Ch. 18 – The Road Back

I have just posted Ch. 18: The Road Back of my paranormal romance, A Quiet Moment. There are now only two chapters remaining. I appreciate all those who have taken this journey with me and as always wish everyone peace. Stay safe and well. 🙂

The Road Back:

Chapter 18

In the darker moments, little things become exaggerated, taking on an importance that she was quite sure they did not merit. Prevalent in her consciousness was a clicking noise, not in the room, but somewhere nearby. Clearly, it wasn’t in her mother’s room, because there were no extraordinary measures being taken to prolong her life. But it bothered her, scraping along her already well-chaffed nerves. It was connected to some sort of machine, but one that was invisible to her eye. That in itself might be the irritation, not that it existed, but that it was unseen.

The room itself was shadowed, and it made her wonder if they did that deliberately, shadowed rooms where death would be visiting. Perhaps, it was this way, so that no one would notice his entrance, or see him when he left, left with his bounty. Her grandmother’s hand touched her arm, and then sort of pinched it, stirring her out of the cloak of depression that had enveloped her for the last five days. She turned to her, her eyes a bit blurry from lack of sleep. She’d been afraid to sleep, afraid that if she were absent for even a moment that her mother would slip away from her, somewhere distant that she could not touch anymore. This thought so devoid of logic or stability had taken hold, driving her into a nether realm somewhere so distorted and fearful that no truth she’d ever learned could seem to penetrate.

Her grandmother’s face was tired, grim, concerned, but also something else. It was pragmatic. “This is no good Aimee.”

She turned back to solemnly watch her mother’s sleeping form. Two days ago, she’d slipped into the coma, two days ago she’d slipped further away from her, and the fear had wrapped around her stomach like a tight bandage that was squeezing the very breath out of her. “You can leave,” she said quietly. She should have realized that this would hurt her grandmother, but that truth was somehow lost in the greater horror that had become her existence.

The older woman’s hand gripped hers tightly, “My dear, you can’t do this to yourself. You can’t afford to.”

It irritated her just now, the other presence here. Her mother should belong to her, these last precious moments, however long it would be. She had to absorb every instant, every nuance, absorb it into herself, imprint it. Her father had come, every day he’d come for a little while, and all it did was make Aimee insane with anger. He’d left her, started a new family, left her. He didn’t deserve to be here. He didn’t deserve any second of her. She breathed deeply in, and a stab of pain, razored emotional pain, went right into her side. “You’re making yourself sick. My darling, please don’t let this destroy you like this.”

She bowed her head. It swirled with dizziness. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. She glanced up at the serene form on the bed. Her chest still moving with only the slightest indication there was life. “You don’t understand. She’s had so little happiness and now for it to end like this.”

Softly, she spoke, “It was a choice. You know that Aimee.”

“I don’t believe that.”

She whispered calmly to her, her voice feeling somewhat like a soothing balm on the pain that seemed to be flowing through every part of her. “We choose our lives before we are born. Your mother chose her life, a difficult one, but then she has always been a courageous spirit. The happiness she did not find in this world she will surely find in the next.”

And then, the tears began to flow, “But I need her.”

She kissed her softly on the cheek, “She will always be with you. When you need strength, she will be with you, because there is no one stronger than your mother. But now, we must give her our blessing and send her on the wonderful journey she is about to take.”

Desperation still held fast to her, “I don’t know, if I can,” she answered in a trembling voice.

“You must, find your own strength, and do what you must.”

Aimee’s eyes opened. She was curled up in the plush gray, lazy boy chair in the den of Jacob’s house. She had come here after their explosive confrontation, waiting for him to come to her, waiting for him to come out of that room. But he didn’t, and somewhere at a nameless hour she must have fallen asleep. She stood up, noticing that the early morning sunlight was now filtering through the windows. She glanced around the room and into the kitchen. He wasn’t here, nowhere in sight.

She still felt as though her insides were shaking from the raw power of his rage, his pain last night. She had felt it all, felt it slash through her almost as effectively as if he had actually taken a knife to her. It was so difficult. She had opened herself to him so much. There was a complete vulnerability to him, much as she tried to protect herself. She was completely exposed, and it pained her more than she cared to admit how invested that he still was in the past.

Do what you must. Her grandmother’s words floated back to her. Evidently, Marie Roussell was trying to tell her something. She must be the strong one, the calm one, the one that anchors them to what is real, while he is caught up in his own bewildering turmoil.

