Tag: short-story

In Turbulent Times

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Excerpt

Her smile disappeared. ‘Oh I’m sorry, Ian. I can’t. Liam’s going out. Tomorrow afternoon I could. As long as I’m back by tea-time. Before Liam goes out.’ Nora looked expectantly at this Scottish builder who was beginning to invade her daily thoughts as she his. Her heart started beating with an excitement she hadn’t felt since Joe Carney was alive.
‘What time?’
‘Half-one, or thereabouts.’
The ash-blonde poked her head round the door. ‘Will Mrs Liam Dooley please stop flirting with the customers and come home to her husband and wee’ns?’
Nora laughed. ‘I’m coming, Bridie,’ she called. Then in a quiet whisper she said, ‘See you tomorrow, Ian.’
Ian walked back into the bar, but his feet did not touch the carpet. ‘One for the road, gentlemen?’ he suggested light-heartedly. ‘A wee deoch an doruis.’
‘Make mine a double,’ said Copplestone. ‘I have a wife upstairs.’
‘And you should have a double yourself, Ian,’ Copplestone’s colleague suggested. ‘To celebrate your victory.’
‘What victory?’ Ian asked innocently.
‘If I’m not mistaken, Ian—and I’m something of an expert in these matters—you won yourself a black-haired beauty this evening. She’s yours, Ian. Heart, soul, and body, she’s all yours.’
҂
‘What will you have to drink, Nora?’
‘Just tea, thank you, Ian. And maybe a couple of digestive biscuits or something.’ Nora looked at the young waiter behind her. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Certainly, madam. Would you like cheese with the biscuits?’
‘No thank you.’
The waiter turned to Ian. ‘And you, sir? What can I get for you?’
‘A Drambuie, please.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘What’s Drambuie?’ Nora asked as the waiter glided away.
‘It’s a Scottish liqueur made from Highland malt Scotch whiskey and heather honey. Just superb. Would you like to try it?’
‘Not just now, thank you. It sounds good, but I’m just gasping for a cup of tea. Maybe some time again.’
Ian caught the words ‘some time again’ and held them like something precious.

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Still Waters

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Excerpt

The car, a 1953 Cadillac convertible, stood in front of the Tournquists’
house. Red and shiny, it had gleaming white wall tires. Tyne
had not seen it there on any of her previous visits.
As Cam drew his Buick alongside, she said, “Your parents must
have visitors.”
“I don’t think so, honey. There’s no car here except what belongs
to the family.”
“Oh, did they get a new ….” She stopped, realization dawning. “Oh
no, Cam, it can’t be … not mine.” Stunned, she remained seated until
he came around to open her door.
“I’ll let them tell you.” Cam helped her out, and led her up the
front steps. At the top, she put her hand on the wrought iron rail and
turned to look back. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured.
The car was indeed hers, Arthur Tournquist informed her a few
minutes later.
“But, I can’t let you … really, it’s too much ….”
“Tyne, will you please stop mumbling and accept our gift graciously?”
Arthur smiled at her, but Tyne sensed his impatience.
What did one do in a situation like this? She didn’t want to refuse a
gift. On the other hand, this gift was much too extravagant, the most
she had hoped for being a second-hand older model something. She
had no idea what she had expected, because she knew little about
cars. But this … even if she was to be their daughter-in-law, she could
not accept a gift like this.
And that’s just the point, she thought. If Cam and I were already
married, it might be a different matter. They could have waited …
they should have waited.
She thought about Moe and the humble little television set from
her future in-laws. She would give anything to be able to trade places
with Moe right now, or at least be able to trade gifts. Since that was
impossible, she craved the next best thing – to call Aunt Millie and
ask her advice.

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Straits and Turns

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Excerpt

Necrophilia

…“I’m going out. I’ll be back in two hours. I don’t want to find you
here when I get back,” she said in a stern voice and left.
He sank into his armchair in a world that had collapsed around
him. His wife didn’t want to see him again. Where could he go? His
life was a big question mark. His life was so arranged and well set up
until this morning. His life of order and security has suddenly become
chaos and disarray, a gigantic open mouth ready to swallow him. His
orderly life has turned into a disorderly one. How could he live now?
How could he face his co-workers on Monday? Could he talk to someone?
Did he have anyone to talk to?
A quick thought flashed through his mind, and he felt shivers
travelling through his whole body. He walked upstairs to their bedroom.
Everything seemed to be in place. Then why does his life feel
upside down? He stepped into the closet. His clothes hung orderly in
it. On the top shelf, he groped for the box. He took it down. Went to
the bathroom. He placed the box on the counter. He opened the box:
he looked at his service revolver. He hadn’t cleaned it in a while. Like
a zombie, he loaded his pistol with ammunition. He stared at himself
in the mirror. The code. Yes, he remembered the code they all followed,
their protocol. That dark thought ran through his mind again, and this
time it didn’t make him shiver at all. He felt peaceful. He felt better. The
code was what he had followed all his life. A code, a protocol, the secure
way of a CIA agent. It’s the same code he had to follow to the bitter end.
When everything goes into disarray, and everything becomes nothing
but chaos, the code must come into place. Tears flowed down his cheeks
as he stared at his face and then faced the pistol in his hand. Suddenly,
a euphoric sense of well-being overtook him as if someone was protecting
him. He felt strong, good, and comfortable. Heroic. He smiled at
himself. He winked at himself. What would she think when she found
him? Would she cry? Would she laugh at him exiting this way? His
eyes filled with tears, and somehow, he felt an inexplicable warmth,
as if in a different state of mind, in that dimension that various books
described. He put the barrel of the pistol in his mouth and, following
the example of so many others before him, Bradley pulled the trigger.

