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Unforgettable No Ordinary Family, Book One

 

By

 

Linda Barrett

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright Ā© 2021 by Linda Barrett

 

linda-barrett.com

 

ISBN 978-1-945830-22-8

 

 

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authorā€™s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

All rights reserved.

 

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Linda Barrett.

 

 

Cover art by Shelley Kay at Web Crafters

 

E-book Formatting by Web Crafters

www.webcraftersdesign.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedication:

 

To my sister,

The one person who shares my childhood memories.

Love you, Judy!

 

 

 

 

Author's Note:

 

I started writing the No Ordinary Family series before Covid-19 upended our lives. In this first story, the Big Apple is thriving and Broadway is attracting crowds. Letā€™s hope for a time very soon when every theater and concert venue across our country will be filled with cheering audiences once more.

 

 

 

Table of Contents

 

 

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

Hello from Linda

Chapter One of Safe at Home

Chapter One of The Broken Circle

Linda Barrett Books

Chapter 1

 

Aprilā€”New York

Doug Collins paced the floor of his small apartment in New York City, his eyes drawn repeatedly to the pile of papers on his desk. Two hundred sheets, stacked neat and square, title page on top.

Stepping closer, he loomed over his work. Not the usual fare for a playwright, this novel--but it was finally complete. Finished. His fist came down hard on the manuscript. Finished? Then where was the satisfaction he longed for? Where was the closure? He stroked the top page in atonement and smiled ruefully. Closure? Not with that title:

 

STRAIGHT FROM THE HEARTā€¦

ā€¦a love story in search of an endingā€¦

 

He and Jen. How could the storyā€™s inspiration be anyone else?

Jennifer Grace Delaney. She was either his inspiration or his albatross. While students together at Boston University, sheā€™d been the quiet girl in the back of the English class whoā€™d captured his heart with her first essay--writing filled with pain, strength, and wrapped in love. Goosebumps had covered his skin as heā€™d read her words aloud to the class in a random exchange of student essays. They covered him now, as he recalled their honesty. But sheā€™d hated that class. Said personal stories belonged in a private diary, not exposed to a bunch of strangers. Sheā€™d stick to numbers.

Sheā€™d loved him, too. Believed in him. Theyā€™d planned a futureā€¦at least heā€™d thought they hadā€¦but in the end, she wouldnā€™t leave her siblings.

His breath jerked at the memory. They could have had the perfect life: Wall Street for Jen; Broadway for him. Or rather off-off Broadway back then. Serious theater. Heā€™d lined up a bartending job at night, too. Heā€™d thought Jen was onboard.

But on the day after graduation, sheā€™d met him in Boston Common with shadowed eyes and a forced smile.

ā€œWhatā€™s wrong, Henny-Penny?ā€

Avoiding his gaze, sheā€™d said, ā€œIā€™m not good at beating around the bush, so Iā€™ll just come out with it.ā€ Sheā€™d finally looked at him. ā€œIā€™ve taken the position with Fidelity here in Boston. I canā€™t leave my family. I canā€™t move to New York.ā€

He stared, frozen. ā€œHow could you make such an important decision without discussing it firstā€”with me? Weā€™re the two that count here.ā€

ā€œI know,ā€ she said softly, ā€œbut I couldnā€™t take the chance that youā€™d change my mind. Iā€™m so torn inside. I want to go, but I just canā€™t leave Lisa to manage everything. The boys are a teenage handful and Emilyā€¦well, you know sweet Em. Still not the most confident kid on the block.ā€

Her generous heart. He loved her for it, butā€¦ ā€œSometimes, Jen, loyalty can go too far. Your big sisterā€™s not alone. There are two adults in that house.ā€

Her mouth wobbled, and she reached for his hand. ā€œTechnically, yes. But Mike and Lisaā€¦? I donā€™t know. Somethingā€™s not right between them. I can feel it. Iā€™m uneasy. They leave notes for each other and donā€™t talk. Mike comes home late often, and I think heā€™s out with his team, hitting some clubs. He never used to do that. He and Lisaā€¦ā€

She paused, and he saw her gasp for breath.

