by A. E. Murphy
Emily, now nineteen, is at home looking after her thirteen-year-old sister Ashlyn, my mini-me. They both could have come but they both, being the angels they are, wanted to give us space to say a final goodbye.
A final goodbye to Caleb, Dillan’s biological father, my first love and Nathan’s brother.
Dillan has known about his father since the day he was old enough to understand. He turned to his spirit in times of need as he grew up. I often heard him speaking to himself in bed as though praying and even though it was sad and sometimes a little disturbing, it made me proud and joyful to know that even in death Caleb still gets to know his son and his son still gets to know him.
Now, though, it’s time to set him free. Dillan, now at the age Caleb was when we first met, feels as though it’s time to let go and let Caleb be free. I’m so proud of him and the man he is becoming. He’s so head strong, loving and kind. He’s a replica of his father, not just in looks but in his spirits too. Caleb’s ashes which we’ve kept in hiding for years are out and ready to be scattered into the sea and sand.
Dillan takes the first handful and releases it, whispering something under his breath that I can’t quite make out. I watch the shimmering grey vanish into the water.
Next goes Nathan, silently taking the next handful, his arm around the shoulders of his son. He releases it too and I smile warmly at my favourite men. One has greying hair, yet is no less handsome than he was when we first met. I kiss his cheek. The other is a replica of Caleb; they are almost identical when compared in photographs. I kiss his cheek too. Then I snatch the urn and dump it upside down. The ashes hit the sand with a poof that fans around my ankles. Creepy.
“Mum!” Dillan gasps and Nathan looks up at the heavens as if hoping for help. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t curse,” Nathan snaps at his son, now frowning in his direction.
“You had your moment, I deserved mine.” I respond haughtily. “Caleb will understand.” I kick his ashes towards the slow crawling waves.
“Stop!” Dillan cries, though I hear the laughter in his voice. “What is wrong with you?”
“Caleb knows.”
“May I know?”
“No, but he deserved it.” I grin, ensuring the ashes are entirely gone so some poor unsuspecting kid doesn’t end up building a sandcastle with them. “What shall we do with the urn?”
“I don’t know. What do people normally do with urns?” Nathan asks and Dillan immediately pulls out his phone to ask Google.
“We could donate it to charity?” He suggests, shrugging as he walks backwards ahead of us.
“What if they don’t know it’s an urn and use it as like a fancy gravy dish or something?” I grimace with horror at the thought.
“Eww,” Dillan sniggers, still walking backwards. “Gross, Mum.”
“We’ll use it as a plant pot,” Nathan tells us, taking the urn from me so I don’t break it.
“I like that idea.”
“Me too,” Dillan agrees. “Shouldn’t I be sad or crying or something? I feel…”
“At peace?” I ask, smiling warmly.
“Yeah, I feel like I got to meet him properly for the first time ever. Thanks for letting me do this.”
“It was a good idea,” Nathan puts in, taking my hand in his. It seems such a long time since he was afraid of sand. He’s walking on it so easily now, as though it never bothered him. There’s a lot of things he can do now that would have once bothered him. His leather gloves remain, though. I don’t think they’ll ever go and I don’t think I ever want them to.
Then Dillan scrunches up his nose and states, “I’m hungry. Shall we get fish and chips?”
“You just scattered ashes; how can you be hungry?” I balk.
“I want spice on my chips,” he adds, ignorant to what I just said.
“Oh good lord,” I sigh, looking up to the heavens for help much like Nathan just did. “Wash your hands first, you weirdo.”
“I want gravy,” Nathan grins, releasing my hand to chase after his son.
“You guys are sick, you know that?” I yell after them, grinning broadly.
“Says the woman who just kicked her dead husband into the sea!” Dillan shouts and the couple walking past me stare at me in horror.
“He was my fiancé and he deserved it,” I giggle and race after my men. “Wait for me!”
THE END
(Continue reading for an excerpt from THIRTY HAPPENS by Elizabeth Butts)
Pretty Please… it’s amazing!
About the Author
I'm now 24 and I’ve been writing since I could hold a pen in my hand! I love to write, it’s my passion, and I never stop. In fact I love to write so much I have started over one hundred and fifty different books before finally completing my first ever novel 'A Little Bit of Crazy' which I published in May 2013 on Amazon for Kindle. I was grateful when I received feedback as it helps me be a better writer.
When I'm not writing, I love spending time with my family and when I get some spare time (not easy with young children!) it’s either reading or listening to music. You won’t find me without a book or my Kindle in my hand. I read whilst I’m cooking, cleaning, talking, walking… you could say reading is my other passion!
Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I appreciate any kind of feedback be it good or bad. This has been a huge learning curve for me and I'm happy to receive any advice/criticism...praise? That you wish to provide. Don’t be shy. Thank you,
Love Alex
A. E. Murphy’s Other Works
The Little Bits Series
A Little Bit of Crazy
A Little Bit of Us
A Little Bit of Trouble
A Little Bit of Truth
The Distraction Trilogy
Distraction
Destruction
Distinction
The Broken Trilogy
Broken
Connected
Forever
Standalone Novels
Masked Definitions
Coming Soon
LOCKHART
Contact Details
To get in touch with me please use the following.
www.facebook.com/a.e.murphy.author
Email
[email protected]
Twitter
@A_E_Murphy
chapter one.