She cleared her mind, allowing herself to be drawn to him. The realization gave her a chill. He was still there. He hadn’t left the room all night. A bit shakily she tried to determine his mental state. It felt oddly unfamiliar, all sorts of divergent energies swirling around him. And then, like a crack through her mind, he spoke to her. Stop it. Just come here.

She trembled for a moment, for a split second so shocked by his ability to communicate this way, so shocked by its abruptness that she considered bolting out the front door and leaving all of it behind. But then, she was out somewhere in the mountains, remote, rural, nowhere to go. That simply was not an option.

She steeled herself and walked into the room.

It bothered him, everything now, every nail, every window, every stroke of paint, piece of wallpaper, the furniture, the sheets, bedspread, even the sheet rock on the walls. All of it had become alien, antagonistic. All of it had turned against him.

He sat in her rocking chair, hating that too just now. But then again, that wasn’t new. He’d hated it when she’d picked it out. But back then, he was compromising, letting her put her stamp on his house. And she had, not only had she stamped it, she had infected it, because now it was no longer his, no longer his haven. And he wasn’t sure exactly when that had happened. He could humor himself and say that it had all occurred last night, but that wouldn’t be quite true. Last night had been less a shocking revelation, than an epiphany, an ugly, dirty, base epiphany that was the answer that matched up to a million questions that had been floating around for years. The house had begun to turn on him long ago, perhaps when the seeds were sown, and now all the deceit seemed to be flowering everywhere.

His bowed his head, letting his chin drop to his chest. He hated more than anything feeling pathetic and now that’s what he felt reduced to.

Somewhere, very deep into the darkness, the images had come to him. Slowly at first, so ephemeral that he wasn’t sure at all that they weren’t of his own imagining. But then, he had nursed them, nursed them to their damning fruition. And he had seen the truth and the lies.

Perhaps Aimee would have been more merciful to him, sparing him the explicit detail, but his mind was ravenous, bent on exposing every darkened corner. And so, he spent the remains of the evening torturing himself. He saw his wife begin her flirtation somewhere deep in the second year of their marriage, and at the beginning of the third, the consummation. The pictures that cut across his mind were visuals, somewhere at the ranking of a very graphic porn movie. He saw his wife having sex with another man, laughing with abandon, with joy in a way he’d literally never seen her do. And then returning to him, returning to him, and playing a part.

He wondered quite distractedly why she’d bothered. Why not chase the rainbow and put them both out of their misery? The fourth year of their marriage, they were in counseling. She’d broken it off, the affair, what an inappropriate word for what was occurring, but then the following summer resumed. Somewhere about there, he’d lost interest in knowing anymore. After all, he knew the rest of the story, separation, divorce. Oddly, he had no idea what she was doing now, or even where she was. She might have married him, her lover for so many years, might have—

He sighed deeply, feeling the fatigue mercifully wrap around him in a dulling fashion. That was what he needed now, some major dulling.

Then she was with him, psychically poking, prodding, trying to see if he’d flipped his lid. He snapped back at her, too roughly he knew. He had to be careful. This wasn’t her fault that he’d chosen badly, that he’d wasted so much time, and effort, and emotion. That he’d been made a fool of. All of this wasn’t her fault. It was his, purely and simply.

He glanced up. She was standing in the doorway, watching him with an unreadable expression. From the looks of her, she’d probably got little more sleep than he did.

He smiled broadly and cracked, “You should have stuck around for the show. It was dandy.”

She frowned at his feigned flippancy, “So, you got what you wanted?” She asked quietly.

He considered that question, seriously for about a minute, and then shook his head a bit, “I wouldn’t say that. In fact, I wouldn’t say that at all.”

She glanced about the room. The picture in question was on the floor, as though it had been tossed aside at some point, perhaps out lived its usefulness. Jacob himself had a bit of a dazed, disheveled look that was disturbing in itself. Evidently, last night’s revelation had taken its toll, on many levels. She tried to calm herself, anchor herself. This was important. “What do you want to do?” She asked very flatly.

An eyebrow rose, as though that particular question much less its answer had not occurred to him during his anguished foray into the past last night. “Do? Well let’s see, if I could divorce her I would, but I’ve done that.”

She nodded, determined not to be ruffled by his morose attempts at humor. “Yes, you have. Clearly, it was the correct choice.”

