by Sable Hunter
“All right.” She didn’t wait for them to take off, she raced to the car and jumped in. No matter how fast she drove, she’d be far behind them. The distance she had to travel was at least sixty minutes and Shae knew she’d worry every inch of the way.
* * *
“She let her supplemental insurance policy lapse?” Shae couldn’t believe her ears.
She sat across from the hospital counselor, the one who advised patients on after care.
“Unfortunately, yes. All she has is Medicare. Ms. Coretta has too much interest income to be on Medicaid.”
Shae racked her brain. She didn’t know all her grandmother’s business, but she knew enough to say for certain the older lady wasn’t rich. “I don’t think she has that much money.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Honey, you don’t have to have too much to make you ineligible. For a single person, it’s eight-hundred forty-two dollars a month, if you make more than that, you don’t qualify for aid.”
“How much will her care cost?”
“With her level of need, we’re looking at several thousand a month.”
Shae covered her face. “Her savings won’t last a year.”
“Can you take her home with you?”
“I’d have to hire someone to sit with her, I can’t quit work.” She doubled over. “What am I going to do?” Shae felt sick. Sick.
“Is there other family who can help? If she lives, she’s going to need rehab, special equipment, and therapy.”
The counselor kept speaking, but Shae wasn’t hearing much. She was racking her brain for an answer. When none came, she wiped her eyes. “No, there’s no one. Just me, but I’ll do whatever it takes. Make the arrangements and I’ll think of something.”
Racking her brain, she thought about giving up her apartment, letting her car go back, and getting something used. She could sell Coretta’s house and find something smaller. There was also the land her grandmother owned next to the mill, but with the proximity to the industrial complex, there wasn’t a big market for such property. Surely there was other things she could do. Sell her body on the street perhaps? A giggle burst from her lips at the thought. She wouldn’t have any takers – so that plan wouldn’t work.
“What’s wrong?” The counselor was looking at her like she was crazy.
“Can we transfer her to the nursing facility in Longleaf? At least she’d be close to me.”
The woman shook her head. “Not at first. I don’t think they’re equipped to take care of her. She’ll have to make some improvements before she can be admitted there.”
Shae nodded. “Okay.” She’d just have to come to Angelina to see her often. Another expense. Standing up, she thanked the woman. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“She’ll be getting receipts in the mail.”
And bills. Shae heard what the woman didn’t say. “I understand.” She left and returned to her grandmother’s room. So far, she hadn’t opened her eyes. There seemed to be some brain damage and paralysis. Whether or not rehab could restore Coretta to her former self was unclear at this point. If prayer could help, her church would have her on her feet in no time. Shae was praying, but her faith seemed to be failing. “Don’t worry, Grandmother.” She took Coretta’s arthritic hand in her own. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised. “No matter what.”
* * *
Several days later, Shae wasn’t any closer to finding an answer than she’d been the day her world fell apart. In between her work hours at the church, she’d met with a realtor, traded in her almost new car on a five-year old Camry, and begun the daunting job of readying her grandmother’s house to sell.
All the activity and the ensuing exhaustion kept her mind off the fact that none of this really mattered. She had to find a long-term solution. How did she not realize the astronomical cost of long-term care? Why didn’t she know her grandmother had let her insurance lapse?
The doctor told Shae this might not be her first stroke. There could’ve been mini ones leading up to this one that caused her forgetfulness. Knowing what she knew now, there were signs Shae had written off as momentary setbacks. Coretta forgetting her hair appointment or Shae’s birthday. Seen as little things then, now they appeared to have been bright warning lights.
Taking her computer to the dining table, she sat down and looked up a local real estate agent. For years, Coretta had been telling her how she was throwing money down a rabbit hole by paying rent. Well, no more. After the house sold, she would find a cheaper place to buy where they could both live. Her grandmother would get better, she’d come home, and they’d have one another for many years to come. Planning for their future was the only thing keeping her sane. She just needed to make some wise choices. Find some answers.
Shae groaned. Who was she kidding? All of this together was only a temporary fix. She needed a big raise, a reliable source of income that could pay her grandmother’s expense. If Coretta didn’t get well enough to come home, a three thousand dollar a month outlay would drain both their bank accounts in no time.
Absently, she pressed keys on the keyboard, not really looking at what was on the screen.
When she came to herself, she realized one of the fantasies she’d put to paper was staring her in the face. The words jumped out at her.
Seeing him touch himself excited her, his sex was thick and swollen. She felt her pussy dew with jealousy. “I want to watch you. Hold on.” She jumped up and moved a free-standing mirror, so they could see their reflection.” Once it was arranged to her satisfaction, she was back in the bed and in the position he’d requested.
“Perfect.” Trent gripped her hips, drawing her back until her bottom nestled against his groin. “Fuck, I want you.” He felt invigorated, a rush of urgent, white-hot lust coursing through his veins.
Guilt flooded Shae. If anyone knew she wrote this stuff – imagined this stuff – she’d be run out of town on a rail. Coretta would die if she ever saw these stories and if she was already dead, the persnickety little old lady would roll over in her grave.
