.
Mindless of the cold that was burrowing into her bones and of the frost forming on her lips and nose as the moisture of her breath froze instantly, she crept along in boots laced in the front and scuffed o
n the sides. Her fingers had grown stiff, and her skin had become tinged with a hue matching a spring sky, but unyielding, when she reached the end of town, she turned right and kept going.
She would soon be forever free, forever unfettered from the decorum expected, and as her legs grew heavy, she shortened her gait to a shuffle for she was unwavering in the pursuit of her independence.
The solution to her distress had come to her easily for it was but a mirror, a reflection of things pained, things past, and things never to be forgotten. It hadn’t been her choice. It wouldn’t have been her choice, but the location was indeed poetic. Within its label was a memorial, and within its memory, a sonnet of sorts, the stanza holding hushed words spoken in the shadows, gazes secret and revealing, and a finality that would be anything but. She knew the connection would be invisible. The tides were her safeguard, disguising in death as she had disguised in life.
A rush of air whistled through the trees and no longer feeling in need of protection from the briskness of the wind, with frozen fingers she tugged at the knot on her scarf until it loosened. She pulled the cloth from her head, and it fell to the ground, and as if it was controlled by the strings of a puppeteer, it swirled here and there as it danced its way into the darkness.
She turned her attention to the west and looked out over the inky, undulating waves of the Straits. She paused for only a moment before she precariously stepped out onto the round rocks and pebbles lining the water’s edge. She held out her arms for balance as she traversed stones smoothed by centuries of tides, and when her feet suddenly felt warm, she lowered her eyes. The water was nipping at the hem of her dress, and the soles of her boots were not stitched tightly enough to prevent it from entering. It was so much warmer than she had expected. Warmer than the air or a fire in a hearth, it gave her comfort, and she moved deeper into the water. As she knew it would, her dress grew weighty and relishing the anchor it was becoming, she turned to face the world she was leaving. Relaxing back into the water, she floated upon its surface and waited for her final sleep.
On this side of town, only two homes existed. As she stared at their silhouettes against the gray-blue sky, her eyes were drawn to the one familiar. She noticed a flickering light in a window, and she wondered if it was an early riser or perhaps one in need of relief. Her answer came soon as the yellow glow moved from one window to the next. Yes, indeed it was an early riser. Someone to warm the house and ready the meal before privileged feet would find their slippers, the person moved as silently as she floated.
She followed the light until her eyes fluttered closed. It would be soon now, and she took a stuttered breath and awaited her demise, but the quietude of the night was broken by the bark of a dog. She was acquainted with that bark, and she opened her eyes and peered at the house again. The door was now open, and the light from inside created a rectangle of brilliance against the blackness that would soon be dawn, and she became transfixed as memories flooded her mind. It looked so warm in the house, so friendly and welcoming as it had been once before. It called to her like a beacon in the night...and then she was gone.
Chapter One
“So, it’s true. You’re running away.”
Robin Novak looked up from the box she was kneeling in front of, and her eyes flew open wide. “Gabby!”
Scrambling to get to her feet, Robin rushed over to the woman and pulled her into a bear hug. While her arms were not quite long enough to match her friend’s circumference, the hug was as heartfelt as they came. “What in the world are you doing here?”
After returning the embrace, Gabriella Passarelli stepped back and glanced around the condo. “I came down to talk some sense into you, but it seems I’m too late.”
Robin scrunched up her face and then remembered what Gabby had said seconds earlier. “What are you talking about? I’m not running away.”
“No?” Gabby said.
“No,” Robin blurted, and spinning around, she returned to her packing. “And how did you find out I was moving anyway?”
“I was speaking to Declan earlier this week, arranging some book signings, and he mentioned what you were planning to do.”
“And he said I was running away?”
Robin had been in and out of the condo all morning. Seeing no need to waste the air-conditioning, she had shut it off two hours earlier, and the effect showed on Gabby’s face. With her cheeks now red and sweat sprouting on her forehead, Gabby took off her suit jacket and hung it on the doorknob. “No,” she said as she rolled up her sleeves. “He said your aunt had died, and you decided you were going to move a thousand miles away...just like that.”
“It wasn’t just like that,” Robin said, shaking her head. “I thought about it.”
