How To Taste It At The End Of The Day

By Inez Reilly

What’s love go to do with it? Everything. Winston Harlon lives in the busy, exciting New York City. He is young, handsome, intelligent, and successful. Through the chaos of the City, he finds the love of his life, a woman, named Charity, who has pledged herself to celibacy until marriage. Attraction, wit, intelligence, passion, and romance ignite a bond between Winston and Charity that cannot go unnoticed, uncelebrated, or suppressed.

The love's journey that ensues seems like it cannot get any better, yet the relationship continues to electrify Winston and Charity as they work within the physical boundaries of their affair. The couple-in-love must not only deal with their feelings for each other, but also deal with the feelings of their friends and family members as Winston and Charity's relationship changes interactions with everyone in their immediate lives.

Love's journey meets tragedy, and Winston is left to battle the demonic forces of grief and depression. He journeys to, and is trapped in, a downward spiral, welcoming his descent to despair, at times. Winston spends a lot of time in turmoil, wondering how God can be a good God, or even exist, and such fate meet Charity. With the help of his pastor, parents and an unlikely group of globetrotting seniors, Winston faces the torment that challenges his beliefs, faith, and existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sadie Books
• Release date: Mar 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452466620

Inez Reilly

Inez R. Reilly has been blessed with the gift of writing fiction and non-fiction content to help others work through everyday issues as they relate to matters of the soul. Inez has spent over twenty years helping people overcome past pains that stagnate growth into the 'beauty of now'.Writing fiction that reads as movies, and creating characters that evoke emotional connections, Inez shares engaging tales that take place in a contemporary period. Inez Reilly is an author whose works will burn into your memory as she takes you on a journey that will have you thinking 'I know that feeling'. Read them now, before you see the upcoming films.Inez's non-fiction works focus on ways to heal from past pains. Using religious, philosophical, and real-life references, Inez tackles different emotions and behaviors that impede self-development, along with ways to remove the stagnating obstacles from one's life. She is noted for getting to the point and creating a sense of 'that makes sense'.RADIO PERSONALITY | AUTHOR | MOTIVATOR

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How To Taste It At The End Of The Day

Written by Inez Reilly

Published by Sadie Books at Smashwords

Copyright © Inez Reilly, March 2011

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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 recipient. 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.

This book is based on some true events, however, names, dates, and places are changed; all persons in this work are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

The days grew long, as did the nights. There was a deafening silence, while life continued outside and stood still inside the penthouse apartment. There was a flicker of candlelight coming from the bedroom, the lone illumination source in the place. There were no television or radio noises and no clamorous sounds of pots and pans, in the kitchen. There was no lilting woman’s voice, in conversation. There was, simply, silence.

The lone occupant of the apartment meandered from the bedroom, making his way, slowly, down the long hallway, to the kitchen. The granite countertops looked as icy as his heart felt, at the moment. He opened a stainless steel refrigerator, leaned down and peered in. He was met with such meagerness; it took him by surprise. He thought, to himself, ‘had I not just gone to the Westside Market? Or am I mistaken and weeks have passed since I last restocked the refrigerator?" It was more than likely longer than that. He had not ventured out of the apartment for more than the mail, in months, if the truth were told. He did not have the cupidity to go forth and live as a functioning member of society. He had lost his joie de vivre, the moment she drew her last breath. The fire, in his life, was now smothered and replaced by an insidious cold that permeated his entire existence. The glint in his eyes had faded to a dull opaque, void of light and life. It was as if Winston’s soul was lost in a skulking despondency that sucker punched him a lot.

He stood up in an attempt to gain some sense of control over the situation. His mind was teetering on the brink and he was about to fall headlong into the abyss that awaited him. He didn’t have the desire to forage for food. Wasn’t that his lot in life, as an alpha male? He was born to be a hunter and fierce warrior, the provider and protector of the pack. Yet, with feet planted firmly in the middle of his kitchen, he was hungry and alone. He had been overthrown, as the leader of his pack, and he walked the land of his home as a nomadic wayfarer.

He moved back into the living room, where he took a seat on the divan, the one piece of furniture remaining that reminded him of her. The divan was made from fine Italian leather. He could still smell richness of fabric. Its color, a deep magenta, caused him pause as he recalled it being the same color of her favorite lipstick. The legs were fashioned out of cherry wood, resembling a lion’s paw. She had decided on the perfect spot, for her place in his world, before the sofa was delivered. She wanted it, directly, in front of the wall of windows overlooking the Manhattan’s skyline and the Hudson River on the City’s prestigious Upper West Side. He could, almost, smell her perfume – St. John’s Original fragrance, by Marie Gray – as he leaned back for comfort.

