Designing Hearts
Robin Strachan
Camel Press
PO Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
For more information go to: www.Camelpress.com
www.robinstrachanauthor.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
Designing Hearts
Copyright © 2015 by Robin Strachan
ISBN: 978-1-60381-260-3 (Trade Paper)
ISBN: 978-1-60381-261-0 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015933250
Produced in the United States of America
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Acknowledgments
The art of feng shui has fascinated me for over twenty years. The idea of promoting well-being through order and beauty in the very place where life has essential meaning, the home, is such a simple concept. Intentions (thoughts, which have creative power) bring about actions that lead to the results we seek.
Over the years, I’ve developed quite a few rather inventive ways to use the creative and destructive cycle of feng shui for enhancements to several of my homes, and I’m happy to say, they’ve worked to my satisfaction. Maybe those “fixes” were a bit unorthodox, but who says humor and imagination can’t play a role in feng shui?
There is always a point in the process of writing a novel when an author faces the reality of personal limitation. Clearly, writers need lots of assistance and hand-holding. At least one skilled editor is essential, preferably more than one. Test-readers are needed to make sure the book makes sense, flows, and is an enjoyable read. But even more essential is an army of family and friends who stand by you through thick and thin, read drafts, provide endless amounts of encouragement, and provide meals and snacks so you have the strength to carry on.
I would like to begin my acknowledgments by thanking my daughters, Lauren Fritts and Elizabeth Gretz, for believing in my talents. I’d also like to thank my son-in-law, Tim Fritts, who treats me as though I’m the best mother-in-law in the world; my parents, Bill and Shirley Strachan, who have always been there for me; and my grandbabies, Caroline and Will, for the happiness you bring to my life.
In addition, I want to acknowledge several spiritual mentors and wise friends who have taught me so much—not only about feng shui, but also about the power of faith, how to tap into my intuitive gifts more strongly, and the amazing ability of positive thoughts to create the world of my dreams. A big thank you goes out to Karen Schultz, who taught me yoga and feng shui, helping create sanctuary wherever I lived or worked; Lyn Williams, who taught a very enjoyable feng shui class and offered tips; and Patt Jones, who provided instruction in feng shui that helped me sell a house in a down market.
To Catherine Treadgold, publisher, and Jennifer McCord, associate publisher, of Coffeetown Enterprises/Camel Press in Seattle, I can only say that I consider it a lucky day indeed when you invited me to join your troupe of authors. Thank you for believing in my work. Thank you for brilliant suggestions, insightful questions, and encouragement. Thanks for being fun to work with!
A special thank you goes to a friend and colleague, Marian Barlage, for her patient work in showing me the finer points of social media.
And last but certainly not least, to my Angels, thank you for always being there to support, protect, and guide me. It is really you who make it all happen. But thanks for letting me think that it’s me.
Chapter One
The musical alarm on her laptop calendar jingled its three-tone reminder as Jill Hennessy looked up from an enormous stack of wallpaper catalogs. She was ready for a break. She’d just spent two hours hunched over her work table, reviewing hundreds of samples for a client. Rising from her chair, she arched her back in a catlike yoga move to ease the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. If she left now, she wouldn’t be noticeably late. She had scheduled a lunch meeting with Tom Becker, managing partner of the architectural and design firm where she worked. Despite her best intentions, the morning had gotten away from her.
Checking her cellphone, she noticed that her husband David had phoned mid-morning. He almost never called during the day, and she was disappointed to have missed him. She quickly punched in the code to her voicemail, but found no messages. He probably just wanted to remind her to pick up his dry cleaning. Grabbing her purse, she closed the office door, careful not to interrupt Monica, her assistant, who was calculating a column of numbers.
“I’m heading over to have lunch with Tom now,” Jill said when Monica’s fingers finally paused, suspended over the keys. “If David calls, would you tell him I’ll call him back after lunch?”
“Sure thing.” Monica’s fingers resumed their rapid movements. “Before I forget, will you tell Tom that the new painter, Denny MacBride, filled out his HR paperwork?”
“Tom finally hired a new painter?” Jill’s face broke into a grin. “He just told me last week that he didn’t think we needed another one. It’s all about the budget, you know.” She rolled her eyes.
“You must have been persuasive. Oh, and Jill? Wait until you see this guy.” Monica leaned back in her chair and batted her eyelashes. “He can color my world anytime.”
“Always nice to have painters that go well with the décor.” Jill winked. “Be back in an hour or so.”
Before leaving the building, she ducked into the restroom and gave herself a quick inspection in the large mirror over the sinks. She drew a comb through chestnut hair cut in a sleek, chin-length style that emphasized high cheekbones and a peaches-and-cream complexion. She wet a finger and rubbed away a speck of soot beneath large, cobalt-blue eyes, fringed with naturally thick eyelashes that required only a touch of mascara. Despite a healthy appetite, she was blessed with an hourglass figure that was still a trim size eight. Not bad for late forties, she thought, glad that she was secure in her marriage, with no need to obsess over the small signs of aging—the faint lines at the corners of her eyes and across her forehead. Satisfied with her appearance, Jill refreshed her rosy matte lipstick, blotted it with a tissue, and headed out the door and down the backstairs.
