A Frickin' Fantastic Friday (The Zelda Dairies Book 3)

by Olivia Gaines

  “Zelda,” he started, but she stopped him.

  “No. We had horrible parents. You don’t want kids because of them and I never allowed myself to love anyone out of fear that I would be a terrible mother like the one we had, but no more. I am going to get some help to sort through the portion that I know and hopefully you will help me fill in the missing spots. I am going to be a great mother to some very hairy children. Children who are going to be sired by a man who loves me enough to know I was afraid of water, but never asked why. He helped me conquer so many fears in one week that I am anxious to share a life with him,” she said.

  He wiped as his stinging eyes.

  “I like this confident you,” Michael told her.

  “I think for the first time in my life, I like me, too. Mike, he had a house full of friends over that I didn’t know, and I was cool with it. No panic attacks. No hiding in his room. I was cool with all of it. I do know, before my wedding, I am going to learn to truly love myself, so that I can better love others,” she told him. “I owe it to myself to be happy and I am going to be.”

  “Zelda, whatever you need, please let me know,” he said.

  “I did let you know. I want the missing pieces you had hidden in my subconscious,” she said to him. “More importantly, I want to understand why our mother tried to drown me at the lake. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the smell of liquor on a man’s breath freaks me out.”

  “There is more to it than just that,” Michael said.

  “I look forward to finding out all of it, but today is not the day. Today it’s time to have dinner with Grandma Lula and tell her I am going to marry a white man,” she said.

  “I don’t think she is even going to be ready for that shit,” Michael said. “Hell, neither am I.” He also ruefully admitted to himself that in the box he had in storage were all of her old dairies. Each occurrence and instance she’d recorded about her life. Zelda’s Dairies were buried in the back of a storage unit along with bad memories of their past. If she started reading from the beginning in the small books, everything would come back to her. Besides, she had meticulously recorded every detail of her childhood. Even the bad times.

  “You may as well get ready. Scott Berger is going to be joining the family. He will be here in three weeks to meet Grandma, see where I work, and the whole nine,” she said, touching Michael’s arm. “Now, let’s get to Grandma’s for dinner by three in the afternoon.”

  His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles straining against the force of his balled-up hands. She called his name.

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah, Sis?” He asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.

  “I want to remodel my bathroom. The new bathroom should include an oversized tub that I can soak in, and a vanity. I would really like that,” she said smiling.

  “Sure thing, we can make that happen,” he responded absently.

  “Thanks, you are the best,” she added, looking down in her lap.

  Michael placed the car into gear before merging back onto the main drag, headed for Grandma Lula’s. Emotions ran high in him when he looked over in the seat, and in Zelda’s lap was a small notebook, a book a tad bit larger than a journal. When he came to a stop, he glanced over at her words. He wasn’t surprised at what he saw.

  All of these years later, she still kept track of her everyday life. The words which caused him fear so many years ago was back. His heart thudded in his chest as the words blurred on the page making his head spin. Two fucking words which nearly gave him an anxiety attack.

  Dear Diary.

  ****

  Sunday Evening, Hebron, Kentucky

  Chandler and Scott sat at the table in the lime green kitchen, eating the final remnants of Friday’s cookout. Zelda had left a large, leafy green salad, and a pie that only required Chandler to stick it in the oven to bake. They ate in silence as the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg baking over apples filled the room.

  “Martha Welton has asked me to move in with her,” Chandler said, breaking the silence.

  “Really? I didn’t know things had progressed to that level,” Scott replied.

  Chandler looked at the lime green plate. He had a great deal to say, but didn’t know where to start. “Truthfully, neither did I. She is ready, I am not certain that I am. This week has been an eye opener for me. My demons aren’t dead. There are nights I still have nightmares, I am not sure if I am ready to unleash that on a woman,” he confessed.

  “Time is either a friend or your worst enemy. Take as much as you need,” Scott said. His eyes too focused on the ugly green plates.

  They continued moving food about on their dishes. Neither man was really eating much as they sat in their own thoughts, splashing about like a small child in a mud puddle.

  “I can see why you have chosen her,” Chandler said. “The house feels empty without her in it.”

  “That is an understatement,” Scott said.

  “When is the wedding?”

  “I need a year. We need a year. Chandler, I still have to meet her Grandma Lula and she has to meet my family. Those two things by themselves is scaring the hair follicles surrounding my spine. I can feel a tingling. I think the hair is growing back at the double the thickness,” Scott said.

  Chandler laughed.

  “That’s funny, but not as funny as her reaction to seeing this house. She physically climbed on to my back when she saw that table in the foyer,” he said chuckling. “I had to peel her off me.”

  Scott was laughing too.

  “Yeah, I made that table during one of my dark phases,” he said grinning.

  Sitting quietly, smiling to themselves, the whole week replayed in their heads.

