“Jodi absolutely had to have this dog when we were in the Bahamas. I suspected then that she was showing off for the other couples. Proving what a compassionate person she is, and all that. But now she’s fed up. He sheds. He needs to go out. He chewed on a pair of her shoes. Dog stuff. After I leave here, I’m dropping Gerard off at the animal shelter. I hope he’ll find a good home.”
“No you don’t. I’ll take him.” I reached out and grabbed the leash before Cooper could say another word.
Gerard stood next to me as I watched the Escalade pull out of my driveway. When the shiny black vehicle disappeared, I gathered the dog into my arms and started to cry.
~The End~
~Bonus Read~
Excerpt from
SECOND CHANCE AT FAITH:
BOOK #4 IN THE SECOND CHANCE SERIES
Chapter 1
There are all kinds of love in this life. The love of a man and a woman. The love we have for our friends. The love we feel for our home. But none goes as bone deep as the love we feel for our children. They own a part of us, and nature urges us to protect them at all costs, even if we endanger ourselves.
In many ways, my life has been rich, especially when I consider how much love I’d given and received. My parents, God rest their souls, both adored me, although in two entirely different ways. My first husband was a bust, that’s true, but our son was a fabulous kid, so I gave his father a bit of a pass. Our boy was the light of my life, and I adored him, marveling at what a handsome, thoughtful young man he’d become. My grandfather could be a gruff old codger, but I had no doubt he’d do anything in the world for me. Every once in a while, I’d glance sideways and see how he looked at me with pride. Of course, I’d been blessed when it came to friendship. In St. Louis, I still had good pals, too numerous to list. One stood out, Kiki Lowenstein Detweiler. She was a true-blue, forever friend. Anytime I felt low, I would pick up the phone and give her a call
Here in Florida, I’ve made many new friends, plus a handful of acquaintances. Added to that, I loved my store, The Treasure Chest, and the little house I owned on Jupiter Island. Each day, I awoke to love, in the guise of my rescue Chihuahua Jack, my cat Luna, and a new dog, a Bahamian potcake named Gerard, who greeted the dawn with such exuberance I couldn’t help but laugh.
So yes, my life is full of love.
Except that it wasn’t in the one particular way that mattered. I really missed having a soulmate, a man who wanted to spend his life with me. Once upon a time, I’d been head-over-heels with a boy, but my parents had broken that up. No one could turn back the clock, and frankly, I wasn’t sure he and I could ever make things work. Nonetheless, I wanted that feeling again, that giddy, happy, crazy sense of excitement. Sure, I was old enough to realize that couldn’t last forever. I accepted that the first blush of love would give way to a mature, settled affection. But at 36, was I really too old for love? Was it inevitable that I would never stumble around in a fog while daydreaming of a special guy?
I sure hoped not.
Chapter 2
Ever since MJ Austin had been diagnosed with breast cancer, we’d all been dancing on hot coals, trying to stay calm, hoping for the best, focusing on the future, while walking through a world fraught with danger. What would the surgeon find? Could he get it all? How would MJ adjust to a life without boobs, even if it was only temporary?
She was a curious study in contrasts. Businesslike and knowledgeable, but romantic and emotional. MJ blew hot and cold, saw the world in black and white, and presented a prickly exterior that shielded a soft inner core. When first diagnosed with cancer, her response was so negative that she’d been nearly suicidal. Although she’d argued that she was fine, and that working took her mind off the cancer, she was not doing as well as she liked to pretend she was. Like all women, MJ was rather fond of her breasts. I mean, seriously, only a few would not bat an eye about having them lopped off. But unlike many women, MJ’s whole schtick was “I’m sexy and I know it.” Therefore, the thought of losing her breasts had sent her into a total tailspin, because as she put it, “Without the girls, who am I?”
Skye and I had argued, “You are more than a pair of boobs.”
She countered with, “But they’re my advance men.”
I wish I could have seen the expressions on our faces when MJ described her mammary glands as “advance men.” I did a double-take, and I’m pretty sure that Skye did, too.
