Cynthia's Plan: Shipmates Adventures at Sea, #1

By Stacey Watts

All Cynthia Seville wanted in life was to find true love, and thought she had found it in Eric Taylor. A year after meeting the love of her life, Cynthia's life crumbled around her, as Eric was declared dead at sea. He had promised her security and was looking forward to saving the only piece of family history she owned, her stately beach home, Morning Glen. Leo Walters' return was not a happy one. His mission to break the heart of Porterville's most influential woman. She was someone he had an aching desire to love and protect. Cynthia accused him of having a hand in Eric's death. Did Leo murder Eric? Cynthia desperately needed to find out the truth. To her, it was a matter of life and death. Would her fate be the same as that Eric? Could two unfortunate souls put away their differences to survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacey Watts
• Release date: Apr 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201292324

Stacey Watts

Stacey Watts loves telling stories, as her writing reflects this. She currently lives in a small town in Texas with her husband and three children. Her imaginative spirit will not disappoint as she weaves stories of romance and intrigue. An author with Self-Published works; she invites you to consider her words.

Book preview

Chapter 1

P romises, shouldn’t they be kept? They still mean something, don’t they? Cynthia Seville ran her fingers through her curly Auburn hair as she posed life’s questions to her best friend Lissie Baker.

Of course, you know how men are. I put little stock into their words anymore. They sweep in with grand promises; someone else comes along and turns their heads. Their focus strays. Lissie said as she took a bite of chocolate ice cream.

I wished I was like you. You’re strong and cynical. I should’ve adopted the same attitude before Terrence the thief cleared out my bank account, leaving all my charities with nothing but mounting bills. I would be a much wiser woman. She dropped her bowl into the sink and leaned over the counter.

Terrence Barrows is scum, and I’m not cynical. It was horrible what he did to you. Do the police have any idea where he has taken off too?

No, they never will either. I’m seeing a terrible pattern in my relationships. Every man I’ve dated made promises he didn’t intend to keep. They pulled up stakes and took a piece of my heart with them. One even cleaned out my bank account, leaving me penniless. I hate having suckered plastered right here. Cynthia slapped her forehead as if placing the imaginary sign in place.

Now you know why I put little stock into men anymore. I think the last real man died in the Gothic age. Gone are the days when men are chivalrous and honorable. You know Mr. Rochester from the book Jane Eyre, now he was perfect. Strong, dependable, yet with a touch of bad boy in him, he would have never stolen your fortune. There is no chance in hell he would disappear for a year without a single word. Lissie said.

Cynthia rolled her eyes, letting out a hopeless sigh. Her best friend was crazy about books. It always amazed Cynthia at the sheer amount of volumes she read from cover to cover each week. Reading was an escape from Lissie’s mundane life.

Although, she was a hopeless romantic seeking perfection. Cynthia always considered her loyal and dependable as well. The first time they met, they were just children on the playground. Cynthia was drawn to her in utter fascination. Other kids would make fun of the awkward little girl, but she never seemed to care. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Lissie would just continue her reading adventure. Oblivious to the fact her classmates were on the playground playing kickball or tag.

Cynthia wished she would put down her books and take a chance on love again. She deserved happiness in her life. She was an exquisite woman, always underestimating herself.

Lissie was part Native American, with long raven-black hair and beautiful dark skin. Her eyes were like emeralds. Men would compliment her on the street. She would just say a polite thank you and move on. Never for the life of Cynthia did she understand why she insisted on wearing her hair in braids and sporting wire-rimmed eyeglasses, hiding her true natural features.

Eric even agreed one time Lissie was the last of the diehard romantics still left on the planet. She couldn’t agree with him more. However, if she didn’t lower her standards a bit, she would never find her soul mate. The word soul mate caught in Cynthia’s brain, it screamed the name Eric.

I miss Eric. When he left, he said they would be gone six months tops. It has been a full year. By now, I thought we would’ve heard something. Cynthia placed her head between her hands.

Well, it was the same with Leo. We parted as friends and I would’ve hoped, he would write more than just two letters. I always thought of him as a decent guy. He expected nothing from me. It was a brilliant arrangement. Lissie said.

You don’t suppose something happened to them, do you? I mean, it’s not like them. Cynthia asked.

Who knows? They are men. Some pretty woman led them away with a beer and a bag of pork rinds, and they followed. Face it, Cynthia, it’s just you and I again. We are bright, intelligent women. We don’t need a man to complete us. Lissie said, as she stood up from the stool she was sitting on. I do, however, need to go home. I have another chapter or two I’d like to finish up before I turn in.

Okay, goodnight Lissie. Cynthia walked her to the front door. Locking it, she felt a little panicked. Alone, it’s too quiet! Her brain screamed, and her chest tightened. Taking short little shallow breaths, she had to get the panic attack to subside before it turned on her full force.

Sitting at the bottom of the steps, Cynthia wondered if Morning Glen was worth all the chaos. Her stately beach residence was almost in foreclosure. No way could she save her home. She needed money in the worst way.

Raising herself off of the steps, she clung to the railing for support. She should turn in for the night, but her feet felt glued to the floor. Maybe she could just sleep downstairs tonight.

