Guest Author Steven Spears of Shediac, New Brunswick.

Poetry and Stories by Steve S.

That’s the heading when you visit Steve’s Facebook page where you will find lots of interesting material about Steve and his books. He has kindly agreed to be our guest this week on the Scribbler, as well as share an excerpt of his writing.

Steven Spears is a 49 year old Forester and Biologist, who spends his evenings writing and trying to figure out his head. He is still trying.  He is a pagan, who investigates and studies his faith by writing. His poetry takes a look at different aspects of being pagan and what its like to be pagan in today’s society. He also writes erotica, sensual, horror, fantasy and his own brand of fairy tales. He has two self published books “A Journey with the Lady” and “Under the Red Sheet”.






4Q: Let’s talk about Under the Red Sheets first – a collection of short stories and poems about tantalizing subjects.


SS: Under the Red Sheet started out as a collection of poems and stories, mostly around relationships and sex, but as time went on it grew into something else. Yes sex is still part of it, but the book itself goes through the cycle of flirting, dating, shyness, relationships, sex, and loss and breakup. The short stories are just another way to look at these subjects, and oh yes there is a fair amount of humor in there as well.






4Q: A Journey with the Lady has received some very pleasant reviews. What’s it about and what inspired this  story?




SS: A Journey with the Lady is my first book of poetry and prose and it deals with paganism. The poems in it look at how it is being a witch in today’s society, how it’s like to “come out of the broom closet”. It also has teaching poems, chants, and poems relating to ritual. Some of the poems have been used in Wiccan rituals. Also there are more fanciful poems, including a whole chapter of poems on a theme of humor, a poor gentleman who keeps bumping into supernatural creatures.  Journey was a way for me to explore and study my faith more closely, one in which I continue today.




4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.



SS: The past is the past, though it does tend to make us what we are, I do not try to dwell on it. Having said that it was not that my childhood was bad or horrible, it is behind me.  Though if there is one thing it would be this, when I was 11 days old it was found out that my esophagus was not fully formed. It took an immediate operation to correct the situation, and due to complications I nearly died three times in those two weeks that followed.





4Q: Where’s your favorite place to write and please share what gets your creative juices flowing.

SS: I am a bit weird when it comes to writing. I tend to write where ever I am or any time. Basically, it comes down to if something strikes me, I tend to write about it. I could be at home, work or on the road. I even have in meetings, wrote poems when something has come to mind. 





4Q: Anything else you’d like to add?

Photo credit: wiccanspells.info

SS: I would suppose it would be this that I write not just in one genre. I write poetry and short stories around paganism, erotica, sensual, horror, fairy tales, fantasy and general poetry. In a way they all revolve around the theme of paganism, that of life, fertility, imagination and death. 

An Excerpt from Under the Red Sheet

(Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)



One Last Dance

Out on the floor the young couples twirl,

Tonight is the night of the old barn dance,

To the young ones it is all for a chuckle or a giggle,

Not for all for old memories are again once alive.

He sits in the corner and watches the kids dance,

Old he is that is true but in his mind still young,

She is gone now having passed just last year.

Here he sits forgotten in a corner,

His kids, now adults with kids of their own have left him there,

But as he watches the couples dance he relives his time with her.

They would dance the night away in each others arms,

Remarked it was that they made such a perfect couple.

And in his mind he dances with her still and always will,

His love has gone and he knows he soon will join her,

But right now he sits and watches the youngsters.

His little granddaughter asks him to dance; smile at her he does,

But he must decline for his old legs will not let him anymore.

Instead he holds her and she rambles on about all she has seen this night.

Soon she is off again chasing her brothers and he is again left alone.

She is always with him; for he can feel her nearby like he always could,

So he watches and taps his foot to the music and relives the past,

Tapping with the beat his foot goes, but then his foot stops.

Later they find him sitting in the corner with a smile on his face,

Crying and sobbing they say oh why has he gone?

He has gone to join his love for one last dance.



