Living For Two: MY HEART IS YOURS, #2

By Teri McGill

Geneva St. John was not looking to fall in love; her shattered heart was barely recovering from her older sister’s death and coming to grips with almost losing her baby sister as well.

When she first laid eyes on Jayson Delaney, bathed in sunlight and appearing so ethereal, it was immediately evident that he was destined to change her life. Unable to converse at first due to a language barrier, they soon discover that love is the purest form of communication between two souls.

Although Geneva’s sister is recovering nicely from surgery, she begins to exhibit strange, unsettling behaviors that only Jayson seems to be able to comprehend.

There are some people in our world who believe the power of love can transcend death.  What kind of miracle would it take to convince us all?

(This book features several deaf / hard-of-hearing characters. The story also involves information related to deafness, deaf education, and American Sign Language.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teri McGill
• Release date: May 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9780986364518

Book preview

My sincere thanks and appreciation to the tireless staff at Hot Tree Editing: Becky Johnson, Peggy Hurst Frese and all the other editors and beta readers who have offered support and encouragement. I am grateful to everyone who has read, blogged, shared or just friended me in the book world. Thanks to Bex ‘n’ Books and Hot Tree Promotions for their willingness to spread the word and steer book-minded people to my Facebook pages. Many thanks to all the wonderful online book blogs whose mission is to share indie novels with the literary world! I am also indebted to the numerous FB book-related sites who offer authors free ‘takeovers’ to advertise their novels. I especially wish to thank the many authors whom I have never met — members of the Indie Author Community — who so graciously corresponded with me through email or Facebook and always had time and patience for a new author’s endless questions: A.C. Bextor, Victoria Paige, Sheila Kell, and especially Sandra Nelson. Sandy has become my mentor, advisor, teacher and friend. A few months before my first novel was published, she released her fabulous debut novel, Stolen Fate, which I had the pleasure of beta reading. We connected online and the rest is history. I have followed in her footsteps, so to speak; she taught me how to make the perfect tantalizing teaser as well as the art of a successful blog takeover. Soon after she released her second novel, Redemption, my follow-up novel was released. Thanks for everything, Sandy!

Heartfelt gratitude to my many friends and supporters in SoCal — always willing to like, comment and share my author and book series FB pages. I would also like to thank Julie Escat, who invited me and my debut novel to her Book of the Month group — aka ‘Book ‘em Danno!’

In addition, I appreciate the support of my friends and fellow authors in the RWA, Romance Writers of America, especially LARA — Los Angeles Romance Writers, and my dear friends in our Saturday Critique Group. You ladies ROCK!

"Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

Henceforward in thy shadow.

Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine

With pulses that beat double. What I do

And what I dream include thee, as the wine

Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue

God for myself, He hears that name of thine,

And sees within my eyes the tears of two."

– Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Geneva

Geneva St. John was wide-awake twenty minutes before her alarm was set to go off at 8:00 a.m. Unlike most people, she did not reach out to press the ‘off’ button. She needed to hear its message; it was her mantra, her morning prayer.

The familiar, always stunning, Southern California late-August sunrise was already streaming through the narrow crack in her bedroom curtains. Her sleep had been somewhat restless; standard for the anticipation she always felt on the first day of school. This particular day, however, was the beginning of her final semester as a university student; a tinge of melancholy threatened to intrude on her excitement. She thrived on learning and loved being a student, sad to see that phase of her life ending.

Geneva had attended UC Berkeley, her mother’s alma mater, for three years, majoring in Mathematics. She had transferred to CSUN, California State University, Northridge, sixteen months ago so she could be closer to her family; her sister, Madison, had been diagnosed at that time with acute myeloid leukemia. Following nearly a year-long battle against the disease, including debilitating chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant, Geneva’s magnificent, awe-inspiring big sister was gone. The family was utterly devastated. Maddie’s twin brother, Dallas, took it the hardest; he had donated his bone marrow and blamed himself when the transplant was not successful. Geneva blamed God — she had lost her role model and best friend, counselor, therapist, ‘partner in crime’, the other half of her heart.

