Also by Jennie Spallone
Up Close and Gone
Smashing Castles
Psychobabble
Fatal Reaction
Window of Guilt
Deadly Choices
Write Me Up!
Up Close and Gone by Jennie Spallone
This book is written to provide information and motivation to readers. Its purpose is not to render any type of psychological, legal, or professional advice of any kind. The content is the sole opinion and expression of the author, and not necessarily that of the publisher.
Copyright © 2021 by Jennie Spallone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form by any means, including, but not limited to, recording, photocopying, or taking screenshots of parts of the book, without prior written permission from the author or the publisher. Brief quotations for noncommercial purposes, such as book reviews, permitted by Fair Use of the U.S. Copyright Law, are allowed without written permissions, as long as such quotations do not cause damage to the book’s commercial value.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9726768-5-4 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-0-9726768-6-1 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
To My Loving Husband
who encouraged me
to catapult myself over every hurdle....
Acknowledgements
This book is near and dear to my heart, as it deals with the challenges all mothers and daughters face as they share a life-long balancing act of connection versus independence.
The impact of adoption on a children, siblings, birth parents, and adoptive parents is yet another theme explored in these pages. May positive words fall from our lips to heal the verbal wounds we’ve inflicted on each other over the years. May we open our heart to listen to, as well as share our own, grievances and resentments toward our family members with the goal of establishing a new beginning filled with positive communications.
In birthing Up Close and Gone, I have been fortunate to have Beth Terrell and Sue Toth as my talented midwives, coaching me through copy and developmental editing. Former SINC Murder We Write President Chris Roerden gave me a clean bill of health for my inital pages review, while New York best selling author Lee Child, upon examination of a later draft, told me my book has “merit.” Maverick Book Services, helped me deliver my book baby after extensive breathing exercises in book formatting and cover design {assistance from Deposit Photos.com}.
I thank Beta readers Davida Levine, Anna Humphrey, and author Austin Camacho for providing thoughtful feedback on both content and grammar.
Chapter 1
Shana
June 26, 2018
12:35 p.m.
Shana Kahn stormed out of the Boathouse Restaurant, paying little heed to the path she was taking. The relentless sun beat upon her uncovered head like a burning skillet. Sunstroke would be a kinder consequence than reliving the venomous words her daughters had hurled at her over brunch. Humiliated in front of her son-in-law’s family whom she’d only just met, Shana planned to hop an Uber from Central Park back to the hotel, then book a flight home to North Carolina.
A hysterical giggle escaped her lips. Rachel and Becca had gifted her and their father David a weekend stay at the hotel where both families were staying. Hell if she could remember its name. A couple of seconds later, a memory marble rolled into consciousness: U.S. President.
Determined to Google each president’s name until one name resonated, Shana opened her cell phone. Shit! The phone was dead, and she’d forgotten to bring the charger. Little chance of locating the correct exit out of the sprawling Park sans GPS or street name to guide her.
Dirty little secret? Shana’s sense of direction was zilch, a fact she’d managed to hide from her last four Chicago Sun-Times editors before she and dozens of other reporters were forced into retirement.
Thanks to her pre-trip research, Shana did know that Central Park 2.5 miles spanned 843 acres of gardens, meadows, and woods; information overload as she navigated her way through a maze of twists and turns. Finally, she hit a landmark: Belvedere Castle. Fanning her sweat-soaked silk shirt, Shana checked out a map board; its interconnected symbols and curvy lines made her eyes glaze over.
Exhausted and thirsty, Shana headed to a nearby water fountain and gulped its tepid water like Cheerwine soda. As she stepped away from the fountain, a young mother took her place. Shana gazed into the buggy. “Your baby is so adorable!” Her first white lie of the day.
The young mother’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “Thank you!”
“Listen, I got separated from my family. Could I borrow your phone to call my kids?”
Shana couldn’t fault the young woman’s wary expression as she took in her purple streaked hair and disheveled appearance; hell, she would have reacted in similar fashion had their situation been reversed. The young woman hesitantly pulled a leopard-covered iPhone from her Prada. “Here you go.”
Shana let out the deep breath she’d been holding and punched in Rachel’s number.
“Hello?” a voice asked breathlessly.
At the sound of her pregnant daughter’s anxious voice, Shana knew she was in for a lifetime of recriminations. She abruptly clicked off the phone. “No answer. Thanks, anyway.”
The young mother grabbed her cell phone from Shana and briskly stepped on the buggy release. “I hope you find your family soon.”
Shana watched the mother and child disappear into the throng of joggers and bikers. Phone dead. No charger. Rachel and Becca would chalk up her lost in the park anecdote to just one more example of her impulsivity.
Suck it up, she told herself. Just one more humiliation through which she’d be forced to crawl.
