Something to Remember by Meg Gray

Ava’s perfect Christmas is missing just one thing.

After an accident days before Christmas Ava Ringwald is left with a gap in her memory, but it’s not just her that is desperate for their recovery…

“Can’t we open all of them?” Felix whined as Ava sat on the couch in her long flannel nightgown.

The scent of the fragrant pine in the corner filled her with the essence of Christmas. She held a cup of tea and tucked her legs up as she watched Lane remain firm against his son Felix’s pleas and maintaining his stand on their Christmas Eve tradition.

“One or none,” he said.

“Aww, Dad.” Felix hung his arms and traipsed over to the tree like a depressed little elf.

Sean, the elder of the two brothers, pulled the gift Ava had brought for him out from under the tree. A spark hit his eyes as he glanced from Ava to his dad. “I want to open this one.”

“Is that okay with you?” Lane asked, sitting beside her.

Ava nodded.

“And I want this one.” Felix tore into the brown paper of a package without waiting for the okay.

Lane rested a hand on her leg, the warmth of it burning a hole through her gown. Ava sipped her tea as a distraction. She didn’t want to give away the desires she’d let loose in her imagination ever since Lane had hand fed her that tantalizing chocolate cake. She would be patient. This moment was about him and his children.

Felix pulled out a wood handled hatchet and held it up over his head with both hands. “Look what I got. Look what I got.”

“Bring it over here.” Mama Hart, his silvery haired grandmother, held out her hands. She wore a floor-length flannel gown too—ruffles around the sleeves and chest. Felix scrambled to his feet, stepping over the wrapping paper littered floor to his grandmother.

Ava’s eyes couldn’t leave him, the small child with the metal blade in his hand. “You bought your son an ax?” she said quietly behind her mug, trying to hide her astonishment from the others.

Lane turned away from Felix. The joy inside his eyes drained immediately. “We bought it for him.”

“Oh,” Ava said. First, shocked that she would ever be on board with purchasing a sharp metal object for a young child and second, pained by the dagger she’d just delivered to a man that baked her chocolate cake and said things like, I adore you, by not sharing the memory. She sipped her peppermint tea again.

“Here. This one’s for you.” Sean handed Ava a present wrapped in shiny green paper. “I made it myself.”

“Thank you.” Ava set her tea on the side table before taking the present.

Sean sat on the floor in front of her while Felix watched from Mama Hart’s lap. Even Lane seemed to be transfixed on her every move.

Slowly, she pulled back the paper, wondering what sort of trinket he’d created. The paper fell away, revealing a book, a black book. She opened it. Centered on the first page was a portrait of them. All of them, posed and happy.

At the bottom of the page written in a child’s script was: I had fun playing with you. You got a sunburn.

Pain pinched Ava’s heart as she turned the page. Another family photo and message. She didn’t stop to read it. She couldn’t. The next pages were filled with the same. She closed it and looked into the expectant eyes of everyone watching.

“Dad says you might not remember these things.” Sean looked up at her with those aged little boy eyes. “But I do, and I can help you.”

Ava was speechless, but it didn’t seem to bother Sean as his attention shifted to the big package he’d been waiting to open.

He ripped into his gift and uncovered one corner of the box. His mouth dropped open as he turned to Ava.

“You remembered,” he said, and then tore the rest of the paper away from the magic kit with unbridled little boy enthusiasm, finally looking like a carefree little boy.

But the words “you remembered” haunted Ava. His expectant eyes, and the hopefulness held in those two powerful words tore her in two.

Sean rushed over to Mama Hart in the rocking chair, pointing to the magic cards pictured on the box.

“I knew you’d start to remember.” Sean’s eyes shot to Ava’s. “I just knew it. It’s what I asked Santa for tonight. He said he couldn’t make any promises but that he’d try to help if he could.” He looked back at the magic set with awe. “But, it’s already happening. You’re remembering.”

“No, honey.” Ava couldn’t keep the truth from him. “I don’t remember.”

Sean’s smile fell. “But you’re the only person I told about the magic set. If you don’t remember, then how…”

The question hung in everyone’s eyes—all waiting for her to answer. “I didn’t… I just… I found a list.” She switched her gaze to Lane’s, confused and expectant. “I had it on a list that I found. I…” She couldn’t finish. There were no words to match the fall of Sean’s shoulders.

