The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Jackson found Camille in the waiting room, crying. He pulled her into his arms as she rested her head against him like a sobbing child. “I was so stupid! I almost got our kids killed! How could I do such a thing?” The unguarded tears poured out in remorse.

  “There now.” He ran his hand through her hair.

  “Why aren’t you yelling at me?” Camille wiped at her tears. “You hate my superstition stuff. Why don’t you leave me?”

  “Because with superstition or without, I love you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes you’re like a vulnerable child, and yet you’re independent, strong. And you bring out trust in others. Even if you live your life by superstition. At least I can learn the rules and live with you.”

  Camille grabbed Jackson’s neck, pulled his head toward her, and kissed him hard. “Thank you for calling me independent. You don’t realize how much that means. I came to Island Park to find my former independent self, and you helped me do that.”

  Jackson leaned over and gently tipped her chin up so she stared at him head-on. “I’m sorry I froze back there. Back at the river.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Please don’t. Anyone could’ve done the same under the circumstances.” She gave him a crooked grin. “It is Friday the Thirteenth after all.”

  Jackson pulled her closer. “I need you, Camille. I need you with me all the time. I know I said I wouldn’t rush you, but let’s get married right away. As soon as we can.”

  She glanced at the tiled floor then up at Jackson. Her heart was doing funny jumps in her chest. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll marry you. But first I want to redecorate your cabin. That cowboy style has gotta go.”

  * * *

  It took a while for the acorns to arrive in the mail, but when they did, Camille didn’t hesitate for a second to fill her bucket with water. There was an old superstition that if a person wanted to know if they would be happily married to their love, they’d fill a basin with water, name the acorns—one after themselves and the other after the person they desired, then drop them into the pail. If the corns floated together, all would turn out perfect. If not, the lover would turn out to be faithless, or some other thing would happen to stop the marriage.

  Camille held the acorns up. One was slightly smaller than the other. “Camille,” she named one, tossing it in the bucket. It floated beautifully. Gripping the other one, she twisted it around in the palm of her hand. Bringing her clenched fist to her heart, she bent down and kissed the cool skin of the acorn. “Jackson,” she whispered. Then she looked away and dropped it in the pail.

  “What are you doing?”

  She darted a look at Jackson strolling into her kitchen. “Nothin’,” she said, not daring to look at the acorn’s fate.

  Jackson stood, smiling. “Camille?”

  “Yes?” she asked, her pulse racing.

  He knelt down, his boots making a thud against the floor. “Will you marry me?”

  She giggled. “You silly man, I already answered.”

  “Yes, but this time I have this.” He held out a ring box, opening it to show her a gold band with a square carat diamond glistening in the light with a few smaller diamonds highlighted underneath.

  “It’s beautiful!”

  His eyes stared into hers. “Can I take that for a yes?”

  She giggled again. “Jackson, stand up.”

  He stood inches away from her. Camille swallowed a lump of nerves and studied the powerful man who leaned toward her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest. She could feel his warm breath spill over her as goose bumps raced through her body. His warm lips sought hers. She relished the touch and returned the kiss before pulling away.

  She glanced down to see both acorns floating. “At last,” she whispered before reaching up and pulling him in for another passionate kiss.

  For once superstition was going her way.

  THE END

  We hope you have enjoyed The Superstitious Romance by Anastasia Alexander. Please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and is much appreciated. For your enjoyment, we have included a sneak peek into Silent Cries, women’s fiction by Anastasia Alexander, followed by a bonus preview of House Without Lies, a contemporary romance by Rachel Branton that we think you will also enjoy. You can learn more about Anastasia Alexander and her books on the About the Author page.

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  For three weeks, while her husband was at work, Charlene had been secretly emailing her friend Judy, hoping he wouldn’t find out. Opening Judy’s return emails to discover what her friend had to say had been the highlight of her day. As long as Brad didn’t learn she was doing it, she figured there was no harm in having an innocent friendship. It kept her connected to something besides drooling babies, loaded diapers, and burned dinners. But recently, Charlene hadn’t felt as excited about pressing the open button. Maybe because Judy had started to pry, asking questions people weren’t supposed to ask, like about her husband’s temper. Charlene knew she had a good husband and didn’t see any reason for her new friend to cast doubt.

