Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
The Ripple Effect Romance Series
Other Works by Donna K. Weaver
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About Donna K. Weaver
Coming Next
Immersed, Chapter One
Copyright © 2014 Donna K. Weaver
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
Ebook Edition
Published by HEA Publishing
The Ripple Effect Romance Series
Like a pebble tossed into calm water,
a simple act can ripple outward
and have a far-reaching effect on those we meet
perhaps setting a life on a different course—
one filled with excitement, adventure, and sometimes even love.
Other Works by Donna K. Weaver
Safe Harbors Series
A Change of Plans (book 1)
Hope’s Watch (short story, book 1.5)
Tom Canvas (book 2, coming 2014)
Francie placed flowers on the grave and stepped back. Since the burial two months ago, she had come every Sunday, the only day she had off from both her jobs. She didn’t really know why she still did it. Maybe it was the feeling that people who had known her and Greg would expect it. They had all thought the marriage was a good one in spite of his bad health. It had all been a lie.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Francie glanced over her shoulder. She turned, a smile replacing her earlier frown.
“Hey, Ma,” Rafe said, coming to stand beside her.
“Hi.” She smiled up at her only child, feeling a powerful sense of gratitude that something good had come from Greg. Rafaele had his father’s height and light eyes, but he had gotten his dark hair, olive complexion, and slender frame from her. She said a silent prayer that life wouldn’t turn Rafe into the bitter, spiteful man his father had become.
“You shouldn’t come here.” Rafe shoved his hands in his pockets. “He didn’t deserve it.”
“I thought you were going to pack today.” Francie wasn’t going to argue with him. She had given up trying to stop Rafe from making disparaging comments about his father, but she refused to acknowledge them.
“Done. I have to talk to you though.”
Something in his tone made Francie turn to face him. She crossed her arms but dropped them almost immediately. After Rafe had taken a psychology class and studied body language, he had harassed her for doing it, saying that it was a sign she was closed up. She would have reminded him that she was the parent, but his harshest comment had been that she only dropped her arms at home when she was doing something with them. Francie might have been able to keep her problems from their neighbors, but Rafe had lived the truth.
Her little protector, now all grown up.
“Let’s sit down.” Rafe guided her to a stone bench not far from the grave.
He sounded so serious that Francie’s stomach twisted. Her biggest fear was that he would make the same mistakes she and his father had. Greg had been so handsome in his cap and gown, so confident. They were going to conquer the world, and Francie had believed every word of it. College, great jobs. They were going to have it all. She clenched her rough, callused hands and took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for bad news, clinging to Rafe’s comment that he was packed.
“I don’t like leaving you alone like this.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, not looking at her. “I don’t have to go, you know.”
“You will stop talking nonsense.” Francie shifted so she could face him, her poor heart thudding. All these years of working two jobs so he could have the best opportunities—and he might throw them away because of her? “Getting that scholarship to Harvard is as much my reward as yours. They don’t give out many of those each year.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Rafe sat up, scowling. “Look, Ma—”
“No.” Francie crossed her arms. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“That’s the problem. You’ve done it all for too long.” Rafe jumped to his feet and strode to the grave, glaring at it. “And all those years, taking that, that—” He bit back the word and kicked at the flowers instead.
Francie let Rafe rant. Once he had calmed down—and he always did—she could reason with him. He finally gave the flowers one more kick and turned to her.
“It makes me sick to think of leaving you here alone.”
“Oh, really?” She indicated the grave. “Let’s be real here. It would have been easier for you to leave me alone with him?”
Rafe dropped onto the ground in front of the bench and ripped out a clump of grass. She slid off the seat and sat beside him, their shoulders touching. When she didn’t say anything, he stopped mangling the lawn and leaned his head on her shoulder.
She blinked back sudden tears; he couldn't see her cry. Rafe could be so stubborn. If he got it in his mind that staying in Boone with her was the right thing to do, he would. Even if it meant giving back the prestigious scholarship.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Rafe finally asked, lifting his head.
“I have.” Francie had been hoping for this question. She reached into her purse and removed an envelope.
“What the—” Rafe said, when he read the return address. He took out the letter and gave it a quick scan. “Appalachian State? Sweet! When did you apply?”
“When you applied to Harvard. Same with the scholarships.”
Rafe leapt to his feet. “You got a scholarship?”
“No scholarship for me.” Francie tugged on the leg of his jeans, the ratty condition making her grimace. He was saving his new clothes for school. When he finally stopped in front of her, Rafe ran a hand through his short, dark hair. Confused by his expression, she asked, “Are you upset about this?”
“No.” Rafe reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. “I’m ticked because you didn’t tell me about it sooner.”
