Letting Go

By Christina L. Sheil

A family faces the challenges of rebuilding their lives after the mother and father split. Problems ensue as Jack Johnstons inability to let go of his past with his wife and move on causes further difficulties.

Struggling with the difficulties are his wife Mary, who tries to find reasons behind her husbands betrayal. Also having difficulties coping with the changes is his oldest son, Tristan, who suddenly sees his father as less than the hero he thought.

Thrown into the mix are John Pallister, a former classmate of Marys, and Jacks current love, Robin. Both are forced to stand aside while both Mary and Jack try to rebuild and learn to let go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 18, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469114286

Christina L. Sheil

I grew up in Borden, Ontario, Canada on a military base. It wasn’t until I was in junior high school that I discovered my interest in writing. I claimed first prize in a high school writing contest two years in a row and began to write novellas, short stories and poetry. After starting my studies at the Faculty of Education at the University of Alberta, I attempted to write a script and novel for Star Trek: the Next Generation. A Star Trek: Deep Space Nine script followed in 1993, and after submitting the novelization for the script to an agent in Florida, the novel is currently under consideration for publication with Pocket Books. Currently, I am a full-time journalist at the Cold Lake Sun in Cold Lake, Alberta and continue to write.

Book preview

Letting Go

Christina L. Sheil

Copyright © 2000 by Christina L. Sheil.

ISBN #:      Softcover      0-7388-2387-2

ISBN #:      Ebook         978-1-4691-1428-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

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

To my family, who, without their support,

I wouldn’t be here. And to Kean,

who’s simply the best.

Baby, I’m amazed by you...

CHAPTER ONE

Mom! Hey, Mom!

Mary Johnston looked out the kitchen window, ignoring the warm dishwater and dirty pots for a moment as she smiled at her son. Did you have a good day at school, honey?

Tristan, her oldest son, grinned at her as he ran to the back door. The best! Mr. Stone said that my English story was the best in the class. I got the highest mark—see? He waved his crumpled composition in the air like a victory flag.

Mary wiped her hands on the dishtowel that was slung over her shoulder and met him as he exploded into the kitchen. She took the composition from him and pretended to scrutinize it carefully as she tried to ignore the wave of pride that coasted through her. She smiled at him, gesturing at the A at the top of the paper. Taking the fifth grade by storm, huh? She rumpled his light blond hair affectionately.

He frowned, trying to evade her gentle touch, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in his voice. "Yeah, right! Anything to eat?"

She rolled her eyes. Even though he was still only ten, Tristan was already trying to eat the entire Johnston family out of house and home. You’d think we never fed you, she complained as he started to search through the fridge.

Come on, Mom. I’ve got hockey practice tonight, he protested, grabbing an apple and crunching into it with unusual zeal.

She thought about mentioning that it was only less than an hour until supper, but decided against it. She was just glad that Tristan, unlike his younger brother and sister, preferred apples to chocolate bars. Get started on your homework, then, she advised, turning back to the dishes.

Cody, the youngest, slammed the door behind him a few minutes later. His downcast eyes, reddened cheeks and tiny frown told Mary that something was up. Unlike Tristan, who was very rarely seen without his trademark sunny smile, Cody was almost too sensitive, letting minor things bother him until he was in tears. What’s the matter, buddy? she asked.

Cody slid out of his boots and slunk to his mother’s side. Marta didn’t come play with me today, he whimpered, his dark eyes puddling with tears.

Oh . . . Mary crouched down, facing her son with eyes gentled by understanding. Marta Pierson was Cody’s closest playmate. When Cody had started grade one this year, he’d been excited when he found out that Marta was in the same class. If Marta didn’t come play with him, no wonder he’s so upset, thought Mary as she hugged him. I’m sure she didn’t mean it, she murmured. Did you talk to her?

He shook his dark head, choking back a sob. She . . . she wasn’t there! he cried. She never came to school!

Mary chuckled. Honey, Marta’s probably sick. She’s not mad at you!

Cody frowned, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and looked doubtfully at his mother. Ben told me Marta was mad, he said. He’s her brother. He knows!

Cody, Ben’s in grade three and he’s always saying nasty things to you. If Marta was mad, she’d tell you. She straightened, smiling down at her son. You want to help me with the dishes?

Moments later, as Cody was carefully drying the pots and pans, Mary heard her daughter, Jess, racing through the blanket of leaves that covered their lawn. Hi, Jess, she called out once she was in earshot. Good day?

It was okay. See you later, Tiegan! Jess shouted, waving to her friend. A taller, dark-haired boy waved back at her.

When she came inside, she slung her backpack to the floor and walked to the fridge, reaching inside for some chocolate milk. We got our tests back, she reported to her mother.

Mary glanced at her questioningly. And?