“Point being,” MJ continued, oblivious of the pun, “They’re the first thing men see when they look at me, and they’re my calling card. They tell everyone that I’m a smoking hot woman. See?”
Yes, I did, after a fact. You couldn’t spend time with MJ and not notice how people reacted to her, um, chest.
After all, she dressed in low-cut tops, she always exposed a generous amount of cleavage, she adored her neck with statement necklaces that caught your attention, and she had a habit of resting one hand right below her collarbone in a sort of “who me?” gesture. I suspected she even dusted the top of her boobs with a powder that made them glimmer. Short of a sign that said, “Big Boobs Crossing,” MJ did everything possible to make you look at her.
To paraphrase an old saying, “You live by the boobs; you die by the boobs.”
MJ had no idea who she would be without that bodacious rack attached to the front wall of her chest. Nor was she eager to find out. It took hours of haranguing on our part—mine and Skye’s—to get her to move from “no way” to “maybe okay.” Skye Blue, my other co-worker and best friend, and I had just about exhausted all our compassion, our logic, and our patience dealing with MJ. Honora McAfee, my oldest employee had taken to mothering us all. However, Honora was at her wits’ end, too, because MJ rebuffed any sort of comforting. To make matters worse, when MJ was out of our sight, we worried about her, fearing she’d do something rash. Something irrevocable. Something more deadly than dealing with cancer.
Thank goodness, her longtime boyfriend Pete finally picked the lock on her front door and moved in while she was at a pre-surgical appointment. Today, he’d awakened her at crack o’dawn, gotten her into the car, and driven her to the hospital where she’d be prepped for surgery.
Hanging the CLOSED sign in the front door of The Treasure Chest this morning struck me as incredibly sad. I’d never closed the store on a normal business day before, except when we were in the path of a hurricane. Having grown up in the restaurant business, I’d been told “the show must go on.” Thinking back, I could recall closing the restaurant only when my mother died of cancer and later when my father joined her soon after because of his broken heart.
Despite the warm of the sun shining through the big display windows, a chill swept over me.
Going into the back room, I lit a candle and bowed my head. I couldn’t imagine this little shop without MJ’s forceful personality. I mumbled through the Lord’s Prayer. For the first time in years, I wished I had a rosary to guide me through my prayers. Instead, I bumbled along, asking God to give us all the strength we’d need to support MJ in the days ahead. Almost as an afterthought, I prayed that the surgeon’s hands would be guided by God.
The light touch on my arm startled me. Skye slid into the chair next to mine. She bowed her head, too. I have no idea how long we sat there. A rapping on the back door jerked us to our senses. Honora stood on the stoop with EveLynn right behind her. Without preamble, we climbed into my Camry and headed for the hospital. What an odd picture we must have made. I had on jeans and a v-neck tee, Skye wore a gauzy skirt and an open-weave sweater, Honora was prim in a lavender-and-white striped seersucker shirtwaist dress, and EveLynn wore tailored gray pants and a matching sleeveless blouse.
I was surprised that EveLynn had joined us. She has Asperger’s, and any change of schedule is difficult for her. As we waited in line at the hospital’s reception desk, the tall young woman shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. To make matters worse, the elderly volunteer who assisted us was one of those fussy
people who has to straighten her pencils and pads of paper between each activity. The wait felt excruciating.
After we had our photographs taken for visitor badges, a nicely groomed older man who greeted Honora with a hug. “Dear girl! How are you?”
“Whitey Belcher. I haven’t seen you in ages.” She twittered like a teenager. “You remember EveLynn? Say hello, please. These are my friends, Cara Mia Delgatto, and Skye Blue.”
We fell in step behind Honora and her friend as he led us to a bank of elevators. They caught up on old times, naming names and reminiscing. As casual as their conversation seemed, my body was abuzz with nerves. Skye must have understood. She slipped her arm through mine. “Remember, for everyone who works here, this is business as usual. Just another day. For us this is a big deal. We need to take comfort from the fact they’re used to this. They’re prepared for anything that can happen. This is their area of specialty.”
