Rise Above the Truth

By Rebecca Thein

Despite being a renowned mural artist, Misty finds herself in despair and lonely in bustling San Francisco. When she seeks comfort in Curt, the one person she trusts, the veil of grief starts to lift.

The longtime friendship begins to grow into something more than Misty ever dreamed possible. However, Curt possesses a secret that threatens their deepening connection of love. All he can do is pray it will not destroy their promising future when he has no choice but to finally tell her the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Thein
• Release date: Oct 13, 2008
• ISBN: 9780692266113

Rebecca Thein

Hi,When I thought about writing this bio I found it to be very difficult. I live a very simple life with my family. My family comes before everything else. Without their love and support, I would not be able to do the one thing I love, which is writing.I guess you could say I've been writing since I was child. I have always had a great imagination and put those creative thoughts down on paper. I still have the box full of stories and poems I wrote when I was young.After I finished writing my first novel, my mom suggested I publish it. That was something I never thought I would actually do, however, I did want a hard copy of my story for my family and friends, so I searched for a publishing company. This was long before Createspace, or maybe I just had not heard of Createspace yet. Anyway, I chose a route that was totally wrong for me. After a few years with that company I bought out my contract and decided to self publish. And here we are today. It is the best decision I made for my book babies allowing me to introduce my stories to the world. And yes, they are my stories because certain situations in each story were derived from some event in my life, although I always put a twist on it.I hope you enjoy the characters and their discoveries as they unlock family secrets while possibly finding love.Happy Reading, Rebecca

Book preview

1 SUNDAYS

Misty, August 19

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Walking along Fisherman’s Wharf carrying an assortment of pastels, Misty turned toward the bay. The fog was lifting, and Alcatraz would be in full view shortly. One could almost sense the sorrow of the formerly occupied prison. The suffering of the men imprisoned there long ago seemed to linger in the air.

Misty was compelled to make every Sunday special by choosing a different site in San Francisco to sit among the tourists while creating chalk art on the sidewalks.

She admired nature and the world that surrounded her, amazed by all its beauty. Misty believed that every creature who roamed the earth deserved her respect. She absorbed every nuance in all she observed, but her favorite thing to do was people-watch. Misty often wondered what secrets a smile was hiding. The way a person walked seemed to give her clues to their innermost thoughts. She was especially curious about the regrets a person passing may possess. Would they live their life differently if offered a new beginning?

Although Misty was raised Catholic, she did not limit herself to believing a specific doctrine. She always followed the direction her heart guided her. Every Sunday, she had a strong desire to spend it in the crisp morning air of the city. This had replaced the weekly ritual of going to church.

Drawing connected her to a higher power and often provided her with answers to difficult questions. Creating pictures was the one way Misty felt comfortable showing praise for her remarkable life.

Continuing her journey, Misty searched for that perfect location with the best view to sit and begin sketching. She usually sat just out of foot traffic while remaining close to the tourists and locals who strolled past. Then she spied it—the ideal spot. An area that would stay shaded as the sun began to peek through the hazy morning.

She arranged her chalk in a neat row that displayed the beautiful shades of color. Misty loved brilliant, bold colors and utilized them in every picture she created. Vibrant colors had a way of lifting her spirit even if it was waning, and the past week had tested her faith.

Glancing again toward Alcatraz, she speculated about the lives of the men once incarcerated there. They had no choice but to call that island home…or did they? The decisions we make in life are ours alone, and despite outside influences, we define our destiny. A person’s happiness is within their reach.

Misty decided the subject of her picture would be the island known as Alcatraz. She did not see merely a deserted rock. She imagined bright flowers with their sweet scents drifting toward the prison and giving the prior occupants of the jail some hope. Those cold, damp cells had been evacuated so long ago, but somehow Misty could feel their family’s pain. Not only had the prisoners’ actions violated innocent people, they inadvertently hurt those who had loved them unconditionally. Their parents, siblings, and yes…even their children.

A crowd gathered as she started sketching her interpretation of Alcatraz onto the sidewalk. Gradually, the gray pathway was transformed into a bounty of hues. While working, Misty thought back to the incident that happened eighteen days earlier. Okay, some people call it thinking, but it is more than a thought. It was a step toward the truth. How could a life take such an unexpected turn, and was it actually unforeseen?