He glanced around almost confused looking, and then just settled into plain grim. “Yes, but clearly not soon enough.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, across from him, feeling that her grandmother’s pragmatic approach was the best course at the moment. There was no point in adding further emotion, of any kind, into this chaotic whirlpool that seemed to be swirling about both at them now. What he needed was a lifeline, something to pull him out of all this muck. “So, you can’t go back and fix anything. What do you do now, Jacob?”

His eyes darted up to hers, sort of hardening, “Perhaps take a moment to soak it in.”

“Yes, I think you spent all last night soaking.”

“Not to be critical of you, but aren’t you being just a bit dry about all of this? Last night, I found out that my marriage, nearly six years I spent on my marriage, all of it was a fraud, a lie, a total waste.”

She sighed, “I can see why you’d look at it that way.”

His eyes widened a bit. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game, tempting that intense wrath that was just looking for a target in her direction. He leaned back in the rocker, Talia’s rocker. It bothered her. It wasn’t good for him to be amongst her things at this time. Her energy was still too prevalent here. He needed distance. “You know another way?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

Then he added, looking at her in a very penetrative way, “Care to share?”

She shook her head, “Not now, you’re not in the right frame of mind. I’d like to get you out of here for a while, out of this house.” She stood up, “I’m going to grab a few of your things. Do you have a small suitcase?”

He glanced up at her, as though his mind had drifted elsewhere for an instant. “What?” he murmured.

“Do you have a small suitcase, something to put some of your things in?”

“In the hall closet, there’s one.” And then he murmured, “I’m not sure that I want to go anywhere now.”

“It’s important.” She replied, then quickly leaving the room before he could answer.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Hmm?” he looked up from the cup of coffee that he had just been stirring. He’d put one packet of sugar in it. He was cutting down. That was progress wasn’t it?

Her eyes were wide, wider than they normally seemed, wide and brown. And she looked rather serious. Had he missed something? “I said, what if it doesn’t work, our marriage?”

He laughed a bit, not taking her comment seriously. They were two weeks away from a well thought out ceremony, a lovely little chapel in the Appalachians. Invitations were out. Plane tickets booked; honeymoon arranged. What wouldn’t work out? They were well on their way to happily ever after. He took a sip of the coffee, and it wasn’t sweet enough, but he’d adjust. Talia thought that he took too much sugar in his coffee. So, he’d adjust. “Are you getting cold feet?” He asked in a teasing way because it wasn’t at all a serious question.

She smiled a bit and shook her head, long blonde hair, softly whishing around her shoulders. “Not really, I was just wondering.”

At that moment, he’d thought about painting her, and then again, once or twice after they were married. Then the idea evaporated somehow, never to resurface again. “Do you want to be a bit more specific? I mean if this is a serious discussion about the viability of our marriage, maybe we should have it now.” He was being direct. Most of the time it was a technique, which he used to close down discussions that he felt were leading nowhere. Talia wasn’t a direct person. She liked to take irregular pathways in getting to her destination.

She sipped her coffee and shrugged a bit, laughing at his comment, as though he were not at all serious. Well, they did have the coffee in common, their love of coffee. In retrospect, he wondered perversely why that wasn’t enough to cement a lasting, lifelong relationship. “I want us to get married Jacob. I’m just being realistic. A lot of marriages end in divorce. And if things, for some reason, don’t go the way we’ve planned and that happens.” She fiddled for a moment with her cup, debating, he thought, if she should continue.

He waited, and then he prodded “If things don’t work out like we’ve planned?”

She smiled, and she did have a lovely smile, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to end up hating me.”

What had he answered? Something insipid like, “I can promise you that will never happen.”

He glanced out the window at the scenery passing by, wondering if he would keep that promise, wondering if it was really in his power to keep that promise.

He looked over at Aimee. Her eyes were fixed in concentration on the road. She had insisted on driving. She had insisted they leave and also had insisted that he spend a little time away from the house. At the moment, she was doing a lot of insisting.

It was clear that she didn’t trust his decision-making skills at present. And it was also clear that she was disturbed, although not showing it, by the degree of which he was obsessing over his ex-wife. But he seemed helpless to stop it. He was sifting now, carefully sifting over the elements of their past, trying to make sense of it—some sort of sense that he could make peace with. He felt fortunate that she was not running from all of this. He just wondered distractedly how much she would be willing to deal with.

“We do this a lot,” he murmured.

“What?” she asked quietly, succinctly, without elaboration.

“The car thing, we’re in the car a lot. Particularly after something upsetting happens.”