“But…” His lip quivered. “It’s my only wish.”

He knocked the magic kit out of Mama Hart’s hands, rattling the pieces inside, before running for the stairs. Lane shot to his feet, right behind his son, leaving a startled silence in his wake.

After a door slammed upstairs, Felix crawled across the floor and turned the magic kit face up. His fingers traced the images on the front. “This looks really cool.” He turned from Mama Hart to Ava. “If Sean doesn’t want it, can I have it?”

Mama Hart chuckled and patted him on the back. “Let’s leave it here for your brother to play with in the morning.” She propped the box under the tree. “Now, it’s time to get you to bed.”

Felix stood up, slinging his hatchet over his shoulder. “Night,” he called to Ava.

“Good night,” she replied.

“Don’t worry about the mess, dear,” Mama Hart said in passing. “Lane and I will clean it up.”

Ava wondered which mess she meant.

 ***

If you’d like to read Something to Remember click here to find out where you can get your copy.

 

 

 

Meg Gray uses a small world approach when crafting her contemporary romance novels, tying minor characters from one story into another—demonstrating how intertwined our human lives really are. The city streets and country roads she takes you down aren’t necessarily a structured series, but the stories are connected. Within the pages, her readers will catch glimpses of some of their favorite characters again and again. This is a concept that mirrors itself in our everyday lives. Our worlds are much smaller than we realize, often times we are unaware of the way our lives intersect with those around us. Visit www.meggraybooks.com to learn more.

 

I Thank Thee… by Meg Gray

A very short and fictitious retelling of one woman’s journey aboard the Mayflower…

The westerly gales tossed the ship called Mayflower again. Salty seawater breached the edges, sending another spill of water to the lower deck. Sally Anne clutched her middle, praying to settle her stomach. She refused to add to the rank stench these tormenting waters were forcing her fellow passengers to leave behind in the cups and bowls the vulgar crewman found.

Another crashing wave—another jolt—sent her head back against the wooden hull. Pain shot through to her eyes. Screams and cries came from the small children on board. Hushes and shushes from their mothers and fathers collided with the vile words spat from the unpleasant crewman who saw fit to insult every passenger who fell ill.

Sally Anne’s eyes stayed closed, hands latched to her belly. John, her husband, laced a strong arm behind her, giving her head a soft place to rest. His other hand held fast to a beam as the boat rocked again. Water swirled at her ankles and her face rolled into the wet wool of John’s doublet. The stench of his unclean skin a save from the mounting smell of her fellow passengers’ revolting stomachs.

Whispered prayers clouded the congested cave of the ship’s lower deck. Words of thanks, praise, and requests for safe passage floated above Sally Anne’s head. For she had no words to give to the god her husband so desperately wanted to follow in this new land. A new land filled with savages and wilds. A place she didn’t know or understand or want to see. But it was his will and so she followed.

A fresh pouring of water sloshed through the grate in floor above. She felt a push against her hands. Her eyes flew open, the moons image framed in the between the slats. Dark clouds eerily passed over the single light in the sky as she uttered her own quiet prayer, “I pray thee Lord will see us safe.”

Wood cracked, tearing through the night like a dagger as the main beam split.

***

The light sea breeze teased the tendrils falling from Sally Anne’s coif. The passengers had been allowed a respite from the dark shallows below deck to dump their latrines and sniff the fresh air before being sent back to the bowels of the ship. The waters were calm and blue sky peeked from behind wispy gray clouds. Children ran past chasing a mouser who pursued a rat twice its own size. The spirits of the passengers had remained steady since the last terrifying night of the storm. The seas had yet to toss them again so violently. And once the iron screw had been placed to buttress the sagging beam, that surely would have meant their death had it not been repaired, it appeared the Lord had seen fit for them to reach the new land after all.

The journey had been long but the end was near. The crew anticipated spotting the shores any day now. Any day couldn’t come soon enough for Sally Anne as she turned for the dark opening and climbed below deck.

She wasn’t two feet down when the call came out, “Land. ‘Tis land ahead.”

***

Days had passed since the men first took to the shore, scouting and surveying for a proper place to build their homes. John was among them and every time he set off for the land, Sally Anne’s heart went with him anxious for her own turn to walk with the soil beneath her soles.