I nodded, letting her words soak in. She was right. Little by little, my muscles unclenched. Being uptight wouldn’t help MJ in the least. To the contrary. If she noticed my fearfulness, she would be more likely to be scared as well. My job was to support her, not to freak her out. With that in mind, a sort of peacefulness settled over me.
The lounge for family and friends was well appointed and comfortable. Whitey explained to Honora what amenities were available and where they were located. He slipped her a piece of paper with his cell phone number, telling her to call if she needed anything. I had hoped we could speak to MJ before she went in for surgery, but the nurse on duty explained that Pete was with her and he’d be joining us momentarily.
Out he strode, those skinny legs of his eating up the checkered tiles. His face wore a grave expression, and his eyes were a bit misty. “They just rolled her in. She’s in good hands. The anesthesiologist and I have known each other for years. He told me that her surgeon Dr. Williams is top-notch. I asked around earlier and heard the same from everybody I spoke to.”
“How is MJ? Is she scared?” I asked. Without thinking, I’d stood up to face Pete. Now Skye came to stand beside me. She took my hand in hers and twined our fingers.
“Terrified. Not so much of the surgery. You know how she feels about her breasts.” Pete ran a hand over his chin. “You would think that a woman so beautiful would realize there’s more to love about her than a set of…”
He shook his head. He didn’t need to finish.
To be continued…
Cara Mia’s story continues in
Second Chance at Faith: Book #4 in the Second Chance Series
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MBWPP8T
Second Chance Series Books
Second Chance at Love--https://amzn.to/2SAmG9Q
Second Chance at Life -- https://amzn.to/2C2es3I
Second Chance at Hope -- https://amzn.to/2CUsuG9
Second Chance at Faith—Now available for pre-order at Amazon! (March 18, 2019 release date) https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MBWPP8T
Second Chance Short Stories
Cara Mia Delgatto and the Haunted Flamingo-- https://amzn.to/2Eg1nXh
Cara Mia Delgatto and the Thanksgiving Gift—
https://amzn.to/2QNH89Q
Cara Mia Delgatto Short Story Collection
https://amzn.to/2Px5YpQ
Kiki and Cara Mia Christmas Story Collection
https://amzn.to/2QoPANn
How Much of This Book is True?
I was shocked to learn that there are 20.9 million people enslaved throughout the world, and that Florida is a hub for human trafficking. In one month twenty individuals washed up on the shores of Jupiter Island—all were undocumented immigrants. The prime launching spot for these desperate journeys are the Bahamas.
As for the background of the CIA, I am relying on my research as verification.
There is, indeed, a Museum of Lifestyle and Fashion in Boynton Beach. Their Lilly Pulitzer presentation inspired me.
Also, yes, there is a Creatin’ Contest and I, personally, entered Big Wave Dave’s Surf Shop—and got an honorable mention! You can view Big Wave Dave’s here: https://www.pinterest.com/joannaslan/big-wave-daves-surf-shop-a-miniature-contest-entry/
As for Bahamian Potcake dogs, I recently made the acquaintance of a lovely pooch named Gracie. She’s just a joy! You can read more about this unique breed here: http://www.potcake.org/2.html
A FREE Gift Just for You!
Send me an email and we’ll automatically send you a file with recipes and craft projects. Here’s the address for the file: [email protected]
When you email me, we’ll also add you to my mailing list at no charge. I run a lot of fun contests and giveaways. My newsletter shares fun tips and features discounted books and free reads.
Thanks so much for your interest!
