On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  Steve heaved a sigh of relief. Despite Veronica’s death, hearing that the others would come out intact lifted a boulder off his shoulders. He felt confident that, in time, he could at least come to grips with Veronica’s sacrifice. If he had lost the others, he’d be worthless wreckage. Their survival meant that Veronica’s death had positive purpose. He would never forget that.

  “All right man, I got to scoot boots. It’s time for me to ride,” said Biker, standing up from the bed.

  “Wait, one more question.”

  “Yeah man.”

  “What about me? I mean, how come all I got was a couple of cracked ribs? Why didn’t I get hurt?”

  “Didn’t get hurt, huh? Really? How much time did you spend on this little jaunt worrying about those two out there in that kitchen, or about Veronica? Of all of them, Steve, you got the biggest scars to deal with. You know what it feels like now to be responsible for other lives, in every single way. You lost your wife and soulmate. You lost a friend. It shook your faith, but you got it back again. Man, you got a whole heart full of scars. Now you know what it’s like to deal with doing things right and not always getting a rosy outcome. On top of all that, by any measure that matters, you’re successful at it, too. And you know what they say about the reward for good work?”

  “More work,” answered Steve, thinking of Julie’s common catch phrase.

  “Bingo, brother.”

  “I dunno. It doesn’t feel like success to me.”

  “And that’s my point, man. If you were some chump who thought that this was about braggin’ rights or had just sat back and left it all up to fate, you wouldn’t be here today and neither would they,” Biker said, gesturing with his thumb toward the kitchen.

  Steve wasn’t convinced, and Biker sensed it.

  “Look, Steve. It is a rare thing to find someone who has seen both good and evil in its most pure form. You’ve seen both and the results of each. That means you have faith, whether you know it or not. However, you also aren’t gonna be led around blindly. We’ve talked all about the dangers in that and you’ve got the scars to prove it. You, my friend, are what I’d call the ‘optimistic skeptic’—a born leader, simple as that.”

  “But how am I going stay on the path to being a positive now? All the things you’ve told us, all the things we’ve seen and done here that no one are going to understand or believe, even if we did talk about it. Now we all know that somehow, someday we’re going to reach this ‘Goodness’ you talk about. Isn’t that going to cause us to second-guess all our decisions? How will we know we are on the right path?”

  Biker nodded.

  “Look, man. First, you must cope with your grief. Understand it. Don’t hide it or forget it. Carry it with you, but not as a burden. This will take time to heal, but it will heal. I’d say you’re already well on the way on that front.”

  It was Steve’s turn to nod.

  “Second, don’t go looking for signs. Take the time to reflect on life. Think about your decisions, but be sure to make them. Choosing vanilla over chocolate is not going to affect the outcomes. There is a balance of randomness and destiny in life that will always remain with you. Life should continue as it is, but you should rely on faith to guide you.”

  “You mean like we should start praying or going to church?”

  “No, not religion—faith. You don’t have to go to church and sit in a pew to find faith. Look into the eyes of a newborn baby or watch a sunset. Listen to children laughing. Like when a dog licks your palm or when you can smell the rain steaming the asphalt on a hot summer day. There is God. . .there is love, and there is evidence of your faith. Live, breathe, love. . .the rest will come easily. You won’t ever “know” for certain that you are on the right path.”

  Biker touched Steve’s ankle.

  “All of you are touched by the hand of God, but not directed by it. God is not going to guide you directly or clear your path from natural obstacles that make up the human experience. He will be there to listen always, even if he does not provide you with an easy or immediate answer. You must live life for yourself. . .find faith, embrace it, and use that faith to guide your decisions in life. That’s how it’s done!”

  Steve slid to the edge of the bed and put his bare feet on the threadbare carpet on the floor. The early morning sunlight was now peeking through the open window. He heard the familiar birdcalls from the forest around the house. He scrunched his toes into the matted carpet.

  “It’s a lot to take in, huh?” asked Biker, smiling.

  “Yeah. A lot.”

  Biker chuckled. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair in the corner, pulled his sunglasses out of a pocket and put them on, and walked over to Steve, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t sweat it, Steve. It’s life, bro. You just have to go out and do it!”