Jess shrugged. I did okay. Seeing her mother’s probing smile, she giggled. I got the highest in the class!

Mary grinned. That’s great, sweetie. I’ll take a look at it while you and Tristan are setting the table. Your dad should be home in a while.

Okay. She turned away from her mother. Tristan! Mom wants us to set the table!

Mary winced. You could have gone to his room and asked him to come help, you know, she chided gently.

When’s Dad gonna be home? Tristan asked as he came out of his bedroom. I want to tell him about my story.

Probably soon. Come on, now, get going on the table.

As Tristan and Jess busied themselves, Mary watched them, a soft smile curving her lips. Thirteen years ago, when she and Jack had first started dating, she never would have dreamed that she would have been the mother of three children, happily married, and a successful journalist at the local newspaper. When she had first learned that she was pregnant, she and Jack had not yet been married, though they had talked of it often. Mary, in spite of having dated Jack for a few years, had not been certain as to how he would react to the news. Surprisingly, Jack had been ecstatic, and they’d gotten married three months later. Although life had been far from perfect—raising three children and trying to keep their own lives on an even keel was never easy for any couple—Mary thought that she and Jack had built a happy life for themselves and their children.

The sharp warble of the phone invaded her reverie. With a final glance at Tristan and Jess, she picked up the receiver. Hello? she said, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder.

Hey, honey.

Mary smiled as she leaned against the counter. Hey, yourself, she murmured. Jack Johnston’s husky voice, even after ten years of marriage, still sent a small thrill of excitement through her. Still at work?

Yeah, he replied. I don’t know when I’m going to be home—the boss asked me to meet him for drinks when I was done here.

Tristan, who was passing into the kitchen, glanced up at his mother, frowning slightly when he saw the seriousness in his mother’s face. What’s going on? When she didn’t answer, he asked, You talking to Dad? When’s he—

He cut himself off when she shook her head sharply. Why? Mary asked into the phone.

I don’t know, Mary, Jack said, an impatient edge creeping into his voice. Probably something to do with the Anderson building my crew’s working on. He just wants to meet, okay?

Mary blinked, surprised at the sharpness in his voice. Okay, Jack, she replied softly, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt. We’ll see you when you get home.

As she replaced the receiver back on its hook, she felt three inquisitive pairs of young eyes watching her. Better put your dad’s plate away, she said, not quite able to bring herself to meet their gaze.

He’s working late? Jess asked, a note of disbelief ringing in her voice.

Again, Tristan added resentfully, anger coloring his usually fair complexion.

Tristan . . . Mary said warningly.

Mom, this is the third time this week! he exclaimed. And he was late almost every—

That’s enough! Mary snapped. You know how busy he is lately.

Too busy for us, even, he growled.

"I said that’s enough! she shot at him. Now do what you’re told before you can forget about hockey tonight."

Tristan stared at her, his mouth tightening in a look of defiance she hadn’t seen on his face since he was six. He turned his head away a second later, before Mary could see the angry glint of tears in his bright blue eyes. Fine, he muttered as he turned and stalked back into the dining room.

Mary blew out a frustrated breath, running her fingers through her tousled blonde hair. She knew Tristan was right—Jack had been spending a lot of time away from home lately. Having been promoted to architectural consultant on the Anderson project, Jack was trying to catch up on the backlog of paperwork left by his predecessor, and had been putting in extra hours as a result. He’ll be home soon, she told herself as she turned to the business of dinner.

* * *

Mommy, where’s Daddy?

Mary winced inwardly at Cody’s innocent question. It had been almost four hours since Jack’s call, and while she’d never admit it to the kids, she was starting to get worried. She smiled reassuringly at her youngest. He probably just lost track of time, sweetheart. He gets like that sometimes, remember?

Cody’s mouth puckered into a confused frown. "But he always reads me a story at bedtime. He’d never forget."

It’s probably just an accident, she replied quickly, trying to keep the edge of frustration out of her voice. "You know how Daddy loves to talk to people. Would it be okay if I read you a story instead?"

He thought about it a moment. Okay.

As she started to read, Cody snuggled against her, Mary fought down a sharp surge of anger. It’s one thing if he’s going to be late for supper, but when he breaks promises to his children as a result . . .

A short time later, Cody was asleep, his young features sweetly innocent in slumber. Mary gently kissed his cheek, tucking his blanket around him. Good night, honey, she murmured, quietly slipping out of his room.

As she passed by Tristan’s room, she hesitated. She knew she had hurt him earlier, and while Tristan was less likely to hold grudges than either Cody or Jess, she knew that he took longer to recover from the pains she couldn’t fix. She rapped gently on the door. Tristan? Can I come in?

When there was no answer, she pushed the door open, her features softening when she saw him on the bed, sprawled on his stomach, his gaze averted from her. She walked over to the bed and, without an answer from him, sat next to