“What if?” Shae groaned. What if she were being punished? What if the preacher was right about paying for sin and Coretta’s stroke was a direct result of this selfish pleasure?
“No. Stop it.” She slammed the lid down. “I’m not hurting anybody.” Pacing across the room, she stared out the window at the traffic moving down the street. “You’re such a loser, Shae. God!”
Feeling hopeless, she went to lie down on the couch. “I should sleep.” Several days had passed when she just couldn’t rest. Worry would do that to a person. She kept imagining hopeless scenarios of going bankrupt and Coretta being carried to the poor house. “Is that a thing?” she asked herself. “The poor house? Arg!” Grabbing a pillow, she held it over her face. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even dream. “What am I going to do?”
For a long time, she laid there, trying to find an answer. What could she do to earn money? Deep East Texas was a poor area, jobs didn’t pay well. Maybe she could give piano lessons, but at ten dollars an hour, she’d have to teach hundreds of lessons a week – which was impossible. “Oh, this is stupid. What else can you do?” She went back to her computer and sat down.
“Online gambling?” She opened the lid. “No, I’m not that lucky.”
“Marry a rich man?” Perhaps, she should go on some dating site that matched up old rich men with younger women. The thought made her laugh. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Nope, she wasn’t pretty enough to snag any kind of guy – much less a rich one.
“Phone sales?” She made a fist and banged it on the table top. “Who am I kidding? I can’t ask people for a piece of gum, much less for them to buy something from me.”
Tapping keys on the laptop, she came to her kindle app. “Dang, a preorder hit. I’ll have to quit buying books, just start looking for giveaways, I guess.” Reading was as much of a guilty pleasure as making up her own stories.
Sh
ae preferred a particular kind of romance, where the characters faced challenges they didn’t think could be overcome. Being able to immerse herself in a story when she could emotionally step into the shoes of the heroine was important. Shae wanted the book to make her laugh at times, cry at others, and she wanted the sex to be hot enough she didn’t miss having a guy of her own. “Tall order and something else my grandmother wouldn’t approve of, for sure.”
When she couldn’t find a book fitting her criteria, sometimes Shae would just make up her own stories. After all, she fantasized all the time, might as well write them down so she could read them later.
Lately, she’d taken to following a few of her favorite authors on Facebook, even attending some of the online parties and chatting with them. To her surprise, they were just people, nice people. “Just imagine making a living doing something so much fun. Making up stories that make other people happy. I wonder how much money they make?” She knew writing wasn’t easy. Once, she read something that said only a small percentage of writers actually make enough to live on. There were those who made it big, she knew, but they were few and far between. Still…she knew some did okay. Not become a millionaire…but maybe make enough to help pay their grandmother’s nursing home fees?
“Whoa.” She got up and started pacing across the floor.
“What if?”
Was she brave enough? Were her stories good enough?
“Well, I like them.” She’d read enough books to know what was expected in terms of length and flow.
“How would I go about it?” Shae returned to her chair and began typing in the browser. “How to get published.” When a zillion links came up, she widened her eyes. Traditional publishing. Indie publishing. “Hmmm.” She tried to remember some of the comments the authors had made in the Facebook party, answers to questions their fans asked. “I wonder if the page is still up.” She got into her FB account and did a search for the page. “Here it is.” Quickly scanning down, she found what she’d been looking for.
One of her favorite authors, Desi Holder, was an indie, as they called it. Reading the answers, she made note how the woman published her work on Amazon in an ebook format. Desi contracted out her covers, hired an editor, and put her own stuff up for sale.
Could she do the same?
Chills ran over Shae’s body as she thought about the possibilities. She pulled up her files and realized there were several manuscripts she could possibly rework. “I could add a little history, maybe some paranormal touches, a bit of local lore. Some family anecdotes.” She wiggled in her seat. “But are they good enough?”
Could she judge her own work?
Shae racked her brain to think of anybody she could trust to read one and tell her the truth. After several minutes of pondering, she reached the only possible conclusion. “Cathy.” She was the only person Shae felt she could trust with something so potentially disastrous. “She reads Harlequins, I know that. Plus, she’ll keep my secret and tell me if my work is anywhere close to being good enough to publish.”
Feeling a bit exhilarated at having a plan, she pulled up one of her manuscripts. “Okay, I’ll read over it with a critical eye.” Should she clean it up? “But sex sells.” At least, that’s what she’d always heard. She knew she didn’t buy books just for the sex, she wanted them to have a plot. One of the most enjoyable things about reading was how attached to the character she became. “Okay, I’ll go over this one with those things in mind and see what Cathy says when she reads it.”
The first one she chose to analyze for its possibilities was about a woman who’d been abused and the cowboy who showed her she was worthy of love. This one was pretty hot, but she felt there was some meat there also, a plot able to keep someone interested.
Maybe.
Taking a deep breath, she went to work.
* * *
A month later
“This area is so depressed.” She set a cup of coffee before Cathy, who’d stopped over at Shae’s request. “Coretta’s house hasn’t received even one nibble.”