  Granted, Brad did get touchy about silly things, like when he saw Charlene eating anything with sugar in it. “Now, Charlene,” he’d say, “You know I have your best welfare in mind by stopping you. You’d be miserable if you got fat. Chocolate really isn’t worth it, is it?”

  Charlene wanted to scream, “Yes! It is!” but after ten years of marriage, she knew better. She kept her protests to herself and hid the chocolates she wanted to eat. Every person had a few weaknesses, didn’t they? Brad often searched the house for her hidden stash, and if he found it, there would be hell to pay. But sometimes, when the rich taste melted in her mouth, sending comfort and pure joy through her, Charlene thought it was worth the price of hell.

  Another subject that tested Brad’s patience was when she bought things without his permission. He insisted they stay on a budget—his budget. She agreed with him, of course. She didn’t want to be like the many couples who ended up spending themselves into a huge pit of debt. After all, they had children to raise. A responsible, involved husband was a gift. Charlene did wonder if it was reasonable to get livid over buying a package of gum at the store, especially when the groceries got loaded into his new sports car. Not everything made sense, but she was sure his temper was no worse than any other man’s.

  It bothered Charlene that her husband’s qualifications were being called into question. She decided to focus on the parts of her friend’s emails that she liked—the walks along the beach and how idyllic Seattle sounded. Charlene dreamed about flying up to Washington to visit Judy. She wanted to enjoy the white clouds hovering over the wild ocean, and she longed to take those strolls and let the tension of motherhood ease away as the sand squished between her toes and the sun warmed her skin. That might just be the perfect escape from her humdrum existence.

  Making a trip like that was impossible. Brad would never allow it. So instead of thinking about escaping her monotonous life, she worried about Brad discovering her email account. Yes, he was a great husband. He just wouldn’t like it if he knew she was on the computer instead of paying attention to the children. He believed being a full-time mother meant that was all the woman should do. He was right, of course. Guilt filled Charlene about writing Judy, but she’d go crazy without any outside contact. Maybe someday she would be the person she needed to be; the person Brad wanted.

  For now, she gave in to her weakness and secretly wrote Judy, despite the negativity toward her husband. She didn’t know how Brad would react if he found out. He’d probably break into the computer and read the emails—all of them. He used to search the whole house until he found her journal. The mental images of pillows, clothes, and dishes flying and breaking while he looked had not left her—or his anger after he read it.

  “How dare you misr
epresent me!” he’d shouted. “You’re nothing but a liar. And you’re so negative. You’re never grateful for all the good things I do for you. How come you can’t see things the way they really are?” Charlene never wrote it right no matter how she tried. Eventually, it wasn’t worth the fuss and she stopped writing altogether. Some things were just easier not to do. Besides, she hated to fight. Their conflicts had gotten ugly before, and she definitely didn’t want to go there again. Every marriage had its problems. She needed to learn how to compromise and what to avoid doing. Unfortunately, sometimes her learning came at the price of experience.

  But this time Charlene hoped he wouldn’t find out about her emails. It had been years since the journal incidents, and her husband didn’t even know she had a new friend who had recently moved to Seattle. She had told him about Judy and their trips together to the craft fairs, but he didn’t know how close they’d gotten or how much they liked to chat. Brad was busier with work and surer of their marriage these days. Charlene hoped that by now he trusted her more and wouldn’t mind her having a friend.

  She had emailed Judy on the subject: If he does find out, it’s on my head. Please don’t stop writing me. Sometimes I feel like I’m silently crying out to you. I need someone to listen. I look forward to your news, and it’s nice to have someone who cares. Brad knows very little about you, not even your last name. I won’t mention that in the emails. He won’t be able to trace you, only your email address.

