Paperback Trinkets: A Collection of Short Stories

By Sandra Dorsett

This book is comprised of eight short stories written over the span of twenty years. Although fiction, they are time portals to my own personal history. Each story has a special meaning to me and they are right up there among the top ten on my list of greatest accomplishments, just below my children, my marriage, and my recipe for peach cobbler.

Last Call is simply heartbreaking. I wrote this during a bleak period in my life when I was struggling to cope with a life-altering situation. Even now when I read Last Call I can put things easily into proper perspective.

My Restitution was born from an idea I was toying with for a novel. I hope it has the same surprising impact on the reader that it had on me.

Rug Burn is proof that my weird has never really completely rubbed off.

Stranger in the Garden came to me in a dream. At first it seemed like such a sad story, but then a few minutes after I wrote that last line I realized it was actually the story of a miracle.

Sweet Revenge is an exaggerated story of my personal experiences on the web-dating scene. Nothing even close to what I describe in this story ever happened to me.

The Gift of a Perfect Morning is probably my favorite of this collection. My son actually came to me with this story idea. He’d dreamed it several months before and asked me to put it into a format. Seldom have I felt so compelled to write a story. It was as though the story wrote itself. That’s magic. I love this story, even though it breaks my heart.

The Good Husband is a bittersweet story of how terribly wrong a person can be and how misconception can cost you everything.

The Lady Next Door is a story of seamless love. I’ve often wondered how a young person would cope with a loved ones inability to live in reality. In this story I’ve tried to capture that scenario.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Dorsett
• Release date: Oct 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465891426

Sandra Dorsett

I was born in Northern California and spent most of my growing up years in Los Angeles. My first husband and I moved to Houston, Texas with our two young sons in the early 1970's. I was widowed in 2004 after my first husband's long and courageous battle with lung cancer. I am now remarried and my wonderful husband, Steve, and I live on a little farm in Southeast Texas. I began writing when I was just a little girl. My little sisters were my first critics, snuggling beside me at bedtime while I read my newest work to them. A Wink at Midnight is my first novel.

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Paperback Trinkets

A Collection of Short Stories

Copyright @ 2011 Sandra Dorsett

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

These are works of fiction. Any similarities to places, establishments, businesses or people, living or dead, are purely coincidental and are a product of the author's imagination.

Cover art and illustrations by Sandra Dorsett

This book is lovingly dedicated to my adorable granddaughters

Heather, Colleen, Nicole and Kaly

Table of Contents

Last Call

My Restitution

Rug Burn

Stranger in the Garden

Sweet Revenge

The Gift of a Perfect Morning

The Good Husband

The Lady Next Door

Last Call

The dial tone hummed in her ear; a miracle. She thought for sure communications would already be down. She dialed the number quickly. She was trembling. Her heart raced, fearing she wouldn’t get through. But she did; another miracle.

Hello.

Tom!

Hi, baby.

Oh, my God; I was afraid you’d left, or I’d get your voice mail. Or the lines would be down. She began to cry.

Don’t, Sue. Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay. I’m here, baby.

It’s not okay. Oh, God, I’m sorry. I can’t help it.

He cleared his throat. I don’t know what to say.

Say you love me, she pleaded.

You know I do.

Say it anyway.

I love you, Sue.

She sobbed. I love you, too.

Sue watched as Anna, from payables, ran hysterically from her office and fell to the floor beside the copy machine where she curled into a ball and wept. Ed, from dispatch, tried to calm her, but it was no use.

How are your people there, Tom?

Not good. He sighed. Harry kept a revolver in his desk. Nobody knew until he pulled it out ten minutes ago and blew his head off. Sid’s still trying to call 911.

God help us.

I wish.

What? What do you wish, Tom?

Oh, nothing, everything. His voice cracked. Do you think the boys are okay?

Mary’s wonderful. She’ll comfort them. An excruciating sadness rocked her violently, leaving a lump swollen in her throat. My babies, she moaned.

You’re right, he said. Mary loves them almost as much as we do.

How long? she pushed the words out. How long do you think before the first missile strike?

He was quiet for long seconds. Minutes, he whispered.

I wish we didn’t know. I really do. She began to cry again. This time she didn’t apologize. She glanced over to see the receptionist sitting quietly at her desk. She was tenderly stroking her swollen belly. Her baby would’ve been born in another eight weeks. Richard Bradshaw, the CEO, ran past her. He was screaming that he didn’t want to die.

She closed her eyes and thought of her two young boys who would not live past this day. Say you love me, she whispered.

I love you, he whispered back. I love you. I love you. I love you.

And then the world went white.

******** ********

My Restitution

Lots of people called me a snitch for going states evidence, but it was really only survival. At my parole hearing I promised the good people of Louisiana that I’d never let anyone cook dope in my kitchen again and they released me after eighteen months into my two-to-five at the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women.

Stacy gave me my first journal. Writing it all down was her idea. Stacy fancies herself my therapist, but Louisiana calls her my Parole Officer.

At first rage spilled onto those pages until I used it all up. Then hope surfaced after