Life Lived Twice

By Sherrie Wouters

Some promises are made to last forever... What if you fell in love with a stranger ... but that stranger had come from your past, a past you never knew existed until the moment your eyes met? When Tess Winters locks eyes with a stranger at an airport bookstore, it ignites a feeling of passion somewhere deep inside her that she can't explain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherrie Wouters
• Release date: Jun 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9780987302496

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COPYRIGHT

LIFE LIVED TWICE

Copyright © 2014 by Sherrie Wouters

Digital edition

All Rights Reserved.

The right of the copyright holders of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, by any means, without prior permission, of both the copyright owner and the publisher. Every effort has been made to ensure this publication is free from error or omissions. However, the publisher, authors, editors and their employees shall not accept responsibility for injury, loss, or damage occasioned to any person acting or refraining from action as a result of any material in this book.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

Sherrie Wouters

Web: www.sherriewouters.com

Email: [e-mail]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/lifelivedtwice

Twitter: twitter.com/sherriewouters

Published and distributed worldwide: Sherrie Wouters.

Book Production Management: Bermingham Books.

Editing: Natasha Higgins.

Cover Photo: iStock, by Getty Images.

Cover Design: Gillian-Jane Mercylin

Typesetting: Lazar Kackarovski

Digital ISBN: 978-0-987-30249-6

First published: June 2014

DEDICATION

To the three people I love most:

Ashley, Gemma, and Holly.

Without your encouragement, support, and patience,

this book would still be just a jumble of words

in my imagination.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

POEM

CHAPTER 1: First Encounters

CHAPTER 2: The Dream

CHAPTER 3: Initials

CHAPTER 4: Krista

CHAPTER 5: A New Home

CHAPTER 6: The Church

CHAPTER 7: The Teacher

CHAPTER 8: Decisions

CHAPTER 9: Beethoven

CHAPTER 10: Harvest Ball

CHAPTER 11: The Dock

CHAPTER 12: Red Paint

CHAPTER 13: Tour Guide

CHAPTER 14: The Porch

CHAPTER 15: Apple Pie

CHAPTER 16: Pumpkins

CHAPTER 17: Monadnock

CHAPTER 18: The Boyfriend

CHAPTER 19: The Note

CHAPTER 20: The Promise

CHAPTER 21: The Womanizer

CHAPTER 22: The Book

CHAPTER 23: Revelations

CHAPTER 24: The Truth

CHAPTER 25: Intentions

CHAPTER 26: Hunting

CHAPTER 27: Murder

CHAPTER 28: Forever

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

About The Author

POEM

What if you slept?

And what if,

in your sleep,

you dreamed?

And what if,

in your dream,

you went to heaven

and there plucked

a strange and beautiful flower?

And what if,

when you awoke,

you had the flower

in your hand?

~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) ~

CHAPTER 1:

First Encounters

It was now one hundred and fifty-two days since I first saw him. Even after everything that had happened, I still didn’t regret it. How could I with love involved? But when a past you never knew existed catches up with you and suddenly everything you’d learnt about life and death is turned on its head, it does make you wonder ... could love really be so powerful, that it would take you right back to where it first began ... ?

* * * * *

Sighing with relief, I heaved my suitcase onto the airport scales. Tess Winters, Burlington, Vermont, I said to the attendant.

She gave a forced smile and handed me a boarding pass. Your flight departs from gate twelve in half an hour. On behalf of the airline we do apologize again for the delay in the flight. Have a safe trip.

Thanks, I said, raising a brow as I tucked the pass into my bag. But no amount of apologies would get me back the six hours of my life I’d lost yesterday while I sat stuck in an airplane that didn’t even leave the tarmac. Technical failure, they’d said. It was just lucky for me I had somewhere to stay the night before returning for a second attempt today on a rescheduled flight.

Staying with my Aunt and Uncle for the summer had been great. It was the first time I’d ever visited Miami, the first time I’d been away by myself, and while I was looking forward to getting home to Vermont, there was another first waiting for me there that had me wishing I could stay where I was.

You see, I was moving out and leaving the home I’d lived in since I was five. For most people that would cause excitement; however, for me, that thrill was shared with a bucketload of apprehension.

My dislike of change was one of many traits I wished I could alter in my personality. And it was something I’d blamed on growing up with overprotective parents. Twenty years of living with their restrictions hadn’t exactly helped my self-esteem. And while I’d become rather good at hiding my lack of confidence, there were times it got the better of me, and I could quite simply turn into a bumbling idiot, with interactions with the opposite sex topping the list.

But now that I was moving away it meant leaving the safe groove I’d made for myself at home, and avoiding situations that pressed me beyond my emotional limits would now be more difficult.

As a lump suddenly rose and lodged in my throat, I quickly swigged on the water in my shaking hand, and stepped away from the counter.