No! She had to conquer this fear. Her head pounded hard. Forcing herself up to the dark stairway, she wondered if she was going insane. The panic attacks started happening when her finances were failing. For the last six months, she was panic-stricken about staying alone in her house.

The nightmares plagued her; she even started believing in ghosts. All the generations who lived there before came to haunt her at night. They were not happy Morning Glen was on its way out of the family. They lectured her about her poor life choices. Lissie insisted she was just stressed out and entertaining a high imagination. Cynthia, however, wasn’t so sure.

Reaching the top of the stairs, the shadows danced off the walls.

Lights, where are you? She whispered.

Finding the switch, she flipped it and a glow made the room bright. Another symptom of the anxiety attacks was an immense fear of the dark. Opening her bedroom door, she flipped on more lights and illuminated the large room.

Cynthia’s room was still child like. She never had the heart to change out the baby blue walls with the pink mermaids. Her mother worked hard, painting the lovely sea creatures on the wall.

When her parents died in a car accident, she couldn’t bear to move into their master suite., she knew she should move to the bigger room, but Cynthia felt closer to her mother in her own room.

Besides, her room was comforting. It felt safe and calm, but somehow tonight was different. There was a sudden icy chill in the room. Her eyes began its illusions of movements. Her thoughts turned to her Grandma Seville. The elderly woman used to sit on the front porch in her poor dementia laden mind, babbling about ‘a change coming.’

Somehow, tonight, she believed the mantra was true. Only Cynthia knew what it was. The bank was auctioning off her home at the end of the month. Darkness loomed over her life, her mind plagued with images from the past. Eric promised her he would return. A year later, she was still waiting for him to help her save Morning Glen. She was stupid, yet again; trusting a man to save her, even falling in love with him.

Walking over to her antique dresser, she pulled out her flannel pajamas. Getting ready for bed, the flannel felt warm and cozy against her skin. Catching a glimpse into the large mirror, is this the way I’ve turned out? The dark circles under her eyes, and stress lines etched into her forehead, made her feel as though she was old. Looking at her twenty-eight-year-old body in the mirror, Cynthia could hear Grandma Seville plain as day.

Cynthia, you will never catch a man dressed like that! She would’ve informed Cynthia while waggling her bony, wrinkled finger at her. Grandma Seville was by far her favorite. She was what Cynthia would call progressive for her time.

She asked her one time, in one of her lucid moments, why she insisted on keeping a pool man who was less than professional. The man cared more about hanging out poolside with his shirt off, skimming the pool. Her eighty-year-old grandma pulled her down next to her on a patio lounger, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Look at him, Cynthia, I don’t swim. Why do I care if the pool is spotless when I can just enjoy the view? Yep, that was Grandma Seville. She taught her how to appreciate the male form, even at a young teen age. Cynthia’s first make-up set was a gift when she was twelve from her grandmother. There was a look of mortification when Cynthia came down from her room looking like the poster child from a heavy metal rock band.

Grandma Seville wouldn’t want to know her only grandchild was almost thirty, wearing flannel pajamas with little yellow stars on them. Cynthia slipped into bed, turning off the light on the end table, closing her eyes tight, images rolled around like an action movie in her head. Daddy’s disapproval and scolding was tonight’s main feature.

There have always been Seville’s here. It’s our family home; you’ve got to try harder not to lose it. Do more! Daddy said.

Standing in his business suit with an unhappy frown. Cynthia opened her eyes, feeling something weighing down on her chest. It felt like an elephant had sat on her. Another panic attack was coming on.

Oh God, not now! She begged.

Feeling smothered by the walls closing in on her, she got out of bed. Grabbing her pink robe, she threw it on over her pajamas.

I need air. She whispered in a panic. Stepping out into the hallway, she found herself afraid of the dark again. Flipping on the light that illuminated the stairs, she walked down to the foyer on the first floor. Opening the door, the breeze off the gulf waters relieved her senses.

Taking the familiar steps out to the ocean’s edge, Cynthia sat down on a large rock. Her eyes filled up with salty tears, no longer holding them back; she wept. Life just didn’t turn out the way she had expected it too. Weeks of waiting had turned into months. Not knowing the truth was just killing her.

Should I keep waiting? All she could do was wait. Waiting for what? She didn’t know.

You know he’s not coming back, or he would have by now. She thought out loud. Placing her hands over her face, she stifled a scream.

This is hopeless. I might as well let Morning Glen go. I give up! The dream of Eric waltzing in and saving Morning Glen was fading into a harsh reality.

Looking down at her hands, they were rough. She indeed missed her little indulgences. It had been a year since she had a manicure. It was too expensive, and besides, the job at the local diner, keeping her hands in dishwater, would ruin the French tips and polish, anyway.

Hair salon appointments were out too. Pony-tails were her new look, they were practical and kept the hair out of her face when she was bussing tables at the local bar for tips and helping Lissie at the library shelf books.

Everyone praised her for being strong in the time of great adversity. She didn’t feel very strong. All she wanted to do was go back to her old life. She could use a spa day. Three jobs weren’t enough to save much of anything. She still had two charities that were close to being non existent. The children’s home and the soup kitchen was being supported and operated. Both buildings needed repairs.

No one in town trusted her to keep them open. Her mind these days kept