There was a flicker of a smile, but she remained focused on the road. The route was unfamiliar, and all her focus seemed poured into it. “So, you think this might be a pattern?”

He rubbed his chin. His normally neat beard was definitely becoming un neat. “I think I’d rather have some quiet, uneventful times.”

She nodded briefly, “I’m sorry Jacob.”

He looked over at her profile that suddenly looked a bit more vulnerable to him. “Sorry for what?”

She pursed her lips as though something painful were in her throat. “Sorry, I’ve brought all of this into your life. Things might have been much simpler if I hadn’t come along.”

He leaned back in the seat, letting his head rest for a moment. “I think I might have drowned if you hadn’t come along.” There was a silence. He knew he’d reached her somehow, just felt it, as everything was becoming between them now, purely feelings. “I need to sort out a bit, that’s all.” And then the crushing fatigue began to descend, reminding him that he had literally not slept at all during the night. “Do you mind if I rest for a few minutes? It’s suddenly hit me. Do you know the way all right?”

“Yes, rest awhile. I know the way back.”

His eyes flickered across the walls of the room. They glowed with a dull red glow, almost an inflammation, but oddly enough, it didn’t concern him. The crushing heaviness that he’d felt in his limbs scarcely moments before was no longer present. Nothing hurt, there was no constriction of breathing any longer, in fact the shoulder that so often ached dully that it had become the normal course for him, also pained him no longer. Nothing bothered him, and nothing in particular was worrying now.

Sitting up in his bed, he noticed for the first time that she was not next to him. He moved slowly across his chamber and then through the connecting archway into the next room. There he found her, facing the open patio door. The morning light had just begun to filter through.

He walked up beside her, “How long did we sleep?”

Her voice was soft as a whisper on the air. “For some time, they’ve come and gone.”

He looked around, “Already?”

She smiled, and he knew it, although she was not facing him, “We slept through it all, a deep sleep,” And then slowly, she turned to him, her face amazingly luminescent, more tranquil than he had ever seen her, freer. “I waited for you. But now, it’s time to go.”

He felt as though he were drowning in the softness of her eyes, comforted, serene. “Where are we going?”

“Beginning, we’re beginning something new.”

And then he asked with the humor of someone who had nothing left to fear, “Do you think I’ll like it?” The smile curved just at the corners of her mouth.

“We’re here.” His eyes opened, and his head throbbed dully from just getting a hint of sleep. It took a moment for him to sweep away the feeling of disorientation and recognize that they were in the parking lot at Aimee’s apartment.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the cobwebs and the strong images of the very exotic dream that he had just journeyed from. He glanced around, suddenly hit with a completely bewildered feeling. “You know, I don’t really know how being here right now is going to help me.”

“You need to get away from the past for a little while to get some perspective.”

He frowned, “The past is with me, all tied up in my head.”

“Yeah,” She sort of squared her shoulders as though she were preparing for battle. That made him smile a bit, wondering if she considered him her opponent. “Well, that’s enough to deal with, without having it complicated by all those energies stuffed in your house.”

He sighed, wishing he could remain amused, “I guess you’re the expert on all that energy stuff.”

She smiled, more for his benefit, he thought, than hers, “I am. Come on, I can make you some coffee inside.”

He nodded, still feeling despondently as though he had dragged all the baggage from his house, right along with him.

Her eyes flickered across the calendar that was hanging on the wall in the kitchen. It was Tuesday. She realized this after she plotted the day, because she had absolutely no idea what day it was. Somewhere along the course of the rapidly moving events that they were being slammed with, she’d lost her point of reference. And each morning and night had begun to flow into each other, as though there were no separation.

“Is everything all right?”

She’d felt him walk into the kitchen behind her, even before he spoke. It was suddenly becoming crystal clear to her that she had no game plan here. She’d known it was essential to get him out of that house, away from the depressive energies of the past that were still trapped there. But what exactly would she do now? And what would she not do, were the material questions.

She turned around in as much of a casual manner as she could summon. For the moment, it was best to keep things light, light and superficial. “I actually was checking the calendar. I realized I didn’t know what day it was.”

A slightly puzzled expression swept across his face, “What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday, strange feeling to lose track like that.”

He nodded, “Yeah, it’s been, well, busy.” The understatement of his evaluation seemed to silently impact them both.

She leaned back against the cabinet feeling a bit more comfortable just an inch or two further away. Distance was important too. This was a decision she had just made. He had a lot to sort out, and she definitely didn’t want to be sorted with this particular jumble. “Are you hungry? I could fix you something to eat.”

