The Storm (Fairhope)

by Laura Lexington

  The Storm

  Copyright ©2014 Laura Lexington

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into 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 is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Madison Seidler www.madisonseidler.com

  Dee Kelly (Tandee Designs Custom Designs)

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Due to adult themes and sexual content, this novel is not recommended for those under the age of 18.

  Dedication

  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

  Excerpt from "The Song"

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For LCH

  TWO THOUSAND SEVEN dollars and twenty-one cents.

  At breakfast, Andrew strictly prohibited me from checking the mail, which would only serve to worry me.

  I stared blankly at the mortgage statement, my calloused thumb fingering its sharp edges nervously. The ink blurred as chilling raindrops fell hastily from the darkening sky.

  Maybe we should have bought a cheaper house.

  I closed my fatigued eyes, lifting my face to the taunting raindrops as I clumsily sat down beside my ornately designed, wrought iron mailbox. I remembered, with more than a twinge of sadness, the day Grace picked it out. Giddy with excitement about my new position at work, we splurged.

  I wanted to cry, but couldn’t; only a lone, sharp breath escaped. The numbness that had replaced my pain was paralyzing. The rain rolled softly down my swollen cheeks, replacing the tears that would not fall. I cringed as the water melted my mascara into my already irritated eyes.

  Dr. Wilson said I could take antidepressants, but I stubbornly refused to risk damaging Calla as she continued to develop during these miserable weeks. Nothing but my blood pressure pills and vitamins would enter my bloodstream.

  I told myself I could tough it out.

  My heart started thumping ferociously again, and I knew I should go inside and rest. I struggled to lift myself to my feet, fighting the dizziness that inhabited my present world.

  If only someone would rescue me …

  The wind whipped threateningly around our beautiful home, savaging the sky, sharply swaying the flimsy trees and delicate flowers. Our beautiful home, the one I could lose.

  How will we take care of Calla? My tears blended with the raindrops.

  Go inside, Jana. The whisper sifted through the storm, the only sound not trapped in the unrelenting wind.

  I tried to block out the income we would lose, the fear of being a new mother, the seizing pain of rejection, and the daunting reality of job searching while trying to figure out how to be a mother. I tried to remember when I was healthy, happy, and peaceful. When my existence was more than an unceasing panic attack.

  I needed to get up off the ground. The dizziness threatened to overtake me, creeping through my puffy legs into my fingers, arms, and throbbing head. The familiar pounding of my heart permeated through my veins.

  Thump, thump, thump thump thump thump…

  It was too late. I think I remember smiling as a memory of Grace and me playing softball as children flashed through my mind; she slammed a home run, and I happily picked dandelions in the outfield as the crowd cheered her on. And then I passed out again.

  ~Eighteen Months Earlier~

  The moment Andrew shocked me with his abrupt announcement will be forever etched in my memory. The prelude to the earthquake that shattered my picture perfect life.

  Naturally, he waited until after we had some especially erotic sex to break the news. He’d bought me a new book for Valentine’s Day, taking full advantage of having a wife who was rocked with the libido of a sixteen-year-old boy, but much to his relief had the decency not to fool around on him. Since Fifty Shades of Grey was too wild for his taste, he’d downgraded to some Kama-Sutra-like knock-off. Despite my unfeminine-like ability to separate sex and the rest of our marriage (I had no problem doing it angry, ever), I was livid at his timing. I had bent my body totally out of proportion, even for an ex-gymnast, and had not even really enjoyed it (if he had waited five more minutes for me to really wake up, perhaps I would have rocked his world), and now this? I had barely thrown on my robe and piled my rat’s nest of hair into a messy ponytail before he dropped the bombshell on me.

  So seemingly insignificant, a ray of hope that could bring me home to Mama and Grace. Words that should be celebrated later: “Remember when…?” Words that should not be attached to bitterness and loss.

  “Jana, Anthony wants to move into the management training program next year. That would open up a spot in my division in Fairhope.”

  I froze, my steaming cup of hot cocoa at my lips. At least he had been gentleman enough to get me a drink post-tryst before royally ruining my day. “What?!” My marshmallows fizzled, victim to the steam.

  Somehow, we found ourselves “at home” in Birmingham, Alabama. In our starving-college-student eyes, money started pouring in, accompanied by that vainly sought after emotion that most call happiness. Daddy lost his job when I started college, and I worked my tail off to keep my family from struggling. I barely landed a “B” average, but my work ethic sold me when my grades couldn’t. After years of pushing cell phones, an internship led to my dream job with Covington Company, one of the largest medical device manufacturers in the country. My persistence paid off with a respectable salary topped with generous commissions, an almost-free, brand new pearl-white Nissan Maxima, top-notch health benefits, and a growing pension, not to mention a handsome husband on my right arm, and the keys to the apartment right next to the pool. As my annoyingly optimistic mother, Mama, would say, “Sounds like waking up to a chocolate cupcake every morning and never gaining a pound.”

