The Hardest Part Of Living

By B.A. Hughey

The Hardest Part of Living is the first romantic novel by B.A. Hughey. It's a comedy about how second chances at love are possible, and new loves can come in very unexpected people.
Hershey, Claire, Rose, and Charlotte met in college, but a tragic misunderstanding drove them apart. Now, a decade later, destiny seems to have brought them together again. Will they give love a second chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.A. Hughey
• Release date: Feb 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458120489

B.A. Hughey

Hard working goof-off by day, aspiring writer by night. I write because it's fun for me, not because I have any aspirations to be the next Stephen King or make a million dollars. If ten people download my book and write nice comments about it, then I'm cool with that.

Book preview

Preface

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-Five

Preface

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the love and support of so many people. I’d like to take a moment to thank some them…

Paula, my loving spouse and best friend, I dedicate this book to you.

My dearest friends, Jo and Ashley, you guys were definitely the inspiration for some of the witty dialogue.

To my deceased parents, I hope I’ve made you proud.

To the many other friends and family throughout the years who have encouraged me…Thank you.

I hope that you, the reader, will be patient with me as you read this ebook. This is the first ebook I’ve published, and I know there are bound to be errors. I hope you enjoy reading the story, and can overlook my minor mistakes. This book was a labor of love that started when I woke up from a vivid dream, and took a decade to put on paper.

Thank you for purchasing The Hardest Part of Living. Please email comments to: [e-mail]

Introduction

Six months in the future

Hershey O’Bannon has been through a lot in her short thirty-two years. Sports injuries, car accidents; there was even the time she fell off the top of a dorm building. But the mess she'd gotten herself into tonight had to be the worst of them all. She was only trying to help. But you know what they say about no good deed going unpunished.

Stop! No! The beautiful blonde hiding under the railroad car was utterly terrified.

How do I get myself into these situations, Hershey thought. She bends over to assure the woman that she is safe. The woman is almost out of her mind with fear. Hershey’s concern increases when she sees the woman reaching for something on her keychain. A split second later, a burning liquid hits her face. If only she’d kept her motorcycle visor down; it probably wouldn’t have hurt so much.

Ever notice how pain is associated with colors? For example, it was a white-hot pain, or everything turned red when so-and-so was shot, and so on. People often describe pain in terms of colors.

At this moment, Hershey is experiencing a Wizard of Oz-like technicolored movie of pain. Oh god, this shit really hurts, she thought. She hit the ground hard, rubbing her eyes. This strategy proved to be a mistake, rubbing only made it worse. Can’t breathe. Gotta get this thing off. Hershey struggled with the straps, but couldn’t get the helmet to budge. What seems so routine, can become almost impossible in the right set of circumstances. It’s a simple strap, really. But burning mace makes it a bit more difficult.

The blonde is saying something. Shouting actually. Hershey doesn't care; she's too busy doing an impression of the Wicked Witch of the West after she’s been doused with water. Then, the blonde stopped talking. Thank God for the little things, Hershey thought.

Gotta get to my feet. Hershey manages to get up on one knee, and catches a glimpse of a neon-green object through teared-up eyes. Oh shit. A second later, she’s right back on the ground again. The recipient of a neon-green bat to the head.

Don’t move, you fucking asshole! The blonde had graduated from using mace to using Hershey’s own softball bat against her. Maybe it's a good thing Hershey didn't get the helmet off. After all, being a college professor requires a fair amount of gray matter. But now, in addition to her eyes hurting, she’s certain she’s going to lose consciousness. She’s experienced this feeling before; passing out that is, not getting belted by a softball bat. Her head hurt like an Evel Knievel stunt gone wrong.

Trying to get up, Hershey realized that her arms have turned into hundred pound anchors. Helpless. She saw the blonde holding the bat. Why are you doing this, Hershey thought. I only tried to help you. Hershey saw the blonde’s lips moving, but she didn’t hear anything. I kissed lips like those once…seems so long ago…but I messed it up. I’m so sorry, Claire.

