Tom shook his head. “Val Fremden, you are the craziest, most messed-up woman I have ever met.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I wiped my face with a paper napkin. I looked him in the eye and shook my head. “Like I said before, Tom. I didn’t get you anything.” I eyed the box in his hand warily as I blotted the dashboard with the napkin.
“I love you, Val. Will you marry me?”
“What?” I almost got whiplash looking up at Tom. I glanced at the box, then back at Tom. Panic seized hold of my brain. “Do you...will you...I mean, are you just asking because my mom forced you to?”
Tom pulled back the box and looked at me sideways. “So you did hear that conversation.”
Guilt forced my eyes downward. “Yes.”
“Then you know.”
I looked up. “Yes, my sister’s illegitimate.”
Tom laughed, “No, you nut! You know that my intentions are honorable.” Tom opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous, blue, baguette-cut sapphire ring.
“That doesn’t look like a normal engagement ring,” I said.
Tom smirked and shook his head. “You’re not a normal woman, Val.”
I frowned.
“I meant that in the best possible way,” Tom added.
I tried to smile, but I felt nauseous. “Does our relationship have to mean marriage, Tom? I mean...couldn’t we keep our own places? Stay single, but together?”
Tom looked taken aback. “You don’t want to?”
“I’ve seen a lot of happily-ever-after’s end with marriage.”
“You mean in marriage?”
“No. With marriage.”
Tom twisted his lips sideways. “Well, I can’t argue with that. But I’m an old-fashioned guy, Val Fremden. Think about it.”
Tom slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me. I stared at the glimmering blue stone as Tom started the engine. We rode together in silence for a few minutes, until the SUV got to a stop sign at the junction of Highway 90 and US 221. Tom slammed on the brakes, startling me.
“Look,” he said, and pointed out the windshield.
A green directional sign glared back at us. Silent and impartial, it stood like a beacon, offering Tom and me two paths from which to choose. Left would head us toward Donaldsonville, the home of Aunt May’s drive-through chapel of matrimony. Right would lead us back to St. Petersburg, the place that had healed my heart. In other words, the place where anything was possible.
Tom smirked and raised his eyebrow a notch. “So, what do you say, Val? Which way from here? Left or right?”
I toyed with the ring on my finger. “I’ve never been to Donaldsonville...”
Tom grinned and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“...but last time I checked, I still had a few spots left on my punch-card in Florida.”
Tom nodded softly and shot me that boyish grin I’d come to love so much. “The choice is up to you, Val.”
I leaned forward and kissed Tom. He was right. The choice was completely up to me.
DEAR READER,
Thanks so much for going home for the holidays with me in What Four! I hope you enjoyed the story. Bet you’re feeling a little better about your own family right about now...lol!
My mission in What Four was to take a wacky, sideways view of the people who are close at heart – so close they can break our hearts without trying. I’m talking, of course, about family. But who qualifies as family, anyway? The people who gave you some genes, or the people who think you look good in your jeans? In Val’s case, finding out she’s not genetically related to her family was the biggest holiday gift of them all. Can you relate? I’m pleading the fifth on this one....
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Thanks again for reading my book! What Four? For the laughs, of course! ;)
Sincerely,
Margaret Lashley
P.S. If you’d like to check out the next book in the series, Five Oh, I’ve included a sample for you in the back of this book. Or click here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078BHWQPR
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What’s Next for Val?
I hope you enjoyed What Four: Family Fruitcake Frenzy. Click the link below now and leave a review. I read every single one!
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Ready for more Val?
She survived the holidays – just barely! But Tom’s still pressing hard for a wedding. Is it time to get the shotgun?
Enjoy the following excerpt from the next Val Fremden Mystery:
Five Oh: Fifty is the New F-Word!
Five Oh Excerpt
Chapter One
I THOUGHT I SAW A DWARF sneaking out of Laverne’s house last night. But I could have been wrong. It was dark. And I was hopped up on Nyquil.
Funny. Yesterday, I’d started the day feeling lucky. I’d survived my mother’s “holiday hospitality” with most of my self-worth intact – and my boyfriend Tom and I’d made the journey home without a hitch.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. There had been two hitches. But compared to the family fruitcake disaster I’d just lived through, they’d weighed in as pretty minor. After all, they were just a close brush with death and a marriage proposal.
YESTERDAY, DURING THE ride home from Greenville, redneck capital of...the world, a rotten virus had snuck up and walloped me in the head like a Rock’Em Sock’Em Robot. It was the second sucker-punch to knock me for a loop that day. The first had been when my boyfriend Tom surprised me with an engagement ring. After spewing a mouthful of RC Cola all over the dash of his truck like a sprinkler-head gone haywire, my mind had seized up with an all-too-familiar uncertainty. For the life of me, when it came to the idea of matrimony, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh for joy or scream with terror.
I knew marrying Tom was my choice, but I wasn’t ready to make it. Not yet. All I’d known for certain at that moment was that I hadn’t wanted to disappoint Tom. So I’d smiled, swallowed my fears, and played along with the engagement – then tried my best not to crap my pants before we got back home to St. Pete Beach.
