She hugged Bernie, hung their coats, and ushered them into the living room. The room filled with gasps.
It was Will who made the first move. He stepped toward Edward and extended his hand.
"Hello, Edward."
Edward took his hand. "Thank you for having me. I know I must be about the last person you want to see on Christmas, but I'm very grateful for the invitation. I was wrong about you all those years ago, and for that I'm truly sorry."
"The past is the past," Will said. "Please, have a seat and join us."
Edward sat down at the end of the couch and June sat beside him, placing her hand on his. "Now Christmas is complete," she said. Smiling at Grace, she mouthed the words, "Thank you."
Edward's eyes brimmed with unshed tears and his breath came in gasps as he looked at each of them in turn. Finally, he closed his eyes and the tears slid down his cheeks.
"Father, it's all right," June said.
Edward took a long moment to gather himself. Then he looked at June. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, my dear. How could I?"
"Because I love you, and I can't imagine my life without you. We have all found our way back to each other, and that's what matters. Please, Father, forgive yourself and let''s enjoy our time together as a family. All of us here, we're all family."
Edward dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. Then he asked Bernie for the bag he'd brought with him, and passed out the gifts he'd brought for each one of them. As he watched them all open the gifts, he pointed to the old bear sitting on the couch.
"I remember that bear," he said to June. "Your mother gave it to you the day you started school. You carried that bear with you everywhere for years. I know how much you loved it. That's why I took it and gave it to your baby."
He looked at Grace. "To you, so you would know how much your mother loved you."
June looked at Grace and they exchanged a tender smile. "Thank you, Grandfather," Grace said, choking back her own tears.
Edward reached down into the bag he had set down beside the sofa, pulled out one last gift, handing it to June. "It's for the two of you," he said, indicating Will as well.
June pulled at the ribbon and tore off the paper on a large box. She pulled off the lid and found several stacks of letters, a red ribbon tied around each stack. She looked at her father. "Are these what I think they are?"
"Yes. I found them in your grandfather's safe after he passed away. Seems he struck a deal with the mailman before I did." There was humor in his voice now. ""Sneaky little devil."
They all laughed and June held the box in her arms. She glanced at Will and their eyes met for a tender moment.
"Told you I wrote."
"We'll read these later," she whispered.
He winked. "I'll read them to you."
"Will there be grapes?"
Will smiled and leaned down to kiss her. "There will."
Shortly before dinner, the doorbell rang again. All eyes turned to Grace, who gave them a sheepish smile. "One last surprise."
She flung the door open and pulled Sister Maggie into her arms. "Please, come in. I have some people I want you to meet."
She'd sent Maggie a plane ticket and put her up at a nearby hotel. She told her only that she had some amazing news, and wanted to share it in person. She took Maggie's hand and led her into the living room where her family looked at the nun with curiosity.
Grace stopped in front of June and Will. "Maggie, this is my mother, June Crandall, and my father, Will Turner."
Maggie's eyes filled immediately as she hugged first June, then Will, and finally, Grace. It seemed that tears of joy were a requirement at this family Christmas.
Grace invited her to sit down, introduced her to everyone else present, and told Maggie the story of how she'd come to know her mother and the rest of her family. She left out the part about Edward's deceit. Maggie put her hands to her cheeks, and declared that it was the greatest miracle she'd ever witnessed.
Over the next hour, Maggie regaled everyone with stories of Grace as a baby and as a young girl. She told them all how she had fallen in love with Grace the moment she laid eyes on her as an infant, and how she had loved her like a daughter ever since.
Grace assured them all that their love was mutual. "I've been blessed to be loved by three mothers in my lifetime," she said. Maggie, then Rose, and finally, June.
They enjoyed a nice dinner as a family, and before dessert was served, Will excused himself briefly. When he returned, he held one arm behind his back and knelt in front of June.
June's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as all eyes turned to her.
"June, I have loved you for almost thirty years." He placed a single red rose and a well-worn book of poetry in front of her. "Even when you were not in my life, you were in my heart. I wondered who you had grown up to become, and after I met our daughter, I wondered if you would like the man that I had become. So many years had passed, and I wondered if the memory of us was better than the reality would be after so much time. But as soon as I saw you again, I knew that you were my destiny. June, would you please do me the honor of finally becoming my wife?" He held the simple sapphire ring that matched the blue of her eyes in front of her and waited for an answer.
