A Moment in Magic Hour: A Coming-of-Age Story (Magic Hour Series Book 1)

by John Anthony

  I gave Mrs. Tremont a wave, and she smiled and waved back.

  Everyone within a few blocks was there, and it felt like a near perfect day. It was one of those special times when a neighborhood came together to help one of their own in need.

  Mom walked up and patted me on the back. She had Angie wrapped in a blanket in her other arm. “This neighborhood is a pretty special place.”

  All I could do was nod and smile.

  Becky and Lucy skipped over from across the street to see the new baby, and Mom knelt down on the grass to give them a better look.

  Lucy looked down at Angie, her eyes wide. “She’s so little.”

  “She’s brand new,” Mom said.

  “I never got to see a new baby before.” Lucy reached out and touched Angie’s cheek with her finger. “So soft.”

  “Would you like to hold her, Lucy?”

  Lucy looked frightened and turned to her sister. “Can I, Beck?”

  Becky laughed. “Of course you can, silly. She’s asking you.”

  Lucy held out her arms, and Mom gently showed her how to cradle Angie to protect her. Mom kept her arms under Lucy’s to offer extra support.

  “How are you feeling, Becky?” I asked. “Still have that nasty cough?”

  Becky shook her head. “Not a lot. Only sometimes now.”

  Mom looked up. “That’s great. I’m so glad you all weren’t hurt.”

  Tommy and Cubby came strolling up, each carrying a pop bottle.

  Cubby was pushing his new bike, the one that some kind stranger had left as a gift on his front porch one morning. It even had his name on it, so he knew it wasn’t a mistake. His parents had no idea where it had come from, but when Mom told me the story, I knew.

  She said that Mr. Stillson told her a little boy had walked up to his door and given him an envelope. Inside was ten dollars, money that was being saved for a new bike. It was Cubby; I knew it. He was paying for the apples we’d knocked off Old Man Stillson’s tree.

  Since then, Mr. Stillson was always nice to us. He’d smile and wave, and call us by name. Climbing his apple tree was simpler after that because he didn’t come running after us with the rake anymore.

  “There’s the new little neighbor,” Tommy said, leaning in and running his hand over the top of Angie’s head.

  “You’re gonna give that poor baby cooties,” Cubby said.

  “If I do, it’s only ’cause I’m hanging out with you, Cub.”

  Becky blushed as Tommy lifted his chin and hitched his hip in a pose, trying to turn on his cool swagger to impress her.

  Cubby wrinkled his nose at him. “Quit standing like that. It’s like you’ve got a messy diaper.”

  Tommy’s face turned red, and he swung his arm back to bop Cubby lightly in the shoulder.

  The smile on my face grew as I thought about how lucky I was to be able to stand here and still have these two in my life. The brothers I never realized I had.

  And for the first time in my life, I realized what it meant to be thankful.

  Epilogue

  The First Day of School

  Out the front window, I saw Cubby crossing the street, shivering a little as he carried his jacket. I knocked on the window and gave him a wave to let him know I’d be right out.

  “Don’t forget your lunch, honey,” Mom said.

  I knew somewhere buried in that metal Star Wars lunchbox with a sandwich, apple, and pudding was a note she’d written on a napkin. At lunch, I’d sneak it into my pocket, partly to hide it from the other kids, but more importantly, to keep it with me all day so I knew that Mom was with me. But I could never tell anyone that.

  I raised the lunchbox by its handle to show her I’d remembered to grab it off the kitchen counter.

  She walked over and made sure my jacket was zipped up to her standards, and kissed my cheek. “You’re not leaving without saying good-bye, are you?”

  “Yep.” I rolled my eyes as I turned to walk out the door. “Bye.”

  She grabbed hold of the back of my collar, and I laughed as it stopped me in place.

  “I was only kidding.”

  “Yeah, I bet you were.” Mom smirked, then gave me a light kick with her foot on my backside. “Now get outta here, mister. And have a good first day of school.”

  I flew out the door and down the front steps. It was a misty, wet morning just before sunrise, and the smell of damp autumn leaves filled my nose. Tommy was just getting to the corner where Cubby stood, struggling to get his right arm into his jacket sleeve. It was like watching Mom try to thread a sewing needle.

  “I thought creeps like you guys only came out at night,” Tommy said.

  “Har, har,” I said.

  “Yeah, think you’re gonna get on Johnny Carson with those jokes?” Cubby said with a grunt, still tugging at his jacket.

  Tommy set down his book bag and helped Cubby with his jacket. As I stood there watching Tommy and Cubby, I thanked my lucky stars again that I didn’t have to lose them.

  The bus came and we climbed aboard. I gave a little wave to Mom and the girls through the window, and the bus was off. Staring out the window with Tommy by my side, I was nervous of what my new classmates and teacher might be like. But also excited.

  At the next stop, the bus came to a halt with the psssssst of its brakes. The driver pulled the handle to let the students in, and the door unfolded with a creaky, squeaky sound.

  Those steps onto the bus always felt so steep. We’d have to slowly climb up the stairs, holding on to the rail, and hear the clomp of our shoes or winter boots on the steps, one . . . at . . . a . . . time.

  You’d see the top of the other kids’ heads as they approached the top step, and then they’d turn and begin walking down the aisle. I imagined that first-day-of-school nervousness filled them as they looked down that long row of seats, trying to find one empty with a window.

  At least, that’s what I did.

  But then something happened.

  As Tommy was telling me about the episode of Star Trek he’d seen the night before, his voice slowly faded and my stomach became tingly.

  Who is that?

  A new girl walked down the aisle toward me. Tommy nudged my leg to get my attention, but I couldn’t look away.