She glanced around the bedroom as if it were an old friend. It was the bedroom of her childhood, her adolescence; the room she had shared with Madison. She tried not to stare at the empty bed on the opposite wall, but her eyes were somehow drawn to it, as if hoping to feel her sister’s presence there. The spacious bedroom now belonged to her four-and-a-half-year-old sister, Violette, but because of a recent health crisis of her own, the little girl was sleeping in her parents’ bedroom until the doctors gave her a clean bill of health.

Her sleepy gaze drifted to the array of photos on her nightstand; one in particular stood out. Two adorable, laughing young girls, wrapped up in a hug, were sitting on an oversized beanbag chair in their pajamas. Six-year-old, platinum blonde Geneva was gazing with adoration at eight-year-old, dark-haired, pig-tailed Madison. Geneva remembered that day vividly as if it were fifteen minutes ago, instead of fifteen years. They had been watching their favorite movie, E.T., for maybe, the hundredth time. Madison loved the part where Gertie sees E.T. for the first time and screams at the top of her lungs. Geneva and Madison would scream at the same time as Gertie, causing their mother to run into the room to see what the commotion was about. They would dissolve into hysterical giggles, and on one occasion, their mother had grabbed a camera and snapped the photo.

The alarm clock clicked on and a serene female voice recording filled the room.

Hi, G, it’s Maddie. I love you, always. Remember, I’ll be right here.

Geneva rolled over on her side and quietly sobbed, just like she and Maddie used to do when E.T. said goodbye to Elliott; touching his forehead with his glowing finger, and gently growling in his endearing alien voice. I’ll be right here. The sisters had re-enacted that scene numerous times growing up. The final replay was in Maddie’s hospital room, the day before she died. Geneva opened the nightstand drawer, removing a leather-bound book, one of two journals she had been writing in since the day her sister had died. She kept the other journal at her apartment.

Hi, Mad! First day of my last semester. Wish me luck. G

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Geneva’s mother. Although in her mid-forties, D’Arcy St. John looked more like an older sister, sharing her daughter’s fair coloring and striking violet-blue eyes. Gently climbing onto the bed, she placed her daughter’s head in her lap, stroking her hair. I miss her too, sweetheart.

Geneva nodded sadly, but could not speak. She realized although she did not have to be here, it was what she needed. She had her own apartment, a convenient two miles away from campus. This was, to a certain extent, the continuation of an annual ritual, which began years ago on the first day of the new school year. Madison and Dallas were starting first grade, and Geneva was going to pre-school. They would all sleep in the same room, Dallas on the floor in his sleeping bag. Mom would wake them up with a fanfare, something wild and wacky, different every year. Then there would be the traditional breakfast: banana-walnut pancakes, homemade biscuits, and ham, bacon, or sausages.

D’Arcy’s comforting voice was a welcomed interruption. Her hand was raking through Geneva’s silky hair. I really do love the streaks; how did you ever find magenta hair dye?

They shared a laugh. Magenta had always been her favorite color since she got her first gigantic box of Crayola crayons. Mom, you can find any color you want online. This is called ‘Virgin Rose’, she smirked, wiggling her eyebrows as her finger playfully twirled a tendril.

D’Arcy kissed the top of her daughter’s head. Coffee’s ready, honey. Pancakes in five. She turned to leave, calling out over her shoulder, Your dad will be home for dinner tonight.

The trip from her parents’ Woodland Hills home to her apartment took about twenty minutes. Luckily, the route involved only side streets; California freeways were infamous for their congestion. Geneva quickly changed her clothes and grabbed her backpack, which was already stocked with supplies, including two required textbooks. Finding a suitable parking space for her denim blue VW Beetle, she proceeded to her favorite hangout, the Sports Grill. CSUN had over a dozen campus dining options but, being a sports fanatic, she always gravitated to this spot. Geneva really missed UC Berkeley, but during the past year, she had gotten used to CSUN, and actually preferred the SoCal weather. Several of her close friends from high school had been here last year as well, making her transition painless. Most of them were seniors, on track to graduate in June. Her two closest girlfriends had graduated last June and were beginning internships. She was supposed to graduate with them, but had lost a few credits due to Madison’s illness and the subsequent transfer, and was here to make up three classes: Statistics, Astronomy, and for her PE class, she chose tennis.

