This Side of Forever

By Gail McFarland

The end of a perfect romance, a perfect love, and a perfect marriage leave one man unable to use the word, Forever, until he meets the perfect remedy. She's sleek, smart, and self-reliant, and she had no idea he was there -- until their mothers got together and introduced them both to the possibilities on This Side of Forever.

** Originally included in the BET/Arabesque BOUQUET Anthology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail McFarland
• Release date: Jul 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466140554

Gail McFarland

Gail McFarland was once the girl known for never failing to get an 'A' in Honors English. Today, as proof that the smart can also be sassy, she is the published author of more than 100 short romantic confessions and short stories, numerous ebooks, and ten popular contemporary novels including: SUMMERWIND (BET/Arabesque) THE BEST FOR LAST(BET/Arabesque) WHEN LOVE CALLS (BET/Arabesque) BOUQUET with Roberta Gayle and Anna Laurence (BET/Arabesque) DREAM RUNNER (Genesis Press) DREAM KEEPER (Genesis Press) WAYWARD DREAMS Genesis Press) LADY KILLER (LULU Books) ALL FOR LOVE (CreateSpace Books) DOING BIG THINGS (CreateSpace Books). Best known for her contemporary romantic novels, Ms. McFarland is a contributing member of The GA Peach Authors. Ms. McFarland is also a dedicated wellness/fitness advocate. She is currently an active fitness instructor, health coach, wellness consultant, and community health volunteer. A native of Cleveland, Ohio, Ms. McFarland now makes her home and place of literary creation in Atlanta, Georgia.

Book preview

This Side of Forever

Gail McFarland

Copyright 2011 by Gail McFarland

Smashwords Edition

Other Titles by Gail McFarland

Genesis Press/Indigo:

Dream Runner

Dream Keeper

Wayward Dreams

Lady Leo Press:

If Ever

Can A Sistah Get Some Love (Anthology)

BET/Arabesque:

Summer Wind

The Best For Last

When Love Calls

Bouquet (Mothers Day Anthology)

LULU Books:

All For Love

Lady Killer

Heart of Justice

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information, address: P.O. Box 56782, Atlanta, Georgia 30343.

Author websites:

www.http://fitwryter.tripod.com

www.http://fitwryter.com/books

This Side of Forever

Chapter One

I can’t believe it.

William Russell repeated the terse refrain once again. Silent words, they were exactly precise, and had become his mantra for the evening. He looked over at his companion. She sat quietly pleating her pink floral silk dress between her fingers, shrouded in her dignity, and intent on the passing scenery. He tried to smile, or at least he bared his teeth. She pretended not to see.

Penny for your thoughts, he said. That’s better, at least I’m talking. He was mildly encouraged by his attempted witticism.

My thoughts? Oh, nothing much, she said softly. It’s just getting late, is all She turned her wrist and looked at her watch.

Is it? It was the best line he could come up with on the spur of the moment. Oh, yeah I’m on a roll, now, William told himself. He was out on a date, his first in five years, and he wasn’t having any fun. Not any at all. From the beginning when Janet suggested he call the nice single lady who worked with her, he’d had a bad feeling about this.

What I had was premonitions bad enough to give Freddy Kreuger nightmares, he admitted only to himself. I should have called her and canceled. Man, this is a lousy excuse for anything, let alone a date, and I’m more than ready for this torture to end. I don’t even know why I agreed to this, except to stop Janet’s nagging.

It’s not even like we have all that much in common, he griped. Point of fact, even the things they had in common, they didn’t have in common. Music, for instance; she hated his. She’d reached out and changed the station on his radio almost before her butt was in the seat. Changing his usual 97 .1FM for an all-talk station, she’d been vocal about her choice. You know this mind-draining swill will rot your brain, don’t you? She’d pursed her lips, and William had a third-grade flashback.

No child of mine will ever listen to that trash, she finished sanctimoniously.

Like it could happen, he almost said. Instead, he bit his tongue, smiled pleasantly and remained silent. It felt like he’d been doing that all night, remaining silent for the sake of being polite. Tipping around this woman is getting mighty old. At this rate, it might be five more years before I have another date.

Trying not to appear too eager, he rolled the Jeep Cherokee to a stop in front of the woman’s house. It was a small white A-framed cottage with a neatly tended flower garden in front. She had a nice touch with sunflowers and white pickets. They both surrounded the house, and he couldn’t wait to leave them behind.

Well, he said, here we are, back at your house. Like she didn’t know exactly where she was.

Yes, she said. She knew where she was, all right.

William’s heart sank. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of social inadequacy. Floundering, he tried another smile. This one fared no better than the first. I guess I ought to say something, just a little pleasant anything that will show her that I am somehow in control of my social skills. I’m a reporter, for pity’s sake. Words are my stock in trade, and I used to be one of the best. To his eternal disgust, the effort died stillborn.

She sat waiting for him to do the right thing: get out and open her door, and set her free from this miserable travesty of a date. Instead, he looked over at her and tried to smile again. She didn’t smile back. Why not? Women always like my smile, he thought. At least, they always say they like my smile. It occurred to him to wonder whether or not this was misplaced vanity at work. Why was he letting this woman, someone he barely knew, intimidate him to this extent? Maybe, that’s what’s wrong, this is so different – she’s so different from Randi. Seems like I knew her all my life, and this woman, he tried the orphan smile again, and it was still without effect, I barely know her.