He hadn’t noticed the tears cascading down his cheeks, until his t-shirt became stained with their moisture. His heart ached at his loss. Her life was cut-down, too soon. She had so much more to offer. The world is a much darker, more sinister place now that an angel had left its surface. He longed to hear her laughter, to touch the nape of her neck, to kiss her mouth. He was thirsty for her and could find no relief from any other source. He felt arid, like a dessert in the late of summer, just before the rains. However, the rains never came. The ground of his spirit was dry and cracking. He was resolutely in a drought.

He wiped his face and turned to look out of the window. He had a panoramic view of New York City’s skyline to the west and the Hudson River to the north. He had been feeling, especially, lucky in spirit when an opening became available in the highly-sought out, prestigious West River House apartment building, located on the upper west side of Manhattan. Although the rents are a bit steep, it’s been worth every penny because of the spectacular view and opulent living to which he had become accustomed.

They loved to sit, with a glass of wine, after dinner and gaze out into the world. The both of them were active participants in the hustle and bustle of the day-to-day grind. Yet, when they walked through the doors of the penthouse, it all faded into the distance. There was just the two of them. They would discard the harried thoughts and high-strung emotions, just as an old garment, to dress themselves in their love. The day, along with its activity, became a distant memory as they spoke of their lives and future together. His soul had found its mate, and she assured him that she had found ‘home’ with him. They fit together, absolutely perfectly. He knew no one would understand, unless they, too, had found the melody to their simple chords.

As he looked out of the window, the sky seemed crystal clear, tonight. He had not allowed himself pleasure of enjoying the horizon, since that fateful night. Memories pressed forth, trying to burst through the wall he had fashioned out of his grief and pain. He rallied and then won the battle. He refused to be overcome, this evening. He wanted to reminisce, without the pain. He wanted to wax nostalgic and engage the beauty of his past life with her. If he never relived those grueling minutes, hours, days, weeks and months, it would be too soon. He wanted his life back. He wanted his wife back.

CHAPTER TWO

The spring air was filled with rain’s presence. It was so heavy; one could smell it and feel its moisture upon their skin. Each pedestrian was hurrying, in an attempt to beat the imminent shower. Meteorologists had not forecasted rain, yet the clouds loomed ominously, overhead. The sun had shined for a few brief hours, in the early morning. It looked to be a perfect day to take lunch in a park or in the plaza of one of the office buildings, in the area. However, the sun acquiesced to the clouds and bowed out, gracefully.

Now, as a cloudburst seemed their lot, for the rest of the day, there were a few less than adventurous city dwellers flagging taxicabs. They were unwilling to chance even the quickest walk to their destinations. This was the case with two strangers.

Winston Harlon stood well over six feet tall. His strong features and mocha-colored skin commanded concentration from every female passersby. He walked to the corner with his briefcase in one hand, as he hailed a cab with the other. When the driver pulled up to the curb, Winston reached for the door handle only to be met by the hand of a beautiful woman.

Charity Burroughs was modest height, which she accented with beautiful four-inch heels. Her a-line skirt was well coordinated with a matching blazer and Coach handbag, which she held over her auburn colored hair that was in perfect synergy to her caramel-like skin.

As the raindrops filled the clouds and spilled forth on the scurrying people below, each of them was looking for a quick exit out of the pouring rain. There was a brief moment of pause, as neither of them had been paying attention to the other standing in such close proximity. Winston was the first to concede.

Excuse me. Winston said, as he opened the door for the beautiful female standing in front of him. By all means, take this one. I’ll hail another. He stepped aside, as he held the New York Times over his head to shield him from the unexpected precipitation. The woman was quick to hurry into the dry enclosure.

Please, join me. Charity extended, as she scooted over to make room for the ruggedly handsome man. You have been quite chivalrous, in offering the cab to me while you stand out in the pouring rain. You must be rewarded for such gallant gesture.

Are you certain? Winston asked her. We may be headed in differing directions causing… Winston began.

"Or we could be headed in the same direction…let’s say, Luigi's on 34th Street." Charity began to dry her arms and legs with the paper towel given by the cab driver.

