And In Summer Fire

By David LaGraff

When Los Angeles woman Donica Kelly has a breakdown during a rush hour commute, she is helped by a handsome stranger, only to find herself almost instantly up a tree with no way down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David LaGraff
• Release date: Aug 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476242880

David LaGraff

I've been telling stories since I was old enough to talk. My readers find themselves in a world which centers on romance but with a twist, as the love grows in the midst of extreme crisis. I write for those who have been knocked down a few times by life and may or may not have recovered yet. This stress opens them up to people they would not ordinarily include in their inner circles and changes forever the tapestry of love and the way they think and feel about life. My tales take place in a near-psychotic state, or perhaps profoundly neurotic, a condition which allows for a spiritual dimension to enter, wherein invisible forces which normally run smoothly in the background begin to bubble through the cracks in their psyches. My people perceive these forces as perhaps a divine intervention of sorts, something to be added to their arsenal to deal with the conflicts. Under the twin pressure of immediate external stress and the infusion of newfound spirituality from within my heroes and heroines must change and become someone newly capable of creating a new life going forward.

Book preview

And in Summer, Fire

by

David LaGraff

For Cynthia, forever.

Let me seek you in my desire,

Let me desire you in my seeking.

Let me find you by loving you,

Let me love you when I find you.

Copyright © 2013 David LaGraff. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

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Chapter 1

A couple of days before the 4th of July, Donica, while breakfasting on her patio, picked up her iPhone, but before she could press the speed dial for her mother Liz, the phone rang in her hand.

It was Liz. You're obviously not checking your e-mail.

Donica, with her mouth full, replied, Mother, it's 6:30 a.m. It didn't surprise her that when she'd been about to call Liz, the phone had rung in her hand, as if to affirm that between them there did in fact exist a connection best described as telempathy, a word Liz had made up two years before, on the night they'd both decided they might try operating together a business aimed at attracting law firm clients in need of corporate interior redesign.

Don't talk with your mouth full. I know what time it is. Did you forget you were supposed to call me?

I was just dialing you, Donica said.

Where are you dear? And what's that noise I'm hearing in the background?

I'm out on the balcony, Donica said. Finishing a low fat bagel and a Benadryl with a coffee chaser. There's a garbage truck in the driveway. You'll have to shout to be heard.

I'm not hearing a garbage truck. It sounds more like a TV. Is it coming from one of your many inconsiderate neighbors?

It's my TV, Donica said. I'm the one being inconsiderate. I've got it turned up loud in the living room to hear the news out here. That new blonde on KTLA says the Bel Air fire is still burning out of control. How close has it come to the house?

We're getting a lot of ash, Liz said, but the main blaze is still at least a couple of miles east of here, south of Mulholland on the west bank of the freeway. Of course, if the wind comes up, it could be on us in a flash. Your father refuses to evacuate. I've been hosing the place down all morning, but the water pressure keeps dropping out of sight. Earlier, a frightened coyote ran right down the middle of our street! I had to lock little Punchy in the bathroom. With his arthritis, he could never outrun a hungry coyote!

Mother, this is starting to worry me.

This shouldn't even be happening, Liz continued, but in spite of the fines and the warnings, some people, including a certain famous faux-educational TV quiz show host, who only works 4 days a month and whose name I won't mention, don't keep their brush cut and the next thing you know, everybody's home has gone to blazes.

What's dad doing while you're watering?

He's in the garage wiping the Mercedes with a diaper. He says if he doesn't, the ash will ruin his precious Desert Silver paint job. Men. It's a good thing they only run governments. If they ran anything else the world would be completely ruined. Thank God they don't try to raise the children. The human race would disappear within 90 days.

I wish you and Dad would come stay at my place until it's contained.

And stay where? Your place is hardly big enough for the cat, let alone yourself. Not to mention the last time we visited, the cat scratched your father.

The cat has a name.

I talked to Cher last week. She knows a reliable vet who can perform the de-clawing. And there's some new medication you can mix with its tuna that blunts all that male territoriality.

Donica ignored her. It's true; Fletcher had scratched Dad, but not defensively. Fletcher often scratched, lovingly, his owner, and select others, of whom Bertrand was particularly favored. It was just Fletcher's way. But Liz was right--the one-bedroom apartment was small, but at least it was hers alone, to have and to hold, for better or for worse. And she had a great view of North Hollywood Park,