He knew her name was Paula Farmer, and she taught third grade at Columbia Elementary school. She was tall in her pumps, and Janet said she played classical piano. When he’d knocked on her door, she answered before his hand struck a second time. Almost before he was through the opened door, her eyes registered his face and seemed reasonably pleased. If nothing else, he got brownie points on height and build. She seemed to measure him, just to be sure he was tall enough for a tall woman in high heels. Bold eyes went straight to his waistline, or perhaps a little lower, he would never know for sure, and she seemed to like that too.

How did you get that scar? she’d asked, standing very close, so close they were both enveloped in the light cloud of her perfume.

William was used to it. He only wished he could tell women that the scar was the result of his part in some daring undercover scheme with the DC cops, or from an anguished and vindictive druglord, though it was neither. 1 got bopped with a Barbie, he said.

She seemed to discount his answer, preferring to believe he was covering something up, maybe like a vindictive gang crusade. A touch over six feet, with skin the color of spilled caramel, and eyes to match, he made her feel delicate, and he’d shown up with flowers. Too bad, they’re roses, she’d said waving them away.

Allergic, she’d sniffed into a handful of tissue.

When he offered his arm, she’d touched the sleeve of his jacket and immediately noted, Off the rack. Sears? Tempted to tell her it was an import-straight from Ocean View shopping center – he didn’t. Instead, he’d smiled and asked if she read a lot of sale circulars. Giggling, she’d told him she was, ... just a concerned consumer. The girlish giggles ceased the second she caught sight of the Jeep.

"You’re driving a work vehicle? That’s what we’re riding in?"

Yeah. Like it? The Jeep was third in his heart, if he told the truth and didn’t count the Pulitzer nomination. It was his baby and he’d spent the whole afternoon detailing it. Rubbing hard at the deep green finish, pulling up that showroom shine he’d liked from the moment he’d first seen it; while he tried not to think of what he was getting into.

Her nose wrinkled, and it struck him wrong. Randi used to do it, too, but on her it was suggestive and cute, and she only did it in teasing. On Paula, the unconscious note of petulance looked like habit, and it was petty and unattractive. It’s just, well, I assumed a man with your kind of connections and background ... she let the words trail away. I was expecting something else. Janet said you drove a brand new Mercedes. A little red convertible.

He chuckled softly. That sounded just like his middle sister. ‘Say whatever you have to say to make your point,’ was her official motto. She was probably so busy selling her brother that she only hit the high points of his life and his career. He wondered what she made of his position on The Independent. It was a good bet she didn’t refer to him as, ‘my brother, the lowly reporter.’

He looked over at his date. Disapproval was evident in her every move. He felt a little sorry for her – not much, just a little. You may have misunderstood, he said. "She probably said I have a red Mercedes convertible. I don’t drive it much, anymore.

"Anymore? She said it was brand new."

With a sigh, William keyed the lock and handed her into the seat. I guess it depends on your definition of new, he said.

Paula looked around the jeep interior again, and pulled delicately at her lacy collar. Where are we going for dinner?

I thought Scuppernong’s would be good. Janet said you liked their crabs.

Scuppernong’s? He could hear the disdain frosting her voice.

Would you rather go somewhere else?

No. No, Scuppernong’s is fine, she said hurriedly. It’s just that 1 wore a new dress, because 1 thought we’d be going somewhere – nicer. She sighed heavily, mournfully really.

Maybe next time.

Hmm. The noncomment had set the tone for the rest of the night.

It’s almost over, he promised himself. If I can just get her out, say good night...

Taking it slow, he climbed out of the Cherokee and headed to the other side to help her out. Looking through the shadowy glaze of his dark tinted windshield, he saw the glint of a streetlight reflecting off her glasses. Her round, creamy-skinned face with its brightly lipsticked mouth dimpled pleasantly, in anticipation of freedom, William guessed.

Smoothing his jacket down, he silently promised Janet that he’d get her for this little set-up. In his heart, he knew she was only trying to do something nice for him: him and his kids. He could almost hear her wheedling in that nerve-wracking way of hers, her voice high and close to his ear. But you have to get out, you need a woman in your life. B.B. it’s for the kids, too, she’d say. They need a mother. It was what she always said.

And of course she was right, much as he hated to admit it, the kids needed more than just a loving father could give them. Eight-year-old Jeff and his six-year-old sister Natalie deserved better than being shunted off on their Aunties or their grandmother. They deserved a two parent family.

Janet was right, and so was their mother. The kids needed more, and so did he. A quick sense memory, the kind he kept banked deep inside, and hoarded like a miser, flashed across his skin. Randi’s hand against his cheek, almost made him stumble, and he tried not to hold it in his mind as he reached for Paula’s door. She slipped out of her seat and attached herself to his arm. Patting his hand, she looked at him expectantly.

Expecting what? he wondered. Surely, by now she knew this sad little date wasn’t going to get much better. Her hand felt moist and kind of doughy against his, and he thought of Randi again.

She would have wanted you to go on, his mother assured him, and