(If this excerpt spoke to you, you can find more about this book in the following links)

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

“There won’t be any children, Mrs. White. It’s summer holidays,” Lona said with a smirk. Paul rolled his eyes skyward.
Jennifer felt a little sheepish. Lona was probably correct. However, it was irritating the way she always ensured that everyone knew she was correct. It was time to change the subject. “How did you happen to study Russian, David?” she said, leaning back in the grass, ignoring Lona and fixing on the young man. He had an intelligent, open face with sparkling white teeth but even at the age of 25, his hairline was just starting its slide toward the back of his head. She knew that his family was of English descent, not unlike her own history on her father’s side.
“My father’s in the Air Force,” said David, “and I guess we’ve lived on a dozen different bases as I grew up—Germany, Italy and NORAD in Colorado. I picked up a little of every language but never Russian.”
“So why Russian?” Lona asked.
“Well, six years ago I got chosen along with a lot of other army and air force brats to go on a teen cultural exchange to the U.S.S.R. I had no knowledge of the country before that. We were just supposed to be shining examples of North American kids. It was sure different than this tour. It had been organized by Sputnik—that’s the youth tour group—and we had cocky Komsomol leaders not much older than us in charge.”
“So you have more than a nodding acquaintance with Lenin?”
“And Marx. And Brezhnev. The Komsomol is seriously political, and this was before the signing of the SALT treaty so east-west tensions were high. Believe it or not, it’s more relaxed now.”
“But how did you learn the language?” Paul asked.
“Oh, we had a crash course before the trip. Then we stayed in a dormitory for four months and ate with the Eastern European kids, so we learned a lot that way. We didn’t visit the churches back then because they tried to pretend that they didn’t exist. Instead, we had to study in the dorm a lot and debate the class struggle or dialectical materialism with our team leader. Most of us didn’t have a clue!”
“My god, I’m not sure I could define them now,” laughed Jennifer. “But I bet we’ll know by the end of this trip.”
“Well, that was what sparked my interest in Russian. Learning by talking is the best way. That’s why I didn’t pack my Ozhegov.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Water in the Wilderness

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Excerpt

…ently held out his hands to her. His missing fingers did not seem to faze him; he appeared to be learning to compensate for the loss.
“An’ you know what, too, Auntie Tyne?” He gazed up at her when she stood, his eyes like saucers now. “Rachael says we’re goin’ home on the really biggest old bus she’s ever seen, with a long dog on the side.”
Tyne chuckled. “You sure are, Bobby. And when Uncle Morley and I come home you’ll be able to tell us all about it. Okay?”
Solemnly, he nodded his head then offered his hand to Tyne’s mother. Shoulders erect and head held high, he escorted her through the door.
A few days later Emily Milligan brought the children back to the Holy Cross, to say goodbye before starting their trip home to Emblem. Tyne took them to see Morley. Following Sister Carol Ann’s gentle instructions, they approached the bed quietly, and stared in wonder at the man they scarcely recognized as the jovial person whom they called Uncle Morley. His hair had grown a little so that he didn’t appear bald anymore, and the bruises around his eyes and cheeks had faded to a pale yellow, tinged with blue. But Tyne knew that he must look strange to the children who were seeing him for the first time since the beating.
She had been of two minds about bringing them to his room, but Morley had asked to see them. And when he opened his eyes and smiled at them, she knew she had made the right decision. There was something she and Morley wanted to do together before the kids left for home.
“Do you … have the gifts, hon?” Morley asked haltingly.
Tyne removed a large bag from the bottom of the bedside table. Opening it, she drew out a brightly painted dump truck followed by a Shirley Temple doll. The looks on the faces of Rachael and Bobby brought tears to her eyes.
When they had gone, Tyne took Ronald to a quiet waiting room. He had tried, without success, to hold back the tears. She wanted to hug him, but knew he already felt embarrassed because of loss of control over his emotions, so she sat quietly by his side and let him talk.
“I wish I could go with them, Mrs. Cresswell. Do you think the doctors will let me go soon?”