Each day the men returned without a place to settle, but she held fast to the hope that it would be found soon. She was in the place where her family would grow. It was time for her to get off this ship. Her waistcoat grew tighter by the day. The thump she’d felt in her womb the night of the great storm was a young one. She hadn’t yet told John, for fear his worry would overtake him. But soon. Very, very soon. Their child would be born in this new land—not aboard the ship as had the two women previous to her. Her child would have a proper home to be born into. And today was her chance to see the land for herself. She was going ashore.

Sally Anne lifted a basket of soiled clothing, waiting to board the small boat that would take her and a group of women to land to tend the laundry. Her heart could barely stand the anxious beat drumming inside her chest.

The ride over the sea was swift and gentle. Cold water bit into her skirt and stung with winter’s reminder that it would be here to stay soon enough. Lugging her wash basket through the shallows Sally Anne finally set foot on the sandy shore. With unsteady steps she dragged her woolen skirts from the icy sea and fell to her knees. She pressed her cheek to the stable ground and kissed it.

“I thank thee Lord for seeing us here,” she said.

The words echoed around her as every other woman in the group did the same. The feel of the solid ground beneath their feet like a promise fulfilled and nothing but gratitude fell from their lips. For each of them knew how desperately their circumstances could have changed upon those trident waters.

But now they were home, upon the soils that would house and feed their families and there was no greater gratitude for the blessings they’d been delivered.

 

***

 

Meg Gray uses a small world approach when crafting her contemporary romance novels, tying minor characters from one story into another—demonstrating how intertwined our human lives really are. The city streets and country roads she takes you down aren’t necessarily a structured series, but the stories are connected. Within the pages, her readers will catch glimpses of some of their favorite characters again and again. This is a concept that mirrors itself in our everyday lives. Our worlds are much smaller than we realize, often times we are unaware of the way our lives intersect with those around us. Visit www.meggraybooks.com to learn more.

 

One Dark Night by Meg Gray

All she could see was black…

The football game was a total waste.

Erika Evans quit shouting, “Let’s go D-fense,” with the other girls on her cheer squad. What was the point? The score was 45-0 and the spectators were bailing out under a rapidly falling sheet of rain. Even her parents left at halftime with Shelby and Mitchell in tow.

The players couldn’t stay on their feet and the other team was going to get through the line whether she screamed the words or mouthed them. So, she decided to save her vocal chords the abuse.

The game had quickly turned from football to mud-ball. Shaking her black and gold Hornet pom-poms was hardly worth the effort past the first quarter. But she did another high kick and mouthed, “First down. Players on the field moved from their formation and the next thing Erika knew there was quiet groan of disappointment rolling out from the small crowd still in the stands.

Fumble.

Finally, the game ended and Erika hustled out of the stadium. She couldn’t wait to get home. On board the cheer bus, she punched her pillow and propped it against the cold, rain-dotted window. The rain had pulled every last curl out of her head-topping ponytail and soaked her uniform, which was now wadded up in a ball at the bottom of her travel bag. Her dry change of clothes had eased the chill from her bones, but didn’t eliminated it. She pulled a blanket up around her chin.

Through the window beside her she saw Cassandra still in her uniform, holding hands with her senior football player boyfriend Mark. She tossed her limp ponytail from side to side as they talked. Yvette was next to her, eyes roaming the other players looking for what Erika assumed was her next catch, since the last guy she dated had dumped her after graduation and left for college.

Ms. Greene, the cheer coach, hurried through the drizzly rain and flashed five fingers, giving Cassandra and Yvette the five minute warning as she passed. Erika closed her eyes, ready to go home when a loud thud hit her window.

She pulled her pillow away and saw Caden, rain turning his blond hair dark. He smiled, his lopsided grin bringing a ray of sunshine to her heart. She pressed her hand to the glass, over his.

“I love you.” The words silently passed from his lips through the window.

“I love you too,” she mouthed back those frightfully intimate words they’d started saying to one another. The same words that had started the latest mother-daughter standoff. Last night when Erika had said good-night to Caden and included the words I love you, her mother had shot her a deep, wrinkly forehead look. Erika knew what her mother was trying to say, You’re too young to understand love. Her mother didn’t get it that Erika was old enough to have big feelings for a boy. In her mother’s eyes she was still a little kid.

