Breaking the Rules
by
Tinthia Clemant
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Title page 2
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Journey Stew
Aphrodite’s Brownies
Soft Sugar Cookie Bars
Half-Moon Cookies
Tropical Breeze Scones
Honey Lavender Biscotti
About Tinthia
The Summer of Annah: A Midsummer’s Wish
The Summer of Annah: A Labor of Love
You Gave Me Wings
Breaking the Rules
by Tinthia Clemant
Copyright © 2019 by Tinthia Clemant
Published by River Lady Press
www.riverladypress.com
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locations or events, is strictly coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without this condition being imposed on any subsequent purchaser. All rights reserved by the author and publisher.
First edition 2019
Editing by alyssakressbookediting.com
Cover design and formatting by coversbykaren.com
Electronic Book: ISBN 13-978-0-9974371-6-4
This book is dedicated to every woman who believes she lacks the courage to take back her life. Never forget: you are a warrior.
Breaking The Rules
Prologue
“Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile.”
Mark Twain
September 2005
Shannon fiddled with the buttons of her dress as she and Justin waited for their coffees. Outside, rain fell on people rushing by the window of the coffee shop. She moved her attention from the scene outside to her two-month-old son in the carrier next to her. He was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen, and it still amazed her that he’d formed inside her body.
“Are you listening to me?”
She looked up at her husband of one year sitting on the opposite side of the booth and nodded. A sense of hopelessness washed over her. She’d tried to do everything right—paid for the train tickets with cash and not her credit card, hadn’t used her real name, all the little tricks she’d picked up from watching movies over the years. She’d even cut her hair. Yet Justin had found her after only two days. She wouldn’t make a very good spy.
“Say something,” Justin demanded, loud enough that the people across from the booth glanced over.
Shannon rubbed at her forehead. “I’m sorry, my head is pounding.” Hopefully, the lie would keep his anger at bay.
“Do you have anything you can take?”
“Yes.”
He reached across the table and grabbed the diaper bag. After rifling the contents, he removed a pocket-sized tube of Advil, along with her cell phone.
She watched her phone slide into his coat pocket. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll hold on to your phone. Now that I’ve found the two of you, you won’t be needing it.” He poured four pills into his palm and held them out. “So, what do you think?”
“I need my phone.”
“Why?”
“I…I’m expecting a call.”
“From who?”
She struggled to come up with a name that wouldn’t set him off. “Maureen,” she lied a second time, hoping he didn’t know she hadn’t spoken to her coworker since quitting the ad agency.
“If she calls, I’ll give it to you. Now, back to what I said. What do you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
She received a severe frown as a response before he said, “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Not listening to me. How about thinking about me for once and not always yourself?”
“I…I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, you’re always sorry after you do something.”
She glanced at the baby. Satisfied he was still sleeping, she adjusted his blanket and returned her attention to the table, where she stared at her coffee.
Justin’s tone softened. “You make me do and say things. If you acted better, I wouldn’t be so hard on you.” He reached across the table again, this time offering his hand.
Shannon bit into her lower lip in the exact spot she’d recently opened with her right canine. Blood meandered through her teeth, and she slowly placed her hand in his.
“That’s my girl. What I said was, if you and Chad come back home where you belong, I’ll go to couples counseling like you asked. I can change.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles but then squeezed her fingers, driving her wedding band into the side of her pinkie. “I’m not the bad guy, Shannon. Most of the time I’m only joking around, but you take things much too serious. You know what your problem is? You’re too sensitive. You need to lighten up.”
The baby squirmed and drew her attention. Chad scrunched his face, coloring the round cheeks so that he resembled an angry plum. “I have to clean him.” She moved from the booth and looped the strap of the diaper bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Justin pushed his chair back from the table and walked with her to the bathroom. “I’ll wait right here,” he said, positioning himself against the wall. She pulled on the door, but he blocked it. “I’m taking you back, Shannon. You need me—you’re too weak to raise a kid on your own.”
He released the door, and she entered the bathroom.
While changing Chad’s diaper, distant voices filled her ears, voices that belonged to ghosts who wouldn’t stay vanquished. In her mind she was a child of six and hiding under her grandmother’s heavy, wooden desk.
‘Don’t you walk away from me, young lady.’
The memory of the voice was like a cold wind, the kind that could get under her coat and raise goosebumps up her back.
She knew her mother would speak next; the memory was always the same—never changing because the dead wouldn’t allow it.
