Once and Forever

by Constance O'Day-Flannery

How could she now be afraid of death? If her life ended tomorrow, she wouldn’t regret one single bit of it. This was just one chapter in an endless book. Yet she knew her fear had kept her away from really living while she was here, in this moment, and it was for that she cried, releasing the gripping hold terror had on her. Someday she would be tired and fall asleep again. Then she would dream the next chapter and, when she felt herself being awakened, she would remember the characters, the motivation. She might not remember the whole plot, but that was the adventure… to re-member, to put it all back together, to have the courage to live with purpose and recognize faith as the invisible bridge… to know without doubt there is land, paradise, beyond a sea of life’s confusion.

  Who ever said you had to die to live in paradise?

  Her tears instantly stopped when that thought entered her mind with such clarity that Maggie lifted her head and stared at Aiden. Sniffling, she used the side of her hand to swipe at her nose, and said in an awe-filled voice, “I’m not afraid anymore.”

  He smiled with love, and whispered. “Oh, goody.” Bringing her closer, he hugged her so tightly she had to hold her breath. “Let’s really live now!”

  “Yeah,” she agreed with a long exhale.

  He pulled back, and said with a boyish grin, “After all this impression upon the universe, I’m hungry. How about you?”

  Giggling, she sniffled and nodded. “What about ice cream?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting up and getting excited. “Ice cream and… pickles?”

  She laughed and skooched back against the pillows, collapsing in giggles. “Gimme a break, Aiden. I’m not that bad… yet. Plenty of people eat peanut butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches, and I would say a very small percentage are pregnant. My cravings are more… more primal,” she said, and grinned at him with a seductively arched eyebrow.

  In the moonlight, his handsome face lit with playfulness. “I have read that women in their second trimester are highly sexual creatures.”

  “Oh!” She sat up and pushed at his chest. “I’ll get the ice cream! Really,” she muttered, dropping her leg over the side of the bed. Reaching for her robe, she added, “I was speaking about something more substantial, like chicken salad or something.”

  “And touchy,” he said with a laugh. “Chicken salad on ice cream? Hold the chicken on mine. Hey, I was teasing you, Maggie. I’ll get your ice cream and chicken salad.”

  Standing and tying the silk belt around her expanding waist, she stopped the tinge of weird energy. This balancing of hormones was something!

  “I’m sorry, hon,” she said, and walked around the bed to his side. Bending down, she kissed the top of his head, while he kissed their child growing within her. “I know you were teasing.”

  He looked up and grinned. “I’ll get your munchies. It was my idea.”

  She tousled his dark hair, and then gently stroked his graying temples. “I’m up and I need to use the bathroom again. Besides, you were up late writing the album liner notes. You rest, my healing husband. Your impression upon the universe tonight was powerful and deep.”

  “You sure?” he asked in a tired voice that said he would gladly go if she wanted.

  “I’m sure. Now what do you want with your ice cream? I think we have some leftover broccoli from dinner,” she offered teasingly.

  He patted the back of her thighs. “Off with you, woman. Raid the fridge and create a midsummer night’s repast, then. We have a lot to celebrate.”

  She chuckled. “We do, don’t we?”

  As she left, she asked, “What do you think of the name Carolyn?”

  He didn’t say anything and she looked back to watch him reach over and turn on the nightstand lamp. “Hold on. Let me look it up.”

  She mentally shook her head as she saw him pick up the book of names that he kept with him all the time now. This naming of a new soul was of utmost importance to him.

  “Carolyn… Carolyn…” He ran the name over his tongue while flipping through pages. “Here it is. In Latin, the name means strong; womanly. The Old French say Carolyn is a song of joy.”

  He looked up from the book, and his gorgeous blue eyes widened. “I like it.”

  She laughed. “Me, too.”

  “Where did it come from? You just thought of it?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back,” she threw over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. “I have a more pressing need.”

  She headed straight for the bathroom. This pregnancy stuff was an adjustment. At forty-one years old, though, she wasn’t complaining. She was thrilled.

  Feeling like a woman well loved, Maggie strolled through the rambling single-story Mission-style home. What a sanctuary Aiden had built overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He had given her full rein to redecorate and add her own imprint, yet she had been so impressed with his taste that very few changes had been made. It was comfortable, beautiful, and welcoming.

  She walked through his office to turn off the light at his drafting table. He sometimes left it on, in case he awaked with inspiration. Well, she had some inspiration for him. He thought she wasn’t going to return with pickles and broccoli, huh? Chuckling, she was about to push the base button and cast the room into darkness, when her gaze caught the words written on a piece of scratch paper… He was already starting a new song.

  Trying to hear my own song

  I searched my life for you

  Sweetness of my days

  Goddess of my nights

  Angel of my mornings

  Now and forever more…

  She had never told Aiden that Nick had said those words to her. Sweetness of my days, goddess of my nights, angel of my mornings… When he had spoken them tonight, it was then she couldn’t hold back the tears and had finally broken down to release her fear of death. He was writing this one for her, and her heart expanded with awe.

  She turned off the lamp and stared out the huge picture window at the ocean. It was as though she had left the light and instantly entered the world of darkness, of the moon casting shadows and stars bursting through the soothing shades of black. She finally could appreciate the beauty of the opposite. The light of the sun creating shadows as it bathed the earth with warmth, and the shadows of the night as the cool light of the moon coaxed them out.

  Elthea must love this marriage of opposites.

  She thought of the wise woman with a surge of gratitude welling up inside of her for those who came before her and held the light until she, herself, could see. The real illusion was that this moment wasn’t The Garden.