Thankful there wasn’t much time to fill before my flight, I headed towards the departure lounge. It was busy, and it wasn’t hard to spot the tourists that had been stuck at the airport longer than they should have. As I looked in the store windows and dreamed of things to buy, the sudden reflection in a mirror made me stop and take a step back. Surprised by the wide-eyed girl staring back at me, I stood wondering who she was. Her skin looked ever so lightly tanned, a rare occurrence for a red head. And that green dress flowing loosely from her thin frame made her eyes stand out.

Tugging at the fabric, I moved slightly from side to side, examining the image. Getting me to wear a dress was Aunt Melanie’s influence, and it surprised no one more than me that the change was one I was beginning to like.

After the momentary astonishment of the new me had passed, my eyes diverted to a lady sitting behind me whose reflection I could see in the mirror.

Trying not to stare, I discreetly turned and narrowed my gaze at the book I’d spotted in her grasp.

There was something about it that struck me, something that reminded me of New England ... home. I wasn’t sure if it was the striking purple cover or the pretty flowers on the front. However, as I read the title, a smile spread over my face in delight. It was The Flower Circle, a book by a new author named William Fitz, and I’d been eagerly awaiting its release.

It was a period novel, set at the turn of the century, but that was all I knew about it. That was all I ever needed to know, as anything written about that era had me happily shelling out money.

For as long as I could remember I’d been drawn to literature from that time in history, eagerly devouring anything available. It didn’t matter if it was thriller or romance; somehow they stirred something in me, like the warmth of visiting an old friend.

As a bubble of excitement rose at discovering something to fill in the flight, I made a dash for the closest bookstore. However, after stepping inside the door and meeting a mountain of books on the floor, I realized finding it quickly may not be as easy as planned.

They were rearranging the displays and, given there wasn’t a staff member in sight and the line at the counter was ten deep, I knew I’d have to search for it myself.

After a mad hunt of the shelves that still had books on them and coming up with nothing, I then searched through some of the stacks on the floor, but The Flower Circle was nowhere to be found.

Wondering if I should perhaps just settle for something else, I glanced from the catalog racks to my watch. There was still a bit of time left before my flight and so after turning my attention back to the search. I suddenly spotted a lone copy sitting in a display on the far side of the store. Excited I’d found it in time, I pushed through the crowd and made my way towards it, but as I reached to grab it from the shelf, somebody else did the same. Within seconds our fingers had collided, and a squeal burst from my lips as an electrical current shot up my arm. My hand retreated as if burnt, and I watched the book fall to the floor.

Hot on its tail I squatted to retrieve it, but as my eyes met the large boots beside me a sudden wave of fear over ownership stopped me from standing back up. As I slid the book along the floor and pulled it protectively to my chest, my eyes locked on the distinct red paint splatter on the toe of the boot. It looked rather like a gummy bear, but the thought of that was soon forgotten as I slowly moved my eyes up and scanned the outline of the stranger.

By the time I’d examined his tanned calves, the masculinity of his skin was lingering in the air between us. He smelt sensational, and I found myself uncontrollably breathing in as I rose.

Now curious to see more, I kept going. But as I began to move, an odd sensation of warmth radiating from him came over me; it was almost like an invisible hand caressing my skin. My heart fluttered at the idea of it, and suddenly blood was rushing to all the wrong places as I felt an unexpected thrill of anticipation.

After tracing his body all the way up to his chest, my wandering eyes didn’t seem to want to stop, and they were soon up to his neck and following the stubble along his jaw, right up to his light brown hair.

And then he spoke. The sound of his voice jolted me from my daydream and pulled my gaze to his.

"Addison!" I gasped as our eyes collided.

From the moment the name left my lips, my eyes widened ... stared ... and became lost in his. As a rush of airy weightlessness floated me from the floor, suddenly everything felt more enhanced, more real, like something inside me had suddenly woken up.

It was an intoxicating feeling and the longer I stood entranced, the further his beautiful blue eyes reached into mine. Somehow they were knocking on the door to my heart, stirring something so powerful it made me want to cry and laugh at the same time and, for a brief second, there was something in his eyes that made me feel complete.

Suddenly his brows squeezed then softened. Ah ... um ... sorry about the electric shock. He smiled. But who’s Addison?

My throat tightened as warmth flushed my cheeks. Who the hell was Addison?

Embarrassment pulled my eyes from his. Oh, I said, choking on my words, "Um ... ah ... no ... I don’t know anyone called Addison ... I mean, um ... "

Oh! He smiled cheekily as he leaned towards me and whispered. "You sounded so convinced I was him ... I thought for a second I could be. I mean, if you wanted me to be."

My face shot back to his, words jamming in my throat as I stared. Who was this guy, this stranger? In just a few seconds he’d turned my soul inside out, and now he was charming me with his words as well.