San Francisco is packed full of adventure. As Misty continued to draw, she reminisced about her childhood and growing up in this wonderful city. Her mother took her to museums, plays, incredible parks, the beach, and the zoo. Everything was right here in this one city. Step in a bus, hop on the cable car and go. Their routine also included, without fail, going to church every Sunday.

Misty’s earliest recollection of Sunday mass was around the age of three. The wind whistled through the door cracks in the church, and it was so eerie that it sent chills down her spine. She would scrunch close to her mother, clinging to her arm. Sometimes she would take her mother’s sweater and hide under it, peeking out cautiously.

The memory of seeing the figure of Jesus on the cross still disturbed her. As a child, Misty would stare at the statue with tears filling her eyes, wishing she could help him. At age three, she did not comprehend that he was just a sculpture depicting a great sacrifice. Every Sunday, she would see him hanging there with his head lowered and deep sadness on his face. Oh, how Misty’s heart ached, not knowing how to help him. She did not understand why this man, hanging there week after week, did not bother her mother. Scanning the church, she noticed the other parishioners were also ignoring him. It was as if she was having a bad dream that she feared would return when she fell back to sleep. She thought, Maybe next week someone will save him. Nonetheless, with each Sunday that passed, he was still hanging there with his crown of thorns, as blood appeared to be dripping from his head.

Misty would gather her chalk and run to the driveway when they arrived home from mass. Sitting alone, she drew huge, colorful scenes. Those images helped express her view of the world. It seemed a resourceful way of connecting with Mother Earth and the heavens above.

Sometimes the pictures remained on the driveway for several days. Although most of the time, the creations would be washed away by the evening dew. Misty did not mind waking up and seeing them gone. She believed God loved the pictures so much that he delivered them to heaven and in return, left her a blank canvas for the following Sunday. Continuing the routine to this day gave Misty a tranquil sense of enlightenment.

The portrayal of Alcatraz was almost complete. You could see the island jutting up from the bay. Misty kept working as more people congregated around to view her rendition of the rock. A small child with radiant hazel eyes was standing beside her. Misty turned and saw the little girl pick up a piece of chalk. The child’s mother promptly instructed her to put it back.

No, that’s okay…please, let her draw, Misty said, smiling at the woman.

The tiny girl sat down, placing her hand on Misty’s leg. Positive energy surrounds children; having a child alongside you can help the soul heal. One of Misty’s favorite parts of Sunday was watching children express their innocence through art.

I’m drawing that rock, Misty explained, pointing to Alcatraz. Do you see something you want to add to the picture over there? Misty asked the little girl.

Each Sunday, Misty chose a different location to create her illustrations. Therefore, many onlookers commented on missing her creations for several months. They always sounded delighted and honored to stumble upon them again.

People regularly photographed the drawings to capture their beauty, as the artwork often disappeared from view at nightfall, then faded quickly as days passed. The images were one way Misty connected to her inner child and spread joy to the community. This particular Sunday, however, she drew to release sorrow. Praying that today would be the day she would gain the knowledge needed to move forward with her journey, wherever it may lead her.

The little girl placed her chalk down in the pile of colors. Misty was speechless. The darling child drew large hearts floating above Alcatraz. Misty assumed they were the child’s interpretation of clouds in the heavens. She realized immediately that the baby she had lost eighteen days earlier was sending her love through the child’s heart-shaped clouds. This precious girl with hazel eyes wiped the tear resting on Misty’s cheek. Then the child smiled as she turned and walked away, holding her mother’s hand.

The picture was perfect. Misty signed it Simply Misty, picked up all the scattered chalk, and headed home. Miracles of a child’s tender heart never ceased to amaze her. When Misty held her own child, she was lifeless.

Turning to view Alcatraz one last time, she thought of the hundreds of lost souls, so much pain inflicted on others, and too many wrong choices. People pay a high price when they choose to go down the wrong path.

The sun had broken through the fog and was now brightly shining. Misty wandered along the wharf, soaking in its warmth. She desperately wanted to believe those lovely hearts in the sky had to be a symbol of her daughter’s own love. The innocent child she loved so much and for whom she was still deeply grieving.