Chapter 2
Becca
From across the restaurant courtyard, Becca glimpsed her sister and brother-in-law chatting animatedly with his family. This was the first time Zander had reconnected with his family in ten years. It was also the first time her family had met his stepdad Aamer, twelve years older than Zan. Infuriated that his mother had chosen a soulmate so close in age, he’d taken revenge by not inviting the family to his wedding. Today was a fresh start for both their families. Becca hoped her mom didn’t fuck it up, which was why she was standing guard as Mom rose on tippy toes to give Aamer a bear hug.
“It is absolutely wonderful to finally meet you!”
Becca rolled her eyes. For a former news reporter, her mom sure used a lot of meaningless adjectives. The top of her head reached only to the chest of the burly man, so she couldn’t pretend to smash into his dark sunglasses. With Mom, you never knew if she was pranking you or just being a klutz.
“You as well, Shana,” said the John Belushi lookalike.
Mom released him, then opened her fire engine-red lips to speak. “Your wife mentioned you drive an Uber. That must save your family a lot of money in cab fare!”
“Mom!”
Becca’s mother glared at her.
Aamer chuckled. “Your mama tells true.”
Shana raised her chin at Becca, as if to say I told you so. Then she asked Aamer a couple of non-confrontational questions about growing up in the Middle East; the foods his mother prepared, special festivals they celebrated, family life—a similar routine designed to inspire trust in the people she interviewed so they’d blab their sad truths for her newspaper readers.
Oblivious to her Mom’s intent, Aamer was in the zone. He leaned against a white brick wall of t
he restaurant, his ankles crossed. He removed his black hat and wiped sweaty dribbles. Then he relayed an anecdote about his peaceful childhood in Iran, pre-ISIS.
Shana glanced across the courtyard, where the two families were laughing it up. Becca could almost see the gears in her mother’s brain give her a thumbs-up to operate freely until their brunch buzzer sounded. Shana planted her feet in a semi-wide stance. Uh oh! Becca knew that stance. She sneezed, attempting to distract her mother.
Her mother ignored her.
“May I ask you a difficult question?” Mom’s sugary voice was enough to cause a diabetic coma. “One that may upset you?”
“Shana, no subject be out bound.”
The poor guy was clueless to her Mom’s intent.
“Are you sure? Because Rachel made me promise to keep our conversation light.”
Her mother’s concern could charm the fins off a rainbow trout.
“No thing you ask will hurt feelings, Shana.”
Shana opened her mouth. “Does the Koran…”
Becca leaned forward to pinch her upper arm, but her mom stepped sideways, and she fell. She’d been an idiot for wearing three-inch heels through Central Park, but this was her first time visiting New York City.
Aamer lifted her to her feet. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed the clean cloth to her skinned knees. “It only bleed a little bit.”
Eager to finish asking her question, Becca’s mother was oblivious to her mishap.
“…believe in peace or in violence?”
The remainder of her mother’s question echoed through Becca’s ears.
“We’ll be right back!”
Becca grabbed Shana’s arm and limped into the adjacent garden. “You promised Rachel not to ask Zander’s family any personal questions!”
Her mother yanked her arm from Becca’s clutches and headed back to Aamer. “Becca is worried that I have embarrassed her pregnant sister by asking you these questions.”
Aamer’s eyes grew wide. “Praised be Allah!”
Becca paled. Rachel and Zander hadn’t told him they were having a baby. Her mom would be dead meat when Rachel got hold of her.
Unaware the moon had changed course, Aamer responded to Shana’s question. “Koran speaks of love and peace.”
“Then why does ISIS claim the Koran as its bible?” Shana persisted.
Aamer’s smile dipped one iota. “Christians kill thousands of non-beliefs in name of God, no?”
Her mother had gone too far. Everybody knew religion and politics were off limits.
Becca nudged her mother with her hip. This time their body parts connected.
Shana winced. “Touché!”
Becca wasn’t sure if her comment was meant for her or for Aamer. Rules meant nothing to her mother. Sometimes this worked in her favor. She’d walk up to a homeless person, hand him a cheese sandwich, and ask how he wound up on the street. People rose to the occasion once they trusted she was interested in their responses. It made Becca proud she was her mom.
Today was not one of those days.
Aamer’s expression was impenetrable behind his dark sunglasses. “In fact, I enjoy this subject very much.”
“I’d love to learn more about your culture,” said Shana.
Becca groaned.
“Please feel free to ask.”
Fortunately, their table for twelve was called. Becca, Shana, and Aamer caught up with their respective families and made their way into the boat house. Was it by accident that Aamer chose a seat at the opposite end of the brunch table, she wondered?
Becca slipped into the seat next to her dad. Her cheeks felt like volcanic ash, but unlike her mother, she knew how to keep her mouth shut. A quick glance around the table confirmed that Zander’s extended family members were oblivious to Shana’s interrogation.
Her lips pressed tight, Becca’s mom took a seat next to her and her dad. Shana gazed out the picture window. Becca could tell she was pissed off at not getting to ask her full repertoire of questions. How many times did she and Rachel need to remind their mom that she was a retired reporter—retired being the key word. No one enjoyed answering her intrusive questions.
