The Color of a Silver Lining

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The Color of a Silver Lining Page 21

by Julianne MacLean


  “It’s so peaceful,” I said to Carter as we pushed the stroller over exposed tree roots on the forest floor. A squirrel darted across the path in front of us and raced up a tree trunk.

  At last we arrived at the playhouse. Carter opened the door, bent forward and entered the cozy, miniature Tudor cottage where he poked around for a few seconds before sticking his head out the door. “No leaks,” he said. “Dry as a bone in here.”

  “That’s good news.”

  During the summer, we had laid flat stones on the walkway next to the hostas out front, so the stroller was easy to maneuver. I parked it at the front door, set the brake, and reached inside for our newborn daughter, Penelope—who was one week old today. I had bundled her in a snug fleece blanket before we left the house.

  “Would you like to see your playhouse now?” I asked as I cradled her in my arms. Carter held the door open and I bent to pass through the child-sized entrance. I was able to stand upright once I was inside. “Here it is. What do you think? When you’re bigger, we can have tea parties in here.”

  Carter swept a hand over the white painted mantel to wipe away any dust. “The place looks good.” He gave the small rocking chair a gentle push with the toe of his boot.

  I shifted Penelope in my arms. “Remember how Sammy used to love to rock so fast in that thing, he’d practically bounce across the floor.”

  Carter laughed. “He was fearless, that’s for sure.”

  We heard the ticking tap of a woodpecker outside and stood quietly, looking around until Penelope began to fuss. “I think she’s hungry again.” I took a seat on the window bench and began to unbutton my blouse.

  Carter sat on the opposite window bench, watching me. “Do you know how beautiful you are? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. And somehow, you get prettier every day.”

  My eyes lifted and I smiled. “Maybe that’s because I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

  “I’m happy, too.”

  While he looked at me with tenderness and love, the little chair slowly stopped rocking and a luminous ray of sunshine entered the playhouse through the window over my shoulder.

  * * *

  Later, after we’d returned to the main house and I’d settled Penelope in her bassinet, I found Carter in the kitchen, scooping pistachio ice cream into two bowls.

  “Yum.” I moved closer to kiss him on the cheek.

  The doorbell rang just then, and he looked at me. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No.”

  He set down the plastic scoop, and while he left the kitchen to answer it, I continued filling the second bowl. Just as I was placing the carton back in the freezer, Carter returned with a large package.

  “This came by courier. It’s addressed to both of us, but you should probably be the one to open it.”

  He set the box on the counter and fetched the scissors out of the junk drawer. I read the return address on the label.

  “It’s from Luke.” I met Carter’s gaze with a look of surprise and uncertainty.

  “Well,” he said, handing me the scissors. “Go ahead and open it. See what’s inside.”

  I sliced through the packing tape and pulled back the cardboard tabs. Under a double layer of plastic bubble wrap, I found a gift-wrapped box with a card. Sliding the pink envelope out from under the ribbon, I tore at the seal.

  “It says: ‘Congratulations on the little miracle that just came into your lives.’” I opened it and read the verse inside. “‘Don’t you just love new beginnings? Love Luke.’”

  My eyes filled with tears and Carter put his arm around me.

  “There’s a letter, too.” As I unfolded a sheet of stationery with a lengthy, handwritten message that began with Dear Emma, a picture fell to the floor. Carter bent to pick it up.

  “My goodness.” I took it in my hands. “She’s pregnant. How wonderful.”

  Although Luke and I had occasionally ‘liked’ each other’s Facebook posts, we had spoken only twice since the day I ended our relationship. The first time, I’d called his cell phone to let him know about the movers coming to clear out his garage.

  The second time happened a few weeks later after he emailed me to let me know he’d sold his house. He told me he was moving to the East Coast to be with the daughter he’d just found out about. Naturally, I was floored by this, so I called him.

  When we spoke on the phone, he explained who she was—the little girl who had gone to heaven—and I nearly fell over. He then described how he had learned about her: because he’d seen a picture of her and her mother on my laptop the day after I left him.

  For some unknown reason, I’d left that website page open on my computer constantly. I simply liked looking at it, and I was considering contacting the mother to try and talk to her about her daughter’s experience, but never found the courage. Then Luke stumbled upon it and recognized her as the woman he’d slept with many years ago. What were the odds?

  After I hung up, I became convinced that we’d all been fated to find each other in this miraculous way. Luke was destined to meet me, and I was destined to unwittingly lead him to his true family—although a part of me wonders if there was some kind of unconscious recognition of Louise on my part. I suppose I’ll never know for sure, but even Carter hasn’t tried to convince me that it was mere coincidence. Not after our experience with Maria, the psychic, and his dream about Sammy. These days, he believes anything is possible. Maybe angels or spirit guides whisper in our ears. Who knows?

  “Let’s open the gift before I read the letter,” I said, wanting to save the best for last.

  As I unwrapped the box, I found a darling little pink sleeper with a fairy and magic wand embroidered on the front. “How sweet. I love it.” There was also a pair of white leather baby shoes resembling the ones that belonged to Sammy—the ones I’d kept and had shown to Luke on the day Carter and I cleared out Sammy’s room.