  The product I sold was extremely popular, largely due to our monster sales force and the undeniable power of the teary-eyed, life-changed actress on our overdone television commercials. I upgraded from eating fast food on the fly, often dollar menu, to eating five-star free meals with customers on the regular. Childless and adventurous, I loved the frequent trips that accompanied my position: “training” in New York City, “launches” in Los Angeles and Orlando, a “leadership conference” in Las Vegas. Second honeymoons in cool places kept our marriage spicy; Andrew would fly out for a few days and shack up in my room when feasible.

  The son of a former United States senator and a holier-than-thou former swimsuit model (try living up to that), Andrew inherited his daddy’s charm and brains, topped off with his mama’s good looks. Naturally, he was setting a clear path to climb the ladder at his accounting firm. Andrew was seriously hot in a suit and tie, and I grew used to fighting off
the stares of the hungry women at company functions. At a meet-and-greet with a promising new client, one plastic woman in her mid-forties, after too many glasses of chardonnay, actually suggested that I let her borrow Andrew for the night. She guaranteed that he would return to me a better lover. I could even watch if I wanted. Better yet, I could join if we were game for that sort of thing.

  I wondered how long she had been fantasizing about sleeping with my husband.

  He nearly choked on the sip of Corona he was in the process of swallowing. I imagine the first thought that ran through his mind was, Great, Jana’s never going to let me out of her sight with my coworkers now. I smiled coolly and said, “No, thanks. We don’t play that way. You can look, but if I find out you touched him, I will make your life a living hell.” I strived to practice moderation, but I had downed a glass or two … or three … of wine, enough to chill me out but give me courage.

  Nevertheless, he enjoyed his job, and I enjoyed watching him in the limelight.

  We were living a dream, but I wanted to live the dream in Fairhope. My real home. Home was where Mama invited us over for homemade lasagna once a week, where Grace made me laugh until my sides hurt, and not through the cracked speakers of my worn out iPhone, but as we sipped steaming mochas downtown at Page and Palette—where the glistening water and fabulous Orange Beach were only a short drive away.

  “When did he ask you? Why?” The questions spurted from my mouth in between hurried chugs of hot cocoa, burning my tongue but not minding the sting. Fidgeting anxiously, I was wrought with restlessness, jumping out of my skin with an intense mixture of excitement and fear. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, impatiently awaiting Andrew’s answer as he carefully ignored me and continued typing on his computer. Click. Click. “Well?”

  Andrew looked up at me, his rugged and tan face blank, closing his laptop. “He mentioned it about a month ago.”

  “A month ago?” My irritation reverberated from one hollow wall to another. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you would have our bags packed … and I am not sure I am ready for that.” His patient reply was honest—honestly irritating—as his brilliant eyes lifted reluctantly to meet my expectant glare.

  My fiery emotions shifted from irritated shock to boiling anger. “But you still should have told me!” Glaring at the man who promised to never keep secrets from me, I leapt from my comfortable perch on the couch and pointedly turned off the television. “How could you?” I started to tear up.

  Andrew would have been perfectly happy to stay in Birmingham. He had crafted friendships with the guys at our new church and within the community—thank goodness, friends who did not frequent bars and eye women like slices of meat, which is how his crew back home in Orange Beach lived. His new set of pals shared his love of golf, and he never went a weekend without a buddy to play with. I was thankful to retire from my position of sitting on the golf cart, miserable in the heat, stuffing down a Snickers and a watered-down Coke. His developing career consumed the time he did not spend on the golf course, or, as he liked to affectionately claim, under Jana’s wing.

  Magnetic and popular with a never-ending supply of class clown antics, Andrew lived in the moment. He was the coolest accountant anyone ever met. Only those who laid eyes on his gigantic Dave Ramsey/Suze Orman/Robert Kiyosaki collection could nod in understanding at his career choice. Part of my attraction to him was the pleasant surprise that someone so left-brained came packaged with such charm.

  In contrast, underneath my salesperson smile was a reserved thinker who was determined to outdo expectations with unwavering persistence. A lover of painting, Andrew described me as “creative,” but in reality, my creativity stopped at my fingertips.

  I loved him for his contagious charm; he loved me for my determined spirit.

  That spirit he loved so much was about to unleash its madness.

  Our eyes—his reflecting a minute speck of guilt, mine hurt—locked in a fierce stare until he raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and focused his attention back on his coffee. Furious at his refusal to speak, my anger rushed to the surface, and I fought to keep words I would regret from spewing. “That is a decision we should make together!” I realized I was nearly shouting as I clenched my fists as the feelings of betrayal churned in my gut. “Love how you waited to tell me until after you got yours.”