  We never left. We’ve just been, well… shitting in paradise.

  She burst out laughing and hugged her gently rounded belly. “Welcome, Carolyn…” She chuckled. “This is one heck of a ride, but leave your seat belt unbuckled. You don’t really need it.” Not bad advice, coming from someone who had followed her heart and found an ancient happiness.

  Her joy was such that when the tears again entered her eyes, she allowed them without judgment. With a sacred love, her hands began caressing her belly as Aiden had done earlier. The connection was made with her child, and she knew she would be talking to her every chance she got. She wanted to tell her everything she knew. What worked and what was a challenge. She wanted Carolyn to hear soothing music to coax her into life. Her eyes would serve as a mirror to entice her daughter into the sense of beauty. Her hands and nose would reveal the sensuousness of the earth. And her tongue would delight with taste and textures and—

  Suddenly, she felt a faint flutter in her belly like butterfly wings and jumped. She also really wanted the ice cream now.

  Aiden had said don’t think. Feel. Geez, he was some angel in disguise. If someone had told her her own story, she would have said it was a fairy tale. That it couldn’t be true. But it was… she was living it with a man who was creative and handsome, tough enough to have finished all the carpentry work in the house himself and so talented he played five instruments with passion. He was romantic, biting
ly funny, handsomely older than she by eight years, and so full of respect for her he had made her a partner in his company. And he had more integrity than anyone else she had ever met.

  Nick certainly wrote himself a great gig this time around.

  Aiden was her friend, her lover, her partner. Her twin flame. His light and warmth supported her own flame, and somehow she did the same for him. Now, inside her body, another being was creating itself. If there was one thing she had learned it was not to wait to say anything that was deep within her heart, but to follow it always. Always to live her truth.

  It was her first clear communication with her child, and she felt the importance of the moment. Filled with the awe of life, Maggie smiled tenderly and whispered what was in her heart.

  “Namaste, sweetie…”

  is it

  THE END

  ?

  Afterword

  Where I am gone, be not afraid…

  It is a place that Life is made.

  In a New Beginning, not an end…

  We all will know and Love again.

  —Cristopher Cornell Sterling

  Author’s Note

  Before I acknowledge others who have inspired or assisted me in writing this story, I would like to thank you, the reader. I figure this is the best opportunity I have to communicate directly to you, so I’m taking it. Carpe diem, and all that. To those who have bought my books, shared them with others, written me such beautiful, articulate letters that I have been rewarded beyond anything public… to all of you, thank you from my heart.

  The only time I call myself a writer is when I’m filling out a legal form. I think of myself as a storyteller, a communicator, and I wish to express to you my personal acknowledgment for allowing me into your head and assisting me to do something I love. Create. I am honored you have consented for a short while to drop your disbelief and have allowed me to take you on an adventure of the mind and heart. Together, we’ve ventured into a few mysterious and sometimes misunderstood subjects. I’m learning all the time just how much there is to learn. I guess that’s why when you read my perception in a novel I am honored that somehow I can communicate with you. So many have written and said they feel like they know me through my work. It’s a friendship that has lasted thirteen years and, again, I am honored.

  I started writing for myself when I was a reader, just like you. My novels were part of my budget. I learned so much in those imaginary worlds, about history, relationships, balance, and love. I considered myself a fairly intelligent woman and when I sat down to write that book I wanted to read, but couldn’t find… I thought of you, and wondered if you’d like it, too. It was just a story, not literary fiction, but then I always knew I was a storyteller. Since childhood I would read to anyone who would listen, for I couldn’t think of a better way to be entertained and to learn. Originally that’s why I liked history, and it wasn’t until I started to question the story that I learned there just might be another perception, another view. Once in a while, following the paper trail really can lead to some surprising clues. That happened in this book and my imagination took off, yet that is merely my perception and this is, after all, fiction. You, the reader, will assess for yourself how it feels.

  Personally, I think every single person who has ever entered into this adventure of life is writing a best-seller just by showing up. Often, it takes courage to keep writing our stories. Again, my perception, and yet that could change at any moment since change is sure. We all seem to agree on one thing though. Free will. The ability to make choices. Thank you for making this one, and holding my hand as together we dreamed a slightly different dream. I’m already excited and thinking about the next one. See you there.

  Namaste

  Constance O’Day

  New Jersey, January 1999

  All the world’s a stage,

  And all the men and women merely players.

  Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626)

  aka William Shakespeare

  Acknowledgments

  Gary L. Wade—for providing me with information on healing herbs.

  Tara A. McGovern—for technical support and the laughter shared.

  Maggie Pierce Secara—for her invaluable research on the Renaissance, available at renaissance.dm.net.

  Lyssa Keusch—my editor, for her insights, expertise and her support of this book… and all the staff of Avon Books who have contributed to this publication.

  Patricia Trowbridge—the inspiration for Edithe and Elthea. I cherish our friendship and am so glad we reconnected. What a hoot to come full circle and realize we know nothing.

  Francis Carr, and all those who contributed to the bountiful research available on the Internet concerning the Baconian Evidence for Shakespeare Authorship.

  Cristopher Cornell Sterling—for his patience and encouraging me to venture into the Renaissance when I was intimidated by the time period. So glad I listened to his wisdom.

  Finally, to all those, too numerous to mention, who have held the light throughout time and questioned the answers… I acknowledge your courage.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1999 by Constance O’Day-Flannery

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-3178-6

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

  CONSTANCE O’DAY-FLANNERY

  FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

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