  Charlene hoped Brad wouldn’t trace other things she had done, like getting her own checking account to pay for the email subscription. She had waited until Brad was caught up with a deadline at work that monopolized his attention. Then, she stopped at the bank. Unsure how to open an account, and worried her kids would unknowingly betray her to Brad, she used the drinking fountain in the front entry as a way to get a moment alone. “Sandra, can you get everyone a drink?” she asked her oldest, who was eleven and liked to be in charge. The kids scurried away, except for Nathan, who was two and too young to be out of her sight. He wouldn’t talk.

  She was quickly directed to the right spot. An older, silver-haired gentleman smiled at her. “What can I do for you?”

  Paige, her six-year-old, ran up to her. “Mom, Sandra spit water on me.”

  Charlene looked at her daughter’s tear-filled eyes and sighed.

  “Tell Sandra to stop that or she’s going to get extra chores.”

  “But my shirt’s wet,” Paige insisted.

  Clenching her hands tighter, Charlene said, “Go on and tell her.” She heard her voice had gone up an octave.

  Paige left, and Charlene turned back to the man. “I’d like to open a new account.” She felt hot. Her heart raced as though she was doing something wrong. She looked over at her kids, made a quick mental count to make sure they were all still there, and then turned her attention back to the old man, who was getting forms.

  “How much would you like to deposit?”

  Charlene pulled out a check she’d received for wall hangings she’d made and sold at a local craft fair. She had created the arrangements when Brad was out of town and had carried the check around for over a month wondering what to do with it. If she kept it much longer, she risked Brad going through her purse and finding it. She didn’t know what excuse she could come up with then. Brad had been okay with her going to the fair, but he wouldn’t like her having a hobby when she should be taking care of the kids. He would also be enraged that she didn’t immediately turn over the money to him.

  “With this,” she said, smoothing the crease in the paper. The check was made out for two hundred and thirty-two dollars and sixteen cents. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had in years.

  “Fine,” the man said, giving it a cursory glance. “Please fill out these forms.” He slid some sheets over to her. The kids had joined her by now and were tugging on her pants. She tried to ignore them as she filled out each form.

  Charlene stopped at the slot for her address. “What do you mail out to us with this account?” She knew this would seem like a strange question and hoped it wouldn’t make him suspect she was up to something.

  “An information letter and monthly statements.”

  Charlene had grown increasingly hot as she pondered what to do. Should she get this account? Should she go behind her husband’s back? He would kill her if he ever found out. It had taken her quite a while to decide to do this. Should she back out?

  No. She’d get it. She knew it was risky, but she felt confident she could get the mail every day before Brad did. She’d have to make a point of it.

  She looked up, watching her kids climb over everything. They were talking loud and laughing, obviously bothering many of the other bank customers. “Kids, come here.” They obeyed their mother and came running.

  “You definitely have your hands full, don’t you?” the banker asked.

  Charlene gave a half nod. What the banker said was true.

  “If you tell me your names and ages, I’ll give you all a sucker. Is that okay, Mom?”

  Charlene nodded fully this time, relieved.

  “Sandra,” her eldest announced. “I’m eleven.” Her short, brown curls shook as she spoke. “I want the green one.”

  The banker laughed and gave her the green sucker.

  “Cameron,” her second oldest said, head tipped down, and stuck out his hand.

  “How old are you, little man?”

  “Ten,” Sandra answered for him. She put her arms around her little sister and pushed her forward. “This is Paige, who’s eight.” Then she pointed to next younger sister. “And that’s Lorine. She’s five, and the baby is Nathan, and he’s only two. He doesn’t talk much.”

  The banker laughed. “Well then, I guess that’s everyone.”

  * * *

  Charlene kept her new bank account a secret for several months. Then one day she came home from grocery shopping to find Brad’s car parked in the driveway. What was he doing home so early? Charlene worried as she unbuckled Nathan from his car seat.

