Chapter One
© M.C.V. Egan
I sat in Pete’s office after the video ended, staring at the
screen with her frozen image. The illness that eventually took her life left
her looking gaunt and ravaged. When her coffin was lowered into the grave the
day before I was left feeling as if with her body, her casket, her illness they
were also burying that which makes life an adventure and with that much of my
youth and perhaps some part of my future.
As I stared at her face my mouth felt dry, my hands had a
slight tremor mimicking my lower lip, and not even in my thoughts could I quite
find a word to define this moment, to describe my feelings. I burst out crying
in loud, wracking sobs and I heard the door open. Through my heavy tears the
contact lenses swam and moved in my eyes, making everything seem a blur. I felt
the hand on my shoulder before he handed me the tissues.
“Can I get you something Anne? Anything? Water? Coffee?” he
asked.
I blew my nose and composed myself as best I could.
“Water, ice cold water would be nice.”
“It’s a little early, but I can offer you something stronger
if you’d prefer,” he said as he walked toward a bar in the back of his office.
“No, thanks. Water with ice will be fine.”
The musical clink of the ice cubes against the glass was the
familiar tone made only by fine crystal. I recognized the Baccarat pattern; it
was the same as the crystal in my parents’ home. He hesitated and cleared his
throat before he spoke again.
“I know speaking ill of the dead is in very poor taste, but
Amanda was not a nice person. I am bound, as her attorney, to follow her
instructions to the letter. You can watch what is obviously a pretty nasty
recording as many times as you wish, but when you are done I need to destroy
it, in front of you. Then I am to hand you a box, and again you are to open it
in absolute privacy, so preferably not in this office. Can I suggest I destroy
it right here and now? I have pliers and I can smash the flash drive into
nothing.”
“It really is not at all what you imagine. She was even nice
and apologized in it. She could be an absolute bitch, but my tears and sadness
are not for her.”
“Oh, I see. How’s your dad doing?”
“Better.”
“We were all surprised to see you at the funeral. I actually
expected to fly down to Florida and hand all this to you there. She left a nice
expense account for that. How long have you been in town?”
“Just a few days. Mom assumed they’d be flying up for
Thanksgiving. They are so afraid Obama will get re-elected after the Romney
tape that they wanted to vote in person.”
“He might win you know. Although you would not know it in
this town by the Romney signs everywhere.”
“Signs can’t vote.”
“Spoken like a true Democrat.”
“Yeah, yet another choice where I absolutely failed my
parents.”
“Don’t knock yourself, I do not think any of us live up to
parental expectations.”
I drank the ice cold water and nodded my head at the screen.
No words were needed as he closed the file and Amanda’s face disappeared from
the screen.
He pulled out the flash drive and reached into a drawer. He
crunched and cracked the flash drive so viciously that I knew he too had fallen
prey to one or more of Amanda’s nasty games.
“I think it is pretty much done. If you are not sure, why
don’t you shoot it?”
“That is not a bad idea.”
We started to laugh in unison. I did not recognize it at the
time, later though it became clear that we bonded, laughing over the nasty
remains of a common enemy. I gathered my things, including the package Amanda
had bequeathed me, and Pete walked me to the car.
“It would only be a conflict of interest to offer help in
anything regarding Amanda, so if you need any help with your parents’ home,
don’t hesitate to call me. Do you still have the card I gave you yesterday at
the funeral?”
“It is such a small town, Pete, even if I lose the card, now
that everyone knows I’m here it will be hard to avoid me.”
I stopped at the grocery store on my way home since everyone
in town knew I was there, there was no sense in driving into the city to get
what I needed. I had already put a nice dent in Mom’s pantry and Dad’s bar. I
had been there well over a week, trying to understand what I had missed, how I
had not known about Frank. Then Amanda died and curiosity got the better of me.
What did Alison say? Her voice echoed in
my mind;
‘Enemies always attend each other’s funerals. I guess it is
a way of knowing they won …’
Well, we weren’t always enemies, and sometimes it is the
good and healthy memories that make someone attend a funeral. Amanda was the
first of us to die. At forty-seven it seemed too young to bury a contemporary.
Once she was diagnosed, it was only a matter of time. In fact, it was pretty
amazing she lasted as long as she did, money it seems, can buy you time if
nothing else. And in 2012, time can mean science and technology might just come
up with some medication or medical treatment that changes everything.