As his lips rose into a smile, I couldn’t help but smile back. But panic quickly returned to my constricted throat as that name re-entered my head.

Suddenly aware of the warmth still creeping across my face, I managed to pull my eyes from his again and divert my gaze. Addison, Addison, who the hell was Addison? I couldn’t budge the name from my thoughts.

As I stood fidgeting, I could feel him staring, waiting for me to say something, anything. After taking a breath, I shifted my gaze and we locked eyes again as I spoke. Um, I said, swallowing hard, I must be mistaken ... sorry.

What was the matter with me? This was insane. Interacting with the opposite sex had never come naturally, but this awkward display even I was shocked at.

Suddenly I felt the book in my fingers and I remembered where I was. In one swift movement I pulled it from my chest and shoved it in his hands. This is the last one. It’s by a new author ... but you can have it.

I paused again, closing my eyes as I searched for more appropriate words ... words that wouldn’t come.

Ah ... I have to go, I said, pointing limply over my shoulder. My flight’s departing soon.

The need to escape suddenly heightened, but as I turned to exit the store the sheer thought of leaving him had a sudden wave of nausea rising into my throat. Overcome by the reaction, my hand flew to cover my mouth, as the other grasped at the pain now stabbing at my chest.

Wait! he insisted. But as he grabbed my arm and spun me to face him, he accidentally pulled me into his space and our eyes met once more. His gaze was like a seductive trance, one that left me breathless, and suddenly everything disappeared again but him.

Now I was really struggling. My instincts were taking over, thoughts running wild, leaving me helpless to pull my eyes from his. His lips ... I wanted them ... no, I needed them pressed against mine. And those arms, so strong and secure, they belonged around me, to weld my body to his.

What was happening to me? This was absurd! He was a complete stranger.

Clawing for some control, I used all the strength I had and dragged my eyes from his. I really have to go.

Walking away the second time had me wishing I’d kept going the first. The anguish was unbearable, and the pain worse than before. It felt like I was being ripped in two, and a part of myself was still back in the bookstore.

Turning my blazing cheeks towards the ground, I turned, hesitated and then headed for the restrooms.

Shaking, I stood staring in the mirror, my hands grasping either side of the sink. What the hell had just happened? Who was this guy, who was I? How had he done this to me? I’d never experienced anything like it, yet at the same time I felt like I had.

And that name ... where had it come from? The way it had just fallen from my mouth even had me momentarily convinced I knew who he was.

But as I stood with my fist now pressed against my chest, I realized there was more. Wrenching myself away from him had left me with an ache, a hollowness deep in my chest. What the hell was it?

The only thing I could remotely compare it to was when my crush in the eighth grade had moved away, but this feeling ... well, it was magnified a billion times worse. How was this even possible? I couldn’t be pining for him; I didn’t even know who he was.

After cupping my hands under the faucet, I suddenly caught sight of the time on my watch. No, no, no! I was going to miss my plane. With dripping hands I flew for the restroom door and sprinted through the moving crowd to the departure terminal.

As I got closer, the sound of my name being called on the overhead speaker made the stitch building in my side all the more painful but I pushed through the ache and kept running. There was really no other choice.

The gate was closing as I reached the terminal, but after a rather breathless plea to let me board a flight attendant escorted my exhausted body onto the plane.

Still shaken that I’d only just made it, I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, but adrenaline was pumping and my thoughts went straight to the guy in the bookstore.

I still didn’t understand what had happened between us. It had been like a scene out of a movie, and the amazing experience that had lasted all of ninety seconds began playing behind my closed lids on repeat. And while thinking of him fixed a smile on my face, after a while the continued replaying of it began having a hypnotic effect. It wasn’t long until I was drifting out of reality and into a semi-conscious state, and that was something I couldn’t have. You see, falling asleep in a public place wasn’t an option. For years I’d been plagued by a recurrent nightmare, and it had been known to visit during times of stress. It was one of those vivid night terrors that once you woke, you were convinced it was real. But it wasn’t just the trauma of the aftereffects; it was my screaming during it that would raise eyebrows.

I needed to shift my attention onto something else to wake myself up, and it had to be quick. After a vague search of my groggy brain, my focus shifted to thoughts of moving out of my home. Had moving the first time been this stressful? I couldn’t remember ... I was five when we moved to Vermont. I couldn’t remember lots of things ... I couldn’t remember no matter how hard I tried. It felt like our life there never existed ... memories were rarely spoken of and photos scarce ... but it did and I knew there was a reason why we suddenly moved from one side of the country to the other. Something bad had happened to make us move. and that something, of which I still didn’t know, had happened to me.

My mind went blank, my inner voice suddenly slurred. I was falling asleep. No, I couldn’t fall asleep; the nightmare might come. The nightmare ... moving ... the nightmare, they swum in my head in a haze. It had ruled my life ... the nightmare ... since I was five, since we moved. It was from moving, wasn’t it? Yes, the nightmare.