Erika was giving her the extreme cold shoulder as payback.

“Oh, how cute,” Yvette giggled from where she sat down in the seat in front of Erika. “The boy next door is saying goodbye.” She giggled again and Erika ignored her. For whatever reason, her friends didn’t like Caden or didn’t think he was cool enough for Erika to be dating. Every chance they got they tried to set her up with one of the football or rugby players. And Yvette always called Caden cute—which he definitely was—but the way she said it made it sound like he was a puppy, not a person.

Lately, Erika had seriously been rethinking her friends.

Caden stepped back and turned toward the rally bus he’d come on to watch the game. Erika slowly let her hand slide down the glass as she watched him climb on board. They’d meet up back at school and he’d bring her home, now that he had his license and a car. A white Camry.

“Everybody ready?” Ms. Greene asked, doing a quick head count from the front of the small bus.

Erika nodded, making quick eye contact with Ms. Greene before she let her head fall back on her pillow and popped her ear-buds in to listen to Katy Perry on the ride home.

The lights of the coastal town in northern Oregon faded as the bus drove down the winding highway that would take them home.

Erika stared at the seatback in front of her, letting the music cocoon her and keep her out of the silly gossip chain she knew was going on around her.

As Katy Perry’s voice faded out and Meghan Trainor started to croon All About The Bass, the bus made a sharp maneuver. Erika fell forward. She tried to catch herself, but landed on her bag. An ear-bud fell out. Music pumped into only one ear.

Screaming—petrified screaming overtook the vocals. The other ear-bud fell out as the bus bumped and rolled, tossing Erika to the ceiling and back down.

Ouch.

Pain radiated through her body.

The bus came to rest on its side. Erika wasn’t sure which side or if she was still in her same seat. All she knew was the bus wasn’t moving anymore.

Her eyes were closed. Or they must have been because all she could see was black.

The screaming faded as she was sucked into the darkness. The pain she felt, but couldn’t identify faded too.

“Mommy,” she whispered before everything went black.

 

***

To find out what happens to this family sign up for Meg’s Insider Club. Their story will be released as a novel in 2016 and you won’t want to miss the release date!

 

Meg Gray uses a small world approach when crafting her contemporary romance novels, tying minor characters from one story into another—demonstrating how intertwined our human lives really are. The city streets and country roads she takes you down aren’t necessarily a structured series, but the stories are connected. Within the pages, her readers will catch glimpses of some of their favorite characters again and again. This is a concept that mirrors itself in our everyday lives. Our worlds are much smaller than we realize, often times we are unaware of the way our lives intersect with those around us. Visit www.meggraybooks.com to learn more.

A New Kind of School by Meg Gray

The kids were at school. The apartment was silent, minus the puppy snores coming from Butterscotch, soft and adorable. Nothing like the yelling and chatter-filled air that polluted the apartment every morning as she hustled the children out the door to school. This morning was no exception either.

Fern fired up the PC in the den. The teakettle whistled from the kitchen and she padded barefoot to the stove to fix her cup. Her calf-length yoga pants and baggy sweatshirt over her Arizona State t-shirt added a layer of casual to her new work environment. Something that could have gotten her fired from the She-devil herself at the law firm.

Last month Fern submitted her notice to Abigail. Two weeks later, she shed all the workplace stress as she carted out a box of her personal belongings from her desk. Her desire to go back to work remained, but it wouldn’t be in that office.

Steam rose from the teacup. Fern set it next to her keyboard and clicked through to her email, finding the message from Heidi Wickham.

Today marked the beginning of a new chapter in Fern’s life—she was going back to school. Online school where she got to wear comfy clothes and sit at home while she learned all about how to run her own online business, featuring her editing skills.

According to Connie Wright—Caden’s mother—there were a number of businesses around the city that would contract out services. And Connie should know. She was well connected in the city. Connie also said growing a business online would give her a global reach. It sounded scary, trying to reach out to clients all around the world. The internet was now the hub of business, and if Fern was going to succeed, she had to know what she was getting herself into.