  “Scott, may I inquire as to what is next in your plans?”

  “I need to learn to drive,” he told Chandler. “My eyesight is good enough now to be behind the wheel, besides, you will possibly be leaving me soon.”

  “I am not certain yet,” Chandler said.

  “Well, when you are, your 401k is nice and fat, and you can retire from me as a comfortable man. You will be young enough to start a second career and do the work you love, helping children,” Scott said.

  “Yes, there is that. Martha also has four of her own. I’m not sure I want to go that route versus starting my own family fresh. Then there is Cora,” he said smiling.

  “The young woman that works in the hen house?” Scott asked.

  Chandler grinned.

  “Man, we do not screw the help,” he said.

  “I am the help. That rule does not apply to me,” Chandler said in disbelief.

  “No, you are not the help. You are family. You are my brother from another mother, and your job here is because you wanted it. After college, you were free to do as you chose. You made the decision to stay in service. It was not as if you had to or anything,” Scott said.

  “I know, but I wanted to,” Chandler responded. “Besides, you needed me.”

  “I will always need your friendship and I value your companionship, but you can have a life outside of here. We have talked about this,” Scott said. “Our relationship is not symbiotic.”

  “I am aware,” Chandler said. “But I want to stay to see what she is going to do with this ugly house. Plus, I get to be an uncle, spoiling your funny looking kids with inappropriate toys and gifts.”

  “Why do you think my kids are going to be funny looking?” Scott asked.

  Chandler’s eyebrows raised slightly as he looked at Scott with humor in his eyes, implying without words that if the father was funny looking, the kids would be as well.

  “Shut up, my kids are going to be cute like their Mama,” Scott said. “I need pie.”

  “Yes, but one of them are going to look like you,” Chandler replied, breaking into laughter. The image of a hairy, little bucked tooth girl flashed before his eyes. “You should name the little girl Harrietta.”

  “You get on my damned nerves,” Scott said
, going to the oven. “We have to get ready for the Europe run this week. I am not looking forward to being away for three weeks.”

  “Maybe, you can fly Ms. Fitzsimmons to Paris to join you for dinner,” Chandler said to Scott.

  He stood frozen, holding the hot pie pan in oven mitts, the heat seeping through the gloves. “Ooouchie, ouchie, ooooh,” he said, sitting the pie on the stove.

  “That is not a bad idea,” he said. “Chandler? You know what we need?”

  “No, what do we need?”

  “Ice cream,” Scott said grinning. “This damn pie needs some ice cream.”

  Chandler rose slowly from the table to retrieve saucers and the ice cream from the freezer. He’d grown up around Scott and spent a lifetime in service to the man. He knew what he was thinking. He was planning something romantic for Ms. Fitzsimmons and he would definitely send her a ticket to join him in Paris.

  No, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Scott’s story was just starting to get interesting. He wanted to have a front row seat to the show. And it was going to be wildly entertaining. Somehow, he had to wrangle an invitation to dinner with that Grandma Lula, next, he had to make arrangements to get Zelda to Paris...then there were the contractors for the house...opening the nursery... meeting Scott’s family...so much to do, so little time.

  “Ice cream, coming right up,” he said with a grin. “This is going to be bloody rich.”

  “The pie and ice cream?” Scott asked.

  Chandler didn’t share his thoughts, he went with it.

  “Yes,” was his only response. The smile which emanated from his insides warmed him all over. Happiness was coming into Scott’s life and home. It was well overdue and he would be standing at the doorway to let in as if it were the first rays of morning sun.

  “Hello sunshine,” Chandler added with a smile. Scott grinned back, ogling the pie slice.

  “I am going to get fat,” he said to Chandler.

  “That may be, but you will be fat and happy,” Chandler said.

  Scott raised his spoon, laden with steaming hot apples in a thick rich caramel colored sauce. “Here’s to happiness.”

  -Fin-

  Pre-Order the Next Entry in Zelda’s Diaries as she chronicles her journey to healing and love with her hairy hunk, Scott. Click here.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  As an award-winning, best-selling Amazon author, Olivia loves a good laugh coupled with some steam, mixed in with a man and woman finding their way past the words of “I love you.” An author of contemporary romances, she writes heartwarming stories of blossoming relationships about couples not only falling in love but building a life after the hot sex scene.

  When Olivia is not writing, she enjoys quilting, playing Scrabble online against other word lovers and spending time with her family. She is an avid world traveler who writes many of the locations into her stories. Most of the time she can be found sitting quietly with pen and paper plotting more adventures in love.

  Olivia lives in Hephzibah, Georgia with her husband, son, grandson and snotty evil cat, Katness Evermean.

  Learn more about her books, upcoming releases and join her bibliophile nation at www.ogaines.com

  Subscribe to her email list at http://eepurl.com/OulYf

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