On her mournful walk home, Misty reflected back on her pregnancy. At her five-month visit, she shared concerns regarding extra moisture with the doctor. He had explained that as the baby grew, it was possible to leak urine when the baby kicked the bladder, or it could be from the weight of the womb. And to be positive, he took a piece of paper that would detect amniotic fluid. He found no fluid leaking.

You have nothing to worry about. Your baby is doing great, he reassured Misty as they listened to the comforting rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat.

By the sixth month, Misty’s instinct had taken over, and she had an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was horribly wrong. The baby’s kicks were getting weaker by the day. And some days, she felt no movement at all. Misty phoned the doctor frantically. She had to save her baby. His voice did not sound concerned. It was actually very calm and soothing. However, he wanted to put Misty’s mind at ease, so he told her to come straight to the office.

I’m sorry, Misty. The amniotic fluid has slowly leaked out, the doctor spoke to her with unwavering concern in his eyes. I’m going to send you to a medical center specializing in high-risk pregnancies for a second opinion. Without the fluid around the baby, numerous problems may occur. It is very probable this child will have one or several abnormalities.

Her obstetrician informed her that most babies would have spontaneously aborted due to a loss of amniotic fluid, but her child’s heartbeat was strong. He explained what they were up against and felt it wise to consider terminating the pregnancy.

Misty left immediately, taking a taxi straight to the medical center, where they were awaiting her arrival. The high-risk obstetrician concurred with Misty’s own doctor. He gave Misty the troubling facts about what could happen to the baby with no amniotic fluid to protect it.

You need to go home and evaluate everything I’ve told you. This is a very difficult decision that only you can make, the doctor advised.

Misty would not make this decision. Before leaving the medical center, she knew this issue was in God’s hands. You take what life gives you, and you do your best. There was no alternative but to continue the pregnancy, which meant bed rest for the remaining three months per her doctor’s orders.

After arriving home from the medical center, Misty went straight to her appointment book and canceled her scheduled jobs. Putting on her softest pajamas, she crawled into bed weeping. There was no magic pill to take and nobody to help her get through this. She and her baby were in this crisis together. Misty cried herself to sleep. It was not long before an incredibly intense cramping sensation abruptly woke her. She could not believe it—this little person did not want to continue on this path with her. Lying there in labor, she picked up the phone to call the doctor, but something stopped her. She gripped the phone tightly and could not convince herself to dial the number.

Maybe the pain would subside if she could only relax. Taking several slow, deep breaths did not stop the progression. The urge to push was too powerful, and at 2:03 a.m. on August 1, Heather Mary Kanal was born. There was no life. Just an unbelievably tiny, motionless baby that was still warm. Misty held Heather in her hands and rocked her. Tears streamed down Misty’s face, falling onto Heather’s lifeless form.

Misty spoke as if Heather could hear her. I would have been a very loving mother. She kissed Heather’s forehead and laid her on her chest, covering Heather with her robe. Several hours had passed, and Misty knew there was nothing more she could say or do. It was time to call the doctor and let go of this beautiful baby.

Heather Mary was laid to rest next to her grandma, Gladys. Her grandmother would now protect her in heaven. Misty had to believe her mother watched over Heather. Grandmas always protected their loved ones. Misty had never revealed her pregnancy to anyone. It was an easy secret to keep, as her career kept her away from home for several weeks and even months at a time. She would now keep the secret forever.

Misty put the key in the front door and entered the seclusion and shelter of her home. The place that protected her from the outside elements now held the sorrow and pain of a life lost.

2 CHANCE MEETING

Misty, August 20

‡

Raging hormones were wreaking havoc on Misty’s mood, and her day started gloomily. Sundays were a time for reflection. However, yesterday was an opportunity to release the sadness and start filling her empty heart with gratitude. Little by little, a twinkling of light began filtering through the grief.

After placing her teacup in the sink, Misty went to the telephone. The only way anyone can get through such despair is to attempt to return to a so-called normal routine. Opening her address book, she flipped through the pages until she came to one of her most significant accounts. She held the phone, contemplating whether to reschedule her postponed job. Misty realized she was not ready to return to work, so she put the phone down and the address book away.

Misty is a renowned artist, creating huge murals that become centerpieces in hotel lobbies, restaurant walls, and even in private homes.

