Martinis & Moonlight (A Country Road Novel - Book 3)

by Andrea Johnston

  Martinis & Moonlight

  (A Country Road Novel–Book 3)

  Copyright © 2017 by Andrea Johnston

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people–living or dead–is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or, it was not purchased for you then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting this author.

  Cover design by Uplifting Designs

  Editing by Kristina Circelli of Red Road Editing

  Interior design by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats

  Cover Photo by Kyla Ellison of Kyla Leighanne Photography

  Cover models: Teejay Reed and Jessica Reed

  ISBN: 978-0-9966309-7-9

  First Edition

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Andrea Johnston

  For romance readers everywhere.

  True love exists.

  “Dakota, this doesn’t make you a bad mother. In fact, I think this decision alone confirms what a wonderful mother you are. It’s going to all work out, I promise.”

  There is truth in every word I speak. This is by far the most difficult decision my older sister will ever make in her life. I’m not sure I would be able to handle this as well as she is. That’s not true; I know for a fact I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not nearly as strong as she is. I’ve idolized her my entire life and to see her here, on her couch sobbing uncontrollably, breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

  “Minnie, how did I get here? How is this my life? I’m better than this. I’ve let everyone down. The girls, you, Mom and Dad, and most of all Jeff.” A sob escapes between her words. “It should have been me. He wouldn’t have to make this decision; this wouldn’t have happened to him.”

  Every word she utters chips away at my heart. I’ve always been compassionate. The kind of person who sees another cry and feels the tears fall from her eyes. I watched a man kneel before his soon-to-be wife and declare his undying love and cried every tear the woman did. Pure joy and happiness for another. I’ve been to funerals and watched friends and family bury their loved ones and cried alongside them as if it were my own family member being laid to rest. All of that is natural for me, but never in my life have I actually felt like a piece of my soul was being ripped apart.

  Until my sister came to me and asked for help. The day she looked at me broken, lost, and defeated I felt myself overwhelmed with compassion, understanding, and a fierce need to protect.

  “Dakota, look at me. Do not ever say that. What happened was tragic and your loss has been tremendous, but do not ever say it should have been you.” My carefully constructed armor breaks and I join my sister in a good old-fashioned cry fest. Jeff wasn’t just her husband, he was her best friend. He was a wonderful person—kind, funny, supportive, a little quirky, and very careful. Everything he did was with caution and never remotely close to risky. But, it doesn’t matter how careful and safe you play life, sometimes tragedy strikes and there are no answers, only questions.

  Seven months ago, Jeff was surprising Dakota with their first date night since Cali’s birth. Every minute of the evening was planned to perfection. Alternative date options were in place should Dakota not want to be far from the baby. Jeff planned for her need to call our parents every fifteen minutes to check on the kids. And, Jeff planned for the minute Dakota declared their date over and her need to be home with her babies.

  But, like all things in life, not everything can be planned for. There are times when even the best laid plans are disrupted. What Jeff couldn’t have planned for was the deer that shot out across the road and the accident that resulted. The accident that claimed his life and led us to this moment and, what I imagine, is one of the most difficult decisions a mother will ever make for her children.

  “We’re a mess, Min,” Dakota chokes out, wiping her tears with her hands.

  With only our sniffles and hitched breaths filling the air, I stand and walk toward the entry table to grab a box of tissue. Kent hates that I have tissue boxes all over the condo. “It’s too clinical, Minnie. Tissues should be left to the restroom and not the main part of the home.” It isn’t often that I go against Kent’s wishes, especially when it comes to something so insignificant, but after my sister was in the accident I found that I had more moments like this than I did before. Tissues are a necessity and belong where I can have immediate access to them, Kent’s wishes on the subject be damned. Fear, sadness, and the resulting tears are my new normal and Kent will have to get used to it.

  “Here.” Dakota takes the offered box of tissues and begins wiping her tear-streaked face. Resuming my spot next to her on the couch, I reach for her hand before taking two deep breaths to regulate my heart rate. Another habit I’ve acquired since the accident.

  “You asked how this could have happened to you. The answer isn’t simple, Dakota, but I believe your doctor is partly to blame. He never seemed concerned with the number of painkillers he was prescribing. It’s no wonder you became,” I pause. I don’t want to say addicted. I’m not certain why, it’s the truth. “Hooked on them. You’ve had a hell of a year and while I’ve only taken that strength of painkiller once before, I can see the appeal to the constant numbness they offer.”