  She hurried inside, taking a bag of groceries with her. She set it on the kitchen counter with a thump and walked quickly toward Brad’s office. There he was, sorting through the mail.

  A terrified lump rose in her throat. Please don’t let there be a bank statement, she prayed, smiling at Brad. “Hello, what are you doing home?”

  “I have to go back tonight for a big meeting, so I thought I’d spend a couple of hours at home before then.”

  “Oh,” Charlene said. She glanced at the stack of mail. She’d have to look at it before he went through it—how? “Brad, will you help me bring the groceries in?”

  “Yeah,” he said, going back to sorting the envelopes.

  She had to think fast. Throwing her arms around him, she gave him a long kiss. Then she grabbed his arms and coaxed them around her waist. “I’ve got some milk and other cold stuff out there. If you bring it in now, I’ll cook your favorite meal.” She batted her eyes to be silly.

  He laughed. “Okay.”

  She walked with him to the doorway and waited until he went outside for the bags before she ran back. She sorted through the mail and, sure enough, spotted a bank statement. She grabbed it, folded it, and shoved it in her pocket before rushing to the kitchen. She waited until his second trip to the car to stash the envelope in her office.

  * * *

  Charlene knew she had to tell Judy about the risk she was taking, in case Brad made Judy pay for their friendship. Last year, Charlene had hung out with Kelly, a friend she’d made when taking the kids to the park. Whenever they met, Brad would greet her and then wait until she left to laugh about how “psycho,” as he put it, she was.

  “Anyone who believes the end of the world is just around the corner is cuckoo.” Other times he would say, “I can’t believe you’re hanging out with that nutcase. She’s not even in the real world. She’s always quoting Revelations. That’s not normal. She’s going to end up in one of those cul
ts, probably dead by a government raid, shot in the head.”

  Then he took to laughing at Kelly openly every time he saw her. “Had any more prophesies?” he’d ask, or, “How’s Revelations? Any more six-headed monsters coming to swallow us all up?”

  “Actually you don’t understand Revelations at all. You’re mistaken on thinking that a six-headed monster . . .” Kelly tried to explain at first, until she realized Brad was only mocking her. She became so angry and flustered she stopped coming over.

  Another time she’d been on the phone talking to Nicol, a woman she’d grown friendly with while babysitting at Sunday school. Brad had called out, loud enough so Nicol could hear, “Is that your skinny, bean-pole friend?” He made a habit of complaining to Charlene while she was chatting with her friend. “Why are you always on the phone? Why don’t you ever make time for me?”

  It was embarrassing, and her friends understandably didn’t want to hang out long. For that reason, Charlene stopped inviting people over. This kept her more isolated, and sometimes the days of playing hide-and-seek and cleaning up spills became so tedious she wanted to scream. During those more boring hours, she’d remember with fondness when other mothers had visited when her kids were younger and Brad was away more. They’d sit in the backyard and talk under the shade tree, watching as the kids played and fought.

  Charlene hoped her words of warning wouldn’t scare Judy out of writing to her. Although Judy and Charlene hadn’t known each other that well before Judy moved, Charlene didn’t know what she would do if Judy thought their correspondence was too risky. Her life was already so lonely, and Judy seemed like her last lifeline.

  * * *

  Fortunately for Charlene, Judy didn’t let the risk of getting caught by Brad stop her from emailing. She said she was willing to stand up to anyone for her. Charlene thought that was a little over dramatic but had a smile in her heart the whole day after she read the reassurance.

  She immediately wrote and told Judy thank you. She also explained that she couldn’t come to Washington with all her kids, even though Judy had offered to pay. The offer overwhelmed Charlene with its generosity. She thought about how wonderful it would be to sit on the beach, meditating away the afternoon. It sounded divine, but to have her friend pay for it? She couldn’t do that. She and Brad had money. Why would Judy make such an offer? It was confusing, but Charlene decided not to make an issue out of it. Besides, Brad would never let her go anyway, no matter who paid for it.