He glanced around a minute, then shook his head, “Actually, I think what I really want now is sleep. Is there somewhere I could lay down and not be disturbing?”

Hmm, Jacob not disturbing to her, now that was a concept. “How about I set you up on the sofa? I have some work to do, but I can do it in the back.” She’d almost said the words in the bedroom, but suddenly felt very self-conscious about the fact that there was indeed a bedroom here. It was one that he’d seen on a very intense night several days ago.

He nodded in agreement, seeming very scattered to her. “Sure, I won’t be in the way?”

“Well, it’s a small apartment. But I think we can manage to navigate around each other for a bit.”

She started to head out of the kitchen, but he softly caught her arm to still her before she made an exit. Despite everything, despite the turmoil that they seemed destined to be caught in, the effect was the same. His touch was quite electric and quite stirring to her. “Aimee look, I want to thank you.”

She glanced up into his very compelling, brown eyes. A mistake, they had too much of a hold on her. “For what?”

He shrugged, “For being patient, not tossing me aside after the way I’ve treated you lately.”

She glanced down. This was not superficial. Already, he was diverging from her plan. That was so characteristic of him. “Well, I’m just trying to help you right now. The rest of it we’ll have to figure out later.” He tipped her chin up meeting her eyes as though he were looking for something. Then she added, backing away a bit, “Let me go fix up the couch.”

He nodded, releasing her arm. She silently walked out of the kitchen, although she could feel clearly that he was watching her as she left.

He awoke from grayness, a dark heavy sleep where there were no dreams. The images of the room came to him first in blurriness, and then settled slowly sifted into something concrete. It took some moments before he realized that he was in Aimee’s den. He’d forgotten that they’d come here at all and had found himself awaking in a strange place.

As he slowly came to his feet, he felt shaky, clammy, as though he was indeed emerging from some fatigue induced cocoon. The room was shadowed but according to the wall on the clock, it was just approaching two. He’d slept for many hours. The shades were drawn in the room, and she’d turned out the lights at some point, although he didn’t remember her doing so.

He switched on a lamp, glancing around, taking in the other worldly feel of the room. It was odd, all of it, seeming quite unreal to him. As though in coming here, he’d somehow managed to slip into another reality. It certainly looked like the one he knew, but its textures, feelings, were different. Like a little pocket or haven tucked away from the turbulent world outside. He sat in the rocking chair near the sofa. He pulled up the off-white afghan that she’d draped on it around him and breathed in deeply. It felt like her, her energy everywhere—not the Aimee that the world saw, but the one she’d begun to let him see, the vulnerable, soft unguarded one. Glancing over at the sofa, flashes flew through his mind of the night that they were together, how closely he’d held her in his arms. And how, she completely opened herself to him, allowed him to really see her, all the emotional niches that she usually kept well protected.

He continued to breathe deeply, allowing his troubled mind to soak up all the calming energies that this place offered. There were things here that he could feel — pain, upset, but it didn’t bother him. In fact, it drew him, interested him, and perhaps distracted him. Her essence was soothing, so healing.

His mind slowly traveled back to his past, but this time with a clarity that the emotional upheaval earlier had prevented. This time he traveled backward with a calmness that shifted his perspective just a fraction.

“Well?”

His mother glanced up from the frosty, glass of iced tea that he’d just put in her hands. Mary smiled at him softly, and then took a sip without answering. It was a hot day in July. In many respects, this place he’d chosen to live seemed to be a land of extremes to him with winters very chilled, and some days of the summer, not all but some, bleeding hot.

They were sitting out at the picnic table that he’d bought at Talia’s urging. She liked having get togethers, gatherings, and parties. He felt that she would be a good influence on him, a balance, as his own nature was solitary, reclusive. Left on his own, he could be quite the hermit. “Are you going to ignore my question or answer me?”

His mother looked back toward the house. “What’s she doing in there?”

He frowned a bit. He could read the signs, and they were not favorable. But somehow, he’d expected that much. Perhaps that was why he’d put off this meeting for so long. “Making a phone call, and you’re dodging my question?” He was being direct, one of his best weapons.

She focused back on him and quietly patted his hand. But that innocent gesture at the moment only exploded his irritation and anxiety. The last thing, and he meant the last thing, he wanted right now was to butt heads with his mother over the woman he would be marrying in one month. “You’re asking me what I think about Talia.”