Fern had considered just hanging a shingle and figuring things out as she went, but she prized her organizational skills and decided if she was going to roll out an online business, she was going to do it right. Straight from the beginning. And that’s where Heidi Wickham came in. The model-turned-juicing-queen ran a twelve-week course detailing the ins and outs of running an online business. And if little Miss Heidi from southeast Texas could do it, so could Fern…at least that’s what Heidi promised in all her online ads.

The timer on the screen ticked down the minutes and Fern felt a funny first-day-of-school flutter deep in her belly. This was so exciting. She checked her pencils, three number twos, sharp and ready to go. A fresh yellow legal pad sat to the right of the keyboard, ready to be filled with notes on today’s one-hour lesson.

Fern picked up her tea and sipped it. She set her cup down as the timer ticked down to zero. The screen changed, taking her into her virtual classroom. A gorgeous model-thin blonde in a strappy sundress smiled at the camera and welcomed her to the “You Can Do It Too” class. The camera panned the beautiful beach backdrop in Heidi’s world. Fern pictured herself there too, or maybe it was Hawaii, she wasn’t sure, but she saw herself on that beach with her laptop, editing pages, and raking in the money. This was all so exciting!

Heidi’s glossy lips reeled Fern in for her first lesson. “Imagine this as your office.” Heidi turned away from the beachscape. “Over the next twelve weeks I will give you the tools to make your dream job a reality. Don’t get me wrong,” she shook a finger with a manicured pink nail in front of her, “it’s going to be a lot of hard work. Are you ready for this?”

“Yes, I am,” Fern yelled at her screen. Butterscotch lifted her tired head, her droopy eyelids begging to know why she’d been disturbed. Fern patted the dog’s head, lulling her back into a snooze.

“Great,” Heidi said as if she’d heard Fern. “Because if I can do it, then you can do it too, so let’s begin…”

Fern picked up a pencil, ready to note every single word of Heidi’s foolproof business success-plan, because she was going to do this!

Heidi sat, daintily perched on the edge of a floral print couch, crossed her legs and began, “The first thing to remember is…”

The lights from above snapped out, the screen went black, and Heidi was gone.

Fern looked to her phone still plugged into its docking station. There was no way it had had enough time to charge. She bolted to her bedroom, looking for her laptop and prayed the kids hadn’t run the battery down. She didn’t want to miss her first day of school because of a power outage.

 

***

 

Meg Gray uses a small world approach when crafting her contemporary romance novels, tying minor characters from one story into another—demonstrating how intertwined our human lives really are. The city streets and country roads she takes you down aren’t necessarily a structured series, but the stories are connected. Within the pages, her readers will catch glimpses of some of their favorite characters again and again. This is a concept that mirrors itself in our everyday lives. Our worlds are much smaller than we realize, often times we are unaware of the way our lives intersect with those around us. Visit www.meggraybooks.com to learn more.

The Probability of the Impossible by Meradeth Houston #FlashFiction

Be sure to leave a comment to enter this months' giveaway for a $10 gift card! :)

Not all super powers are gifts.

***

Source

The world is flat. The sun orbits the earth. Lead can be turned into gold. Continents don’t move. People can’t read each other’s thoughts.

Or so people used to think.

Not that anyone understood was my great, great, great, great (I’ve lost track—there’s supposed to be eight [or ten?] great’s) uncle Leonard could do. He just seemed to have a good sense of intuition with those he was close to.

And he and his wife had a ton of kids. Ten or something like that. And their kids who also had a bunch of kids? They were the ones who were like their dad.

The real surprise happened when two third cousins met and got married. They hadn’t even realized they were related (I mean, think about it—do you know your third cousins?). Their kids were the first ones where people took notice. When the scientists stepped in. The government.

None of us have really been free since then. Not until two years ago when I broke out with the rest of the group.

I gripped the steering wheel with my gloved hands. The leather squeaked under the pressure. It was the only clue to anyone paying attention. I hated any accidental touch with a stranger.

Hate’s a funny thing though. The scientists back at the lab told me the original mutation had been some random fluke. That was how it always worked—an accident in their DNA. An accident that allowed them to hold us all hostage. To breed us like cattle. To force us to work for them. Nothing compared to the hate I felt for them.

I took a deep breath. Thinking about that too much left me with a raging headache, and tonight I had to keep my focus. I was on a supply run (first time I’d been allowed back in public). We needed things and I had to get out and get back without anyone tracking me, or guessing who I was.