She did not need tennis instruction; she finagled a teaching assistant position in the beginner tennis class. Geneva was a very good player, a natural athlete; the star of her high school team for four years. She knew the men’s tennis coach at CSUN, and called in a favor to land the TA job, which would also fulfill her PE credits in lieu of pay. Gabriel Tucker had actually been her boyfriend for a few months. He was the coach of her high school team; they first met when she was seventeen and he was twenty-five. Geneva knew very well he was into her, but she had a boyfriend at the time. She also understood any relationship between a teacher and student, especially one who was not yet eighteen, was a disaster waiting to happen. For years, she had seen similar scandals splashed all over the tabloids and TV. After she had graduated and turned eighteen, they got together. It only lasted a few months; a darker side to him had emerged that Geneva could not accept, and moving up north to UCB made a long-distance relationship too difficult anyway. She ended it; he persisted for a while, wanting to reconcile but she refused. Way too many hot guys at UCB.

Her brief reminiscence was disrupted by a piercing screech, Geneeeeva! We’re over here. She headed to a booth in the corner, where she found Roxanne, Devyn, Adam, and Cory. After a round of hugs and kisses, she sat down as Devyn was wildly waving her iPhone.

Updates from the girls, she declared, pressed a few buttons and started her animated report, eyes glued to the small screen. Okay, Kendall is interning with a hot Fidelity broker. She’s freakin’ out a little, cuz the Pacific Stock Exchange opens at six- freakin’-thirty, but she’s done at two, so it’s all cool.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, Cory muttered. Kendall was his older sister, and she had talked about nothing else all weekend. I’ll start paying attention when she comes home with some hot insider stock tips.

Roxanne chimed in, demanding, Let’s hear from Lacey. Is she killin’ the kids yet? Devyn hit another button. Lacey says she’s been paired up with a very experienced third grade teacher, who is kinda old-school and pretty strict. So far the kids are little angels.

Adam, sitting silently, suddenly guffawed raucously. Let’s see how long that lasts. Adam was Lacey’s long-time boyfriend. You’ve seen her with children ... she’s a push-over.

Geneva nodded along with the group. Gotta run, you guys. Heading to the tennis courts; see ya tomorrow.

Walking around the CSUN campus always invigorated Geneva, with its vast orange groves and olive trees. After the five-minute walk, Geneva entered the tennis office where she found Gabriel Tucker and a few other instructors. Gabriel greeted her warmly; she was relieved he seemed to harbor no latent angry feelings.

You’ll be working with me, hope that’s okay, he informed her. The class is for beginners and a few intermediates who haven’t played in a while. It should be fun. They walked over to one of the courts and met the students, who were chatting with each other nervously. Gabriel did all the talking, while Geneva took attendance. It was obvious why the females in the class were paying very close attention to Gabe; he was personable and good-looking, even handsome to someone who was in love with him. Geneva was not; never had been. He had intrigued her when she was a young, impressionable girl; he was older, controlling, from a powerful, wealthy family, and spoiled. Gabriel Tucker had not been Geneva’s ‘first’, but he had been the one who introduced her to the rougher aspects of sex. It was exciting at first, different; but ultimately made her uncomfortable and left her feeling used. He had also gotten too rough on occasion, biting in very sensitive areas compelling her to fake every orgasm with him in order to have the sex over with as quickly as possible. He was cold and insensitive; there was no compromise. It was ‘Gabe’s way or the highway’; Geneva had ultimately opted for the highway.