June looked around the table at the faces of all the people she loved the most in the world, stopping at her father.
"For the love of God, June, answer the man already!" Edward said, and the whole table erupted in laughter.
She looked at the only man she had ever loved. "Yes, yes, at long last, yes!"
EPILOGUE
June and Will were married on New Year's Eve in a small chapel in the city. The church was lit only by candles as Edward walked his daughter proudly up the aisle. He handed her off to Will, shook his hand, and sat next to Bernie.
Grace was the matron of honor, Antonio the best man. A small group of family and friends sat in the audience and watched as two people who had loved each other their entire lives, two souls who were destined to be together, became one at long last. And when the groom kissed his bride, she felt the same butterflies in her stomach that she had the first time he kissed her. Except this time, she was paying attention.
THE END
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Thank you for reading, The Many Lives of June Crandall. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this by writing a review.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the incomparable Dave King (www.davekingedits) for helping to turn my first draft disaster into something I can be proud of. Thank you for your kindness and patience through the long journey. And thank you to Faith Williams (www.theatwatergroup)
for applying the finishing touches.
Thanks to my fabulous critique partner, Jansen Schmidt, and to my wonderful and refreshingly honest beta readers: Pamela Knudsen (my biggest fan), Marianne Smith, Barbara Dunn, Ann DelCastillo, Michele Derbyshire Hetland and Linda Repking. And of course, the fabulous women of Sacramento Valley Rose.
And last, but by no means least, my husband and most ardent supporter. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Suzanne Whitfield Vince grew up in Park Forest, Illinois--twice an All-American City--in a large and chaotic but loving family. After graduating from Loyola University of Chicago with a Bachelor's degree in Business Administration (major in Accounting), she said goodbye to snow shovels and ice scrapers and followed her parents out to California.
Suzanne currently lives in Sacramento with her husband, step-daughter and four furry children. She still has her day job--for now--but spends most of her free time writing.
www.suzannevince.com
Keep reading for a sn
eak preview of my new release, Life, Take Three.
Life, Take Three
(a novella)
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Chapter One
Sometimes it happens suddenly. Like death. Or an accident. Sometimes it's more gradual. Like a pipe that corrodes slowly, over a number of years, when exposed to the elements.
For Isabel Stevens, it was a slow unraveling. So slow, in fact, that she was only vaguely aware that she had become a stark raving bitch.
* * *
October 1, 2003
The alarm clock trumpeted its ugly tune. Isabel reached over and slammed it off. It was Saturday, but it may as well have been Monday for all the hours and days she'd been working lately. Michael slid over and pulled her to him. Time for their once-a-week lovemaking session. Except that today, she was not in the mood. Again. She extricated herself from his grasp, climbed out of bed, and padded toward the bathroom.
"What the hell, Is?" Michael said.
Jaw clenched, Isabel stopped in her tracks and whirled around to find her husband, propped up on one elbow, his dark blonde hair tousled. A look she used to find sexy as hell. Now she found it...irritating, along with everything else about him. "Sorry, Michael, I just can't fake it today."
"That's three weeks in a row," he said in a whiny voice that grated on her nerves. "What's up with that?"
"I don't know, Michael. But a little romance every now and then wouldn't hurt. Is that too much to ask?"
Isabel was a lot of things, but predictable had never been one of them. Lately her sex life, along with pretty much everything else, had become predictable. Predictable and boring. A little romance would be good, she thought. She was worth it. Until then, he could take a cold shower for all she cared.
"Ouch! Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?"
"That wouldn't distinguish it from any other day lately," she said, stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
She emerged a few minutes later wearing running tights, a long-sleeved dry-tech shirt and a windbreaker, her honey-blond hair pulled into a pony-tail. As she sat down on the bed and donned her socks and shoes, she heard Michael banging around in the kitchen. She grinned.
Misery loved company.
She marched through the living room and into the laundry room, tossed a load of clothes into the washing machine, and muttered a comment under her breath about it being finished in thirty minutes and could he please put it in the dryer then.
