The Carolyn Chronicles, Volume 1
Page 35
“Mom—can you please make her stop!?” came the predictable plea from my oldest, Brooke, her whine rising above the earsplitting sound of the guitar.
I shut off the video. My morning had officially begun.
I pushed off the couch and slowly made my way to the stairwell. I shouted up, “Anybody playing a musical instrument of any sort will not be getting any pancakes.”
The guitar solo ceased, and Kelly’s small voice asked, “Will they be blueberry?”
“It’s a surprise—you’ll have to come down and see,” I replied. We’re usually a cereal and toast family, but this was a big day in their mom’s life, and any big day deserves pancakes, right?
Ten minutes later, the Little Macs appeared—showered, smelling good, and wearing their adorable plaid skirt and sweater school uniforms. I wanted to squish them with a hug, but Brooke had recently informed me that they were no longer “cool with that.”
Brooke had shot up in height this year, requiring her to have her uniform upgraded two sizes, which was not terribly surprising with her father being six-foot-six. Kelly had received Kirk’s curly hair and strong jaw line in the DNA transfer, but was still waiting on that growth spurt. The girls were not conjoined twins like their Aunt Chris and me—they’re more along the lines of Irish twins. Brooke is eight, while Kelly will be turning seven next month.
They took a seat at the kitchen table, and Brooke performed her morning ritual—a much quieter one—of checking the results of her father’s most recent game on the laptop.
Kelly stretched a yawn. “Thank God it’s Friday,” she announced, as if second grade was such a grind.
“Don’t you think you have better things to thank God for than that?” I asked, completing the first batch and sliding plates in front of the girls.
“Oh yeah—I should thank him mostly for pancakes.”
That’s my girl.
A quizzical look spread over Brooke’s face, as she remained focused on the computer screen. “They won, but Dad’s name isn’t mentioned again,” she said.
I didn’t want to let her in on the secret that her father’s temper and general hardheadedness often resulted in run-ins with coaches and management, leading to suspensions, and eventually firings. Which explained why he’d been on five teams in seven years, from France to Italy to Spain, and this year Turkey.
I went with, “I spoke to him the other day. He mentioned that he’d sprained his ankle and might have to sit out a couple weeks until it heals.”
Brooke had never been the gullible type, but she seemed to buy my answer. And for all I knew, it could be true—I hadn’t spoken to Kirk in over three weeks. But that was neither here nor there; as there were much more important items on the agenda right now—pancakes!
After making quick work of breakfast, we headed out into the brisk March morning. We piled into my Honda Pilot, and drove off toward another day in the life of Eliza Dunbar … even though I knew today wasn’t just another day.
To continue reading Conjoined can purchase at all major online booksellers
Acknowledgments
The Carolyn Chronicles is the follow-up to my first published book Painless. There have been ten others in between. It’s been an amazing journey since that first book, and so many people helped along the way. The family friends who not only have supported me, but have continued to push me on, and still do. And those really special people who are willing to tell you the truth, even if it isn’t always pretty. The many people who used to read my bulky, overwritten, error-filled manuscripts, providing advice and encouragement. And all of those who have offered up themselves for my research, from lawyers to pilots, to those who deal with the same painless disorder Carolyn has.
Most of the books have been edited by the great Charlotte Brown, who had read Painless, and took the time to write to tell me how much she enjoyed the story ... and also that she found its editing to be an unmitigated disaster. And she was willing to back up her words, and we formed a great partnership, which has taken the books to a higher level, bringing something more to each one. Carl Graves has done most of the great covers. He’s always willing to go that extra mile for me despite his busy schedule and no detail is too small. Sandra Simpson was also a reader of my books who later became my main proofreader. She has the unenviable task of hunting down and fixing my many errors—no easy task—and does so brilliantly. Curt Ciccone, among many things, has been my technology guru and ebook formatter—the most underrated job in the industry these days—seamlessly converting the books into the many different formats. Cheryl Perez who’s the one who turned the electronic version into traditional paperbacks and hardcovers. And going way back, there was Christina Wickson, who used to type my handwritten stories, somehow able to read my handwriting. Not only are they great at what they do, but they are invested in the books, believing in them, and true partners in their final outcome.
Until next time ...