Not that most of the public knew about us. Sure, a couple of generations ago there had been news stories. Wild claims about what we could do, strange comparisons to those impossible mutations that people glorified in comic books. Reality was so much less fun.

The store was still lit, just twenty minutes until closing. Just as I’d timed it. I parked next to a lifted truck with a bumper stick proclaiming that the driver hunted wolves. I resisted the urge to take my key to it.

I had to peel off my gloves when I walked through the sliding doors. It was a little too warm for that to be normal.

The list in my pocket, on a crumpled piece of paper, had twenty items on it. That allowed me to take the express lane, and anything more might tip someone off that I was up to something.

Canned goods first. Mostly veggies, and a few fresh things as well. My mouth watered at the thought of a baked potato loaded with everything on it. How long since I’d had something that filling?

Too long. But it was worth it. Better than being a lab rat.

The medicine aisle gave me some trouble. I had to walk through it several times until I found the right stuff. The cold medicine would be invaluable at the compound, if only because it stunted our abilities. In a community of mind-readers, that meant peace unlike most of us could hope for.

I threw in chapstick before I could stop myself. My lips cracked and bled every day or two and I couldn’t handle it any longer.

Finally, I walked to the front. This was the hardest part. I could load my cart without ever having to speak with someone, but this store didn’t have self-checkout lanes. Which was why I’d been the one sent here. It had things we needed the other stores didn’t, but there were so many risks.

My cart had a wobbly wheel that listed to the right and squeaked as I walked to the front. Five minutes until closing.

The woman behind the conveyor belt read a magazine and glanced at her watch as I approached. Unloading my cart, she began ringing up my items as the register let out muted beeps.

I managed a weak grin as I walked up to pay. I had five crisp twenties in my wallet, each stolen, but I didn’t like to think of it that way. I’d spent the majority of my life working for the scientists without any kind of compensation. Same went for my parents, and everyone else back at the compound. Taking what was my due seemed like a much better way to phrase it.

The woman was efficient. Already most everything had been settled into white plastic bags, ready for me to collect. She didn’t do much more than glance at me as I waited.

I hoped the sweat gathering in my pits, along my lower back, didn’t show through.

Finally, she finished and turned the little screen with the total toward me without saying anything. I counted out the twenties on the little counter and let her collect them. Her hands stayed a safe distance from mine.

My total didn’t register until she counted it out for me, bills along the counter, which I snatched up and replaced in my wallet.

But the change. The total had included three cents, which I didn’t have, and meant I had $0.97 cents to contend with. And no way was she going to scatter that across her counter.

“You can just keep it.” I stepped away from her proffered handful of coins.

She shook her head. “It’s almost a dollar, you should just take it.” Finally a smile touched her face. For a second I looked at her and realized that she had been beautiful in her youth.

I tried to wave her off once more, but she leaned forward, grabbed my sleeve, and plunked my change into my palm. “You look like you could use it.”

Her skin was cool, papery in a way. Loose. And I could feel every one of her fingertips where they touched mine. My mind seized on hers.

He needs it. Obviously. Look at that sweater. Seen better days. Money could be stolen. But don’t think like that. Just let go of his hand.

Her internal voice was breathy. Young. As if her mind hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that her body no longer fit with her thoughts.

I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Every single time it happened, it still seemed odd. Wrong. No human was meant to hear those personal, private, things in another’s mind.

Look at him! So startled. Funny that an old woman would do that. His expression. Like I’m harming him. Let him go!

I jerked my hand, spilling pennies and dimes and quarters. I didn’t even look at where they fell. All I could see was the look on her face. The way her voice trailed through my thoughts like the tail of a comet.

Within moments I had my bags gathered and almost ran toward the door. I could feel the eyes of the woman on my back the whole way.

Outside, the dark cool of the parking lot remained too bright to hide in. I went back to the car and dropped the bags in the trunk before I slid into the driver’s seat. My instincts were to race from the lot as fast as I could, tires squealing. But that would only draw more attention.

What would the woman do? Call the cops? Could she have sensed anything about me? I didn’t think people could tell when I read their electrical impulses that made up their thoughts. But maybe they somehow knew, somehow sensed it.

Or she thought I was disturbed and needed to be taken care of.