For example, a prospective client could request that the wall resemble the streets of Venice for their Italian restaurant. In a basement with no windows, she could create a three-dimensional window façade with the illusion of looking out onto a beautiful English garden.

Years of drawing on her driveway helped Misty develop the ability to envision spectacular images that she produced anywhere a client requested. Visualizing the beauty of what she was going to portray, Misty would create the people in her mind, hear the music, and smell the delicious scents of meals being prepared. Her profession sent her to exotic destinations across the globe to fulfill the client’s fantasies. She could not ask for a better job or one she loved more.

Misty’s passion happened by accident, she thought as she recalled the day her career began, some ten years earlier.

Deciding to work on her Sunday chalk illustration in Golden Gate Park would be fun. The choices were abundant for subject matter, which often inspired many artists. That fateful day a decade ago, she chose a spot near the Japanese Tea Garden.

Before beginning her project, Misty slipped into the garden to clear her mind and find the perfect scene to recreate on the cement. The Tea Garden was such a serene place, and she could release all her worries about her father being overseas on tour. He was in the Navy and could not attend Misty’s high school graduation. However, she knew she was in his prayers. Nothing but his duty to his country could have kept him away. Assessing her uncertainties and tucking them away, she released her anxiety about her father’s dangerous job.

Sitting on the ground, completely engrossed in her sketch, a Rollerblade suddenly caught Misty’s leg, catapulting its owner through the air. He landed a few feet away with a loud thud as the wheels of his Rollerblades spun. Her first impression was, What an incredibly handsome man. However, that thought quickly became concerning when she noticed the blood running down his arm.

Are you alright? Misty questioned as she ran toward him. He was pretty flustered, and his face was as red as the Pagoda she was replicating on the sidewalk.

Yes. I’m fine. I should have been paying more attention. Did I hurt you? he inquired while peering in the direction of a woman slapping a child. Can you please excuse me a minute? I’ll be right back.

He got up and skated over to the woman. Misty attempted to keep working on her picture. She tried to eavesdrop but could not hear what he was saying to the woman. However, she could tell he was stern with the woman based on his body language. Misty honestly could not take her eyes off him. This man was nothing like the guys at her school. He had a maturity and charisma she did not observe in teenage boys.

Gliding back over, he put out his hand. Sorry about that. My name is Curt.

Misty. She returned the handshake.

"Ah, you must be the elusive Simply Misty. I’ve been seeing your pictures all around San Francisco for years now. The color choices are unique, and I’ve never quite figured out how you can get so much detail from chalk. Your pictures are, well, very intriguing. I can stare at them for hours."

Thank you. By now, Misty was blushing. It always astounded her when someone mentioned seeing her artwork, even though it was quite common.

I hunt for your pictures whenever I’m in town. It’s like finding a treasure when I come across one. Misty could hear the sincerity in Curt’s voice. I’ve always wanted to meet the person behind the drawings, and who would have guessed she’d be literally right under my feet?

Misty tried to remain calm and unfettered, continuing to add color to the artwork, but her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest. Curt sat down next to her.

I have a proposition for you.

Misty turned and gave him a holier-than-thou look. She was not sure she cared to hear another word.

I’m sorry that didn’t come out right. Curt was a man who was usually in command when he spoke. Rarely did he stumble over his words or misspeak. I have an office in Los Angeles…well, actually, it’s more like a dungeon. It has one tiny window facing north, so there isn’t much natural light. I would like to bring some warmth to my office. It’s a place that must make a child feel safe and secure.

Misty thought for a second, but before she could respond, Curt continued. I’m an attorney, and many of my cases involve abused children. I just joined a new firm, and I’ve been trying to decide how to redesign my office. It’s important that I create a comforting atmosphere for the space. The children I work with have no place where they feel protected.

What exactly are you thinking? Misty inquired.

"Hmm, let’s see…I would like the walls brightly painted, yet have a tranquil quality. You know, something that will help a child understand that there is beauty and love in the world even when they have not known it in their homes. I want to provide a sense of security in the hope that I may gain their trust. I need them to open up and reveal the truth as they know it."