Now he knew he’d made a mistake, not at all about his marriage plans, but about asking his mother’s opinion. He knew deep down that his fiancé wouldn’t appeal to her. They were too different, clearly operating on different planets. Talia was involved in the immediacy of life and his mother, well, who knew from one day to the next what she was involved with. “I’m asking for your support in this Mom. Your good wishes.”

Her blue eyes seemed oddly darkened in the afternoon sunlight. “Is this what you really want Jacob?” And then she repeated in different words, “I mean, are you very sure?”

He sat there puzzled, expecting, anticipating some sort of resistance, rather than this particular inquiry. “Yes, I am,” he said coolly.

She nodded, “I can see that. I just want you to be sure.” And that was all she said on the subject, until sometime later. He’d been surprised, relieved, and on some level, he had to admit now, disappointed. Capitulation wasn’t his Mom’s style, and he knew in his skin that she didn’t approve of his decision. Years later of course, he’d asked her why and she’d responded with something about knowing when it was pointless to resist him, when he was fixed on something.

He sighed deeply, chaffed a bit by the memory.

The signs along the way, all the signs that he’d walked past blindly, no not quite blindly, simply unwilling to see, only seeing what he wanted, selective vision, or something of the sort.

He worked to pull himself away from the disturbing emotions and again focus on the room around him, the calmness of Aimee’s presence. He was using her as an anchor, a touchstone. His eyes drifted around the room, taking in each painting, wondering distractedly if she might want to hang something of his on her walls. That thought actually cheered him, the idea of having his painting hanging in a place where she’d pass by, where she lived. It was almost like him being here all the time, not exactly, but decidedly a foot in the door.

His eyes continued to restlessly travel feeling oddly as though he were looking for something. And then his gaze halted momentarily at the clock hanging on the wall. Of course, he’d seen it before, a sort of nautical clock, but oddly he suddenly felt as though he’d never really seen it. It felt a strange now, not entirely at ease here with the rest of the surroundings, but here, nonetheless. His eyes continued to focus on it, and he felt anxiety, but it wasn’t his. It came from the clock. In his mind, an image rose up quickly. It was an elderly, gray haired man, wrapping up the clock, in Christmas paper. It was a gift. But there was more here, definitely more.

“Do you think she’ll accept it?” A woman standing behind the man asked. He couldn’t see the woman clearly, only the man.

“I think so. I hope so. Things seem better between us since she left the city. Maybe the distance has done her good.”

Her hands were on his stooped shoulders, “I just don’t want you to be hurt anymore.”

The smile was sad, “Sometimes, it’s hard for children to understand why we make the decisions we do, no matter how old they are.”

And then the image blurred away. He could see her here now, Aimee, at least several years before opening the package. Her face seemed set, hardened. It was some time before she hung it. Even then, not at all sure she should do so.

He breathed deeply. This was upsetting but somehow better than mulling around his own discordant memories. Purposely, he allowed his mind to travel again, eager for distraction, eager to know the woman who was in the next room even more intimately than he did already. It crossed his mind that she might indeed view this as an invasion, but then he dismissed it. Oddly, understanding her was helping with his own perspective and that further galvanized his need for exploration.

Copyright © 2019 by Evelyn Klebert

Jacob Wyss is caught in a rut, in fact on the verge of being engulfed by it. After an excruciating and disillusioning divorce, his life as an artist in a sleepy-college town at the foot of the Appalachian mountains has become quiet, routine, and maddening in its predictability. One wintry day, his deep restlessness drives him out in precarious conditions to a largely empty bookstore nearly devoid of another living soul, nearly.

Aimee Marston isn’t like everyone else. On the surface, she lives a sedate life working as a feature writer for a small local newspaper in addition to several other editorial jobs to help make ends meet. But just beneath, her existence is largely not her own. She is a sensitive, an empathetic psychic, guided by her calling to use her gifts to help others. Unfortunately, as a result, her secretiveness has made her defensive, protective of herself, and prevented her from having much of a life of her own.

A psychic call for help sends Aimee out on a freezing January morning where her destiny and Jacob’s collide sending both their lives spiraling onto an unexpected and often disturbing track. Two lonely souls connect, not by accident, but by design. Theirs is the intersection of two spiritual paths, two lovers who must struggle to overcome the phantoms of a past life, as well as the challenges of their own inner demons to carve out an extraordinary future together.

More Chapters of A Quiet Moment

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