It took a few deep breaths to calm the ragged feeling of her thoughts meeting mine. I could still feel the foreign nature of them, like I’d eaten something strange and the taste lingered on my tongue.

Somehow, I managed to keep my cool and back out of my parking spot. To ignore the giant truck with the hateful sticker and to make my way toward the exit. That meant crossing in front of the doors to the store. I did not want to look over. But I couldn’t not do it. I had to see what went on inside.

The woman stood with her face in the window, her nose almost pressed to the glass. She had a phone to her ear and I watched her jot down something as I went by. My license plate number.

I waited to rant until I got onto the road, zooming away from the store, from the woman, from her voice in my thoughts. Then I screamed obscenities until my voice went raw.

Heat and pressure built behind my eyes. I could feel it there and felt even worse. I hadn’t cried since I was a kid and they took me away from my mom when I aged out of the nursery.

And now what? I had to tell the others. Steal another car. Make sure I wasn’t tracked back to our camp. That wouldn’t be easy. Not alone.

But one thing was certain. I couldn’t be caught. I’d rather drive my car off a bridge. And if I had to, if I didn’t have any other choice, I’d use what I could do. Because even if touching someone was like willingly touching vomit, it made it impossible for anyone to deceive me.

***

Meradeth's never been a big fan of talking about herself, but if you really want to know, here are some random tidbits about her:

>She's a Northern California girl and now braves the cold winters in Montana.

>When she's not writing, she's sequencing dead people's DNA. For fun!

>She’s also an anthropology professor and loves getting people interested in studying humans.

>If she could have a super-power, it would totally be flying. Which is a little strange, because she's terrified of heights.


Find Meradeth Houston online at:www.MeradethHouston.com, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Amazon, Goodreads, and of course her blog!

The Cube.

As luck would have it there was an empty seat at the back of the Magic Bean café.

I grabbed my Chai Latte and settled, facing the mall. The aroma of coffee grinds spiked my taste buds. The general bustle, clatter and conversation eased as the early morning addicts downed their double shots and sauntered off to work. 

There would be a lull, for an hour or so before shoppers came clamouring for their eleven o’clock fix.

With my lap top open and imagination racing, I began to write. My attention focused on weaving intrigue and creating conflict. My intrepid hero’s behaviour needed tailoring to push the plot forward. 

Lost in the world of my creation I allowed the words to flow. My friend would be along shortly. We met each week to write, chat and share the latest news on our publishing journey. Despite the activity around me my mind focused on the characters playing out their part in my newest chapter.

A shadow fell across my keyboard. I looked up, expecting to greet my friend.

Instead a stranger loomed over my table. His gaunt frame, sallow skin and hair resembling a chewed dog toy didn’t fill me with confidence. At least the café was a public place. No real danger.

What would my character do in this situation? Show no fear, nor dismay.

“Can I help you?” I asked, feigning genuine concern, trying to catch the attention of the wait staff.

“Yes. I need your help.” The stranger sank onto the vacant chair opposite me with his back to the public. Deep set eyes, sunken rather than natural depth, gazed around the café before fixing me with a piercing stare. “I have been watching, waiting for the right person to arrive. You.”

“Why me?” I asked before I remembered my character would be stoic, calm.

“You ordered Chai, in a specialist coffee shop. I am looking for someone who has the strength to stand against the current. Go against the flow, take the road less followed.”

“Enough.” I shook my head. Would my character explain I don’t like coffee? It does strange things to my heartbeat. No. Let the stranger think I possessed strength of character. I liked the idea. It didn’t fit me. Not shy, introverted, marsh-mellow me. Still, no harm in playing the part. “So, how can I help? If you are unwell, there is a great surgery around the corner. They take walk-ins and bulk bill.”

“I am dying. It is true. The doctors have done all they can.” The stranger’s gaze softened. The grey blue eyes glinted, assuming a faint resemblance of the colour they might once have been. A tic pulled at the stranger’s cheek. He lifted a hand, I thought to ease the anomaly, but he placed a small cube on the table beside my laptop. “The luckiest man alive gave this to me, now I am passing it on to you. He promised the cube would change my luck. Take heed and listen to my instructions.”

“You know the old advice, don’t accept gifts from strangers.” I concentrated on sipping my Chai and dragging my focus away from the odd cube.

