An inspirational read for the Holiday season, “Equinox” is free on KU and $2.99 on Kindle. https://a.co/d/7UMCScL

“Beautiful messages of love, hope, and unity.”

“A how-to for living your life with compassion.”

“A seriously beautiful book about endings and new beginnings.”

Read Chapter One below:

Everything Happens in Threes

Nancy Carruthers and Carl Johnson lived across the street from each other for eleven years on the cul-de-sac at the end of Lancaster Avenue in Evanston, Illinois.

In his late seventies and early eighties, Carl wandered the tree-lined street between their two homes from dawn to dusk, sweeping and picking up the existent and non-existent dust, gravel, and plastic shopping bags that preoccupied his Parkinson’s-addled mind. The days were too long and the nights too short – and his hours outside were important hour-eaters.

Carl’s presence in the street and cognitive challenges made backing out of the driveway – or simply driving down the road – a high-risk adventure for Nancy and any visitor approaching or leaving her home. Near-hits were a regular occurrence.

Carl died two years ago.

Nancy hadn’t thought much about him since. This Saturday morning, Nancy wasn’t thinking about much of anything; the sun streaming through her living room windows and the jazz music playing on her Alexa were more than enough.

The tires rolled over the gravel in her driveway, and the car door slammed. Footsteps crackled on stone, squelched on moist grass, and rhythmically tapped on concrete as the visitor approached the house. Nancy was halfway to the window when she got her first view.

Male. Walking up the front stairs. Between thirty-five and forty, about six feet tall, slim, with salt-and-pepper hair and a trim beard. Sunglasses. Black joggers and a light-colored T-shirt.

She opened the door.

He reached up with his left hand and removed his sunglasses. His eyes looked familiar, and now his half-smile …

Royce. What?

Death stare.

“Good morning, Nancy. How are you?” His initial smile grew wider. A practiced move? “Can I come in and talk to you?”

Nancy’s numbness offset the bright sun. Her throat was dry, and her stomach was sour. She clenched her jaw to prevent an accident and swallowed hard. Better. She looked at him, and she knew. But she asked anyway.

“Why, Royce? Why would I possibly want you in here? And what could we possibly have to talk about?”

She waited for Royce to confirm her fear.

“Matthew.”

Her numbness developed a chill.

“I want to talk about my … our son. I’m back and would like to get to know Matthew.”

Nancy put her hands on her hips, then into her pockets. Brian Culbertson sang in the background as she flashed on all the years she spent developing her “best Nancy.”

I need her now!

There it was. That day twelve years ago, when he left. The note – “I can’t do this, Nancy. This is you. Not me” – ending a marriage that Nancy believed was at least sound, even if it lacked intensity. She should have seen it coming, could have seen it coming, but she didn’t. Had she refused to see the signs, or was he that good at hiding his intentions? Maybe he didn’t even have intentions; he just woke up that morning and decided to leave. She wasn’t sure. He never told her. She knew that Royce had ceased to exist for her that day. Nancy had neither seen nor heard from him since.

Options? She could scream. But that wasn’t her way. She used anger to manage situations better. She didn’t let it manage her. If she did, the anger she had kept inside for twelve years – while she raised her son alone – would come out in full force, like river rapids after a heavy spring downpour. So, she didn’t yell, choosing instead to look at Royce’s face, return his smile, and utter: “I make the rules now, Royce. That’s the job you didn’t want. Remember? To be accurate, you didn’t even want half the job. So, please leave.”

Royce’s smile disappeared, his previously confident body language sagged, and he retreated two paces. “Okay. I probably should have called you first, Nancy,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll go, but I want to talk, hopefully, sooner rather than later. I’ll call you.”

He returned to his car, got in, and drove away. The vehicle had California license plates. The Audi reached the end of Lancaster, turned left onto Sheridan, and disappeared.

The street was still and quiet again—a typical Saturday morning.

Nancy closed the door and turned back into the living room.

Her phone rang. She looked at it, 8:15 a.m. Aunt Grace, her mother’s younger sister.

Odd.

The speaker rang out with Aunt Grace’s soft voice. Ever so sweetly; her tone and cadence didn’t align with the words. Nancy’s mother, Olivia, had suffered a stroke at breakfast, and an ambulance was taking her toEvanston Hospital.

“Can you meet us, dear?”

Nancy was sprinting to her bedroom to change clothes before Grace finished her sentence.

She ran out her front door ten minutes later and was shocked at what she saw.

Carl was back in the street sweeping.

How could that be? He died. The stress is screwing me up.