By Steve S 08/09/2016







Thank you for being our guest this week Steve. For all you readers that would like to know more about Steve and his writing, please follow this link:



https://www.facebook.com/StevenSPaganWrite/

Guest Author Vanessa Hawkins of St. George, New Brunswick

“Vanessa Hawkins has quickly become one of my favourite authors. Her ability to weave plot lines is nothing short of remarkable, overshadowed only by the depth of her characters. This book is only the beginning of a long, prolific career.”

— Sean O’Gorman, author of Issues With Etiquette





How’s that for a splendid review? Our guest this week writes in the horror genre and has three books published. I was introduced to Vanessa at a recent writer’s group meeting in Fredericton where she joined us by phone. She has kindly agreed to a 4Q Interview and to share an excerpt from one of her chilling tales.

A life-long lover of horror, Vanessa wrote her first story in the genre when she was only in grade five. It was titled Mutilated and it warranted her a trip to the school guidance counsellor. A lifetime later, she continues to write about anything gruesome, terrifying, paranormal and erotic, though she has since found herself enthralled in the world of fantasy steampunk and realistic fiction.

4Q: I believe the first novel you published is Gloryhill.  Tell us about the novel and what inspired it. Is it part of a series?

VH: Gloryhill was inspired at the apex of the vampire craze. Really you could say it was a knee jerk reaction to all those glittery vampires who plodded around in superficial angst with pseudo undead problems looking for fresh human poon. Needless to say I wanted my monsters back. I created Gloryhill as a foil for all the vampire romances that was infiltrating the market back then. There was no lovey-dovey romance, instead it was a reflection of what it meant to be a monster. Turns out humans are just as good at being horrible douche-bags as supernatural blood suckers are.

Gloryhill is kind of a series? The second book The Sinister Portrait of Cherie Rose takes place in the same universe, but you don’t have to read the first book to follow along with the story. Mostly it’s good for locating some neat Easter eggs.  

4Q: Please tell us about your writing journey, when did it start and what do you love about it?

VH: I started writing at a young age, which is the clichéd response, I know, but for what it’s worth it’s true. My first real story I wrote was called Mutilated and as the bio describes, it prompted a visit to the elementary school counsellor. I guess they just wanted to make sure I was alright in the head. But really… is anyone?

I didn’t start to take writing seriously until much later. It had always been a dream of mine to see a book I made on the shelf, and so when I was fresh out of university I endeavored to make that happen. I love seeing the finished product—even if it’s eternally frustrating to pick out a spelling error after publication. With every new book that comes out with my name on the cover, I see a creative growth spurt, and it’s a great feeling of accomplishment to see all my work displayed on a bookcase. Kinda like when your mom displays every school picture of your life on the front foyer stairs and you get to see the development of your awkward years—bad hair, braces, and all—to your present self. Or… maybe that’s just my mom…

 I’m an only child.  

4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.

VH: When I was young I drove around a lot. Especially to and from school. I was actually one of the last kids off the bus, which sucked because I never got home until like four o’clock and then I had homework and supper and yadda yadda blech!

Anyway, on the long ride home I used to fantasize that a person was running alongside the bus, jumping over bushes, tight roping the powerlines. Sometimes they would be chasing other people, or being chased by monsters, and usually these characters were people from stories I had thought up in my head or read about.

How creative and weird I was, I thought! Until later on I realized that a lot of people do this. Now I figure that we’re all a little strange, so I don’t mind sharing my work with others, even if it’s a bit unconventional at times.

4Q: Most creative people have a “special spot” where they perform their magic. Tell us about yours.

VH: The best place for me to write is in bed, where I’m not too cold and there are pillows for the taking and all my stupid, beady-eyed stuffed animals are staring at me with cold indifference. I had a desk, a real nice one in an office with notebooks and post-it notes and fancy pencils. But for me inspiration comes with comfort. Although funny enough I always have to get ready to write like I’m getting dressed for work. If I don’t have some makeup splashed on and something nice to wear then I can’t seem to commit seriously. I guess I toe the line between professionalism and a sloth.