  “Whatever, Jana. Let me finish.” He kept calm, which increased my irritation. “I know this is not the right time for us to move back. Our life could not be any more terrific, and what would you do? Quit Covington? We should take our time making a decision.”

  I rolled my eyes sarcastically. “Of course we should.” My sense of urgency, and his lack thereof, had caused arguments on more occasions than I could count.

  He ignored me. “I do agree that it would be better for us to live near our families when we have kids. But that’s not in the cards right now.” He paused. “I needed some time to process this before telling you. I knew you would flip out.”

  I pursed my lips together furiously. Dramatically, I snatched my company car keys, slamming the door loudly behind me, tossing an emotional “I can’t talk to you right now” in my wake. I nearly wrecked as I pulled out of the parking lot, the thought that at least it was not really my car crossing my mind.

  Grace, my drama queen best friend, was used to the typical unloading of frustration that was thrust upon her after I experienced a stressful situation. I waited, impatiently, for her scatterbrained self to find her cell phone, hopefully before the fifth ring. On the fifth ring, the call ended, and I would have to wait, wallowing in my frustration alone, for her to find her missing phone and call me back.

  More like sisters than friends, Grace and I grew up on the same street, crashing the playground together daily as children. When she moved during our tenth grade year, we remained best friends, blowing up each other’s gigantic cell phones (they were so cool at the time) and grounded frequently for exceeding our minutes. When she moved back our senior year, it was as if she never left. Our friendship held steady through her broken relationship with my older brother, Daniel, my forbidden date with her crush who never returned her affections, and my animosity toward her snobby cheerleader pal, the one we called Kinky Katie, who liked to make snide remarks about how tall and skinny I was. (I would love for her to see me filling out a dress. “They” might be bought and paid for, but they were freaking perfect—36C and then some.) Grace and I chose different hobbies and made different friends, but things would be as they always were. Best friends.

  “What’s going on, my Jana?” Grace was chewing something and laughing. “You’re not going to believe what happened to me today. I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”

  She sounded overly animated. “Grace, have you been drinking?”

  “No, Gavin said we needed to cut back, so I’m going along with it.”

  Grace could walk in any room and instantly claim the role of life of the party. Like Andrew, she was truly amiable. Maybe all of five feet four inches, she had curves to kill for. With her blond waves, deep dimples, and full figure, I thought she resembled royalty in children’s fairy tales. Her clothes were authentic and glamorous; she grabbed everyone’s attention with her trendsetting. Laughter was her favorite sentence, and she always got what she wanted. When she turned twenty-one, she decided what she wanted was sexy-as-hell future police officer Gavin Milton, who was in a long-term relationship with the college beauty queen. After Grace Thomas “accidentally” tripped over him at a football game, he skipped the unsuspecting girlfriend’s Miss Congeniality pageant and accepted flashy Grace’s dinner invitation. Three months later, he proposed.

  “So, what happened to you today?” I was impatient.

  “Well! I got a call from the vice president of our company. He reviewed the regional marketing plan that I did and said that it was the very best one he had ever seen! He wants to fly me to New York City and let me sit on a special project team. I get to
take Gavin, too. All expenses paid!” She continued rambling until finally, she paused. “So what’s up with you?”

  I winced at how quickly she was talking. A little hypomania never hurt anyone, but when Grace dove into her endless chatter, it would only be a matter of days before the inevitable crash.

  Underneath Grace’s incessant prattle and dimpled smile was a darkness hidden to most. Her first bout of textbook bipolar disorder surfaced after her parents separated when she was sixteen, and she fought the sadness that smothered her with an overdose of Valium. To the outside world, it appeared the separation was affecting her very little, shadowed behind her role as class president and captain of the cheerleading squad. Determined to remain “normal,” Grace internalized the emotions that tortured her. No one knew but me and her family. Finally, after meeting Gavin, and the right antipsychotic, she embarked on a rewarding career and seemed to land in a place of healing.

  I missed Grace terribly after we moved to Birmingham only three months after she and Gavin settled in Fairhope. “You keep me grounded,” she said so often. I was the perfect complement to her mood swings; I could calm her with my boring rationalities, and I could count on her to listen with a dynamic ear. Naturally, she was the person I would turn to when I needed to process the fact that Andrew withheld information that could, after all, change our lives.

  “Well, something really awesome could have happened to me, too, but Andrew is resisting fate." I shoved the episode into a sixty-second synopsis.

  “Patience, Jana.” She sighed in response to my explosion. “Let a little time pass, and you will both see the right road. Don’t rush it, honey, or you’ll miss the scenery. Live in the moment.” Her voice was still too chirpy, even for her. Her medicine must have been working well that day.

  Live in the moment? Not my forte. I had read and re-read Eckhart Tolle, but my ability to live in the present was definitely lacking. Patience was a virtue I had not quite mastered; the item that never got crossed off my New Year’s resolution list.