‘For Christ’s sake, Mother, I just buried my husband.’
&nbs
p; ‘Keep your voice down, Katherine. Do you want everyone to think you’re hysterical?’
‘I don’t care what people think. This is not the time to have this conversation.’
‘This is the perfect time. What are you planning on doing? Raising the child on your own? You know you’re not equipped for that.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my daughter.’
‘No, you’re not; you’re too weak. You need me.’
In the restaurant bathroom, Shannon squeezed her eyes closed, recalling the spider that had crawled up her young shin and how she’d placed her hand in its path and lowered it back to the floor. It had scurried out from under the desk, and her grandmother’s thick-soled shoe had turned it into a black splotch. That was how she felt now, like a spider with a dark shadow hanging over her head, ready to drop and crush both her and Chad.
“Shannon.” The doorknob rattled. “Hurry up.”
“I’ll be right out.” She unbuckled Chad from the changing table, returned him to his carrier, and paused to stroke his dark brown hair. In exchange for her tender touch, he cooed. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m sorry munchkin. I tried.”
Chapter 1
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
Lao Tzu
June 2011
Blog Post Topic: Endings and Beginnings
I like to think of endings as beginnings. This may seem confusing but stay with me and I’ll explain.
With each new beginning, there had to have been an ending beforehand. A time may have come when we said, ‘Enough!’ and tossed something, someone, someplace, or some emotion, to the curb; for without bringing to a close that which we no longer accept as our reality, we lack the freedom to enjoy that which we want to begin. One cannot start unless one has stopped, first.
Endings are the fertile soil in which we plant the seeds of possibilities. (Tweet this)
Before you enjoy your stew, take the bay leaf outside and bury it in your garden. If you don’t have a garden, any soil will do. As you cover the leaf, repeat your goal and say ‘always a blessing’. Now it’s time to enjoy your stew. Your wish has been infused into the wonderful goodness of the ingredients and is ready to fill you with nourishment and clarity. Ladle a heaping serving of stew into your bowl, accompany with a generous chunk of rustic cornbread, and pour a glass of apple cider wine. Head outside, face the setting sun, and bless the road ahead. Celebrate your endings, my dear friend. Raise your glass to the courage you found to say goodbye to whatever you’re ending and to the magic that lies ahead.
Your journey awaits. Until next time, S
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Nomination and Newest post
Hi, Shannon. Great news, your blog has been nominated for a SAVEUR award in the Food and Culture division. The winners won’t be announced until fall, but I’ll be able to get plenty of marketing momentum with just the nomination. I’ve attached all the information. Have some champagne and do a happy dance. The Grateful Earth has made it to the big time. You also have a new company that wants to advertise on the blog (information attached). When you have the next post ready, send it over. Cheers, Val
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Nomination and Newest Post
Hey, Valarie, squeee… I’ve been secretly coveting a SAVEUR award for a while. Even if I don’t win, I’m blessed to be nominated. Let’s get the company on board; I like their mission statement. The blog post is attached to this email along with recipe for Journey Stew and necessary photographs. Please link to the rustic corn bread and apple cider wine recipes I mention in the body of the post. As always, thank you for your hard work; I couldn’t do this without you. Blessed be, S
Shannon hit the send button and silently congratulated herself. Nominated for a SAVEUR—hot damn. Winning the award would attract more viewers to the blog which would attract more advertisers, resulting in more money flowing into her bank account and ultimately freeing her and Chad from Justin’s grasp. It was scary, thinking about supporting Chad on her own, but the option of staying with Justin was even more frightening.
When she’d started the blog, Chad had been an infant.
The all-too-familiar pang of unease clenched her belly as it did every time she gave those early years a thought, no matter how fleeting. She’d been Justin’s prisoner, both physically and emotionally. The blog had been a way to maintain a connection to the outside world. That time in her life when she’d been locked in the townhouse with no car, no phone, no one to talk to except for a newborn—those were the darkest times she could remember, darker than the years spent living with her grandmother Arlene, which were as black as obsidian.
After she’d left her grandmother’s house, more like ran away from it, she’d promised herself she’d never let anyone have power over her again. She’d been eighteen and confident she’d do a better job of taking care of herself than her mother and grandmother had done. And she had, until she’d turned thirty-two and Justin had walked into her life. He’d promised safety; that he was someone she could trust. But he’d lied, and his true personality, like some ugly creature rising from a swamp, had emerged. By the time she figured out he was no different than her domineering grandmother, she was trapped.
