Before the accident, Alice was incapable of making a long-term commitment to love only women, let alone me; and, even though her last intention was to finally make the commitment I so desperately sought from her, I know now, because of the inevitable explosion in her head, we were doomed from the start. Although I have no doubt her final desire to commit to me only was sincere, I have lingering doubts as to her ability to keep that resolve with or without the ticking time bomb. Regretfully, with her tragic and premature death, I’ll never know the answer to those doubts.
What is certain, however, is that her life was destined to be short and that our good times together, however abbreviated, will always be precious to me. I believe in Fate, now more than ever, and I believe with all my heart that without Alice, I might never have found Eve. Amazingly enough, Eve is the woman I always thought Alice was and wanted her to be—and whom I sought in every relationship after her. Luckily for me, Eve is so much more than I ever hoped Alice or any other woman could be.
It amazes me now when I look back on my seventeen years of hell—the years since Alice died and the year following the loss of my parents—and I realize that a small misunderstanding, a psychological mistake on my part, a mental glitch, if you will, caused me to live nearly my whole adult life in pain from deeply repressed guilt. Though it was guilt I did not deserve to carry, nevertheless, I did.
I will never forgive myself for putting my own life in danger, and subsequently Alice’s, by thinking I could merely drink my pain away, but I was young and it was a hard lesson I will never forget. Now that I know there was nothing I could have done to prevent Alice’s death, I am resigned to Fate’s plan—I accept whatever my future holds for me and cherish the time we had together. But still, Fate is a curious creature, taking one sister from me so that I might eventually find supreme and unfettered happiness with the other.
Fate also had a plan for my parents that I realize now was not to punish me, but perhaps to help me. Before reading my father’s letter, I firmly believed my parents lived only for each other, despite their claims to the contrary, and that they died together was only fitting. I also believed I would never have found that place with them I so desperately sought—that no matter what their perceptions were, mine was that I was an outsider, from the day I arrived on earth, and would remain so until the end. I had always hoped our dynamics would change at some point in our lives, but there wasn’t enough time. Unhappily, I must live with knowing I was wrong; but somehow, I believe it’s better this way, with them gone.
I miss them, the “them” I remember from my early childhood, but I can feel relatively certain, with the assumption that my memories are of people who existed more in my imagination than in real life, that I would never get them back—ever. Not the “them” I wanted, even if we did manage to reconcile our differences. The chasm between us was too wide, I believe, to achieve the ultimate closeness the three of us desired, though our desires were clearly and tragically independent of each other. I still mourn my loss, but it’s a loss that began long before they were killed. At least now I have my father’s handwritten letter to comfort me and let me know they never stopped loving me, and that they were merely victims of their own ineptness as parents and communicators.
There is still the issue of their massive wealth to contend with and the mixed feelings I have about it, but I have attempted to make peace with my angst without insulting their memory, my father’s hard work nor that of my family. As a result, I have chosen to distribute portions of my inherited estate by various means, including giving certain companies to the respective employees, donating various homes to my favorite charities and selling shares of stock I find personally offensive. I am not left destitute by any means, as I apparently am still worth millions—according to my numerous, yet former accountants—but my wealth is more manageable and less daunting for me to comprehend and handle. More importantly, I no longer have such a deep resentment toward it.
My father and my family worked hard to build this economic empire, and as a result, thousands of people all around the world are gainfully employed. The revenues from those endeavors have financed numerous charities, as well as hospitals, clinics and educational programs all over the globe. I no longer resent something that has done and continues to do so much good for so many in need.
I’ve also made peace and amends with the wonderful women in my life I managed to hurt through the years with my guilt and obsession with Alice.
Deirdre graciously accepted my offer to send her to the Betty Ford Center for her all-consuming cocaine addiction. With Mona’s emotional support throughout the whole treatment, Deirdre graduated this month—clean and sober. Camille remains my rock and I have promised to make up my indiscretions with her by writing material fantastic enough to get us a multi-million dollar, multi-picture deal with DreamWorks, the new Spielberg-Katzenberg-Geffen studio. It would be just as easy, or more so, for me to just give her the money, but I understand her needs and they are quite similar to mine: It’s not what you’re given that counts, it’s what you earn—the true key to happiness. Finally, though Eve so clearly and so unselfishly sacrificed her career to save my life, unbeknownst to her, her decision was ultimately safe from consequence because of my long-time relationship with Francine Carter and Riley Landau, the producer and director of the film from which she walked out. Francine and Riley have recently signed to produce Eve’s first feature film, Days Gone By, which she will begin directing early next year.