Hugs and kisses,
Joanna
The Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series
Every scrapbook tells a story. Memories of friends, family and … murder? The Second Chance Series, featuring Kiki’s friend Cara Mia Delgatto, is a spin-off from the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series. You’ll want to read the Kiki Lowenstein books in order:
0.Love, Die, Neighbor (The Prequel) -https://amzn.to/2zjaByG
1.Paper, Scissors, Death -- https://amzn.to/2PBCR9Q
2.Cut, Crop & Die -- https://amzn.to/2Dz3oNY
3.Ink, Red, Dead -- https://amzn.to/2PFY2r8
4.Photo, Snap, Shot -- https://amzn.to/2S5HZQt
5.Make, Take, Murder -- https://amzn.to/2TsE69M
6.Ready, Scrap, Shoot -- https://amzn.to/2RZDtTt
7.Picture, Perfect, Corpse -- https://amzn.to/2S3TIi7
8.Group, Photo, Grave -- https://amzn.to/2OP9V96
9.Killer, Paper, Cut - https://amzn.to/2zii2Gh
10.Handmade, Holiday, Homicide -- https://amzn.to/2S8rBib
11.Shotgun, Wedding, Bells -- https://amzn.to/2OT0lSs
12.Glue, Baby, Gone -- https://amzn.to/2Ts16Wn
13. Fatal, Family, Album -- https://amzn.to/2qWux5S
14. Grand, Death, Auto—coming in 2019
A Note from the Author, Joanna Campbell Slan…
I’m a native Floridian who has lived on the Treasure Coast of Florida for nearly ten years now. My hope is that I can transport you here through my work. If you can feel the sand between your toes, I’ve done my job. For images of the Treasure Coast, visit my Pinterest page: http://www.Pinterest.com/joannaslan.
Book #4 in this series (Second Chance at Faith) will visit another Treasure Coast legend—and the origin of the Treasure Coast’s nickname—the famous Queen’s Jewels that were scattered up and down our shores when the 1715 Fleet (the Spanish Armada) sank.
Meanwhile, if you see a woman walking the beach and picking up seashells, come on over and say hello.
I have chosen to write books about women, who are creative, passionate, and spunky. If you like Cara Mia and her friends, you’ll probably like my Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series. If you like courageous women and history, check out my series featuring Jane Eyre as an amateur sleuth. You’ll find a complete list of my works on my author page, http://tinyurl.com/JoannaSlan.
One of My Readers…
Appears in this book, thanks to a contest she won. Jessie Dimovski. If you sign up for my newsletter, you might see YOUR name in an upcoming Cara Mia or Kiki book. To sign up, just send an email to Sally Lippert, my assistant, at [email protected]
Talk to Me!
I love hearing from readers. I learn so much from you! So let me know what you think of my characters, my books, and whatever’s on your mind. You can email me at [email protected]. Or you can contact my assistant, Sally Lippert, at [email protected]
Let’s Get Social—
List of Joanna’s Works -- http://tinyurl.com/JoannaSlan
Joanna’s Website -- http://www.JoannaSlan.com
Facebook -- http://www.Facebook.com/JoannaCampbellSlan
Blog -- http://www.JoannaSlan.blogspot.com
Twitter -- http://www.twitter.com/Joanna
Slan
LinkedIn -- www.LinkedIn.com/in/JoannaSlan
Goodreads -- https://www.goodreads.com/JoannaCampbellSlan
Amazon Author Page – http://tinyurl.com/JoannaSlan
Pinterest -- https://www.pinterest.com/joannaslan/
Mistakes? I’ve Made a Few –
Okay, more than a few. We’ve had this book proofread repeatedly, but you’ll probably find something we’ve missed. Or something I’ve gotten COMPLETELY wrong. If so, send an email to my assistant, Sally Lippert. She’ll come up with a suitable way to thank you—and to break the bad news to me. Sally’s email is [email protected]
~*~
Did You Like the Book?
You have tremendous power as a reader these days! And your opinion really counts, thanks to the magic of algorithms. (The math is beyond me, but the concept isn’t.) Your support makes all the difference to me. Here are a few ways you can help me:
1.Leave a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads.
2.Buy a copy of this book for a friend.
3.Discuss this book at a book club event. (Let me know and I’ll do what I can to provide questions, bookmarks, and even “show up” by phone or Skype.)
4.Ask your local library to carry my books.
5.Mention this book on Facebook.
6.“Like” my page on Facebook.
Thank you in advance!
~*~
Second Chance at Hope Page 24