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Straits and Turns

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Excerpt

Necrophilia
Bradley reached home late at night after a long flight, during which they experienced their fair share of turbulence. He knew this flight so well after twenty years of taking it, since he started working on the East Coast, and his house was in Los Angeles. He also knew most of the American Airlines personnel; he had an account set up by the Bureau and always flew this airline. And tonight, Georgia, the flight attendant, offered him a second glass of wine and a good plateful of food, which he relished to the last crumb. Being with the Bureau for so long, he almost did everything as part of a routine, a repetitive action, from the time he’d call to arrange his reservation to the arrival at the airport and to the airline counter where most of the girls recognized him and always served him the best way.
The agency took care of all the bills, it was part of his contract with the CIA and no one ever raised an eyebrow at what he submitted; it was times when he thought of having something extra, something the bureau wouldn’t even bother to look into, however, Bradley was a common sense man and always did his side the best and fairest way possible to make sure he wouldn’t disturb any waters a couple of years away from his retirement.
When he got inside the house, he noticed there was no sound, other than the ventilation system humming its rhythmical music. Brad was so tired that he took off his shoes and went upstairs to their bedroom, only to find his wife, Beth, asleep, even though he had informed her he was on his way home. Undressed, he slipped under the bedcovers when he smelled the strong alcohol odour all over the…

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Redemption

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Excerpt

He walked back to the rented room and settled in his new home. It was
a small room with a table, a chair, a closet for his clothes, and a single
bed. The size of the room was no more than three by four meters,
with paint cracks all over; some paint had peeled right off the walls.
He didn’t really care about its condition. It was a very cheap room.
A small window with shutters opened to the street, and Hermes
saw a small garden. He took out his clothes from the suitcase and
hung them with care in the closet. He, then, sat down on the bed and
thought it would be a good idea to write home and let them know he
had arrived and was okay, three letters to three different addresses.
Realizing he had no paper, he walked out to the closest corner
store, where he bought some paper, a small jar of coffee and a small
rectangular box of sugar cubes, which he encountered for the first
time in his life. He went back to his room and sat at the desk to write
his first letter to his uncle and untie. He described in detail that his
trip was very good, the city was beautiful, and he felt enthusiastic
about the university. He wrote with intense feelings, particularly
in the second letter, addressed to Magdalene. He signed the letters
and sealed the envelopes. He would post them first thing tomorrow
morning. Hunger took over him. He got up, knocked at the
door of his landlady and asked where he could find a restaurant to
eat something. She informed him that “Black Cat” was the closest
restaurant to the house and told him how to get there. Hermes got
out and walked the few blocks to the restaurant. The server brought
his coffee. Hermes understood that coffee was served each time, even
before an order was given to the servers. He looked at the menu, but
he couldn’t understand the words; therefore, he didn’t know what to
order. He had his coffee and a cigarette. The girl refilled his cup and
looked at him with questioning eyes. He pointed to the menu and
said, “I don’t know what these are…” his finger travelling down the
list of food items. The young server asked him,
“What language does he speak…” He said, “Greek,” she called
him to follow her. He got up and followed the girl through a hallway
to an opening that connected the restaurant to the kitchen.

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Redemption

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Excerpt

…at their destination, and they should fasten their seat belts. Hermes
looked down from the window. It was a cloudless night. He had a
superb panoramic view of the city, full of lights flickering in the dark.
He could distinguish the streets and the tall buildings as the aircraft
slowly descended.
They landed, and Hermes got up to take his carry-on bag from
the overhead compartment, stepped off the plane, and said goodbye
to Tom. An airline official led Hermes down the long hallways to the
baggage area. He found his suitcase from the appropriate carousel
and made his way to the arrivals area, where people waited for their
friends and family members. Happy voices were everywhere; people
embraced one another, kissing, laughing, and crying. He turned
around as if to see someone he knew. There was no one there, he knew
no one, and this was his first bitter moment of realization that he was
so far away from people he loved. He wished Magda were here. He
then sat on a bench and wondered aloud,
“And now, where are you going, Hermes?” A question justified
under the circumstances, a question he had no answer to, only the
sense of loss, of abandonment, of forlornness, and fear crept into his
heart. Then, as if from the great source, he felt he heard a voice that
whispered to his heart, not to his ears. And it was the voice of his new
motherland that said,
“Welcome, Hermes, you are here in Vancouver now, go out
there, find your way to do your studies and get your diploma. Your
folks are waiting for you, back in Greece. They look forward to seeing
you back. Your diploma is your goal and nothing less…” were the
words he felt he heard, and the voice wasn’t any other but the voice
of Canada, his temporary motherland, which, like a mother, took
another orphan off the streets and gave him a chance.
Suddenly, the fear he had just felt vanished, and a jolt of enthusiasm
took over his senses. Hermes stood up. His eyes ran around the
space of the large airport hall when his glance met the old woman
whom he had helped in Montreal; she saw him too. At the same
time, a very tall man with a good-looking woman approached…