4Q: Tell us about your latest work.

VH: My latest work is a piece of realistic fiction that I’ve been pouring over for a while. It has to do with a child murderer and it takes place in my hometown of St. George, New Brunswick. Also child murderer… so I mean a child that is also a murderer. Words are hard, even for us writers...

Anyway, it’s been really fun to write but also one of the most difficult pieces for me because there are no paranormal elements that I can fall back on like I did before. For someone who writes fantasy, it can be a tad difficult to write something believable that adheres to actual laws and societal standards, but so far I’m pretty happy with how the story has progressed. A lot of ‘me’ has actually been written into the story, which I’ve never done before. Though I am not literally in any parts of the story. I’m not a child murderer… by which I mean a child who is also… ah you get it.  

An Excerpt from Alice in Horrorland

(Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)

Alice’s eyes widened. In the brier, stuck through the chest with a butcher knife, was a duckling, half hatched with a hat upon his head.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, placing the lantern on the path. The brier’s thorns: large, shining butcher knives, were bloody now as they stuck the bird who was half alive.

“Let us help you,” she said, moving towards it, unsure of how she could aid him.

But the duckling coughed, looking at Alice with eyes the color of pond scum.

“I am Nobody, fear me not. Death and torment, Nobody sought. Nobody remembers, Nobody knows, Nobody’s friends with Nobody’s foes.” Blood began to leak out the duckling’s bill. Alice reached forward to touch him, to perhaps help him from the brier, but the knives resisted, growing up around the duckling, turning their blades towards her and cracking his shell till it fell away.

“Nobody dies without a friend, Nobody truly loves the end.” The duckling smiled, and Alice found herself pulled away, back into the path as the knife pierced into the duckling’s belly, killing him.

“We could have helped him.” Alice cried, watching incredulously as the Caterpillar sighed, breathing out a peal of three bells.

“Nobody can help himself. Let’s go.”

Vanessa recently had one of her short stories published in Canadian Dreadful and the anthology is "flying off the shelves".

Thank you, Vanessa, for being our special guest this week.

For you readers that want to discover more about Vanessa and her writing, please follow this link:

https://www.facebook.com/vanessa.brown.587

One Bedroom Ark - Part 2 continued.

Welcome back to the Scribbler and the “rest of the story”. If you missed the beginning of this short story that was posted last Sunday, go HERE

“I know what you’re worried about. Eventually you’re going to have to let your parents see Anna. They’re suing you for visitation rights. You can’t keep them away forever, not matter what happened in the past. It’s time to let it all go Clair. You don’t have to have anything to do with them. I mean I agree with you, but they are her grandparents and they want to make it up. They admit they were wrong. The courts are going to allow it Clair; you remember what your lawyer said.”

Clair wasn’t thinking of that but it adds to the burden she already carries only this is a lot more serious. She resents her parents still, for telling her to leave when she told them she changed her mind and was keeping her baby. Anna’s father wouldn’t have anything to do with them. She was homeless and broke until Noah came to her rescue. It was almost a year before her parents found her but Noah sent them on their way with a tongue wagging that embarrassed everyone. The letters from her mother have been continuous but she throws them all away. The bitterness they cause is too much. Reluctantly, she has come to understand that Anna should be given a chance to know them.

“Well Noah, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about but I’ve decided that I’m going to tell the court they can see her, short times in the beginning to see how they treat her. But I don’t want any contact with them so I’m going to ask you a big favor. Will you be the liaison between them and Anna? I’ll okay it.”

She may as well have given him the new plasma TV he covets; she’s never seen such a happy face. He’s almost blubbering.

“Why, yes… yes, Clair. I’d be honored.”

“You’ll have to stop telling them off, alright?”

He answers with a laugh and agrees.

“Ok, then, what did you want to tell me.”