  Biker’s hand on his shoulder was reassuring. Steve stood up, gently pressing on his side to contain the pain from his broken ribs. “Right,” he said Steve, sounding more confident. “Right.”

  He slid the small box into the front pocket of his dirty jeans, vowing to keep her close until they could give her a proper goodbye.

  Biker continued to smile. He turned and walked for the door. “Take care of each other.”

  When he opened the door to the hallway, more sunlight burst in. Steve could hear Abby and Martin talking from the kitchen, and it made him feel at home. Biker walked through the den to the front door.

  “Hey Biker!” Steve called, following him down the hallway.

  “Yeah man?”

  “One more thing—why me? I mean, if God doesn’t direct us, why did they follow me? Why did I somehow become the leader? And why do I feel like I need to take care of them and make sure they are safe from now on?”

  Biker turned around and faced Steve. He let out a long sigh. Steve knew from the silence behind him that Abby and Martin were also straining to hear the answer. Biker took off his sunglasses, and his smile disappeared. He squinted, staring Steve straight in the eye, holding his attention without a word. For several seconds, their eyes were locked—no words, no blinking, no movement. Biker seemed to be struggling to free up the right words.

  He put his sunglasses back on. He walked through the doorway, grabbed the door and started to close it. “Let’s just say it’s a good practice run for ya. See ya ‘round man. Be safe.” Then, finally, he closed the door behind him.

  Steve stared at the closed door, trying to absorb all that Biker had told him. His gaze wandered to the sign above the door: Good friends can turn any house into a home. Without a word, he felt Martin’s hand grip his shoulder and Abby’s arm slide tenderly around his waist.

  Steve smiled.

  Acknowledgements

  It is essential for me to extend a huge note of gratitude to the following people who helped me turn On Tenterhooks into a reality.

  I would like to thank all of my friends who encouraged and supported me through the writing process. I had a voluntary network of fact checkers who kept me honest on every detail from boat speed to Spanish syntax and I could not have achieved this success without their open support and input. Particular gratitude goes to Keri Ostby and Gray Craig, my voluntary, diligent proofreaders and go-to researchers. Their gut-reactions and insight were monumental.

  I am indebted to several fellow writers, including Tom Pawlik, Vanessa Tyler and James Bruno, who were kind enough to help a newbie find his way into their world and offer support, advice and the necessary brutal honesty required to hone my idea into a real story. There are also dozens of other writers in the self-publishing community whose words and examples were inspirational to me in making the decision to go indie. I thank all of them for their ongoing sense of community. You all rock.

  A big thank-you shout-out also goes to my very good friend and talented photographer David Sullivan for allowing me to use his photography in the book’s trailer and cover. To me, his images epitomize the tone and the tension that I tried
to achieve with my words. His photographs continue to amaze and inspire me.

  One of the rules I learned during this process was that no matter how talented you are, or think you are, give it to an editor before you publish it. He or she will improve upon it. I’d like to thank my talented and maddeningly efficient editor, Rachael Garrity, who managed to keep me from stumbling into more than a few plot holes and fiction-writing faux pas. She was detailed, diligent and creative in her feedback and suggestions and although she sent me back for some hefty re-writes, I knew then, and I know now that every minute spent was worth it when I look at the finished product.

  When I was in the fourth grade, my father gave me a copy of Steinbeck’s The Red Pony. It is the first “real” novel that I remember reading. With that novel, my Dad sparked in me a love for reading which has grown into my passion for writing. Although he is no longer with us, I know that he would be proud of how things turned out.

  Finally, I need to thank my wonderful wife whom I have permanently dubbed as my biggest fan and harshest critic and I love her dearly for it. She was my first reviewer and thanks to her, later drafts were more complete and effective than I would have ever been able to achieve on my own. I’d also like to thank her and our children for sacrificing many nights of “family time” to indulge me in getting On Tenterhooks completed.

  Until next time, Greever out.

  Greever Williams is an American author of speculative fiction. On Tenterhooks is his first full-length novel. Greever lives with his family in North Carolina. Greever loves to communicate with readers and writers across the globe through social media. You can find him online at http://www.greeverwilliams.com.

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