  That room now belonged to Penelope, and the antique box Luke and I had purchased to hold these keepsakes resided on a shelf by the window.

  Leaving my ice cream on the counter, I moved to the kitchen table and sat down to read the letter.

  Dear Emma,

  Please find enclosed a gift for you and Carter and your new baby girl. Congratulations. I’m so happy for you both.

  It’s been a while since we spoke, but I occasionally check your Facebook page to see how you’re doing. I saw pictures of your renovations to the playhouse recently, and now I understand why you didn’t want to part with it. It’s amazing. I’m thinking about building something like that here.

  Bev and I are doing well. We were married last June and Louise was a flower girl. We now live in the home I purchased when I first moved here, and it’s in the same school zone for Louise, so it was an easy transition for her. And it’s only five minutes away from Bev’s sister, Claire, and her daughter Serena who is like a sister to Louise. The little girls are here all the time, playing together, and I’ve become good friends with Claire’s husband, Scott. It’s been good.

  I’m sure you can see from the photograph that Bev is expecting a child. She’s due to deliver in about three weeks and we are excited and looking forward to bringing our new baby home. Louise can’t wait to have a baby brother or sister.

  So I guess that’s all our news, but I wanted to write for another reason, too.

  I hope you know that I wish you and Carter the best, and I harbor no ill will toward you. I now believe that you and I were meant to spend that brief time together so that we could discover where we were truly meant to be. It might have been painful at the time, and I’m sorry if I seemed angry. I was, at first. But they say every cloud has a silver lining. I think we’ve both found that to be true, and I’m grateful for it.

  Take care of yourself and your family.

  Best wishes,

  Luke

  Tears filled my eyes again, and I looked up to see Carter pulling more bubble wrap out of the box. “There’s something
else in here,” he said.

  Feeling too choked up to speak, I rose from my chair and approached him.

  He withdrew a flat object wrapped in plain brown paper.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He removed the paper and held up a stunning impressionist-style canvas painting of a green meadow with colorful wildflowers and snowcapped mountains in the distance. I could almost hear the wind rustling through the grass. There were children playing, birds and butterflies, and an incredible sky with spectacular clouds and glowing rays of light. Everything was so beautiful, I nearly lost my breath. A tear of joy rolled down my cheek.

  “This is unbelievable,” Carter said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Me neither.” He passed it to me and I looked at the artist’s signature. I ran the tip of my finger over the name. “It says Louise.”

  Carter’s wide eyes met mine. “Isn’t that Luke’s daughter? But she’s only what…six years old? How could she have painted this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He turned the canvas over and there was a small card tucked into the wood frame. I pulled it out and recognized Luke’s handwriting.

  This is how Louise saw heaven. Please take comfort in the knowledge that it’s a place of beauty, and Sammy is safe and happy in loving arms.

  I turned to Carter and we smiled at each other. Then he took me into his embrace and all seemed right with the world.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for taking the time to read THE COLOR OF A SILVER LINING. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Some books are easier than others, and this one was pure bliss the entire way through. I loved writing about these characters and I found myself not wanting to type The End.

  If you’re interested in reading about Bev’s sister Claire, and learning how she found happiness with Scott, you can find their emotional story in THE COLOR OF A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE, which is available now. Bev is a significant character in that novel as well.

  For those of you who have been following this series from start to finish, I promise this isn’t the end. I still want to write more Color of Heaven novels, and I plan to start another soon. I don’t have any info to share with you yet regarding a title or release date, so if you’d like to know when the next one will be available, please sign up for my mailing list and I’ll send you an email when I know more.

  In the meantime, I am working on a standalone novel, and I’ve included the first three chapters on the following pages. This isn’t part of my Color of Heaven series, but it’s a similar type of story—women’s fiction with an uplifting ending that I hope will leave you feeling happy and satisfied.

  The working title for this novel is FEAR OF FALLING, but that may change in the coming weeks, and I don’t have cover art to show you yet, so again, if you want to know when it’s coming out, please sign up for my mailing list. Or you can follow me on Bookbub, where you’ll receive new release emails as well as an alert whenever one of my backlist titles goes on sale for 99 cents.

  Read on for more information about the Color of Heaven Series, as well as a complete booklist which includes my historical romances. Most of my historical novels have love scenes (especially the Highlander romances!), but ADAM’S PROMISE is a sweet romance. That one holds a special place in my heart as it’s set in Colonial Nova Scotia and was inspired by true events. I loved doing all the research about an area so close to my home. That novel was a Romance Writers of America Rita finalist for Best Short Historical Romance in 2003. I hope you’ll check it out.

  Lastly, I invite you to visit my website for all the latest news, and while you’re there, be sure to enter my monthly giveaway where one lucky winner receives an autographed print edition of one of my backlist titles.

  I guess that’s all for now. As always, Happy Reading!

  Sincerely,

  Julianne

  Coming Soon

  Fear of Falling

  by Julianne MacLean

  How easy is it to forgive the man you love when he has destroyed everything you ever held dear?