"Whatever," he said.
Fisting her hands, Isabel drew in a deep breath and counted to three before responding. "Thank you," she said begrudgingly.
He ignored her, just as she ignored the three buckets, placed strategically throughout the living room to capture the water that had been seeping through the ceiling since the early rains began. They were about to spill over, but emptying them was his job. Did she have to do everything?
She took a quick peek out the window before stepping outside, relieved to see that it wasn't raining. Once outside, she clipped her iPod Shuffle to the waistband of her tights and slipped the buds into her ears. Sheryl Crow was telling her to Run, Baby, Run, and so she did.
Her foul mood began to lift and she quickened her pace. Then the wind picked up and it began to rain. Lightly at first, and then it came down in buckets.
Shit.
The winds began to howl and the rain blew sideways, pelting her in the face.
Shit, shit, shit.
By the time she reached the turnaround point, the wind was so strong she felt like she was pushing a Buick.
When she returned home, she slogged through the living room, leaving a river of water behind her, and hovered over one of the buckets. She squeezed the excess water from her hair and grinned when it caused the bucket to overflow. It didn't matter. The floorboards were already warped.
She glanced up at Michael who was leaning against the wall in the dining room, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He was grinning, too. What is he up to?
Isabel stripped off her clothes and stood shivering in the bathroom, waiting for the water in the shower to run hot. It was taking longer than usual. Timing was everything when showering, as the hot water tank was approximately the size of a human bladder. Get in, get out. Unless you enjoyed cold showers.
And then it struck her. That son-of-a-bitch had taken a shower while she was gone. And used up all the hot water.
She strolled past him in all her glory, and when she saw the lump of wet clothes still sitting in the washer, she lost it. She stomped into the kitchen, fists and jaw clenched, and stood in front of him.
"God dammit, Michael. Is it too much to ask for you to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer?" She turned toward the living room and pointed. "Or empty the God-damned buckets for crying out loud?
Anger flashed in his green eyes and he said nothing for a long moment.
"I don't want to do this anymore," he said finally.
"I don't want to do a lot of things, Michael. Which 'this' do you not want to do anymore?"
"Us. You and me."
Isabel stood, frozen in place, and blinked. "Wh...what do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean I want a divorce."
Her mouth fell open but the words clogged in her throat. A divorce? He wants a divorce? She hadn't seen that coming.
She stared at him in disbelief, then turned and marched to the bedroom. After pulling on a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt and flip flops, she reached into her closet and removed her navy double-breasted Armani suit, a pale blue silk blouse, and her Jimmy Choo Moc Croc pumps. The navy ones of course.
Shoving the appropriate under clothing and accessories into her gym bag and grabbing her suit and blouse, Isabel strode back to the kitchen and planted herself in front of him. He was a full head taller than her with a lanky frame and broad shoulders, and he peered down at her.
She met his gaze and held it for a long, calculated moment while she considered her next move.
"Who is she?" she asked without blinking. She didn't think she'd net anything, but she tossed out the line anyway.
His shook his head. "Who?"
"The girl you're fucking," she said.
Michael shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze dropping to his slippered feet.
Holy shit, she was right! She'd never have guessed him to be the type. Her heart fluttered like a moth in distress and she sucked in a breath through the narrow opening in her throat.
After an interminable silence, he said, "Deby."
Gripping the kitchen counter, Isabel drew in a deep breath. She pushed it out slowly as the news began to sink in. She knew she should say or do or feel something, but nothing came to mind. The plop plopping of the water as it struck the overfilled buckets filled the air.
Michael shifted his weight again but his gaze never left the ground.
"I wish you and Deby all the happiness in the world," she said, mustering as much civility as she could, given the circumstances. And then she walked quietly out of the over-priced fixer-upper they'd bought five years before and hadn't done a thing to. Two bedrooms, one bath, and a $750,000 mortgage. All so he could have an address in Palo Alto. The heart of the Silicon Valley.
Also by Suzanne Whitfield Vince
Copyright ©2014 Suzanne Whitfield Vince
1st Digital and Trade Paperback Edition, 2014, cover design by Melchelle Designs.
All Rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowl
edges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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The Many Lives of June Crandall Page 25