There were only two people in her life whom she could trust: herself, although at times she doubted her own motives, and the child standing behind her chair. He was someone who wouldn’t let her down.
He’d been there for the past ten minutes, waiting for the right moment to strike. His fortitude amazed her. Well, he wasn’t going to win, not this morning. Today, she was going to be the victor.
She yawned and reached out into a slow stretch, then spun her chair and flung herself at her son, taking them both down to the carpet.
Chad released a high-pitched squeal of delight and tried to wiggle away, begging for mercy as he squirmed.
“Help me, Jasper,” he called out between bouts of laughter.
His plea fell on deaf ears. Their chocolate Lab remained immobile, eyes closed, snout positioned between his large paws.
“You’re an old poop,” she said to the dog and then to her victim, “Had enough?”
“No way.”
Of course he hadn’t; he never tired. Her? She needed to step up her cardio if she was going to keep pace with him. Hopefully, he’d remember what she’d taught him about calling 911.
She admitted defeat and said, “Uncle.” Then she sat back on her heels to stare into round eyes the color of Madagascar cocoa. They offered her unconditional love…and trust. He relied on her; she was his bastion against the harshness of the world. He still had no clue that his mother was a phony; that every day she let him down a little more by keeping him in the toxic environment where they lived.
She switched to sitting, and Chad crawled onto her lap, his young body fitting perfectly in her arms. Once he was there, she inhaled—bubble gum bath soap and little boy. One day she’d figure out how to bottle his aroma; that way she could keep him with her no matter where his journey took him. He was her reason for living.
Why, then, wouldn’t she do what had to be done?
“Are you giving up, Mama?”
“Absolutely not. I just need a rest, that’s all.” She blinked back a tear. Having him see her cry was not an option. Her mother had cried, endless streams of tears while her young daughter had watched, powerless to stem the flow.
Chad left her embrace and joined Jasper, whose tail thumped a greeting on the carpet.
“Mama, why are you looking at me?” Chad’s head rested against Jasper’s glossy fur.
His question was simple enough, unlike the answer. If she said she was staring because she wanted to seal in her mind his beauty—the long, black lashes that fanned his cheeks while he slept or the shape of his nose—would he think she’d lost her mind?
Or th
at she was checking for a fractured spirit?
“I’m watching you because I want to count your warm cheekies,” she replied, doing her best imitation of The Count from Sesame Street. She gathered her skirt. “One cheeky…” she said, crawling his way.
“Mama,” he managed between giggles. “Don’t eat me.”
“Two cheekies,” she said.
“Help, Jasper, save me.” Chad hugged Jasper.
“He cannot save you. You’re mine, all mine.”
She kissed his neck and chin. When her nibbling ended, she carried him to the far wall and collapsed on the loveseat, his body resting against hers.
“Mama, how did you know I was behind you?”
“I heard your big feet, that’s how.” She raised his foot. “See this foot? It’s huge.”
Chad laughed and kicked his legs playfully. “Tell me, how did you know?”
“I’m a mama. Mama’s have special senses.”
“Like Spider-Man?”
“Just like Spider-Man.”
He lifted her hand that had been resting on his chest and traced the lines of her palm with his index finger. “Will I have spidey senses when I’m a daddy?”
“Yup, just like Daddy.”
With his focus still on her palm, he said, “Daddy doesn’t have spidey-senses. He’s too mean.”
She leaned over and tried to see his eyes. “Why would you say that?”
Her question received a shrug.
“Chad, look at me, please.”
The expression she received was powerful enough to silence all other sounds except for her beating heart.
“Sweetie, Daddy’s not mean.”
A flicker of sadness passed through the young eyes staring back at her, gone as suddenly as it had appeared. It had been the same look she’d seen in her mother’s eyes… And lately saw in her own.
She cupped his face. “Daddy works very hard, and he gets tired.”
His shrug told her he didn’t care about her explanation.
“I have to pee,” he said and crawled off her lap.
With Jasper in tow, he ran from the room, leaving her to reason through what she’d just heard. Children didn’t miss a thing; she should have learned that from her own experiences as a child. They were like sponges, absorbing everything they heard and saw—the good and the bad. She stood and moved to her desk. She’d been a frigging fool to think she’d protected Chad from Justin’s ugliness. Her cowardice would end up doing more damage to them both than Justin’s toxic tongue ever would.
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