Hershey’s last thought echoed in her head as she slipped into unconsciousness: yep, no good deed goes unpunished.

Chapter One

Today

The word hot describes a lot of things very well: your attractive next door neighbor, Cajun spices, a pizzeria’s oven. What it doesn’t describe very well is a summer in the South. It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. And that’s the truth. Hot and sticky just doesn’t cut it when it comes to describing the Deep South. Mercury. Now that’s a little more like it. Living in the South is akin to what it must be like to live on the planet Mercury. For someone who spent the first twenty-two years of her life in the wintry Northeast, Rose Schultz didn’t mind the heat all that much.

Taking a seat in the bleachers, Rose looked around. She took a deep breath and muttered a quiet, thank you, God. From her vantage point, at the top row, she can see everything. What does Rose like best about Atlanta? Is it the culture, the large gay community, the great shops? Nope. Bar none, it has to be the women. Rose was convinced that God is a Southerner. How else can one explain the fact that Atlanta is home to the highest per capita number of beautiful women?

Rose ran her hand through her honey-colored hair, leaned back, and surveyed the action. The action Rose was interested in is the action in the stands, not out on the softball field. Her best friend, Hershey, used to play softball. Rose was glad she managed to convince Hershey to get involved in softball again. Rose wouldn't dream of missing any of the fun. The fun in question, of course, is the carnal kind. Or to be more specific, the carnal fun to be had with the beautiful southern belles of Atlanta. In her four short years as a citizen of Atlanta, Rose Schultz had already garnered a reputation in Atlanta's lesbian community.

Hershey O’Bannon was facing an old demon. For years, she couldn’t even bring herself to come near a place like this. As she walked past the ticket-taker and through the gate, she was assaulted by memories long buried. Like an amputee that still feels the phantom pains of their missing limb, Hershey experienced the sights and sounds of the ballpark, and felt the phantom pain in her shoulder.

The softball field was packed with players and spectators. It hurt to hear the sounds of balls hitting leather mitts, and the high metallic sounds of bats, but it wasn’t as bad as Hershey had expected. Rose had been the one to finally get her to come back to a softball field and help coach a team.

Hershey shielded her eyes against the bright sun, and looked in the bleachers to find Rose. Rose was Hershey’s best friend of fourteen years. They had met their first day of college, at Leackmore University, and hadn’t looked back. The casual onlooker might have assumed that they were lovers. But their relationship was deeper than that. They were best friends, sisters, soul spirits. Many people would have thought it very odd that they lived together, continuously, for those fourteen years. When Hershey went on to graduate school, and Rose entered law school, they picked the same school so that they could be together. It hadn’t occurred to them to have it any other way. They were a family, and that’s the sort of thing that families do.

Hershey smiled. There was Rose, Atlanta’s resident Casanova, already looking around at all the pretty ladies. Rose was the lesbian world’s version of Rudolph Valentino. The consummate Lothario, Rose had sampled just about every variety of woman in the cornucopia of Atlanta’s lesbian community. Hershey looked at the dugout. Let’s do this, she muttered.

Rose stood up and clapped as Hershey’s team took the field. Rose said to nobody in particular, My best friend is the first base coach--she’s awesome. Several women smiled and nodded their heads, including the one sitting in the row in front of Rose. Uh huh, Rose thought, that’s my hook.

Which team are you rooting for? Rose threw her line out into the pond.

The brunette smiled. Well, actually, I’m pulling for the other team.

Rose sighed. That’s too bad. I’ll tell her to take it easy on your girlfriend’s team.

Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend. The pitcher is a friend of mine.

Ahhh, I see. I won’t cheer too enthusiastically then. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.

That’s ok. I don’t really even like softball all that much. I just come to the games because there are so many beautiful women here. I hear games are a great place to meet women.

Rose smiled. I couldn’t agree more.

By the fourth inning, things were definitely looking up. Hershey’s team had scored several times, and Rose was getting closer to scoring by each passing minute.

So what position does your best friend play? The brunette smiled at Rose.