Uh, honestly, I’ve never done a drawing on a wall or much less worked with paint. As long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with chalk and the cold ground. Misty had taken a few art classes, but for whatever reason, she was most comfortable working with chalk.

Curt looked past Misty for a moment, glaring toward the woman he had spoken to earlier. His eyes showed concern as he struggled to stay focused on their conversation.

How ’bout I take you to lunch when you’re done here to discuss this further? There was considerable anticipation in Curt’s voice.

I’ll be at least another hour? Misty’s response sounded more like a question because she wondered if he would wait for her.

Good, so I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll return in an hour. Curt slowly stood up and skated off down the path.

Misty sat there dumbfounded as Curt sped away, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. It left her mesmerized. How could I ever possibly consider what Curt was suggesting? That thought kept running through her mind over and over again.

His offer meant stepping out of her comfort zone and expanding her craft to include paint. Wrestling back and forth in her mind, she finally conquered the little voice that told her she could not do it. Now feeling fully confident, she would prevail in this challenge. Plus, Misty had no choice but to accept the offer if she wanted to see Curt again.

She continued to add detail to the drawing, although it was difficult because her mind kept drifting to Curt. She had never experienced such a strong desire from merely laying eyes on a man. There was no explanation for how Curt captivated her. It was not something she had ever felt before.

The hour had almost passed, and she felt a little giddy. When Misty looked up, Curt was walking toward her with a blanket and bag in tow. He had evidently showered because his hair was still wet and slicked back, revealing his gorgeous root beer eyes. As he moved closer, Misty inhaled deeply and could smell a hint of his cologne. Curt smiled when he saw her glance in his direction.

I thought it would be more comfortable to sit and have a picnic, Curt commented, laying out the blanket.

He was right. The warm summer breeze felt so refreshing. Curt started to set out the food as Misty put away her chalk.

Walking over to the blanket, she viewed his neatly arranged lunch. Her face must have revealed her disappointment.

What’s wrong? Curt asked, concerned.

Oh, I’m so sorry. I totally appreciate the effort you made, but I’m a vegetarian. I haven’t eaten meat for as long as I can remember.

Well, I did bring fruit. Curt handed Misty a banana as though it were a peace offering.

Thank you. She peeled the banana, her mind going straight into the gutter. This man was much too old for Misty, but he was so magnetizing.

Taking a sip of her water, she noticed Curt’s gaze was fixated on her. He seemed at a loss for words. Finally, Curt slowly began speaking as if unsure what to say.

Here’s what I’ve been contemplating over the past hour. First, I’ll provide your transportation, lodging, and meals. Then I will purchase your supplies and pay you for your time. Then, you paint anything you want, and if I don’t like it, well, I can just paint over it. Although I don’t think that will be the case.

Well, that all sounds great, but how ’bout I work on some sketches, and when I think I have some cute ones, I’ll send them to you? That will give you several options to choose from.

"Okay, that will work. It will be such an honor to have an original Simply Misty on my wall," Curt replied enthusiastically.

Oh yeah, one more thing, I will need to get my mother’s approval. Misty could sense Curt was now questioning her age. I’m seventeen if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ll be eighteen in August. Misty was constantly mistaken for being older.

Curt handed Misty his business card with the law firm’s address and phone number. When you finish those sketches, give me a call. Then, instead of sending them to me, I’ll look at them the next time I’m in town.

Sure. I’ll see what I can come up with over the next few weeks, Misty responded, trying to sound professional. She welcomed the opportunity to step out of the box she built around herself.

Curt walked to the trash can and threw away the garbage as Misty folded the blanket. Then they started strolling along the meandering pathway. Misty caught a glimpse of a large scar on Curt’s neck that she had not seen earlier and wondered what had caused it.

Well, this is my street. I’ll call you in a few weeks to let you know my progress. And again, thank you so much for lunch.

You’re welcome. I’ll remember no meat next time. His eyes smiled with delight. Misty let her mind wonder about next time and how reassuring it sounded that she would see him again.

Walking into her house, there was a halo of happiness surrounding her.

Honey, you’re glowing. You must have had a great day, Gladys commented to her daughter with a quizzical look.

Yes, it was interesting, to say the least. Misty went on to explain the offer that Curt had made her. Gladys was a cautious mother but not overprotective, so she listened with an open mind before commenting.