He sees the indecisiveness in her eyes.

“Bad news, isn’t it? C’mon Clair, what is it?”

Clair finishes her coffee and sits straighter, looking Noah in the eyes.

“I can’t get you a ticket to Anna’s kindergarten graduation next week. It’s parents only and because I’m not married, I can only get one. I’m sorry Noah.”

Noah dons a cheerless face and nods.

“Oh darn! I’m saddened but those are the rules, I guess. Maybe I’ll just crash the party, make a fool of myself, how about that?”

“Don’t you dare, you rascal.”

Noah holds up an open hand.

“Anything else?

Clair decides there’s no sense pussy-footing around the issue.

“I’m giving you my notice for the apartment. It’s just not big enough for us anymore, Noah. I hate to tell you because I know how attached you are to Anna but I’ll try and find something close by.”

Noah is rubbing his chin, the crease lines on his forehead read discontent. Clair lets the idea ferment before she says anything else. The only sounds are Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd arguing in the living room and Anna giggling. It’s a short while before Noah answers.

“I expected this someday but was hoping it wouldn’t be right now. You’re still going to manage the store?”

“Oh yes, I’m thankful for the work and I love the store. You know you can count on me.”

 Noah gets up and takes his cup and Clair’s to the sink to rinse out.  Clair watches him, waiting for a word of encouragement.

“Ok then. If you and Marsha are all right for the day, I’m going watch cartoons with Anna and I’ll mind her until… is it Jeff working the store tonight? ”

“Yes it is. I’m sorry Noah but you understand, don’t you.”

“Of course, of course I understand.”

Jeff Abernathy is in his last year of high school and saving his pay for community college where he wants to go to go after graduation to be an electrician, like his father. He is always early for work and greets Clair with his usual happy attitude. When he enters and says hi to Clair, she is studying something behind the cash and doesn’t respond. Jeff sees the frown on her face and notices the newspaper spread out on the counter in front of her.

“Hey there Clair, you looking for a new job? Hope not.”

“Hi Jeff. No not a job, an apartment for Anna and I. The one upstairs is too small. I’m flabbergasted at how high the rents are for a two bedroom apartment, I don’t know if I can afford one right now. I was hoping to buy a car soon and I have a good down payment saved up but it may have to wait.”

“Did you already give your notice to Noah?”

“Un-huh.”

“Bet he wasn’t too happy. He’s quite fond of that little girl of yours. And I know he thinks a lot of you. I’m sure he’s going to miss you.”

Clair closes the paper and folds it up, placing it under the counter. Glancing at the wall clock, she sees it’s almost time for supper and she must go take Anna off Noah’s hands. It’s Friday and Noah plays cards with several of his drinking buddies.

“Look Jeff, it’s a half hour earlier than your shift starts but do you mind going on the clock now so I can go make supper for Anna and me.”

Jeff places his backpack behind the counter.

“Sure, go ahead.”

Several customers come in and Clair makes her way upstairs to knock on Noah’s door. Hearing a voice to tell her to come in, she hears Anna tittering and wonders what’s going on. When she steps inside she puts her hands to her mouth and stares wide eyed at the two of them. Noah is wheeling a pushcart around the living room and Anna is standing on it. She has one of Noah’s old pale blue shirts on and it hangs to her knees, as well as a pair of Noah’s work boots that look like clown’s feet. Her hands are clad in a large pair of work gloves which are Noah’s also and she’s hanging on to the side rails of the pushcart which is tipped back on its two wheels. Noah is also clad in work gloves and an old hard hat and his old blue coveralls. They are laughing and stop suddenly when Clair enters. 

Almost as if on cue, Anna jumps off the dolly and turns her back to Clair. Noah swiftly stands at her side with his back to Clair as well. Scrawled on the backs of their respective garments, in black marker and wide childlike printing is Anna and Noah’s Moving Company. Clair relaxes, drops some stress. Everything will work out with the move. Momentarily she  forgets about the high cost of rents that was getting her down. She can’t help but start laughing.