He was an organized, efficient instructor; explained the rules, scoring, vocabulary, etiquette, and appropriate clothing. Then racquets were handed out and basic grips were demonstrated. Gabriel worked with the nine male students, Geneva with the six females. She was aware they would have preferred working with Gabe, but that was expected. The class seemed to fly by; the students were dismissed and soon the two of them were back in the office.

We are gonna make a great team, Geneva. I’m happy this worked out.

Geneva nodded her agreement. Yeah, me too. Thanks for making it happen, Gabe. I really appreciate it.

No problem. Wanna meet for coffee later and catch up?

Geneva hesitated for a split second, unsure, and then relented. Can I text you after my last class? I have Statistics from 1:30 to 3:00. You know how those Math teachers like to pile on the homework, right?

That’s cool. After exchanging cell phone numbers, she headed to the Science building.

Astronomy was fascinating, although the textbook was huge and loaded with complex information. The teacher seemed eccentric, but knowledgeable and very funny. He also had a strong French accent; Geneva was fluent in the language and actually spent two summers in Switzerland when she was in high school. She was looking forward to conversations with Monsieur Lemieux.

Checking the time on her Blackberry, Geneva realized she had forty-five minutes to kill, so she ran over to the Starbucks across the street from the Mathematics building. She ordered a large iced latte, and returned to campus, enduring the blazing sun. After finding a nice shady spot, she took out her Astronomy text. A sudden chill slithered up and down her spine, goose bumps rising on her arms. The air was completely still; not a single leaf stirred. Suddenly feeling eyes upon her, Geneva scanned the surrounding area and then she saw ... him. He was about ten yards away, sitting on the ground, a book perched on his lap; leaning back against a tree with his head slightly tilted. He was looking, no, he was staring intently at her with penetrating eyes, as if peering into the depths of her soul; it was intimidating, overwhelming, but not in any way threatening. He was extraordinarily beautiful, ethereal; a single ray of sunlight broke through the leaves of the large oak above his head, bathing his countenance in an amber glow. His longish, wavy, light brown hair was sun-streaked; he wore faded jeans, a Los Angeles Lakers T-shirt, and hi-top Converse sneakers. He could have been eighteen or perhaps twenty-five, although his facial stubble indicated he was probably closer to the latter. The shimmering light seemed to hover around him, causing Geneva’s heart to race, her breaths coming in short bursts. Maddie, are you here with me? In me? Am I seeing him through your eyes?

Her hands shook as she attempted to go back to her reading, but she could not concentrate. Her eyes were magnetically drawn in his direction. He had not taken his eyes off her; she could feel her stomach do a back flip as she watched him ... watching her. Suddenly, her Blackberry buzzed with a reminder class started in ten minutes. Stowing the textbook, she grabbed her backpack and latte, marching straight for class, not looking back, although every cell in her body was aching to throw a quick, sexy glance over her shoulder. Do. Not. Look.

This Math class was not the typical Statistics class; its emphasis was on sports-related stats. The class was extremely popular, and, as a result, was jammed; Geneva noticed women made up about twenty percent of the enrollment. Freakin’ awesome!

There were only a few scattered empty seats; five of them were in the front row, but four had ‘NCOD – Reserved’ signs on them, so she sat in the other seat. She recalled that signified the Deafness Center; CSUN had a few hundred hearing-impaired students on campus.

With the ‘Statistics in Sports’ text open on her desk, she began to glance at Chapter 1. The professor entered and she was pleased to see it was who she was expecting, Mr. Goodstein; she had him once before and he was extraordinary. Geneva breathed out a sigh of relief; sometimes the Math Department made last-minute changes in faculty.

There was a woman seated in front of the class, directly facing the four reserved seats next to Geneva, three of which were now occupied. She was gesturing to the three students, who were watching her attentively. Geneva had experienced this last year, in her Political Science class. The seats were for the deaf students, and she was their sign language interpreter. Geneva was fascinated by the speed and fluidity of their hands and fingers; facial expressions were so animated and dynamic. This is gonna be cool.