  Successful surgeon Abbie MacIntyre is living a picture-perfect life with her handsome cardiologist husband and bright teenage son, until on a cold winter’s night, she is run off the road by a drunk driver. After being pulled from the wreck, she is rushed to the local hospital, where shocking details about the other driver lead her down a path of troubling and unexpected discoveries. Soon, she learns that her husband has been keeping secrets from her, and her perfect marriage is not so perfect after all.

  In the aftermath of the accident, nightmares haunt her to the point where she begins to question her own grip on reality. Is she merely traumatized, or is something medically wrong with her? And how can she possibly move forward when she can’t even accept what her life has become?

  Devastated by all that she lost on the night of the accident, and wounded by a betrayal she never saw coming, Abbie must find a way to move forward through her grief, put her shattered life back together, and learn not only how to forgive, but how to eventually trust in love again.

  From the USA Today bestselling author of The Color of Heaven Series comes another emotionally gripping tale about love, loss and one woman’s strength to come to terms with a future very different from the one she imagined.

  Excerpt from FEAR OF FALLING

  ©Julianne MacLean 2017

  Chapter One

  Intuition is a funny thing. Sometimes it’s a gut feeling, and you look around and just know something bad is about to happen. Other times, it’s elusive, and later you find yourself looking back on certain events and wondering why in the world you missed all the signals.

  Tonight, I am on my way home to Halifax after Sunday dinner with my mother. As I turn the key in the ignition and shift into reverse, she comes running out her front door, waving her hand through the air.

  “Wait! Abbie! Wait!”

  It’s dark and foggy outside, but the porch lights give her kinky silver hair a luminous sheen. I see a look of panic on her face and my hands clench around the steering wheel. I wish she’d slow down instead of descending the concrete steps as if the house were burning down behind her.

  Be careful, Mom…

  While she dashes down the driveway, I shift into park and lower the car window.

  My golden retriever, Winston, rises in the back seat and wags his tail. Mom reaches us and passes an enormous Tupperware container through the open window. It’s full of leftovers from the chicken dinner she just cooked for me—enough to carry us through the next two days. A much-appreciated gift.

  “You forgot this,” she says, out of breath.

  I reach out with both hands, take it from her, and set it on the passenger seat beside me. Winston sniffs and paws my shoulder, wanting to know what’s under the blue plastic lid. I give him a pat on his silky head.

  “Settle down, mister. This isn’t for you.” Then I turn to smile at my mom who is bent forward, her arms folded across her chest to keep warm because it’s late November and getting colder by the second.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say. “The guys would never forgive me if I came home empty-handed.”

  By “guys,” I am referring to my husband Alan—a cardiologist I’ve been married to for nineteen years—and my seventeen-year-old son Zack, who stayed behind this afternoon because he had hockey practice and a game tonight.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take some of that pie with you?” Mom asks, speaking to me through the open window and trying not to shiver.

  I know it’s not a conscious thing, but it’s obvious that she wants to keep me here a little longer. She’s never enjoyed being home alone in that big empty house—especially on cold, dark nights like this. You would think, after twenty years of widowhood, she’d be ready to downsize, but I can’t fault her for anything. I love her too much. It’s why I drive over an hour from the city every Sunday afternoon to spend time with her in the house where I grew up.

  �
��No thanks,” I reply. “Alan’s trying to cut calories again.”

  Truthfully, he isn’t, but I don’t have time to wait because I’m hoping to make it back to the city in time for Zack’s game. Then I have an early morning case in the OR—a gallbladder surgery scheduled for eight.

  Mom gives my hand a squeeze. “Okay, dear. Wish our boy luck on the ice tonight, and say hi to Alan for me. Tell them I missed them today. And please drive safely.”

  “I will. Now get back inside, Mom. It’s freezing out here.”

  She nods and hurries back up the stairs, while I feel that familiar twinge of guilt about leaving her alone. I tell myself not to worry. She’s independent and self-sufficient, and I know she’ll be fine as soon as she turns on the television and gets caught up in a smart documentary or a Charlie Rose interview.

  Winston turns in circles on the back seat, then finally settles down to sleep for the next hour. That he’ll rest helps me relax and focus on getting home. I shift into reverse and back out of the driveway.

  * * *

  Despite the heavy fog, the roads are dry as I make my way out of my beloved hometown. Lunenburg is a picturesque fishing and shipbuilding community, also a bourgeoning center for the arts, and it’s designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site to preserve its historic architecture. As you’d expect, it has a robust tourism trade in the summer. As I pass by the brightly lit restaurants along the waterfront, I can’t help but glance wistfully at the sparkling reflection of the moon on the harbor that is casting undulating shadows from a tall ship’s masts over the dockyard.

  I feel a twinge of sadness and I’m not sure why. Something just feels off. Maybe it’s because Mom seems so much older these past few months. She never used to refer to herself as a “senior citizen,” not even when she turned sixty-five, but lately she’s been making jokes about it, saying things like “Old age ain’t for sissies!” and “If only I could remember what it is I’m forgetting to remember.” Today, when she couldn’t figure out how to get the messages off her phone, she said, “Look out nursing home. Here I come.”

 

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