After letting out a yawn I pried my eyes open and tried to focus on something in the plane, but my lids quickly drooped shut again. Despite the many attempts, my fight to stay awake was eventually lost. And while my nightmare stayed away, someone else called to visit me in my dreams. a stranger. and his name was Addison.

CHAPTER 2:

The Dream

~ Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire 1908 ~

As I lay soaking in the sun’s warmth, shades of orange and pink swirled behind my closed lids. I’d often come down here to sit by the river and read or pick wildflowers. But it had been the first time I’d visited in months, and even though it was late afternoon, I was staying as long as I could to enjoy the beauty of the day.

It had been a drawn-out winter, and now the snow had melted and revealed the vibrant colors of spring, the cold became nothing but a memory, and I knew better days were on the way as New England sprang back to life.

My family had resided in Fitzwilliam for five generations, and whether I liked it or not New England soil was firmly rooted in my soul. Situated in the southwestern corner of New Hampshire, Fitzwilliam was only seventy-two miles from Boston, but the reality was I’d never been there and life outside of Fitzwilliam was something I only knew of from what I’d read or heard in stories.

It wasn’t that we didn’t have access. Fitzwilliam was on the Fitchburg division of the Boston & Maine Railroad, but with all my family close by and my father busy running the print shop, we had neither the time nor a reason to venture further than the outskirts of the surrounding towns.

But I had my hopes of leaving one day; the only problem was I hadn’t taken any man’s eye just yet. And while I was quite prepared to wait, my parents were not. I was already twenty-two, and my ideals of marrying for love were causing them much chagrin.

As I breathed in deep and slid myself further into the sun, the sweet scent of the pollen filling my nostrils had me recalling the events of the afternoon’s picnic.

It had been wonderful spending the day with my closest companions, and I smiled fondly as the thoughts flooded back. There was only a small group of us, but it was especially nice to see my oldest buddy Jane, and her beau Arthur O’Reilly. She didn’t visit much these days now that she was preparing for her wedding.

We had journeyed down to the river to take in the pleasures of the warmer weather, and it didn’t take long before the heat of the day had overwhelmed all of us. The men had great pleasure in leaping from a rope into the river, while the ladies removed their shoes and paddled in the shallows.

It had been an afternoon filled with laughter and fun, but the outing was not without a tinge of regret. Somehow I had gotten carried away in the carefreeness of the day and had exposed my naked calves while bathing. According to my mother this was inappropriate behavior for a lady, and the punishment, if she’d caught me, would not have been worth it for the cooling of my skin. She was an uncompromising woman and sometimes I wondered how father put up with her.

Regardless, I quickly moved my attention from mother’s high-minded opinions back to the day.

I envisioned the rhubarb pies and Jonny cakes we’d filled our bellies with. And then, of course, there was Aunt Sarah’s homemade cider that the men had consumed in large quantities.

Chuckling to myself, I stretched my arms above my head, raking my fingers through my strawberry blond hair. Having reached an age where loose hair was no longer appropriate, I was relishing the opportunity of wearing mine down while not under my mother’s watchful eye.

As the day drew to an end, my buddies had journeyed home for milking, leaving me to linger a little longer in the sun. I didn’t mind so much. I had gotten used to being on my own.

As my spine uncurled further into the blanket, I noticed the swirls of light had disappeared from behind my closed lids. But after waiting a few moments and the brightness didn’t return, a wave of fear suddenly rose and stuck in my throat. Had I accidentally fallen asleep?

Panicked by the idea of having to return home in the dark my eyes flew open, expecting to see blackness. But that was not what I saw and a bloodcurdling scream exploded from my lips as I clutched my chest and sat bolt upright. What are you looking at? I demanded, staring blindly into the sun.

But as I squinted skyward and regained my focus, I suddenly regretted my sharp tone, because before me stood a handsome stranger. And while his shirt hung on either side of his suspenders and his hat barely contained his blond hair, it was his stunning blue eyes that caught my breath.

He raised his brows as his eyes slowly raked the length of me, before pausing momentarily at the skin on my legs.

Sorry miss, he said removing his hat. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just ... admiring the view.

My eyes widened as I watched him. View, what view? I choked, pulling the skirt over my calves.

I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss, he said, pressing his hat firmer to his chest. I was referring to the red-bellied woodpecker ... across the river there.

Stunned, I stared at him for a brief moment, my eyes growing wider as I raised my hand to my brow and turned towards where he was pointing across the riverbank.

Unfortunately any kind of bird life would have been a more welcomed sight compared to what my eyes met lurking beside the crusty trunk of an oak tree. Dressed in his invariable black attire, Horris Harvey’s unmistakable dark eyes glistened at me from the distance.

The local bachelor was frequently materializing out of thin air,