She vaguely sensed someone occupy the seat next to her, but the professor had started speaking and was already writing furiously on the board, so note-taking became the top priority. Mr. Goodstein paused for a second, approached the front row, posing a question to the class. If Kobe Bryant sinks twenty-four free throws and misses six, what’s his shooting percentage? A few students grabbed their calculators, but Geneva’s hand was already up in the air.

The professor was standing directly in front of Geneva. He looked down at her, over his horn-rimmed glasses, bushy eyebrows raised. Ms. St. John?

Eighty percent, Geneva said casually, as if she had just added two plus two. She had mastered the relationships between fractions and percentages when she was in fourth grade.

Correct ... and without the assistance of a calculator!

Professor Goodstein beamed his approval at her, and then continued his lecture. Geneva caught the person next to her subtly gesturing to the interpreter with his left hand. Her eyes were trained on the large hand and graceful fingers, the movements; what did that mean? Puzzled, her eyes moved slowly up the arm to see who ... Oh. My. God. It’s him. He’s deaf.

She quickly looked away, gluing her eyes to the professor, but not before his heat radiated through the air warming her skin; or perhaps the warmth was from the blush that threatened to reveal her fascination.

What the hell was he signing? Damn, I need to learn some basic signs. It looked like three fingers, then an ‘O’ or was it a zero? Then three fingers again, maybe numbers. 303? Was that his answer to the free throw problem? No, that makes no sense. Ugh!

Realizing she had been unconsciously moving her fingers, she refocused her attention back to the lesson, which had swiftly progressed with copious additional notes that she needed to copy. As she frantically tried to catch up, her mind began to drift again. She couldn’t help but notice he was a lefty; she was a righty and their elbows were just a few inches away from each other. She fleetingly thought about hitching her desk closer to him, but it was bolted to the floor. Damn! The course syllabus was being passed out as the class finally ended. Geneva felt her phone vibrate; she had received a text. It was from Roxanne.

Before she could even open the text, a Post-it note magically appeared on her desk as if an over-sized, yellow, square snowflake had fallen from the sky. She looked up to see who put it there, and it was ... him. Well, actually all she saw was his back. He was already heading toward the door and then he was gone. She looked down at the tiny piece of yellow paper. Three letters were written ... not three numbers:  W O W

Her breath hitched as his subtle spicy scent wafted over her. She wanted to dash after him ... but how could she talk to him? Can I get sign language apps on my phone?

Buzzing interrupted her musing ... Roxanne again.

Roxanne: Sports Grill @ 4:30. Kendall & Lacey will be there. U?

Geneva: Yep.

Geneva grabbed her backpack and headed across campus, to the bookstore. About halfway there, she passed the tennis courts, muttering to herself ... Gabe.

Geneva: Hey, can’t make it, got Stats homework.

She examined the message before hitting ‘send’. Lying in a text was so easy; no quivering voice to betray you. Hmmm ... Gabe could show up at the Grill. She deleted the last three words.

Geneva: Hey, can’t make it. Something came up. Maybe tmw?

Gabe: No prob, see ya.

The Sports Grill was jammed. The USC Trojans were on campus playing the CSUN Matadors, a huge local basketball rivalry. Every fan who was not lucky enough to procure a ticket for the big game was at the Grill watching it on one of the four TVs. Geneva found her pals at their usual corner table. She was the last to arrive; hugs and kisses with Kendall and Lacey abounded, as the two girls pulled her to sit between them. There were several conversations going simultaneously as everyone tried to swap stories and catch up. Occasional shouts and screams would permeate the air signaling CSUN was ahead. Roxanne got up at one point, heading toward the restrooms. Geneva observed the numerous appreciative stares cast in her direction as she parted the crowd like Moses crossing the Red Sea. Roxanne’s mother was from Argentina; she had inherited her dark, smoldering beauty, luxurious eyelashes, and voluptuous curves. Geneva also noticed how Cory’s eyes trailed after her, lingering a little too long. Hmmm ... he does have a thing for her. I knew it.