“I wasn’t sure they’d accept me.” Francie looked at the grave to the side. “You had enough on your mind about your own application. I didn’t want you to worry about mine.”
“But I thought Dad’s life insurance only paid off his medical bills. How are you going to pay for your tuition?”
“I’ve applied for a job on campus, a full-time one.” Francie reached up and straightened his hair. “If I get that, the benefit will be three quarters of my tuition. Grants will cover the rest.”
“Ma.” Rafe grabbed her hand and held it against his chest. “It doesn’t add up. Full-time work plus full-time school plus studying? You won’t have time to work a second job. How will you live?”
“Who do you think you are?” Francie jerked her hand back. “Your father?”
“Don’t be insulting.” Rafe's eyes flashed.
“I’m sorry. It's just that an eighteen-year-old boy shouldn't have to be worrying
about his mother.”
Rafe’s face softened. “We're in this together, remember? Isn't that what you've always told me? You know I won't be able to concentrate if I'm worried about whether or not you have enough food to eat and decent clothes to wear.”
“See what I mean? That’s my line.” Francie picked up her purse and the letter Rafe had dropped. What would she have done all these years without him? She took his arm and led him toward her old clunker. “Look, I've got a good counselor, and she’s full of ideas. Since I’m a new student I’ll be taking low-level general ed. classes this first year.” She sighed. “Including remedial math.”
Rafe’s bicycle leaned against the old Reliant K car her Granny Gladys had left Francie the year before, along with the house. The only way Francie had survived the last nineteen years had been with the old woman’s quiet, unassuming help.
“You want to ride with me?” Francie asked, when Rafe pulled his helmet from the handlebars.
“No, I’ve got a date.”
Francie forced her expression to stay neutral. She remembered what it had been like at his age. If her parents hadn’t put up so much resistance to her marrying Greg, she probably wouldn’t have rushed into it right after graduating from high school. Yet, looking at her tall son, Francie knew she could never regret that decision. It had given her Rafe.
“Want to take my car?” she asked with an almost-sincere smile.
Rafe put on the helmet and threw a well-muscled leg over the bar. “Really?” He gave her his typical you-didn’t-just-say-that look. “You? On my bike?”
“You won’t be out late, will you?”
“Love you, Ma.” Rafe rode away.
Francie sighed and unlocked her door. Why hadn’t she realized that her son becoming an adult didn’t mean she would stop worrying about him?
Alex paused before entering the breakfast nook. Sam was already at the table, sipping a cup of herbal tea. He could tell it wasn’t going to be a good day. His daughter’s dark strawberry blond hair hung greasily—from product and not from a lack of hygiene—around her shoulders, highlighting the black makeup that filled the entire eye socket area. She had a light coating on her face of what had to be white greasepaint. A white lace choker accented the black, sleeveless, pseudo-leather bodice.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. The image of the sweet little girl who had once come running to throw her arms around his neck filled his mind. That was when he had liked coming home from work. How had he screwed up so bad that Sam had turned into this? At first it had seemed harmless enough, just a weird style phase. He had assured himself that wearing Goth clothing wasn’t dangerous by itself. Now, however, the extremeness of her makeup and clothes had become a barometer of her emotional stability.
Alex opened his eyes. But what did he do with this?
“Daddy, are you coming?” Sam pointed to the seat across from her.
Trying to calm his mounting frustration, Alex forced on a smile and entered the nook, pausing to kiss the top of her head. He resisted the temptation to wipe his mouth, wondering what she could have put in her hair to make it like that.
“How did you sleep?” Alex asked, opening the fridge. He took out a carton of eggs and held them for her to see, his brows raised in query.
“I don’t understand how you can eat the unborn.” She shuddered and took another sip of her herbal tea. The haughty disdain reminded him of his ex-wife. Divorce certainly hadn’t freed him of that.
“You ate them six months ago.”
“I’m enlightened now.” Sam heaved a sigh, tilting her head and putting on a martyred expression. Another perfect imitation of her mother.
If he could keep them apart, he might have a chance to help Sam. He had seen Victoria the week before. Now that she had a rich Frenchman for a husband, she was too good for simple “Vicki.” Her thinness had surprised Alex, but Sam’s recent odd eating choices had become clear.
Watching his daughter from the corner of his eye, he had to fight down feelings of loathing for her mother. Not for what the woman had done to him, though that had been bad enough. He didn’t usually buy into the negative energy hate generated, but watching Sam slip through his fingers. . . .
“Classes start next week.” Alex scooped his scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Do you have all your books?”
Sam glared at him through hooded eyes.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Sure.”