Luigi’s, it is. Winston smiled as he took the seat next to the woman. I didn’t catch your name…

I did not toss it out there for you to catch. Charity laughed, as she passed a paper towel to Winston. I’m sure you could use one of these. The cab driver was kind enough to offer it to me. Now, I am offering it to you. My name is Charity Burroughs, by the way. I’m an Account Executive at Pitney Bowes, which is located in the building just outside this window. I love my profession, which is not something which many people can say. I am an only child of Anitrese and Colin Burroughs. I am native to New York City…born and raised in this concrete jungle and love every bit of its hustle and bustle. She turned to face Winston. And you are? Her smile was captivating.

Winston was a bit taken aback by her candor and unusually forward personality. He stuttered a bit, M…my name is Winston Harlon. I am a partner at the Law Offices of Bigby and Barnes, which are housed in the same building as Pitney Bowes. I do not believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you coming in or going out, at all, since I have worked here. Winston looked puzzled. I digress. Forgive me. I have four siblings, two sisters and two brothers. My parents’ names are Jerrod and Justine Harlon. I was not born in New York. I hail from Towson, Maryland. I moved to Manhattan because I was under the assumption this is where I would find the best opportunities and also get the salary to live the way I have always dreamed. I, too, enjoy my vocation; I have never contemplated any other profession, in my entire life.

Charity reached out her hand, I am very pleased to meet such a gentleman on the mean, mean city streets. Alas, I had lost hope and here you are to revitalize my imaginings of years gone by. As a child, I mused there would be a white steed racing down Broadway with a handsome chocolate prince upon its back. He would bring the horse to halt, outside my office building and call for me to come away with him. She looked, intently, into Winston’s eyes, Are you my handsome prince, Mr. Harlon? In place of a white stallion, you whisk me away in a checkered yellow cab?

Winston was quickly becoming quite intrigued with this woman. Her flirting was both surprising and exciting. Her eyes were bright and alive. He returned Charity’s gaze. He, too, knew the art of flirtation. Wouldn’t the highway to discovery be wrought with interesting twists and turns, Ms. Burroughs? A most enchanted rendezvous awaits us, at Luigi’s; of that I am certain.

Certain, are you Mr. Harlon? Charity smiled. Her eyes had a mischievous glint to them. Well, your confidence has birthed an assurance within me. I am going to take you, at your word, Winston. I look forward to being swept off my feet, by your charm and wit. She crossed her legs and rested one hand on her knee. Oh, do not believe for one moment you will be the only one doing the wooing, my new friend. I have been graced with feminine wiles, which very well may knock you off of your feet. Her laughter filled the taxi cab and Winston was positive even the cab driver smiled.

I am, already, smitten … if only, slightly. You are intriguing, to say the least. You are like a good, full-bodied wine, which one begins to enjoy with the first scent. I am delighted to be sharing this ride, with you. I am curious to see how this afternoon proceeds and reaches its zenith. He sat back, more relaxed now as the cab made its way to their destination.

Hmm…it’s zenith, huh? We shall see, Winston. We shall see. She then turned her attention to the fleeting picture of one unsuspecting traveler who had no umbrella.

CHAPTER THREE

The late evening was transitioning into the dark of night. Winston sat, alone, on the divan made for two. In the direct aftermath of Charity’s death, he could not bring himself to sit on the sofa. It was her special place, in the midst of his world, which she allowed him to share. She would insist it was their private island on the island of Manhattan. He remembered the magically delicious moments they shared on their private island.

It was difficult to imagine being able to be comfortable on this piece of furniture. He thought he would have to donate it or give it away. The inextricable pain he felt, every time he walked passed it, clawed at his soul. The bittersweet memories flooded back and he smiled as fresh tears fell from his eyes.

Charity had woven herself into all of the intricate patterns of his fiber. He was no longer a viable soul. He was unraveled, the day she died. He could feel the threads of his life, shredding as she labored for breath. He had begged God to save Charity. He laid face down on the chapel floor, every night she lay in the ICU of Roosevelt Hospital. His tears stained the carpet, as he wept with anguish, beseeching a silent God to spare the life of his lovely wife. She had been nothing but goodness, to everyone she encountered. Charity was the better of the two of them. She deserved to remain and light up the days of those in her circle. He pleaded with the universe to seize him instead of her.