During the five-hour drive, I’d felt increasingly weak and wobbly. By the time we reached Lake City, the anxiety that clouded my mind had grown so thick and heavy I could barely hold my head up. Somewhere around Ocala, my throat began to burn like fire. Hot pressure built up in my nose. Beads of sweat burst out above my lip.
That’s when I knew for sure I hadn’t been swept off my feet by love. I’d been done in by the flu.
I’d never been a good patient. Yesterday had proved that point again in spades. A tsunami of grouchiness had overtaken me. By the time poor Tom finally got me home, I’d been crabby enough to destroy Tokyo. He’d dropped me and my suitcase at the front door and fled. A veritable drive-by, dump-off. Who could blame him?
In all fairness to Tom, I’d begged him to leave me to wallow in my own wretchedness last night. There was no point in him getting sick, too. And I sure as heck didn’t need him around to witness my hideous transformation into the red-eyed monster
from planet Phlegm.
So, I’d stumbled into my house alone last night and collapsed onto my bed. I was beyond miserable. And, of course, I couldn’t sleep. Around 2 a.m., I’d been in the bathroom slugging back my fourth shot of Nyquil when I’d heard a strange sound. With nothing else pressing on my agenda at that moment, I’d squandered what was left of my energy and dragged myself into the living room and peeked between the slats in the blinds.
That’s when I thought I saw the dwarf sneaking down Laverne’s driveway. But like I said, it was dark. And it could have been the Nyquil. The last time I’d taken the stuff I’d mistaken the mailman for Elvis.
A LIGHT TAPPING AT my front door woke me from a shallow, fitful sleep. I cracked open a crusty eye. My retina was instantly seared by the laser-white light radiating around the edges of the bedroom blinds like a million-megawatt picture frame. I squeezed my eye shut and groaned.
“Ughh...”
The tapping came again. Louder and more persistent this time. Absolutely no part of my body whatsoever wanted to move. But, as usual, I was overridden by ingrained Southern guilt. I couldn’t not answer the door, for heaven’s sake!
“Dang it!” I threw back the covers and drug myself out of bed. I wrapped my freezing body in my ratty bathrobe and fumbled down the hallway. One blurry, bloodshot eye strained to focus through the front-door peephole. A tall, thin, old lady with strawberry blond curls and a donkey face came into view. She stood at the door grinning like a chimp with a banana-split hangover. It was my next-door neighbor, Laverne Cowens. I sighed and opened the door.
“Hey, Laverne,” I rasped. “Just so you know, I could be highly contagious.”
“Highly who? I thought you were my neighbor, Val Fremden,” Laverne joked.
“Huh,” I grunted. Through my stuffy nose, it sounded more like “honk.”
The twinkle in her bulgy eyes faded a notch as she studied my face. A sympathetic pout formed on her lips. “Awe, honey. I was just trying to be funny. You look awful!”
“Thanks.” I blew what was left of my brains into a sodden tissue.
“You crawl back into bed. I’ll make you some chicken soup.”
“You don’t have to –”
“Nonsense!” Laverne clomped inside on her gold high heels. She shooed me toward my bedroom with a thin, liver-spotted hand. “Just tell me one thing first, honey. Where’s your can opener?”
The right side of my mouth curled upward. I flailed a weak arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Third drawer to the left.”
“All righty, then. Scoot!”
I shuffled my way down the hall toward the bathroom as Laverne banged my pots and pans around like a naughty two-year-old. I avoided my reflection in the vanity mirror. I felt sick enough already.
In my addle-brained state, I thought if I could brush my matted hair, I’d feel better. I picked up the brush and forced it into my hair. It stuck in place like it was covered in Crazy Glue. Great. I yanked the brush out of the rat’s nest encircling my head and fumbled my way back to bed.
As I lay there pondering the idea that death might be a pleasant option, that crazy old lady who lives next door managed to make me laugh. From the kitchen, Laverne, bubble-headed sage and former Vegas showgirl, was belting out a horrendously off-key rendition of Zippity Do Da, punctuating it randomly with an occasional, “Gosh, dang it!”
I sighed and relaxed into the bed covers as my fevered mind envisioned Laverne doing the can-can with a can of soup in each hand.
I was lying on an operating table. A masked doctor held my detached heart up to the light.
“What’s your opinion?” the doctor asked the man next to him, a clown wearing a brown derby hat with a daisy sticking out of it.
“Lederhosen,” the clown said.
“Just as I suspected,” the masked surgeon said. “Get her out of here.”
An orderly appeared from the mist, looking suspiciously like Sasquatch in blue scrubs. He grabbed my foot and started yanking it....
I woke with a start. Laverne was standing at the foot of my bed, shaking my left foot through the bedspread.
“Hey, honey. Wake up. Soup’s on.” She held my big blue mixing bowl in her hands. “Eat up. Then I want to hear all about your trip to your mom’s.”