Cathy looked around. “I don’t know why, this is a grand old house. Could you just keep it?”
Shae shook her head. “I need the proceeds to pay for the nursing home fees. I gave up the apartment to stay here until it sells, then I’ll buy a smaller home and fix it up for us both.”
“She’s improving, isn’t she?” Cathy asked as she sipped the coffee and nibbled on a store-bought ginger snap from the platter Shae had placed in front of her.
“Yes and no.” Shae puttered around the kitchen, nervous about what she intended to do next.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s regaining movement, but her right side is still partially paralyzed. Feeding herself still isn’t something she can do, but she can sit up and watch television.”
“That’s good.” Cathy tried to sound hopeful, wanting to put the best spin on things. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes. She hasn’t regained her speech yet, but she does recognize me, I can see it in her face.” Shae folded her hands and laid them on the table in front of her. She noticed they were shaking imperceptibly. “Cathy?”
“What?” Cathy froze, hearing an underlying tone in Shae’s voice that worried her. “What’s wrong?”
Shae let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Here goes nothing. “I need to ask you something, a favor.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Her friend’s supportive expression gave Shae the courage to explain. “I can’t take care of Coretta with the money we have, not even with the sale of her house.”
“What do you mean? Doesn’t the government step in and pay the extra?”
Shae nodded. “After every asset is exhausted, yes. Even then, the quality of care is not up to par and there’s no provision for the type of rehab she needs.”
“Awww, honey. I’m sorry, but what can you do?”
“I don’t know, Cathy, but I have to try.” She hugged herself tight. “I have to tell you something that’s going to shock you, a way I’ve decided I can make some money. Maybe.”
Cathy’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna knock off a bank and you need me to drive the getaway car.”
“No, I’m not robbing anything.”
She reached out and grabbed Shae’s hand. “You’re gonna be a lady of the evening.”
“No.”
“You’re going to strip?” Cathy tried again, her smile teasing.
Shae wilted with disbelieving laughter. “No…but close.”
“Close? Oh, my goodness. What in the Hades are you talking about?”
Shae took a deep breath, then reached into the empty dining room chair next to her and picked up a folder. Holding Cathy’s eyes, she placed it slowly in front of her.
“What’s this?” She picked up the open edge and thumbed the pages. “It’s thick.”
“Three hundred pages.” Biting her lower lip, she closed her eyes and confessed, “It’s a book I’ve written.”
“A book?! Are you kidding me? I didn’t know you had any notion to write.” Cathy flipped the folder open and Shae shot her hand out and held it closed.
“Hold on. I need to prepare you.” Cathy tugged on the front of the folder, but Shae held it tight. “I’ve come up with a lot of stories. You know I daydream a lot.”
“Is it a romance? I like to read Harlequins.” Cathy grinned, her eyebrows raised.
“Yes, it’s a romance, just a love story.”
“Oh, I bet you wrote one for their inspirational line.” She looked certain of her knowledge. “You’d be good at that, Miss Church Mouse.”
Shae bent her head and rested it on the table. “No, it’s not an inspirational.”
“Let me see.” Cathy tore the folder from Shae’s grasp, flipped it open to a random page and scanned a few lines. “Oh, my God! They’re having S-E-X!”
* * *
Derek
“Come on, Blair, let it go.” Derek threw an empty cola can in the garbage. �
�You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.” He turned just in time to see his wife hurl a Waterford crystal glass across the room, barely giving him time to duck out of the way before it cracked his skull open. “What the hell?”
“You cheated on me!”
“No.” He moved toward her. “I did not cheat on you. I’m not sure why Cheryl is lying to you, but she is definitely lying.” Derek moved into her space, holding a finger out to make a point. “I did not have sex with that woman.”
“You sound like one of your favorite past presidents. And for the record, you’re not having sex with me!” She threw the words in his face.
“And whose fault is that?” he challenged her. “I’ve begged you for sex. You don’t want me.”
Blair stared at him coldly. “No, I don’t want you. You’re not the man I thought you were.”
Derek looked around at the house he’d built with his own two hands. “I don’t know what you want. I’ve given you everything I have.”
“Well, your everything isn’t good enough for me,” Blair snarled. “Not anymore.”
Derek glared at his beautiful wife. “You’re cold, cold as ice.”
“Daddy!” June called from upstairs. “Dad-dee, I need you!”
As he turned to go to his daughter, Blair grabbed his arm, her long nails scratching his skin where she grasped him. “I want you out of here.”
“What? This is our home.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What you’re angry about didn’t even happen.”
“I want you out of here,” she repeated in an even, icy tone.
“Dad-dee!” June wailed, her voice coming closer as she came down the stairs.
“Let’s not do this now, not in front of our daughter.”
Blair lifted her head and sneered at her husband. “She’s not your daughter.”
Derek couldn’t believe his ears. “Of course, she is.” June was his child. His world.
“I want you out of here. I want a divorce.” She got right in his face. “I’ll take everything you have.”