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763858

The Unquiet Land

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Excerpt

When he and Caitlin returned to the sitting room the music was just starting again, and dancers were sorting themselves out on the floor. But a sixteen-hand reel in the sitting room was much too ambitious. The set collapsed amid shouts and laughter, but the music played on.
“Fiddlers are tireless,” someone said. “Wouldn’t it be good if they could pull a plough?”
“And play the fiddle at the same time.”
“That Dan Ryan is always on the fiddle—no matter what he’s doing.”
“Hey Molly, what about a song?”
“Give us The Sally Gardens, Molly.”
“Good girl, Molly.”
“Come on now, don’t be shy.”
“She’ll start in a minute. Just wait and see.”
“Sure she hasn’t the shapin’s o’ beginnin’ on her.”
“She has surely. Good girl, Molly.”
“The Sally Gardens, Molly.”
Molly Noonan began to sing in a clear soprano voice the first of many songs. Almost everyone in the sitting room performed a song, a recitation, a step-dance or a tune on the fiddle or the pennywhistle. There were no more set dances. As the evening wore on, the ceilidh became quieter.
In the kitchen a few women sat around the table talking over cups of tea.
“I still think she’s pregnant already,” said a thin, bony woman with a face as sharp as the prow of a skiff. “You mark my words, she’ll be a mother well before nine months are out.”
“Maire Kelly, you’ve an evil tongue in your head.” Una Slattery was loyal to Caitlin whom she had cared for as a little girl.
“No, I haven’t,” said Maire. “But I have a sharp eye. I can tell when a woman’s pregnant. And I’m always right. Wasn’t I right about the Dooley girl? And Lizzie Thompson? And I’m right about Caitlin MacLir.”
“Caitlin Carrick,” said Maggie Potter, a woman in her thirties more talked about than talkative. She had been engaged for thirteen years to Willy Dunn, a farmer who refused to leave his mother to marry.
“Caitlin Carrick. I’m sorry. I’m not used to that yet.” Maire Kelly was a stiletto-tongued spinster not known to be afraid of speaking her mind. “Barbed wire in a black dress,” was Slattery’s description of her. “Mind you,” Maire went on, “I’m not reproaching her. It’s happened manys a time before and it’ll happen manys a time again. Michael Carrick is a handsome big man, straight and steady as they come. He’ll make a good husband and father.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

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Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Hank stopped before a hammered gold ladle outlined in pearls, which had been owned by Tsar Volodya Feodorovich and was dated 1618. “Wow, dig this jewelled pooper scooper.”
Marty laughed. “Hey, take a look at Lona. She’s practically salivating over that medallion.” The two darted over to join her in front of a glass case.
“What is it?” Hank asked her.
“An encolpion,” Lona said, without tearing her eyes away from the outsized milky-blue sardonyx. “It was made in the 17th century.” Carved on its surface was a depiction of a haloed St. John set within an oval gold filigree border studded with jewels.
“Bet it’s worth a bundle,” Hank said.
Natasha scurried over, too, just in time to catch Hank’s last words. “Treasures of the Armoury are closely guarded,” she announced.
“By whom? Is that your security?” Lona asked innocently. An elderly woman, face lined, kerchief on her head, sat slumped, hands in lap, in a plain wooden chair near the doorway.
“Oh, Natasha, yoo-hoo!” called Linda Appleton. The guide winced as Linda descended on her like a warship sailing into action. “Can you tell me whether photos are permitted in here because David is taking lots of them?” As they moved off to sort out David’s picture-taking proclivities, Hank took the opportunity to corner Lona.
“So what’s an encolpion?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
Lona turned away from the showcase reluctantly. “It’s a medallion worn by bishops, of course. Don’t you know anything?”
Hank couldn’t think of a suitable response so he sloped off, frowning.
★
If they had visited only the Kremlin that first morning, it would have been enough stimulation for the jet-lagged travellers. Jennifer had already used up half a notebook with details of their breakfast, the church, the soldiers’ uniforms and the carriage of Catherine the Great. But instead of stopping for lunch, their tour guide led them out of the Armoury, back into Red Square and up to the longest and most silent of queues that they had seen thus far—for the mandatory visit to Lenin’s tomb.
“Lenin’s memorial has been closed to visitors during renovations,” she told the group. “You are lucky to visit on this one day that it will be open.”

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246