Unfortunately, it had not worked for Amanda, but so far it
had worked for my dad. This last stroke seemed to be the first time he had an
untimely health issue, with no easy fix in sight.
Amanda fought hard for a good two years and then lost; the
image of her greenish skin color and emaciated body made that perfectly clear.
Her beautiful heart-shaped face was gaunt, and her eyes were sunken in the
video. However, the voice was the strangest and most unrecognizable trait. Was
it karma to go so slowly and with so much suffering? Our shopping carts
collided, and I was startled by that as much as I was startled by the tone of
her voice.
“Hi Anne.”
“Connie? I did not see you at Amanda’s funeral yesterday. I
just thought you were not in town.”
“I don’t like funerals, so I sent flowers, I saw the
comments and pictures everyone posted on Facebook.
Frankly I was surprised you were there.”
“Facebook? People posted pictures from the funeral? I have
some friends in Florida who use it but I personally avoid social media; I did
consider it as a tool to spy on my kids.”
“Most people in town use it in a very public way.”
She looked at me in the oddest way so I had to ask.
“Is something wrong?”
She sighed, loudly the way a parent or teacher does when
exasperated that a kid cannot give the right answer or tell the truth.
“You really don’t know do you?”
Small town gossip and now combined with the use of
cyberspace, I could only assume was not a great combination. I began to feel
uneasy and wondered if it had anything to do with Frank. I decided to disregard
the thought. I simply could not imagine that whatever Connie was referring to
was of any serious consequence to me.
“You know Connie, my dad is really ill, I am just here
getting the house in order for my folks and trying to figure out the best way
to help get them settled in
Florida full-time.”
“I am really sorry about your dad Anne. We really need to
talk; it’s about Frank and… well it’s about Frank. I can go over to your
parents’ house tonight, I’ll bring a nice dinner.”
This time I could easily and clearly find the word, THE WORD
that defined the moment; dumbfounded. In a small town gossip travelled like
wildfire; at least in this small town it did, but mom had assured me no-one
knew about Frank. I was not sure what to say, but Connie’s abrupt manner did
not give me much of a chance.
“I…”
“Believe me, this is just as uncomfortable for me as it is
for you, but we really need to talk. Simply put, it is about Frank and Mike.”
I learned at a very young age about the moments that define
us in life and how sometimes they feel as concrete as a ton of bricks falling
loudly and painfully on top of us. This was one of those moments; not at all
like the subtle hidden moment when Pete and I laughed together. So my mother
was wrong and if my Frank’s problem was involved with Connie’s Mike. Well,
there it was and it made sense now the smartphones were clicking away at the
funeral. It was my turn to sigh, this one was a sigh of defeat.
“At what time tonight?”
“Is seven okay? Like I said I’ll bring dinner.”
“You really think we’ll be hungry under the circumstances? I
asked perhaps in a tone too sarcastic and maybe even with a touch of cruelty.
“Fine, I’ll bring wine she answered.”
“I nodded robotically, I started to pile food into the
shopping cart, and as the salesclerk rang it up I noticed that I had chosen all
of my husband’s, Frank’s favorite foods.
BUY on AMAZON
Playa de Ponce, Puerto Rico, at the turn of the century: 
I am featuring more than one author. throughout the hop. There are simply too many I admire. I chose Carmen because she has a wonderful writing style and clever imagination. I also chose Carmen because she has compiled such an impressive list of bloggers and tools which she so generously shares with all authors.
Carmen Stefanescu's Shadows of the Past was a great read that I enjoyed from the first page through the last sentence, that I was sorry to see end; I tried to savor this one, make it last, that's how entertaining a read it is. The author writes a tightly worded, intelligent, story, a story within a story, then and now, from a past that needed resolution in a modern day couple. The dreams and visions the protagonist, Anne, experienced set the stage for the unfolding of a story, brilliantly told, moving through her as a past life apparition, Genevieve. The character development of Anne and her partner Neil, and other story counterparts is really well done, but the star of he story is the tragic Genevieve, as if taken from the pages of Shakespeare, one can not imagine less unfortunate issues to befall a human being, and in counterpoint is the lusciously evil antagonist the Abbess, who you read page after page hoping she gets hers. The pages invite the reader in with a wanting to know what is going to happen to Anne, to Genevieve, and page after page as the tension builds the reader is not disappointed. This is an excellently crafted work, by an author who clearly knows how to write, who understands literature, and knows how to tell a compellingly great story. I loved this one. 