Geneva excused herself around 6:15. She was anxious to go home and get ready for dinner at her parents’ house. She hadn’t seen her father in almost a week. As she walked to her car, she happened to pass by the Math building. She spied the large oak tree, and sighed. The ground beneath it was empty, but his warm golden-amber glow seemed to linger; radiating through the leaves as the sun reflected off the nearby classroom windows.

Geneva arrived at 7:10, parking next to her father’s Subaru. Dinner was usually scheduled for 7:30, but she was anxious to have a little father/daughter time first. As usual, she found her mother in the kitchen, rustling up one of her specialties.

Which one of Dad’s faves is on the menu tonight, Mom? This was another family ritual; the day before he was due back home after an extended absence, Geneva’s dad always emailed her mom with his ‘dinner request’. She was a fabulous cook and baker; everything was homemade, desserts included.

Roast chicken, spinach lasagna, and apple pie. D’Arcy grinned as she hugged her daughter. He’s so predictable. I know he’s been to Seattle when he craves apple pie. They shared a laugh, as Geneva spied the pie on the counter, sniffing its warm cinnamon aroma.

Is Dad in with Vi? D’Arcy nodded, as Geneva continued, her tone more somber. How’s she feeling today?

Better, becoming stronger every day. She gets out of bed in the morning, goes to her room, plays a bit, and then lies down for a short nap. A few hours later, she’ll get up again. It’s only been six weeks since the surgery. She’s still sleeping a lot, but the doctor says it’s the medication. Her energy level should improve in a few more days when the dosage is lowered. Geneva was about to head toward the master bedroom, when her father entered the kitchen.

Daddy, I missed you so much! Geneva flung herself into her father’s arms, resting her head on his chest. Hudson St. John was an imposing man, 6’4 tall, late-forties, extremely handsome with a commanding presence. Geneva, at 5’8, although not diminutive, was dwarfed by his massive chest and arms. She kissed his cheek, inquiring, How’s Vi? Can I go see her?

Later, honey. She just fell asleep a minute ago. Hudson walked toward his wife, circling her waist with his massive arms. By the way, Mom and Dad arrived home safely and send their regards. They enjoyed their stay and miss us already.

Geneva smiled to herself. She adored her paternal grandparents, Garrett and Molly. They lived in Texas on a five-acre ranch, and had recently come to assist with caring for Violette, who was their youngest grandchild and the light of their lives.

The threesome sat at the table, which was set for four. Everyone helped themselves. D’Arcy filled the fourth plate, which she then put on a tray and took into the master bedroom. Geneva’s parents had hired two nurse practitioners to provide Violette with constant monitoring, Mondays through Thursdays. Ms. Olvera did the first shift, 6 a.m. to 2 p.m.; Mrs. Donnelly was on duty from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. A specific schedule covered Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays; Geneva and her parents sharing the ‘Vi-sitting’ responsibilities. D’Arcy always invited the women to join the family for meals. If she were eating alone, Mrs. Donnelly would join her; she politely declined when other family members were present.

D’Arcy worked at home; her art studio was located in a separate structure in the back of the house. It was similar to a guesthouse, but there was no shower or kitchen; only a toilet and a large utility sink. The nurses’ presence gave her flexibility to work on her countless assignments and commissions, which kept her busy. She was a widely known and respected artist in the SoCal area. It also provided peace of mind should an emergency arise.

Geneva gazed at her parents fondly, as they held hands. They seemed to be more in love every single day, giving and taking each other’s strengths. Her father’s routine trips away from the family fueled their fire, which was obvious by the way they greeted each other upon reuniting, even after a short absence. Hudson St. John was a commercial pilot; out of town for three to five days at a time, when flying domestic. On the occasional international assignment, he could be away longer. Often plagued with guilt being away from his family so much, Hudson made up for it by always planning interesting things they could do together when he was home.

The conversation centered on Violette for a few minutes; she had almost died two months earlier, so she was never far from everyone’s thoughts. Geneva was the first to change the subject.

"Dad, how was