Rachel and Zander smiled broadly as they took their seats across from them. Confident she’d received a Get out of Jail Free Card, Mom’s expression brightened. She reached out for a group hug.
Platters of eggs, pork sausages, steamed spinach, banana bread, and fruit adorned the linen clothed table, erasing the awkward encounter from everyone’s mind. Through the window, they stared at families rowing on the lake, sun shining, skies bright blue, leafy trees reflected in the water. Peaceful. Like a Monet painting.
When their waiter stopped to refill their crystal water glasses, Shana glanced up at him. “Could you please turn down the air-conditioning? It’s freezing in here.”
The young waiter adjusted the bow tie of his tuxedo. “But of course.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “You should have brought your sweater.”
“So kill me now!”
Becca’s sister removed her shorty sweater and handed it across the table. “Don’t ask the waiter to do anything else for you!”
Breastfed on drama, it was no wonder Becca taught acting.
Becca’s dad calmly chewed his as he observed yet one more Kahn family drama. Shana hotly turned to him. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Becca’s dad shook his head. “This is between you and the girls.”
“You never think before you open your mouth!” Rachel blurted in a snarky stage whisper. “All you do is embarrass us.”
Her mom’s eyes grew big, like she’d been slapped in the face. She stood and pushed her wooden chair back from the table. “Sorry I’m not perfect. Maybe you’re better off without me!”
Becca wanted to say something to ease the tension, but her words would be dishonest. Mom’s hands trembled as she tossed the shorty sweater back to Rachel. “I’ll meet you on the patio.”
“But you haven’t eaten since early this morning,” Becca protested.
Her mom raised her chin in a haughty pose. Then she made her way down the table. Becca got up to follow, but her dad touched her wrist. “She just needs a breath of fresh air. She’ll be fine.”
For a moment, Becca wavered. Her mom was so sensitive. She’d lived away from home for nine years, but her dad lived with her 24/7. He knew what she needed.
Becca was about to sit again when her mom called her name.
“I forgot my purse.” Shana’s voice was as cold as lemon ice. “It’s hanging on my chair.”
Becca sidled past the seated family members and did a quick search for her mother’s purse. As usual, it wasn’t where it’s supposed to be. Then she remembered. “You left your purse in the hotel room.”
With a huff, Mom turned and headed toward the front of the restaurant. As Becca watched her go, she pretended they were actors who would return to their hotel that night without harboring hurt feelings toward one other.
Then she noticed Aamer’s chair was empty.
Chapter 3
Shana
Shana continued along the forested trail. She needed to get to the nearest boutique or eatery. Once there, she’d call her daughters from the cashier’s phone, tell them she got mugged at the Park—her second white lie of the day—and ask them to pick her up. Rachel and Becca would act loving and concerned, their earlier fury forgotten. Oops! They knew she didn’t have her purse on her. Perhaps an assault in the woods would sound more convincing. She felt her heart begin to beat overtime. Too scary to even lie about.
The big question was whether she could convince her husband and kids to believe any story she told them. Her family knew she was capable of saying anything—doing anything—to wiggle off the hook. After twenty-six years as a reporter for The Chic
ago Sun-Times, Shana could talk her way out of almost any predicament. David bragged about the time she convinced a pimp to release his sex workers so she could write a complimentary profile on him. It would have been a terrific story, too, if the CPD hadn’t whisked the low-life out from under her, figuratively speaking.
What if her daughters didn’t want her back in their lives, with her bossy, busybody behavior? The very idea threw Shana into a thought spasm. She practiced her deep breathing to calm down. Of course her kids loved her, she told herself. They’d do anything for her. Without a doubt, her husband would come for her—if he wasn’t enveloped in a photography project.
As Shana noted the busy traffic off in the distance, tentacles of anxiety wrapped themselves around her gut. Sunday traffic in Chicago was moderate, sports lovers taking to the expressways. North Carolina’s small-town traffic was minimal on a Sunday, folks returning from church to hang out with family. But Sunday traffic in New York City was serious shit.
Then she recalled the horse-driven carriage rides brochure. Nothing wrong with asking for help; how many times had she chastised David for not doing so when driving through an unfamiliar area? Following her own advice, she asked a jogger to confirm the carriage stand’s location.
Once at the carriage stand, Shana negotiated with a young turbaned driver for a free carriage ride to the exit, then immediately canceled, still clueless as to her family’s original starting point. Shivering in the heat of her predicament, Shana caught sight of a playground and duck pond. She began walking toward the welcome distraction when she noticed the darkening skies. Rain soon pounded families and joggers as they fled the park. But Shana didn’t care about getting drenched. The rain was a welcome release. She flung her arms to the heavens and twirled in place.
Then, a tall, well-dressed young man stepped into Shana’s path. Wordlessly, he extended a golf umbrella toward her. People were so wrong when they said New Yorkers didn’t give a damn, she thought as she gratefully moved underneath the clothed shelter.
Up Close And Gone Page 1