It sounds like a great opportunity, Gladys responded, her voice leery.

I know what you must be thinking, but I’m sure when you meet him, you’ll feel better, Misty replied, trying to sound convincing.

Misty surmised; who wouldn’t feel great in Curt’s presence?

She created several sketches over the next few weeks, each with a different theme. She tried to envision what would comfort a hurt and scared child. When she had completed a few renderings that she liked, she phoned Curt. He had agreed to meet at her house so Gladys could be involved in the discussion. Misty wanted her mother to feel comfortable letting her travel to Los Angeles.

Curt arrived precisely at noon. Gladys’ first impression of Curt was apparently positive because Misty noticed the worry slip away from her face. Gladys was pleasantly surprised and sensed genuine warmth from Curt. She realized right away that his intentions were pure.

Curt began thumbing through the sketches. This is the one, Curt stated decisively, pointing to a tropical scene with brightly colored birds hidden amongst the trees. Now the question is, when can you start?

Tomorrow. Is that too soon? Misty answered, only half kidding because she could not wait to work on his mural. Not to mention she would be starting college in a few weeks.

I’ll just give the airlines a call, Curt said. I’ll be leaving around five, so let me check and see if I can get you on my flight. I’d prefer you not to travel alone. That is if you really mean tomorrow?

Of course I do. Misty turned to face her mother, hoping she would approve.

That evening, she was off to Los Angeles on a plane sitting beside Curt. The flight was short. They landed and were taxiing to the gate.

I’d like to drop by my place first and check on my cat, and then we’ll find you a nice hotel, Curt explained before they drove up a long, curvy driveway and parked in front of his sizeable house. Entering the foyer, Misty observed the sparsely decorated front room, which had an unexpected coziness.

Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back. Curt went into the kitchen, where his cat began circling his legs.

Misty could hear him opening a can of food while the cat meowed loudly. Her eyes were darting around every inch of the living room. There were a few photos on the mantel, mainly of a young woman and two children. Otherwise, the house exuded bachelor. Curt walked around the corner.

Now that Jojo’s fed, I can take you on a tour.

He led Misty upstairs to his incredible office, where dark wood bookshelves reached the ceiling. She did not see a speck of dust in this meticulously kept space. Then he opened the door to the guest bedroom, which was designed to resemble a cottage. The room had floral print wallpaper with subdued colors.

My sister had a hand in decorating this room. She suggested that guests should feel like they are on a retreat in the country, listening to a babbling brook. Hence that water feature, which she turns on the moment she arrives. You’re welcome to stay in this room if you like.

Misty was not sure if that would be a good idea. It’s very inviting, but I’d better stay in a hotel, Misty replied as Curt continued to show her the upstairs, stopping short of revealing the primary suite.

Curt turned now to face Misty. Are you hungry? I’ve heard of a great vegetarian restaurant.

Yes, I’m actually starving. She was ecstatic about seeing Curt that she had not eaten anything since breakfast.

The restaurant he chose was quite quaint, and the food was scrumptious. Curt confessed to Misty that he’d had to ask his colleagues if they knew of any good vegetarian restaurants. He had never actually eaten at a strictly vegetarian café before, but the consensus of his co-workers was that the food at this particular establishment was excellent.

You may have converted me, Misty, Curt confessed as he stood and walked over to pull Misty’s chair out.

One more for my side, she said, chuckling as their eyes briefly met.

They had passed several hotels on their way to dinner. So many that Curt pointed out looked very luxurious. Misty felt comfortable and trusted Curt entirely; he was a true gentleman.

Curt? I’ve been thinking…I don’t see why there should be added expense. If the offer to stay in your guest room is still open, that might work. She was getting a little intimidated by the thought of being alone in a city she did not know.

Whatever you decide is fine with me. I can drop you off at my office in the morning and return home to work. I’ll do my paperwork from there while you’re painting. It will keep me out of your way.

They arrived at Curt’s house, and he lifted Misty’s suitcases out of the trunk and carried them to the guest room.

"We’ll stop by my office first thing tomorrow morning. Then you can check out the area I want you to paint. Afterward, we’ll swing by the art store to pick up the supplies you’ll need. Then you can get started. So please make