“What are you two up to?”

The loose shirt furls around her like a flag  when Anna runs to her mother and hugs her legs.

“Momma, Noah and I have a surprise for you.”

“I’m surprised already but what is it?”

Anna looks back at Noah.

“Can I tell her?”

Noah has a smile a foot wide and nods his assent.

“Grampy Noah wants to trade houses with us.”

The word houses throws Clair off for a moment until she gets the full picture, he wants to trade apartments.

“You mean trade apartments?”

Both Noah and Anna are bobbing their heads. Noah adds in a bonus.

And the rent will stay the same because I know you’re saving for a car, and well… “

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. Everything goes blurry for her and she rushes to embrace Noah, slipping her arms around his thick chest and resting her head on his shoulder. In loving whispers she thanks him a dozen times. They’re startled by a little girl’s screech of delight. Anna is jumping up and down, the boots not moving under her. The gloves go flying from her waving hands.  Her chubby cheeks are pink and puffed up with the widest smile. Noah and Clair start laughing at her antics.  Soon Noah and Clair are jumping up and down in rhythm with their leader. The gaiety comes to a quick stop when the buzzer down stairs announces a visitor. Anna rushes out the hallway where the intercom is and jumps up on an old chair Noah has put there for her. Short index finger pushes the speak button. Her sweet voice could melt an iceberg.

“Grampy Noah’s house. I’m  Anna.”

The reply causes a delightful chuckle from the other end.

“Well Anna, I’m Joshua, and I’ve come to see Grampy Noah. He’s my Grampy too.”

Anna looks over at Noah who is coming down the hallway, his eyes shining. Clair one step behind, curious to see the visitor, she knows he just turned twenty-one so they’re the same age Noah showed her pictures of him. He reminds her of Rob Lowe, an actor she adores.  Noah nods to Anna and she pushes another button to release the door. Noah opens his apartment door and sees Joshua ascending the stairs. Anna and Clair are close behind on the landing separating the two apartments.

“Welcome young man, how wonderful to see you again. Your timing couldn’t be better. We need a strong arm for the next couple of days.”

“Good to see you too, Gramps.”

They do the fist bump, elbow rub. Same greeting they’ve been doing since Joshua was two. Then a bear hug from Noah. Noah is laughing like he won a prize and Joshua was also but goes quiet. Noah sets Joshua down and frowns at his silence until he sees where the young man is staring. Clair and Joshua are locked in orbit. Noah can almost see the vibes caroming back and forth. He studies the look in Clair’s eyes and for one blissful moment, remembers when he met his wife, Vanessa. Her eyes were dappled with the same desire. 

The End

Thanks for dropping by the Scribbler. Hope you enjoyed the story. I appreciate you taking the time to visit. Please feel free to leave a comment.

One Bedroom Ark - Part 2 by allan hudson

Like short stories?

 

 

 I do too. One of my favorites is The One Bedroom Ark, which has recently been published in my latest book – A Box of Memories – which is a compilation of short stories I’ve written over the years. I had the pleasure of reading this story at my recent book launch. It seemed like it was time to do a follow-up story and Part 2 was born.

 

 

** Please note that this is an unedited version and I would be happy to hear any comments.

 

The beginning is posted today. Watch for the second and last installment on Wednesday, July 3.

 

One Bedroom Ark – Part 2

(Copyright is held by the author)

 

 

Clair Callahan begins her day by counting the float. She’s running a little late and Coyne’s Confectionary always opens sharp at 8 a.m. The flashing of the crosswalk light on the corner causes her to look up. Her reflection in the store’s front window outlines her slender face, a loose strand falling on her forehead, the sharp nose and wide happy eyes of the faintest green, stare out at the busy street in front of the store. The pavement, wet and slick from a drizzling rain, shines yellow and black, yellow and black, until the warning light suddenly stops. She wonders if the person crossing the street might be coming this way – the first customer of the day.