And were it not for a brave man and his dilapidated little boat, this story might have ended quite differently. Captain John Patrick “J.P.” Campbell is now The Captain—for life if he so chooses—and completely in charge of The Katie Mac where he happily resides. Initially, he was offered the yacht and complete maintenance and a crew for life, but how it is now was his decision. He is an honest, good-hearted man, and a wonderful captain and friend. I owe him my life and will always be indebted to his bravery.
So now it’s been a little over six months since I began my odyssey of self-assessment, and although I don’t profess to understand everything about my life, nor my past, and readily admit certain perceptions of my existence were perhaps distorted from time to time due to my young age or my tender psyche, I know I am finally on this side of hell for the first time in a long time. I can now resume my journey through life, a full and happy life that now continues with Eve at my side—my wonderful, loving Eve—and a whole world to explore.
After prematurely losing my parents and eventually adjusting to that reality—as much as one can—I no longer feel like an orphan. Through my gut-wrenching journey of self-discovery, I learned a startling lesson about us and came to an important realization: though my parents may not be alive on this planet, visible in three-dimensions, they and their love for me are still alive—in me. In my heart and my memories, and as long as I live, Mother and Papá will never die, because I am Mary-Mackenna Martín, their only child.
Through it all, I’ve come to the conclusion that love doesn’t arrive when you think you want it, as you believe it will, or hope it will. It comes as it comes, and to deny it, or to demand it be something other than it is, is to lose it. It is my utmost desire to remember that lesson well, because love is simply too precious to squander or take for granted. Love really does conquer all.
Not Quite The End
* * *
From the Author
Dear Reader:
Thank you so much for reading my eBook, Mackenna on the Edge. For those of you who have also read The Incredible Transformations of Alice Hollywood, you must now know “Mackenna” is somewhat of a pre/sequel mashup to it, though “Mackenna” can surely stand on its own. I do hope you enjoyed it. Coming up in the next in early 2016 of this as of yet unfinished and untitled saga, will be “Prairie Fire.” It will feature our dear friends Mackenna and Eve, Dot Baverstock, as well as a few ones. It’s currently in the final edit stage, and I can tell you right now, I love it. The story unfolded in the mo
st delightful way, and surprised me almost daily with what transpired. Will it be a final chapter? Not even close. Until then, stay tuned!
Until we meet again,
Djuna Shellam
P.S. You can now find me on Facebook.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Mackenna on the Edge
Magnhild Press, Magnhild.com
Cover Art & Design by JL Magnhild
Cover Copyright 2013 Djuna Shellam
Editors:
Patricia Rushing
XeriphaMae Jones
~~~~~~~~~~~
Coming Soon
PRAIRIE FIRE by Djuna Shellam
Angry, debilitated and depressed, Em would rather just give up and die than walk again, but Dot Baverstock has other plans for her. Enter Prairie Vaughn, aka 'Wonder Woman.'
In the third installment of this series, we meet Prairie, the red–headed spit fire physical therapist who takes on the monumental task of bringing an unwilling Em back to life.
The story takes place in 1976 through 1978 in Highland Park, California, shortly after the fiery crash that changed so many lives; as well as in Bel Air and Palm Springs, California, in 1996, continuing on where Mackenna on the Edge left off with Em and Eve.
Back again is the fan favorite, Dot Baverstock, and a new addition, her son Waverly. Also joining the cast of characters are Fiona McIntyre, who creates an interesting and lasting connection between Em and Prairie, and Prairie's Highland Park roommates, Gwen, Barbie, Macie and Chip.
Secrets, drama, heartbreak and passion offer a similar page turning and satisfying experience readers have found in The Incredible Transformations of Alice Hollywood and Mackenna on the Edge. Djuna Shellam has once again created characters you will love to love, intertwined with an entertaining, and of course, addicting story.
Don't be surprised if you find yourself laughing out loud, spontaneously crying, and perhaps standing in the shower with the cold water on full blast. It's just how Djuna Shellam rolls.
Prairie Fire
A Novel by Djuna Shellam
Copyright 2016 Djuna Shellam
Magnhild Press
All Rights Reserved
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