Laverne watched me patiently, grinning in her mother donkey sort of way, as I hauled my body to sitting and settled myself in amongst the bed pillows.
“Where do I start?” I groaned.
“Why, at the beginning, of course.” She stretched her long, spidery arms across the bed to hand me the bowl of soup. As I reached for it, she stopped midway, leaving my fingers grasping feebly at the air like a toddler begging to be picked up.
“Where’d you get that?” she asked.
“Get what?”
“That ring.”
“Oh.” I winced weakly. “Tom gave it to me. I guess...we’re...engaged, sort of.”
Laverne eyed the ring dubiously. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”
“I know. It’s a blue sapphire. Tom said it was unusual, because I’m so unusual.”
“Huh. Let me see it.”
I held my hand out.
“No,” Laverne said. “I mean take it off. Let me see it.”
I did as I was told. Laverne set the bowl of soup on the nightstand, grabbed the ring and held it up to the ceiling light. One bulgy eye squinted as the other opened wide to study the inside the band. “It’s engraved,” she needlessly informed me. “I Luv U. Aww. L-U-V.” She looked over and shot me a full-denture grin. “How sweet!”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me,” I said grumpily. “It’s pretty sappy. And the dumb spelling doesn’t help, either. But I’ve decided to chalk it up to lack of space, rather than Tom’s lack of taste.”
Laverne’s smiling face wilted like a plucked daisy in the sun. “Tom’s a good guy, you know.”
I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling the greatest right now.”
“Sure. That’s it,” Laverne said, and perked back up. “Eat your soup. It’ll help.”
I leaned across the pillows and reached sideways for the soup. As I did, my elbow hit the bowl and knocked it halfway off the nightstand. Laverne and I gasped and watched in slow-motion horror as the soup teetered precariously on the edge of the table.
“I got it,” I cried, and tried to grab the bowl from the bottom. But I overreacted and swatted the bowl upward instead. It did a back flip, bounced off the nightstand and hit the rug with a wet thud. A quart of chicken-noodle soup splattered all over the place.
“Oh, crap,” I groaned, and sank back into the pillows.
“My lordy!” Laverne said. She crinkled her nose at the mess and handed me back my engagement ring. I groaned, slipped it on my finger, then tried to get out of bed.
“What are you doing?” Laverne demanded.
“Gotta...clean up...this mess,” I mumbled.
“Nothin’ doin! It wasn’t your fault, honey. No use crying over spilled soup. I’ll fetch you another bowl and then clean this up myself.”
“But...”
“No buts! It’s not so bad, sugar. And you need to rest.” Laverne studied me for a moment, then winked. “And if you finish your soup, young lady, you can have a piece of cherry pie.”
My heart lurched in my congested chest. Laverne’s cooking skills were legendary – in the way Jack the Ripper was legendary for making house calls.
“Did you make the pie?” I asked.
“Sure did!” Laverne beamed. “In my new cooking class. Southern Classic Desserts.”
My life flashed before my eyes. Think of something, quick! “Uh...thanks, Laverne. It sounds delicious. Really. But I have to pass. I have a wedding dress to fit into, remember?”
Laverne crinkled her nose, then brightened like a three-watt bulb. “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t think about that, sugar.” She grinned and pointed an index finger toward the ceiling. “One new soup, coming up!” She spun on her high
heels and bounced out the bedroom door.
I melted back into the pillows. Relief washed over me like a warm, Gulf tide. I’d narrowly evaded Laverne’s cooking, and, so far, Tom’s insistence on getting married. The dress I had to fit into wasn’t for my wedding. It was for my best friend Milly’s. She and Vance would be tying the knot in four months. I blew my swollen clown nose and sighed.
Better you than me, girlfriend. Better you than me.
Keep on reading! Grab your copy now with the link below!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078BHWQPR
About the Author
LIKE THE CHARACTERS in my novels, I haven’t lead a life of wealth or luxury. In fact, as it stands now, I’m set to inherit a half-eaten jar of Cheez Whiz...if my siblings don’t beat me to it.
During my illustrious career, I’ve been a roller-skating waitress, an actuarial assistant, an advertising copy writer, a real estate agent, a house flipper, an organic farmer, and a traveling vagabond/truth seeker. But no matter where I’ve gone or what I’ve done, I’ve always felt like a weirdo.
I’ve learned a heck of a lot in my life. But getting to know myself has been my greatest journey. Today, I know I’m smart. I’m direct. I’m jaded. I’m hopeful. I’m funny. I’m fierce. I’m a pushover. And I have a laugh that makes strangers come up and want to join in the fun. In other words, I’m a jumble of opposing talents and flaws and emotions. And it’s all good.
In some ways, I’m a lot like Val Fremden. My books featuring Val are not autobiographical, but what comes out of her mouth was first formed in my mind, and sometimes the parallels are undeniable. I drink TNTs. I had a car like Shabby Maggie. And I’ve started my life over four times, driving away with whatever earthly possessions fit in my car. And, perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned that friends come from unexpected places.
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