Rose pointed to first base. Hershey doesn’t play anymore. She had an accident and hurt her throwing shoulder. But before that, she was a college superstar at shortstop.

Her name is Hershey? Like the candy? That’s so cool.

Yeah, that’s what I said when I first met her.

She’s pretty. And I love her hair. I’ve never seen hair that black before. Is that her real hair color?

Yes it is. You should see her eyes. They’re this unbelievable gray color, with just a hint of blue. Rose noticed that the young woman had the most beautiful round breasts she had seen, since, well…at least a few weeks ago.

And you guys aren’t…

Rose leaned back and waved her hands. Oh no. We’re best friends. And Hershey’s got a girlfriend. Ok, Rose thought, what could a little lie hurt? Hershey didn’t and hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.

Rose gave a little frown and gave a long, drawn out sigh. It’s so hard being single when your best friend has somebody.

And the Oscar for Best Lesbian Pick-up-Artist goes to…

Well, maybe we could go out sometime.

…Rose Schultz!

But before Rose could answer, she heard the solid ting of a beautiful hit off an aluminum softball bat. She knew that sound well. She'd heard it often enough when she watched Hershey play in college. There's nothing like it, the noise a ball makes jetting off an aluminum bat. But it can also spell danger; especially for those in the infield. The ball comes off the bat like a bullet, making it difficult for the people in the infield to react fast enough to protect themselves. Rose heard the sound, but kept her eyes on the brunette. She watched tonight's prospect rise in horror to her feet. Everyone gasped and turned their heads to the field, pointing and murmuring in concern. Exasperated at having to divert her attention from potential date material, Rose looked to the field and saw a figure sprawled out at the first base coach’s spot.

Ah crap. Rose winced as she made her way across the stands down to the field to see about Hershey.

Ohhhhh. Swirly, sparkling things. That’s what Hershey was seeing right now. Did anybody get the license plate number of that African rhino? Yes, that’s what happened. One minute she was on a softball field, the next she was on safari getting struck by a rhino. And since when was Rose in east Mongolia? She must be in east Mongolia, because she sounds that far away. Actually, it sounds like she’s in a tunnel in east Mongolia. On a cell phone. With really shitty reception. But what do you expect from cell phone coverage in an under-developed country?

I can’t believe this, Rose murmured as she knelt beside Hershey. I try my damnest to get her back into softball, and what the hell happens? She gets injured the first time out.

Rose rubbed Hershey’s back. Hey, Irish. You really should have ducked that last one.

Again, why is Rose trying to make contact with Hershey all the way from east Mongolia? Or was it a cave in Nepal?

God, Hershey. That line drive nearly took your head off.

Hershey blinks and the sparkly, swirly stars come back. Rose is hovering over her. The head coach gently sat her up, and Hershey began to feel a warm liquid pouring down her face.

Oh man, I can’t deal with blood. Rose winced and turned away for a second. Yuck, I sure picked a crappy day to try that new Thai restaurant, Rose said as she fanned her face.

Hershey gingerly touched her nose. Ah, the source of the warm liquid. I dink I boke my nose.

Rose took a deep breath and wheeled around. No! Really Dr. Kildare? You sure? Rose turned to the rest of the team. Ok, ladies. Easy now. Let’s get her to my car. Oh, and get a towel. I don’t want blood all over the leather seats of my new Mercedes.

Rose looked out at the stands. Tonight’s prospect had left the building. Oh well. There are other fish in the sea. Rose’s face lit up. Hey, Hersh. Maybe I’ll meet some nice nurse in the emergency room, eh?

Hershey would have rolled her eyes, but her nose hurt too much.

When they got to Rose’s car, Hershey automatically reached over for her seat belt. There were two speeds on Rose’s gear shift: fast and suicide.

Next stop, Mercy General. Rose had always wondered if that 105 on the speedometer was an attainable speed. Now might be the best time to find out.

Hershey closed her eyes as the engine raced to life and the car bulleted off. She had ridden enough times with Rose to know that as long as you kept your eyes shut, it would all be ok.