The float balances. She shoves the cash drawer shut and grabs the Specials sign to prop it outside where it’s squatted for sixty-three years. She had to replace the chalkboard last summer much to Noah’s chagrin, said it was fine. When she first started working for Noah, she pestered him for new hinges, reminding him that it might fall over. Appealing to his sentimentality, she hinted that his father wouldn’t have liked that. Extending the board open until a chain holds it in a perfect triangle, she takes a piece of chalk from her jeans pocket and with sweeping curves and precise letters; she marks the day’s specials on both sides.

Welcome to Coyne’s

Bananas

$0.52 / lb.

New!

Fresh bread from Bonnie’s Bakery

Sliced and unsliced - $0.89 / loaf

 

She’s only wearing a short sleeved blouse, her favorite pink one, and the first of June is still cool. Rubbing her arms, she looks up and down the street, thinking she’s glad the drizzle has stopped and the sun is blinking on the horizon. There’s not as much traffic since the city built the bypass. She prefers it this way, safer for kids and business is still good. She likes the smell of wet asphalt the rain leaves behind. The couple that crossed the street are heading this way. She squints because she needs glasses for distances and recognizes the Barclays, Fred and Diana.

 

Since Clair convinced Noah to add a small breakfast nook, they come every morning for what they call their treats, as does Bobby Belliveau and the Gillespies. Coffees, tea for Joanne Gillespie, Bobby and Fred will each have a donut or a Vachon cake, Diana has toast and cigarettes, so slips out back a couple of times for a smoke. They chatter like myna birds on uppers. Bobby’s the joke teller and usually brings two or three so there’s always gaiety in the gathering. They stay for roughly an hour, eyeballing, and no doubt, criticizing the other patrons.

Normally Noah looks after the café but this morning, Marsha Kershaw, their part-time helper looks after it. A retired widow, she comes whenever they need her. Anna woke up with sweats and a high temperature this morning and Noah offered to look after her. He looks for every chance to be with her, spoils her rotten. Walks her to kindergarten and picks her up every day. Clair can’t imagine what she would’ve done without Noah. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to when Anna was a baby, Noah took her in, gave her a roof, gave her a job, gave Anna a home. Her heart is heavy this morning because she has to tell Noah that she needs to find another place to live because the one bedroom apartment is too small. She has other disappointing news for him and hates to tell him but knows she must.

The first lull in the store traffic comes around 10:30 and she straightens up the cash in the register, wipes the fingerprints off the glass on the counters, stocks the shelves with new product which came in yesterday. She can hear Marsha emptying the dishwasher; the pinging of the glassware pleases her. A calendar hangs on the narrow wall to the left of the cash register. Compliments of Eddy’s Service Station, it has a new picture of the Maritime Provinces every month. The Rocks at Hopewell Cape remind her that it’s not May anymore. In fact it’s the first Monday of the next month. She flips it over and clips it on a brad nail protruding from the wall. The white sand of Cavendish Beach in Prince Edward Island glows orange in a glorious sunset over New London Bay on the new page.1990 is looking good she thinks.

She glances up when she hears the ringing of the bell by the front door and sees Noah and Anna coming in. Anna is wearing her butterfly costume with the small wings sticking from the back. It’s her favorite dress and always gets Noah to dig it out for her. She can mostly dress herself now but needs help with the buttons. Noah is beaming as usual. Once inside she releases Noah’s hand and rushes to her mother.

“Hi Momma, Grampy Noah let me wear my butterfly dress today. He told me he would teach me to fly but I told him only birds and angels can fly. Isn’t that right Momma?”

Clair hugs her daughter, holding her tiny body close.  Noah has a big grin.

“Yes, that’s right honey. Don’t you believe everything Grampy Noah tells you. Are you feeling okay?”

Anna’s already focused on the lollipops and not listening. Her nose and hands on the glass front.