She took the grassy shortcut from her building to the nearby shopping plaza that included her favorite lunchtime deli. When she pushed open the front door, Tom Becker was sitting at a corner table, staring off into space. He looked distracted and tired—a mood she had observed more and more lately. She also noticed that he had thoughtfully ordered her favorite lunch: a turkey sandwich with sprouts on whole grain with guacamole and a chai tea latte.
She cleared her throat to get his attention and arranged her purse strap over the back of the chair. “Hey, thanks for ordering for me. Did I just interrupt a heavy thought?”
His eyes met hers in a way that confirmed her impression. “I was thinking about something I’d like you to do. I haven’t mentioned it yet because I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Jill eased into her chair and removed the lid from her latte. “No, Tom, I won’t help you paint your foyer this weekend. You need a professional for those vaulted walls over the stairs. Or is that why you finally hired another painter?”
For a moment, Tom’s expression went blank. Then he offered his shy, crooked smile. “Okay, you were right. We did need another painter. We can’t afford to get behind on projects, especially with revenue down this quarter.” He paused. “Actually, I wanted to ask you to do something for us
in the way of marketing and public relations. I know you’re going to give me a dozen reasons why it’s not a good idea, even though it is.”
“If I do, I’m sure they’ll be good reasons,” Jill said mildly. “Go on.”
“Just listen. The community college has a continuing non-credit education program for adults called ‘Communiversity.’ I thought maybe you could offer a class on feng shui. It’d be a new way of marketing our services.”
While Jill’s eyes widened in dismay at the thought of teaching a class, Tom continued as if his idea was a fait accompli. After taking a huge bite of his Reuben sandwich, he stabbed two battered French fries into a pool of ketchup, crammed them into his mouth, and said, still chewing, “You’ll be great.” He took another few seconds to swallow the mouthful of food before adding, “After you get the hang of what works, we could try a class onsite in the new conference room. I’m thinking it could help bring in new customers.”
“But I’ve never taught feng shui.” Jill’s brow furrowed as she stirred her latte.
“It’ll be good for you,” he said. “I know you hate public speaking, but you’re actually better at it than you think.”
“I doubt that. Do you suppose there’s even enough interest in feng shui to fill a class?” Jill gingerly bit into her sandwich, half hoping the idea would flop. But she knew that in Tom’s mind, the class was already a done deal.
For as long as she could remember, she had avoided public speaking. Although she loved visiting with clients one-on-one or in small groups, whenever she was required to make a presentation, she carefully prepared her remarks and either memorized or read them verbatim. That way, there was less chance of flubbing up and embarrassing herself. Unlike David, her husband of twenty-five years, Jill suffered from stage fright. David was used to performing for an adoring public and seemed to relish his role as a celebrity news commentator and talk show host for a major television network. As she picked at her lunch, she couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that Tom’s suggestion produced. Nevertheless, she knew her partner was right: it was important to broaden her comfort zone for the sake of the business. Clearly, revenue was down enough to cause concern.
The lunch hour passed quickly as they discussed current design projects and ways to keep them on schedule. There were some new projects in the pipeline, but Tom needed to finalize details, and nothing was certain. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Then, picking up his lunch tray, he said, “Sorry, I’ve got to run. HR needs to meet with me about our benefits package. We’re probably going to switch healthcare providers again this year.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “The economy is pinching us hard—right in our collective bottom line.”
“Ouch. Sorry you have to deal with all that.” Jill winced in sympathy. “Okay, I’ll teach the class. I’ll start putting together a syllabus and call somebody over at the community college to find out when the next session starts.”
“They already have ‘Introduction to Feng Shui’ listed on their website. Classes start in two weeks.” Tom grinned and ducked as Jill playfully threw a wadded-up sandwich wrapper at his face. “I figured I could talk you into it, eventually.”
Jill stayed behind to finish her latte as Tom headed back to the office. She had to admit that his idea for her to teach a feng shui class was brilliant, one she might have suggested herself—if there had been someone else to teach it, that is. Throughout her marriage, she had always admired David for his ability to host nightly news and talk shows without breaking a sweat. He made it look easy.
There he is, she thought, and her heart skipped a beat as David’s handsome face suddenly appeared on the television screen above the lunch counter. She turned sideways in her chair to get a better look at her husband, dressed impeccably in a charcoal-colored suit. She noticed it was not the light gray suit he had worn at home that morning as he left for the network’s offices in New York City. He was surrounded by a crowd of what appeared to be security officers, reporters, and camera-wielding crews. But there was something different about this press conference. The crowds did not look friendly; instead they lined his path like a gauntlet.