  Not only did Dakota suffer a horrible injury, she was never able to mourn her loss properly. She pushed her recovery to a point that she was merely functioning. In doing so, Dakota found herself addicted to painkillers in a matter of a few short months. She hid it well. Too well.

  Laws prevented her doctor from speaking with m
e directly, but I did manage to talk to him once. I spoke of my concerns over her obvious depression and failure to thrive after the accident. She didn’t follow her physical therapists’ recommendations and the pain she was enduring was both physical and mental. Unfortunately, like with many medical practices these days, he was less concerned with what I was saying and instead concerned with getting to his next patient on time. He suggested I take Dakota on more “ladies lunches” and spend time with her. That was his way of dealing with what was obviously a spiraling patient. Well, and the prescription for another ninety days’ worth of painkillers.

  “I should have listened to you, Min.” The momentary lull in crying is over as Dakota starts sobbing again. I pull her to me, my arm around her shoulder, and other hand running through her long hair. Dakota used to hold me like this when we were younger and the kids would pick on me or a boy would break my heart. I owe her this.

  “We can’t go back, sis, we can only move forward. It’s all going to be okay. The girls will come here for as long as you need. Kent and I will make sure they’re cared for; we love them and you. It’ll be good for Uncle Kent to get in some one-on-one time with the girls anyway. Plus, Mom and Dad are nearby and will be so far up my business I’ll be begging for you to come home. And when you get home, we’ll take that girls trip we’ve always dreamed of. Only this time, we’ll have two little mini-Dakotas with us. How does that sound?” Her response is only a nod with another sniffle. She’s so frail and broken, both emotionally and physically, I don’t know how she’s made it this far.

  “I can’t leave my babies, Min. What kind of mother leaves her babies? I’m a horrible person; they deserve so much better.”

  “Dakota, look at me.” I’m barely holding on and need to say this to her once, and only once. This is hardest thing she’ll ever do, but it’s necessary for her to live. This is absolutely a life-or-death situation. “You are the very best mama to those babies because you’re doing this. You are a wonderful mother and those girls are blessed to have you. It’s been a shit year. You’ve fallen down a dark hole, Sissy, but we’re going to get you out of it. I promise. Now, I will take care of your babies and you will get well. You will work on kicking those fucking pills to the curb, gaining strength in your heart and your body. And most of all, I want you to grieve. We’ll talk to you every single night.”

  I know this is what needs to happen. I know that my sister and our family need this to happen. I just hope we all survive the next few months. Change isn’t exactly our forte.

  “Let’s go for a drive. You and me. We’ll figure this out.”

  She agrees and, two hours later, we’re driving into the small town of Lexington. The main street through town, appropriately named Main Street, is lined with various shops. Large lamp posts give the street an old-town feel and I love it. I come to the end of Main Street and have the option to turn left toward the outskirts of town or right into what looks more like neighborhoods.

  “Fork in the road, Dakota. What do you say?”

  She contemplates for a few minutes before pointing right. Her body is turned to the window as she takes in the simplicity of this town that is only a few hours from the life she leads but feels like so much more.

  After a few minutes of driving, I turn down a tree-lined street. As we drive, I note the adults tending to their lawns, neighbors chatting with one another, and children at play. A few kids are riding bikes down the street while another group is throwing a baseball around. I slow when a ball rolls into the street and young boy stops at the curb and looks before shooting out into the street to pick up the ball. He offers a wave of thanks and we both slowly raise our hands in response.

  I continue down the street when I hear Dakota gasp while grabbing my arm. I tap the brakes, almost slamming them.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “That house!” Her voice is full of excitement, something I’ve missed lately. I note the house she’s pointing at.

  “Min, this is what I need. This town, that house. It’s a fresh start. I want my girls to make friends with the neighborhood kids. I want them to have the fortitude to wave thanks to strangers in a car instead of scowling like the car did something wrong.”

  Dakota turns in her seat and stares at the house with a For Sale sign and I know in this moment I will do whatever my sister needs to give her a fresh start.

  “Why is that dog there?”

  “Why is that boy wearing a jacket?”

  “Why are we coming here, Auntie?”

  Dear Lord, please grant me the strength I need for these babies. And, please have a bottle of wine chilled in the fridge when we get to the house. Amen.

  I get it, that’s not a real prayer. I’m not exactly the go to church on Sunday kind of gal anymore; yeah yeah, take it up with my mother, she’s not pleased either. But, in tough times, you dig deep to your beliefs and ask for help. Like my sister. When Dakota came to me and confessed her pain pill addiction, a piece of my soul broke along with her. My respect and admiration for her only grew in that moment. Many people would look at her and pass judgment. Not me.

