Love Capri Style

by Reynolds, Lynn

  ***

  I found myself in my mother’s condo in Arizona. My father was there, which was strange since he’d never been near the place in real life. Weirder still, the two of them weren’t trying to kill each other.

  “Honestly, what kind of man misses his girlfriend’s first post-cancer birthday?” My mother snapped as she set the table for dinner.

  I muttered some half-hearted defense about how busy Scott was at work.

  My father lifted a cup of coffee to his lips and slurped loudly.

  Mom winced and frowned at him. “All I know is, Hugh would never do that to me.”

  Hugh was my stepfather, and the reason my parents’ marriage had broken up.

  “Honey, you need a new man.” Mom waved a fork in my direction. “One that can make a commitment.”

  My father smirked at her. “You should talk about commitment.”

  God, even in my dreams they couldn’t hold a civil conversation with one another.

  “Oh, stop it,” I said.

  Just as things looked like they might escalate, my sister Angie walked into the room. As always, she was heavily pregnant.

  “What about that guy from the gym?” she said.

  My mother’s eyes went wide with amazement. “Him? He’s gorgeous! What would he want with her? Plus, he’s a lot younger than her, and he’s incredibly dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” I repeated.

  “You just have to look at him to know,” my father piped up. “Looks like he probably deals drugs on the side, if you ask me.”

  “Well, you would know.” My mother shot him her trademarked, condescending eye roll.

  She put down a plate and turned her attention to me. “In any case, dear, that’s not a recipe for a quiet life, is it? And you know that’s what you need after the last couple of years—quiet.”

  “Hey.” I started to splutter a protest, but she was right. I abandoned the effort and went back to her earlier remark. “Do you both really think he’s dangerous?”

  My father took a last gulp of coffee and stood to go. “All I’m saying is, remember what your old dad taught you about using a gun.”

  “Excuse me?”

  My sister’s cell phone had begun to ring. She dug it out of a diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Look, sis,” she said to me. “I’m outta here. Dad just means, don’t forget that thing about the trigger.”

  She wiggled her fingers at me and hurried out the front door.

  “Trigger thing? What trigger thing?”

  “Look, Kid, I’m sorry, but I have to go, too.” My dad leaned across the table and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Then he got up and headed out the door, too.

  My mother went into the kitchen and turned a knob on the oven. Suddenly, she looked back at me and said, “For God’s sake, Sabrina, don’t step on the broken glass in your bare feet.”

  “Don’t what?” I looked down at my favorite old brown loafers and then up at my mother again.

  “Bare feet? What broken glass?”

  The oven door gave a weird muffled thump as she threw it open.

  I shook myself out of my confusion and discovered I was on the sofa in my own living room. I’d managed to down most of the bottle of wine and I had no idea what time it was. For a second, I thought Scott had come home. Maybe that thump had been him putting down his suitcase.

  But no, he would be in Mexico for the rest of the week. I sat straight up on the couch and strained to hear any other sounds. There were none.

  I told myself I was being crazy. Also, I needed to pee really, really badly. So I struggled to my feet and limped down the long corridor toward the bathroom. I saw a light where there should be none and stumbled into what I thought was my den. Unfortunately, I had stumbled into a whole new universe, one in which a man wearing a stocking over his face spun toward me, pointing a dark, shiny metal thing, and bellowed, “Get on the floor, bitch!”

  **I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of Thirty-Nine, Again. If you’d like to read the book in its entirety, it’s coming soon to Kindle, Nook and other online retailers.**

  A Note About the Author

  Lynn Reynolds is a city girl trapped in Green Acres. She’s a writer, wife and mom—although not necessarily in that order. Her short stories and poetry have been published in a few obscure literary magazines you’ve never heard of. In her previous life as a journalist, Lynn’s feature articles appeared in major daily and weekly newspapers. Remember those?

  At various times in her life, Lynn has been a child model, an actress, a stagehand, a secretary, a seller of ladies’ lingerie and—in a brief fit of practicality—a computer programmer. Her secret ambition is to be a wench at The Renaissance Faire.

  Contact Lynn at her website: LynnReynolds.com or at her Facebook page: facebook.com/authorlynnreynolds.