In the background, the well-known voice of Hollywood entertainment host Mary Fox could be heard saying, “It’s the latest scandal to rock television news. Did conservative political commentator David Hennessy, a voice for family values, have an affair with a young female colleague?”
Jill froze in her seat, her breath coming shallow and rapid, as video footage of David continued, showing him being ushered into a waiting limousine. The teaser ended with, “Get the whole story tonight at five o’clock and again at six on Entertainment Tuesday.”
Leaving the remains of her sandwich, Jill snatched her purse from the chair and rose on wobbling legs. As she stumbled out of the deli, beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. She felt on the verge of throwing up. It was fortunate, at least, that no one else in the deli knew her identity. Yanking her square compact mirror from her bag, she stopped for a moment to study her reflection. The attractive, carefully made-up face she had seen in the restroom mirror less than an hour earlier now appeared different to her. In its place she saw a woman nearing fifty, crow’s feet clearly etched at the corner of her eyes, a jawline that was no longer firm and youthful, with hair that needed frequent touch-ups to keep its shiny chestnut color.
She had always taken considerable pains to look her best. Until this moment, she had believed herself to be lovely and youthful in every way. David had always told her so, and she had believed him. Had he been lying to her all these years? She smoothed her hands across the front of her navy skirt and back to her waist with shaking hands, and felt the rise above her waistline—barely noticeable most days. Today, however, her tummy definitely felt bigger. She leaned over to stop the second wave of nausea that engulfed her and touched her knees, noticing with dismay that they, too, had more flesh on them than in years past. I’m not the young woman I used to be. Standing up straight, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself, wondering what else she might not have noticed before today. Have I let myself go? Surely there was a reason David had strayed. Why didn’t I allow the dermatologist to do the filler around my cheekbones and mouth? I should have tried harder to get to the gym.
She was grateful, at least, that Tom hadn’t been there to hear the television promo. In college, Tom and David had been fraternity brothers, but not particularly good friends. Rather, Tom and Jill gravitated together as friends and study partners, and had remained close. Years later, after Tom started his own architectural firm, Jill joined him as an interior designer, eventually becoming a full partner. She and Tom were still the best of friends, but Jill knew that he often held his tongue regarding David. As thoughts paraded through her mind—mental film clips of years gone by—Jill wondered whether Tom’s coolness toward David over the years had anything to do with playboy behavior she hadn’t known about in college.
She felt shaky and light-headed as she made her way back to the office—taking the longer route this time. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of David’s betrayal, but she blinked them away. By this time, the story had to be on the Internet. That meant her coworkers might already know what had happened. It was more important than ever that she appear poised and unruffled—show them the face of a celebrity wife.
As she walked along the path to the office, she ransacked her mind for signs from the night before or early that morning that something was amiss with David. He had gotten home around eleven o’clock the night before. He’d been attending a cocktail party, or so he said. This, in itself, wasn’t unusual. David often drove home later at night in an effort to miss heavy evening traffic from New York City to the Connecticut suburbs. Jill was barely asleep when he silently raised the covers and crawled into bed, spooning against her. She felt his mouth graze her bare shoulder and then, feeling grateful that he was home, she turned to face him and raised the silky nightgown over her head, initiating lovemaking. Afterward, she nestled her head
against his shoulder and strummed her fingers against his chest as his heartbeat slowed. He whispered his usual, “Love you, babe,” and fell asleep. She wondered how it was possible for an unfaithful man to make love to his wife, as David had done last night.
Just hours ago, earlier this morning, she had handed him a mug of coffee while he shaved. As he stood before the bathroom mirror in his white boxers, naked from the waist up, he looked so gorgeous that Jill leaned in for another kiss. Flashing a grin, he wiped shaving cream off her cheek with his towel, kissed the tip of her nose, and finished dressing. Then he grabbed a homemade muffin and a banana and left for the city—his usual routine. Nothing about his actions suggested that anything out of the ordinary was about to happen.
“Are you okay?” Monica asked in alarm, rushing around her desk to meet Jill.
Up and down the hallway, there were no signs of life. In fact, the entire second floor was suspiciously deserted for this time of day. Feeling numb, Jill realized her coworkers knew what had happened. Monica rounded the corner and circled an arm around Jill for support as she unlocked Jill’s office door. A moment later, Tom appeared and gathered Jill against him as the first tears flowed. He patted her back as she sobbed.
“I don’t understand how he could do something like this!” Jill cried, finally pulling away from Tom’s embrace. “I’ve worked so hard to be the best wife I could possibly be, to support his career, raise his sons, to be there for him. What more could I do?”
“There is nothing, nothing more you could have done. You don’t deserve this,” Monica muttered, her strong features strained in anger. Monica was tall and heavyset, but she wore her size well, projecting a larger than life confidence. She usually wore slacks and cashmere sweaters and would have made an excellent TV cop. Anger visible on her face, she added, “Did you suspect anything at all?”
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