“For what? Like a minute?”
“No, for a few days, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.”
“Because you’re running away.”
Robin jammed a wad of newspaper in the box, ensuring her precious coffee maker would make the trip safely. “I am not running away! Gabby, I need a change. Okay? I need fresh air and—”
“You live in fucking Florida, for God’s sake,” Gabby said, waving her arms about. “You can’t get much fresher than that.”
They had had many conversations over the years. Discussions, debates, and at times even arguments, so Gabby was surprised when instead of replying, Robin sat back on her haunches, hung her head, and stared at the television remote she was holding. With a frown, Gabby gazed at the woman who had been her friend for over twenty years.
It had been a chance meeting that had brought Gabby, Robin, and Declan together. Two had enrolled at Central Michigan University to follow their dreams of becoming writers while one had enrolled only because her parents told her she had to.
Gabby took the required courses, but unsure of what she wanted to do, she bounced from one seminar to another hoping something would click. Nothing did, so while her afternoons were spent in school, her evenings were spent in bars, crying into her beer and moaning she would forever be a loser. Stumbling back to the dorm one night toward the end of her freshman year, she passed a bulletin board filled with scraps of paper fellow students had stapled and thumbtacked to the cork. It was the usual stuff, just kids looking for study partners, tutors, and roommates, but amidst the Post-Its of poorly written pleas from freshmen was a neatly typed and grammatically correct notice. Two students in the English Lit program were looking for avid readers to critique their work. The only requirement was they couldn’t be enrolled in the same program, and their criticism had to be constructive.
Gabby knew all about criticism. Long before attitudes had begun to soften, she had remained true to herself. Butch, round, and pierced, with her hair high and tight and a wardrobe purchased in the men’s departments of stores and shops, she had worn her sexuality on her sleeve for as long as she could remember, and she had been criticized for it. She had been called names on playgrounds and shoved to the ground. In high school she had fingers pointed at her and slurs painted on her locker, and although college students weren’t as obvious, they, too, at times had treated her like a leper. To associate with her meant they condoned or worse yet, they were the same.
With her lack of friends and ambiguity about her future, Gabby had spent much of her life lost in books, so ripping the notice from the cork, she trudged back to her room. The next morning, she called the number on the paper, and that afternoon she strolled into Starbucks holding her head high and her breath in. She exhaled seconds later when a smile creased Declan’s face, and after shaking her hand, offering her a seat, and introducing her to Robin, he scurried to get Gabby her espresso. Through it all, he was a gentleman. Through it all, she noticed no eyebrows raised or eyes rolled, and through it all, the dazzling smiles on the faces of her soon-to-be-best-friends were the most encouraging and truest she had ever seen.
Before too long, the three were inseparable. Declan and Robin would write, and Gabby would read, and before the end
of her sophomore year, Gabby had found her career. Enthralled with the words her friends could pen, she had become their biggest fan and adding classes on contractual law and editing to her curriculum, she became a self-proclaimed literary agent. Upon graduation, with two up-and-coming authors now under verbal contracts, Gabby headed to New York with her sights set high while her friends, craving beaches and sunshine, traveled to Florida for a summer vacation.
“It’s not just about air,” Robin said, placing the television remote in the box.
Broken from her thoughts, Gabby said, “What?”
“It’s not just about air,” Robin said. “It’s about starting over. Starting fresh. Getting out of the rat race.”
“You live thirty minutes from some of the best beaches in Florida, and if you want to get out of the rat race, move somewhere else.”
“I am.”
“I mean in this state.”
“You hate this state.”
“I do not!”
“You complain about the heat every time you come down.”
“I don’t complain. I just state the obvious. It’s fucking hot down here, but that doesn’t mean I want you to run away.”
“For the last flipping time, I am not running away!” Robin said. Snagging a package of coffee filters off the floor, she crammed it into the box. “I’m making a change. I’ve had an opportunity dropped in my lap, and I’m going to take it and see where it leads me.” By the dirty look Gabby was giving her, Robin could tell the woman wasn’t convinced. “What?”
“What what?”
“My mom used to give me that same exact look every time she doubted what I was saying was true, which means you don’t believe me.”
“I’m trying to, but after all you’ve been through, honestly how can I not think you’re doing this because of her?”