  Dakota Jennings is an amazing woman—caring, loving, selfless, and gentle. To know that she had spiraled down a path that none of us could have imagined … well, it was a lot to take in. Then I looked at my beautiful sister and I knew I would do anything to help her, just like she has done for me our entire lives.

  “Arizona, the boy in the jacket is walking that dog. I’m not quite sure why he’s wearing a jacket since it’s at least eighty outside, but who are we to judge?”

  “Auntie, Cali is going to cry. I dowannahearher!”

  We’re quickly headed to a meltdown. I can’t do a meltdown in this car. I’ll go insane. It’s been a quiet two hours while my nine-month-old niece slept and Arizona asked me every question under the sun. I’m not quite certain which is worse—the crying and fussing or the incessant questioning. All I know is that my single glass of wine tonight after they go to sleep will taste even sweeter.

  Moderately successful in tuning out my sweet and inquisitive four-year-old niece, I send a plea to a stirring baby Cali to hold off on her anticipated cry fest. Yes, my nieces are named Arizona and Cali. It’s a long story that goes beyond my sister’s obsession with the television show Grey’s Anatomy. Without too much detail, Dakota and I were both named after the states in which we were allegedly conceived. When Dakota and Jeff started trying for a family, she intended to keep that tradition afloat. Alas, our family was blessed with Arizona, Ari for short, and Cali.

  Yes, Dakota was conceived in one of the two Dakotas, we never could determine which, and I was lucky enough to be conceived in Minnesota. As a pre-teen, I used to ask my parents why they couldn’t have settled in the south. Why couldn’t I be Carolina or Georgia? I could work with Georgia. Minnesota? They didn’t give me a fighting chance.

  By the time I was in high school, I threatened almost weekly to change my name the day I turned eighteen. However, by the time I turned eighteen I was just simply Minnie and had conceded defeat. Sure, I wish my name was something sexy like Bianca or Jasmine. It’s not. But, then again, I don’t consider myself sexy.

  I look again from the sticky note I have the address written on then back to the numbers on the mailboxes. We’re just a few houses away from our destination and I know the minute I turn off the ignition, Cali will wake up. I’m okay with that, if I can get her out of her seat and walk around with her. Otherwise, it’s going to be two meltdowns at once.

  The moment I pull the car into the driveway, the first whimper of an awakening baby fills the confines of my car. This simple whimper sends Ari into further dramatics. The fits are less tantrum and more “episodes”. This behavior started shortly after the accident and when she was getting a little extra attention to compensate for the loss.

  “Ari, look how pretty the new house is. Are you ready to see your new room? Remember, Uncle Linc has a surprise for you.” My attempts to distract her before she begi
ns whining are successful as she starts talking about her princess room Papa promised her.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and exit the car. Once I open the door closest to Arizona, I lean across her body to unbuckle her when she reaches out to touch my cheek. “Auntie Min? Is okay to be sad, my mama said so.”

  I need to get a handle on my poker face. Arizona Jennings is a very perceptive child and can always feel when I’m a little sad. I will my tears to stay hidden. I only let them fall when these babies are asleep and I am alone. The loss our family has suffered is not one I want to burden them with; I want to absorb their burden and let them live the lives they’re meant to have.

  “Thanks, baby. Should we go see what Uncle Linc did?”

  “Yep. I bet he left the potty seat up. Nana says he’s lazy as an old dog on a porch. Are old dogs lazy, Auntie?”

  I let out a small laugh. My brother is a lot of things, but most of all, he is the laziest little shit I know. And, yep, we’re all to blame. He’s been coddled and spoiled since the day Mom brought him home. Of course, he’s also a rotten little shit, always reminding Dakota and myself that he’s named after the city he was conceived in and not the state. And, that’s why we call him Nebraska. Little fucker.

  “Sometimes old dogs are lazy, Ari. Let’s get out of this car and stretch our legs. Come on.”

  I finish helping Ari out of her very secure five-point harness before moving out of the way so she can explore the yard. I mocked the car seat at first, not understanding why a little kid needed such a complex strap. Then, a few months ago, Ari gave Dakota a fright when she managed to undo the old, less complex harness herself while Dakota was driving. I’ll never forget the anxiety in Dakota’s voice when she called to tell me what happened.

  At the time, I didn’t realize how much she was suffering beyond an unbuckled car seat and I still harbor that guilt. I simply blew it off as something little kids must do. I regret that cavalier attitude. But, I did go with her to purchase the most secure and complicated car seat imaginable the very next day.