“She’s feeling much better now Clair. I gave her some scrambled eggs and orange juice, didn’t affect her appetite it seems. I don’t know where she tucks it all in.”

Anna turns to the two of them.

“Can I have a purple one Grampy Noah?”

Noah raises his brows at Clair who smiles and nods.

“Sure sweetie, c’mon in behind the counter with me and you can pick one out.”

Clair watches them. Noah takes out the glass jar full of colored sweetness and holds it while Anna digs in. She has to take out two or three and even though they are all the same, she makes an issue out of picking the right one. Anna’s short brown curls flounce around when she shakes her head or nods at Noah. She can’t help but marvel at the two of them, Noah with his gray wavy hair and gentle lines around his eyes, the darkest blue she’s ever seen.  A warm and gentle man, he’s still as handsome as ever. His grandchildren are young adults now and live so far away. She knows he misses his daughter and the two kids but travels to Vancouver every six months for a couple of weeks and always says that’s about as much as he can tolerate his boastful son-in-law. Clair has never met them but she will meet the grandson soon, he’s coming to spend a week with Noah. Her thoughts are interrupted by customers.  Noah, Anna and a purple sucker wave goodbye.

When Clair questions him with open hands, he says, “Going to the park on Dufferin Street, Anna wants to go on the swings. I’ll bring her back at lunch time.”

The customer is a regular, buys his smokes here often, and knows who Anna is and how much Noah dotes on her. Clair is shaking her head as she bags the purchases.

“I swear if Anna asked for a purple dragon, I think Noah would find one for her.”

 

At noon, Marsha takes over in the store so Clair can go eat. The café is self-serve for the rest of the day. Clair will keep the coffee fresh. To access the apartments, you have to go out of the store.  A door to the second level is on the far left of the building. The large windows of the store are separated by the main entrance, where the sandwich board is perched. When Clair comes out, she sees Noah and Anna at the crosswalk waiting for the light. Anna must be telling Noah a story because her little hands are waving and circling in the air. She’s laughing when she looks up at Noah and Noah gives her his full attention, his shoulders moving in the quiet way he laughs. Clair waits for them.  She meets them at the doorway to their apartments.

“Oh Momma, I was flying on the swings, Grampy Noah was pushing me real high.”

This causes a frown and Clair confronts Noah.

“I asked you not to push her so fast, she might slip off.”

Noah looks like a boy being scolded for peeking in the girls’ room, he knows he’s guilty.

“I just did it for a little bit, isn’t that right sweetie?”

Anna is looking up at them with open mouth knowing when her mother is upset. She doesn’t want Grampy Noah to get in trouble. Puts on a pretend smile and nods.

“Un-huh. Just a little.”

Clair purses her lips and tsks at them.

“You two, one’s as bad as the other.”

She wags her finger at them.

“No more high pushes. Now Noah what are you having for lunch?”

“I put minestrone in the slow cooker this morning when I got up and it’ll be done now. You two can join me if you like. I made lots.”

Anna makes a puckered face.

“What’s Missusstrony?”

“It’s a soup dear, you like soup. Okay then Mr. Chef, we’ll do that.”

Unlocking the door, she lets Anna head up the stairs first and she turns to Noah.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Noah sees bad news written all over Clair’s face. He thinks he knows what it’s about and has a solution.

“I have something to tell you also. Let’s go eat. I’ll put cartoons on for Anna after and we can talk, ok?

Later Clair and Noah are sitting at the kitchen table in Noah’s apartment sipping their coffees and finishing up the blueberry pie Clair made yesterday. She’s comfortable here, likes the way he decorates, lots of orderly clutter. Rooms are large, holding many antiques. She puts on her best smile and starts to tell him what’s on her mind. Before she starts, Noah holds up his hand.

“I know what you’re worried about. 

………… to be continued Wednesday, July 3.

 

 

 

Thanks for visiting and leaving a comment.

 

 

 

 

 

Coming soon! A new detective series - The Shattered Figurine.