“Not even when it is a dying man’s final request?” A smile lifted the corners of the stranger’s mouth. Sadly, bloody gums showed, though again, there seemed a remnant of once cared for perfect alignment to his remaining teeth.  “Do this, for luck. A simple task and you could be blessed with good luck. For the rest of your life.”

“You are not a walking advertisement for luck, mate. Really, you need to try another tack if you want to sell this scam.”

“Scam?” His eyes rolled and his shaking hand recoiled. “Not a scam. Please. Don’t refuse. I have no time left to find another soul with your attributes.”

Soul? Attributes? Nothing would make me accept his gift, nor did I want to waste more precious writing time chatting. His odour now overpowered the pervasive coffee grounds. Time to encourage him to leave.

As though reading my mind he began to speak. His voice flowed with hypnotic cadence.  “Take the cube. Roll it. Read the numbers. They change with each roll, somehow they know what you need whether you play lotto, the pools, power-ball, lucky-loot, whatever. Choose one game and take a gamble. There is a draw tonight. What is there to lose? If you don’t trust me, fine. At least give the lucky cube a chance. You will win. I guarantee it. The cube does not lose.” He straightened. “When you collect your winnings…” He paused and again his eyes seemed to regain their colour and energy. Every fibre of his body appeared tense. I sensed desperation and hope. “You must immediately donate the complete amount to charity. Any charity. Your favourite good cause. Don’t keep any of the money for yourself.”

“Why don’t you do this? Why do you need me? I can give you a few dollars for you to buy a ticket if you are so concerned. You don’t need me.”

“If you donate the win to a good cause, luck will follow you. Good luck, for a good deed.”

I blinked. Sudden realisation hit me with sledge hammer force. “Bad luck for a selfish deed? Is that what you did? Kept some of the winnings for yourself?”

He closed his eyes and lifted a hand to his forehead. I tried not to notice the clump of hair clinging to his fingers as he kneaded his furrowed brow. With shoulders slumped he again looked up. “It seemed too weird to believe. Once you have used the cube once, pass it on to another.” He glanced away. “Or destroy it if you can find a way.” He turned back and sighed. The simple act left him gasping for breath. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and leaned closer. Again I could sense lost energy, health and passion. He spoke in a hurried whisper, desperation scored each word. “It only works once. If you do the right thing, perhaps giving the cube to you might alleviate my guilt. I am desperate. Will you help me? Telling you my hopes might influence the outcome, but what do I have to lose? I am dying. Today is your lucky day. The cube is now yours.”

Without pausing to see if I accepted the gift the stranger grabbed a paper serviette and wiped spittle from his mouth. Staggering to his feet he strode away and disappeared into the crowded mall.

I wanted to rush after him and return the cube to his care.

What would my character do? Accept the cube? Find the stranger and return the odd gift? Take the chance and risk the gamble? Donate the win to charity? If the stranger told the truth. What should I do? Who couldn’t use extra luck? Good luck.

Scoffing my Chai, I snapped shut my laptop and sprinted from the café. Amid the bustle of rush hour I raced through the milling throng. I couldn’t see the stranger. His tall gaunt figure should stand out from manicured employees making their way to work.

Disappointed and needing to draw breath I halted my headlong rush. Trying not to pant aloud, my character never ran out of breath, I straightened.  Leaning against the shop front I gathered my wits.

Outside the mall’s newsagent and lottery office a sign caught my eye.

‘Thirty million dollars. Tonight’s draw. Try your luck’.

As the stranger said, what did I have to lose? Which charity would make the most of those millions?

If the cube provided the right numbers, perhaps a good deed would redeem the stranger. Perhaps his luck would change. He might live on.

What would my character do?

I headed inside to gamble on a change of luck.

***

Rosalie Skinner resides on the east coast of Australia when not totally immersed in the fantasy world of her writing.

Rosalie’s love of the ocean, nature, history and horses has enabled her to give her books an authentic air. Her latest achievement has been to ride through the Australian Snowy mountains and see the wild brumbies run. When not watching the migrating whales pass her doorstep she has more humble pastimes.

Other than being a published author, her greatest thrill is being a grandmother. Born over fourteen weeks early her granddaughter’s perfect development and growth are a miracle and joy.

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