  She was wearing a yellow dress, the kind of yellow so bright it was almost white. Maybe it was my imagination, but I swore she glowed, right there in the middle of that dingy old school bus on that gloomy gray morning. She was a ray of bright light that warmed my face as she walked down the aisle toward me, and when she passed by, the fine hairs on my arms stood up.

  A purple band kept her hair pulled back from her face, and her sparkling blue eyes looked right into me. And then she smiled.

  Not a random smile for anyone. No, this one was directed right at me.

  “Holy cow, man.” Tommy reached over and covered my mouth with his hand. “Your mouth is hanging open.”

  Cubby spun around to stare at us from the seat in front of us. “Oh boy.”

  When the girl took a seat a few rows behind us, I pulled Tommy’s hand from my mouth.

  “Who . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Who, indeed,” Cubby said and rolled his eyes. He turned around and sat in his seat facing forward, shaking his head.

  I turned to Tommy, who was looking back with a big grin on his face.

  “Oh boy, this is gonna be a fun year,” he said, and nudged me with his elbow. “A really fun year.”

  But that story will have to wait for another day.

  Author’s Note

  What you’ve just read is dedicated to my mom. Every word was written in hopes of showing her what a special person she has always been to me—and to make her smile.

  And if I could allow myself a bit of selfishness, maybe even to make her proud. All sons believe their mother is their world, and I am no exception. I happen to think mine is pretty darn special.

  We have a bond that was formed before I was born. I’m
sure she talked to me, like I’m sure every mother does, about how she hoped she could take care of me the way I deserved. Maybe she mentioned how she was frightened. Maybe she put her hand on her belly and dreamed about what I was going to be like.

  Maybe. Just maybe.

  I’ve never asked if any of these things are true, but I have to believe she and I had conversations before the day I was born. Important ones.

  I was her confidant. I still am.

  When I was born, she became a mother. Which was fitting, because I kind of needed one.

  So while this is the story of a little boy figuring out how to grow up, at its core it’s the story of the relationship between a little boy and his mother, and how it will always be special—an important element of who he is and what kind of person he will become.

  The Magic Hour series, of which this book is the first entry, takes place in the Smith/Dodd area of West Saint Paul, Minnesota, where I spent a majority of my childhood. My family moved to a different part of West Saint Paul in the late 1970s, but Smith/Dodd has always had a special meaning to me.

  While a lot of the references are to real locations—many of which I visited again while writing this book—some details have been changed to allow them to fit logically within a fictional story.

  Thank you for joining me again, my friends. I look forward to branching out and challenging myself as I continue to tell more of my stories, and hope you’ll come along for the ride.

  You all have my never-ending gratitude for your support.

  Until next time, do good things.

  John Anthony

  November 5, 2016

  Coming Soon

  Jack and friends will return! Watch for the next installment in the Magic Hour series coming in 2017.

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  www.johnanthonywrites.com/newsletter

  Word of mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon—even if it’s just a sentence or two. It makes all the difference and would be very much appreciated.

  Acknowledgments

  To my partner, Nick, whose constant encouragement and support has helped me pursue my dream of writing and publishing my stories. With everything from movies to music, he has helped inspire me and get me in the right spirit to write each and every word. Nick, your support is never-ending. I love you.

  To my sisters, the real Jennifer, Heather, and Angela. When I first mentioned the idea I had for this book, I saw a bit of fear in your faces. I knew what you were thinking: would I use this book as an opportunity to repay you for years of abuse? (Cue evil laughter). Hopefully now you see that was never the intent. There is nothing but love in these words. The only struggle I’ve had as a result of you all being in my life was trying to figure out how to be a better brother to you.

  Thanks so much to my editor, Pam Berehulke. Finding the right editor to work with is of the utmost importance to an author, and I couldn’t have been luckier to find a more wonderful person (and spirit!) to help bring my stories to life. Thank you, Pam. You’re an incredible teacher, mentor, and friend. An endless supply of love and gratitude to you.

  And finally to my friends, the readers who continue to read my stories, contact me with feedback, and always ask, “When’s the next one coming?” I offer my humble thanks to you all. When I address my regular readers as my friends, I mean it sincerely. You make me work harder to ensure each story is the best it can be, so it lives up to your expectations.

  About the Author

  John Anthony was born and raised in West Saint Paul, Minnesota, and tortured by three younger sisters growing up.

  His family has always been incredibly close—and they still are. Raised with old-fashioned values he likes to weave through his nostalgic, family-friendly stories, his sisters also instill the same morals and values in their families. He enjoys watching his nieces and nephews grow into outstanding, caring young people.

  John worked in the IT industry until he lost his job, pivoted, and became a licensed massage therapist with his own successful practice in Saint Paul, which allows him to always meet new people.

  He lives with his partner of seven years in West Saint Paul.

  Connect with John Anthony at his website or on social media.

  JohnAnthonyWrites.com | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

  Click here to join his mailing list and be notified of his new releases.

  Also by John Anthony

  The Journey of Joseph Winter:

  A Christmas Fairy Tale

  by John Anthony

  The Journey of Joseph Winter: A Christmas Fairy Tale is a heartwarming, nostalgic Christmas story in the tradition of It’s a Wonderful Life and A Miracle on 34th Street.

  Joseph Winter is a good and gentle man, but he carries with him the pain and regret of a childhood mistake.

  When a package mysteriously arrives on his doorstep, he is invited on a trek that defies logic. Traveling far from his quaint home in St. Paul, Minnesota, into the snowy landscapes of the Arctic, his inspirational coming-of-age journey takes him in search of the one man who may be able to help him find peace—Santa Claus.

  An old-fashioned Christmas tale in the style of the classic Christmas stories shared by families every holiday season, The Journey of Joseph Winter: A Christmas Fairy Tale is the story of a man in search of Santa Claus, his childhood, and ultimately—himself.

  Now available on Amazon.com!