Thirty. Sigh. I was going to be turning thirty this year. This year. Seriously, when did that happen? How did it happen? How did I go from being carefree, barely out of college, the world at my feet and then wham…old? Thirty. Okay, so I wasn’t turning thirty for another eleven months and twenty-one days, but still. I could feel it bubbling up under the surface like a cold sore. And about as welcome as one, too. I flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held the mysteries of the world on its matte finished eggshell white paint. Mysteries like, how the hell had my twenties gone by so fast? Zero to eighteen seemed as if it took forever. Like, when I was in high school and tried to think of something that had happened two years prior, it seemed like a small lifetime ago. Yet, my twenties went by at some sadistic warp speed. I could think of something that happened at twenty two and it felt like a couple years ago. A couple. Not seven. We had this intern at work who was in her early twenties. I mentioned how 2006 wasn’t really that long ago. She blinked at me a couple times in confusion and pointed
out that she was in junior high in 2006. Junior high. UGH. I rolled off of my bed and walked into the bathroom to investigate possible signs of my advanced age. You know what I mean - wrinkles, gray hair, and saggy boobs. I leaned in towards the mirror, carefully inspecting my hairline. I nodded with satisfaction, no tiny streaks of silver on my hairline. I pointedly decided to ignore the fact that I religiously went to the hairdresser every six weeks to make sure my naturally dirty brown hair stayed a glossy honey color. I looked on with dismay at the tiny crow’s feet that were starting to frame my eyes. I realized that I had told my fiancé, Chris, a milli
on times that ‘eye crinkles’ were sexy as hell and I loved them. And I did. On him. Not on me. Never on me. I would have thought that I had more time before I stood in a mirror, pulling the sides of my face back and looking at myself critically, imagining what a facelift would look like. I never thought I was going to be that type of woman when I grew up, you know, one who fantasized about a little nip and tuck. Truth be told, I never thought I would actually have to grow up. Boob check time. Hmm. Maybe they were hanging a little lower, but I couldn’t really tell. I threw my shoulders back and chest out, watching as they bounced a little and then settled back down. Huh. I did it again, giggling as they bounced again. Okay, I was being stupid, but I needed to
bounced again. Okay, I was being stupid, but I needed to come out of this pity party and bouncy boobs were doing it for me. I was pretty sure that I might be a fifteen year old boy caught in an almost thirty year old woman’s body. Bounce. Giggle. Seriously, I had to start acting my age. I shook my head and forced myself not to watch to see if anything bounced. Well, maybe not my actual age. I needed to start acting at least twenty five. Yeah, that sounded good. It was time to act like a twenty five year old grown ass woman. Actually, I really needed to get out of my head and start getting ready for work. I pulled open my drawer in the bathroom to scan my selection of war paint. Concealer, check. Foundation, check. Powder, check. I had everything I needed to put these eye crinkles in their place. I pulled out the necessities and stripped down naked. I turned on the shower and heaved a world-weary sigh that only the truly aged could understand. Time to get ready to tackle the day and make it my bitch. I psyched myself up in the shower, jumping up and down, punching at the air like a prize fighter. No, scratch that. A prize w inner. As in Pulitzer Prize. I imagined myself receiving notification that I had won the esteemed award. Me. I would be humble. You know, in my acceptance speech. I would thank my mom and dad, definitely. And of
course, Anderson. My first inappropriate object of lust. Sigh. He was handsome as hell and had a reputation to tear through females like tissue paper. Find ‘em, screw ‘em, and then forget ‘em. He was so damn rude when I first met him, like, I was convinced he thought it was his life’s mission to see me cry. He pushed me, though. He pushed me harder than he pushed any other real employee or intern. He acted as if he expected more of me and it was weird, but dear Lord, I wanted to surpass his expectations. Get your freakin’ mind out of the gutter, will you? I was twenty one and he was in his forties or something. I won’t deny, I would have. You know what I mean. I would have. With him. But I was a kid and he was married and had a bit of a rep, so… no. Maybe? No! I meant it. The answer was no. Thinking of him, about nine years later made parts of my body shudder that didn’t have a right to shudder anymore over him. I was engaged to be married. To Chris. I turned my left hand over and glanced at the clear stone on my ring finger. I absently rubbed it as I pictured Anderson in my mind. What if? UGH. I hated those words running through my mind. What the hell was I thinking? I loved Chris! I mean, I loved, loved him. He was my heart and soul. So why was my heart turning a back flip over someone I
So why was my heart turning a back flip over someone I used to know? I pictured him as I last saw him, his hand reaching out to me as I had to make a decision. A simple decision. Yet, so freakin’ impossible. Simple. Stay, or leave.