ā€œā€¦seem to be living two separate lives in one house. I donā€™t know whatā€™s happened or whatā€™s going to happen, and I-I just canā€™t leave my brothers and sisters now. Theyā€™re too young. They need me.ā€

Silence pulsed against his ears. ā€œHave you spoken with Lisa directly?ā€

ā€œI canā€™t,ā€ she whispered. ā€œLisaā€™s so private. She thinks sheā€™s protecting us. And really, their marriage isnā€™t my business. Mikeā€™s been very good to me. To all of us.ā€ She shrugged. ā€œItā€™s justā€¦heā€™s gone so often during the season, and now heā€™s gone at night in the off-season. All I know is that Lisaā€™s got too much on her plate.ā€

ā€œAll marriages have tough times. Theyā€™ll work it out.ā€

ā€œMaybe so,ā€ she admitted, ā€œbut I know what I see and feel. Threads are fraying--again. She rose from their bench and gazed into the distance. ā€œThe timing is wrong for us. But maybe we can find some weekends to visit. Itā€™s a short flight, right?ā€ She faced him again, her eyes welling. ā€œMaybe when the kids are older, Iā€™d feel better about leaving them. Please, Doug, please donā€™t argue with me.ā€

Damn! Was she just going to fold like that? She was twenty-two now, a college graduate. An adult.

ā€œWhat about us, Jen? An occasional weekend is not a real life! Youā€™re entitled to your freedom.ā€

Her chin had come up, the threat of tears gone, her violet eyes now almost sizzling black. ā€œAm I really? After everything sheā€™s given up for us--me and the little ones? I-I canā€™t leave her to cope alone. Iā€™m the next oldest. I love them, and Iā€¦owe them!ā€

His blood ran hot, but his stomach knotted in cold fear. If he was going to lose this argument, he wouldnā€™t go down easy.

ā€œCanā€™t leave them or wonā€™t? Tell me, Jen, for how many years does the accident reverberate? For how many years is it allowed to control you? Youā€™re the math genius, so whatā€™s the answer?ā€

She froze for a moment, then cupped his cheek. ā€œYou already know the answer,ā€ she whispered. ā€œDeep insideā€¦that place where truth lives.ā€

He flinched now as he recalled her words. His words. Heā€™d used them on her after reading that essay, the one that had blown him away.

Now the tears ran down her cheek as she spoke. ā€œIā€™m so sorry, Doug. Iā€™m sorry for us both. But my family has to come first. The Delaney siblings either stick together or fall. Thatā€™s what Iā€™ve learned. If weā€™d been separated back then, after the accidentā€¦well, we wouldnā€™t have survived, not as a family.ā€ She kissed him quickly. ā€œIt wonā€™t be forever. Maybe one day, youā€™ll be able to write again in Boston. Weā€™ll talk on the phone. Weā€™ll visit on weekends.ā€

He knew she was grasping for a thread of salvation, but he was, too. ā€œI love you, Jen. Donā€™t disappear on me.ā€

Then sheā€™d kissed him and run off, leaving him to stare in disbelief.

He rubbed his damp forehead as the image of a racing Jennifer, long hair flying, remained in his mindā€™s eye. The emotions remained, too. Love, disappointment, anger, frustrationā€”heā€™d wanted to smash something. Writing a scene, heā€™d discovered, was a hell of a lot easier than living through one.

Patting the manuscript on his desk, he collapsed into the chair in front of the computer.

Heā€™d called Jen every Sunday in the beginning. She flew down once, met a couple of his friends--other writers. Heā€™d hoped to change her mind, convince her to take a chance in the Big Apple. ā€œYou could have stayed in Boston,ā€ sheā€™d countered. But that wasnā€™t true. Not with his hard-won residency with Playwrightsā€™ Houseā€”an opportunity of a lifetime.

The visits became fewer, the phone calls less frequent. Busy careers. Busier lives. Both trying to make their marks.

But dammit! Five years in limbo was long enough!

He tapped the keyboard and composed an email to his friend, editor Steven Kantor. The man was doing him a favor by reading a manuscript not for publication. Steve wouldnā€™t earn a dime, even if he loved it. But maybe thatā€™s what goosed the editorā€™s curiosity. He knew Dougā€™s playsā€”his emergence as a serious playwrightā€”heck, the guys had been friends for five years, hitting New York at about the same time, both craving success and working non-stop.

ā€œIf you wrote it,ā€ Steve had said, ā€œit wonā€™t be a time-waster. Just send it when youā€™re ready. Maybe Iā€™ll learn something.ā€

A compliment like that couldnā€™t be bought. Doug gifted him with tickets to any Broadway show he wanted.

He skimmed the manuscript pages one more time. Then, attaching the electronic file to his email, he took a deep breath and hit Send.

It was time to let Jen go. Or find her again.

##

One month laterā€”Boston

On a late Friday afternoon in May, Jennifer Delaney hung up the phoneā€”hopefully the last call of the dayā€”and walked to her office window, amazed, as always, at how lucky sheā€™d

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