Hey wasn’t that… Rose turned around to see if it was the brunette from the stands, but Hershey’s panicked voice and the honking of oncoming traffic demanded that she keep her eyes forward.

What? I didn’t even go over the center line.

Oh God, pleed drive safely.

Hey, you let me drive, and you just ride, ok? Rose looked over at Hershey. Her eyes were closed, and she was white-knuckling the dashboard.

Our Lord, who ard in Heaven…

Rose was about to comment on Hershey’s overreaction, but she suddenly heard George Michael singing I Want Your Sex. Rose looked around frantically for her cell phone. I can never find that damn thing when I need it.

Hail Mary, full of grace…oh God, look oud! Watch da road! Hershey regretted having opened her eyes.

Jesus Christ! Ms. Daisy, will you let me do the driving, please?

Rose found her cell and flipped it open.

Ms. Shultz? It’s Grace. The Bondermann people want to schedule a meeting this afternoon. They say it’s urgent.

Negitive, Ghost Rider. I’m taking Hershey to the hospital. Her nose is broken, and I’ll probably have to stay there the rest of the day. Hershey gave a slight squeal of alarm as more cars protested Rose’s reckless driving.

But what about the Bondermann reps? When should I reschedule?

You’re my assistant, Grace! Assist me! Just set it up. Rose did the equivalent of slamming the receiver down on a cell phone: she threw it to the back seat.

I’m paying that girl way too much money. Narrowing her eyes, Rose gripped the wheel and smiled. Now, let’s get you to that hospital.

Hershey crossed herself and promptly passed out.

Chapter Two

At thirty-two years of age, Claire Müller was finally seeing the fruition of many years of hard work. She was a pediatrician and had her own practice. She had a job she loved with a passion, a nice house, wonderful family, everything she needed right? Wrong.

Otis Redding was singing a song about being lonely. Claire sympathized with his plight. She hit the remote for the car stereo. Now he sang about these arms of mine. Claire sighed. She can’t take any more of this punishment. She hit another button. Thank god for cd changers. Ahhhhh. Metallica. Much better. No heartache songs on the Black Album. She felt enough of that without having to be bombarded with it through music.

Claire parked her new Jaguar, and thought about her recent purchase. She cringed a little, thinking it an incredible luxury she didn’t really need. A Honda would have done just as nicely. Her liberal mind and heart were in a constant state of warfare with her natural human hedonistic desires. Boy, have I sold out the socialist politics I had in college, she thought. She shook her head to clear the bad memories. Enough rationalizing. Time to heal children.

Claire was a good pediatrician, and it showed--her waiting room was crowded just about every day. She could already hear the kids crying. I’ll have the terrible hearing of a rock star by the time I’m fifty, she thought.

Good morning, Dr. M. We’ve got a full load today!

The customers already complaining, Mrs. Noder?

Oh yes. It’s standing room only in the waiting area. How did your adorable nieces like that casserole I sent home with you last night?

Sadie and Gretchen loved it. And they’re way short of being adorable.

Mrs. Noden laughed. Well, Sadie is only nine, so she’s still adorable. But seventeen year olds can be quite a handful, can’t they?

Claire grabbed her white coat and swung the stethoscope around her neck. You know, I don’t think I was ever as sour as Gretchen when I was her age.

Well, we live in a different world now. But you’re giving those girls such a good life. You’ll see. Gretchen will leave for college soon and she’ll make you so proud.

Claire smiled. I hope so. As soon as I wash up, you can send in the first wee patient.

Claire looked in the mirror as she washed her hands. Beautiful blue eyes stared back at her. She frowned at the dark circles under them. Now I know where dad got his dark circles. She pulled her bright blonde hair up. Maybe I should go brown and shave my head again. I’d do a lot of things over again if I could, she thought.

Claire tied her hair back, and walked out of the washroom. Mrs. Noden, our first patient, please.

I have a macaroni stuck in my ear. The little boy sitting on her examination table was a cute, chubby little cherub.

Claire never got tired of seeing kids take their natural curiosity to the extreme.

"Oh really? And how did