“Was there enough in your account, or do I need to transfer more money in?” Alex sat at the table and stabbed a forkful of eggs.
“I didn’t look.”
“Samantha!” He slammed the fork on the table and scrambled eggs flew across it. Sam squealed, pushing back and knocking the last of her tea into his plate. Breathing heavily, Alex stared at the mess.
“You did that.” Sam shot him an accusatory glare. “No way am I cleaning that disgusting stuff up.” She moved as though to slide past his chair.
“Stay here.” Alex grabbed her wrist. It was so small in his hand, frail almost. A stab of fear went through him. Did she have an eating disorder?
“You’re hurting me, Daddy.” Sam’s voice was small.
He let her go and looked at her, really looked at her, beyond the ghastly makeup and the disaffection. Where was Sam in there? With Vicki poisoning first her mind and now her body, was he going to lose his little girl?
“Baby, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call me that.” She rubbed her wrist, her mouth pouting.
“We talked about that school account. If you overdraw—”
“Fine. I’ll look it up and tell you if I need more money in it.” Sam stomped past him.
Alex grabbed a washcloth from the sink and went to work on the table. The college semester would start in a few days. Thank heavens he would have that release. Otherwise, he might go crazy.
Francie stared at her reflection in the mirror. It hadn't been that hard getting used to Greg being gone, but Rafe's absence made the big old house seem so empty. Two months ago she had been cooking for three. Now, it was just her.
She picked up the curling iron and twisted a long strand of hair around it, considering the view of the large bedroom behind her. So many memories in this house. Good ones from when she was a child. Before Greg.
Not long after his first accident, only a couple of months after they were married, her grandmother had decided the old place was too much work and moved into a condo. Francie had been pregnant then, and Gran had insisted that she just needed someone to care for the place. In spite of the head injury, it had been something Greg could handle—until three years later, when a second car crash had put him in a wheelchair.
There was so much Francie would love to do to the graceful old house. Besides needing a new roof and fixing the dry rot along the eaves, it needed paint. Gran would die to see it now. She had worked hard to get it on Boone's official register of historic homes. It made Francie doubly sad that her beloved grandmother hadn't lived long enough to see her dream for the old place come true.
Francie turned and examined her hair. The dark strands flowed nicely down her back. In her other jobs, it hadn't been smart to look nice. Or pretty. Plain and drab meant fewer passes from creepy guys, either from the owners of the homes she cleaned or the customers at the Quick Mart.
She checked her mascara. The makeup had turned out well that morning. It was a good thing she had decided to practice Saturday. It had been so long since she had worn makeup that her first try had made her look like a student from the Mimi Bobeck School of Makeup Artistry. After practicing a couple of days, Francie had finally been happy with the results.
She tipped up her heel. The black pumps, though from Goodwill, were cute and almost new. They were the first heels she had worn in years, and she hadn’t been able to resist the red sole. Especially after she had found the beautiful, secondhand suit with the red blouse. It was so classy, and the price so affordable, that Francie had kept looking over he
r shoulder, expecting someone to tell her there had been a mistake. Starting a new life, she wanted to try something different.
Stepping back from the mirror, she did a full figure check. She didn’t recognize herself. How could a used outfit and some cheap makeup make her look so much younger?
Francie picked up the older model smart phone a friend had given her and activated the camera. Pointing it at the mirror, she snapped a selfie and sent it in a message to Rafe.
Look at the old girl now.
U better carry a gun with u Ma! Ethan asked if ur my sister. Haha
Francie already liked Rafe’s Harvard roommate, Ethan, who had been present for the first online talk with her son. She had been worried Rafe might end up with someone from a rich family who had attended an Eastern prep school and would look down at a scholarship boy from North Carolina. But Ethan was from Montana and the stepson of a rancher. The young man's rough hands, tanned face, and sun-streaked sandy hair hinted at hard work.
haha
Good luck today, Ma.
<3
Francie was glad now she had agreed to let Rafe add her to his phone plan. Knowing she could text him made it seem like he wasn’t so far away. She checked her purse again. The last thing she needed to do was forget something. Her first class was right after work. Grabbing the car keys, she hurried out the door.
The car wouldn’t start.
Alex got to his office more than an hour before his first class. He hadn’t seen Sam yet that morning, so he was hoping she would show up looking like a normal Goth. He snorted. Normal Goth?
The first day of classes was always a little unsettling, but this year was worse. They had been hearing rumors for months that the department was doing something different with the administrative support, but the History Dean’s office staff had been closed mouthed about it. Admin had better let the professors know soon. He already had plenty of work for his assistant—except he didn’t have one yet.
Second Chances 101 (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella Book 5) Page 1
