Fabric of a Generation

By Tasha Madison

For one teen, life's greatest adventure isn't time travel but finding a way back home ...

 

Miranda dreams of disappearing. That and torturing her younger brainiac of a brother. To sidestep the risk of personal vulnerability (and her much-hated history class), she plays soccer or skips school by

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640856691

Tasha Madison

Tasha Madison shares an ancient paternal lineage with Ramesses III. She wrote this novel to honor her distant ancestor and to explore how various historical actors might have bolstered his dramatic demise. Tasha is a graduate of the Edward R. Murrow School of Communication at Washington State University and Seattle University's School of Law. She is the author of Fabric of a Generation, a YA historical fantasy that follows the family saga of a teen whose world is turned upside down after finding a mystical object in the attic. When she's not writing, you can catch her in the middle of an epicurean battle with family members (or scrapbooking). To learn more about Tasha's latest adventures, visit her website at: tashamadison.com.

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FABRIC OF A GENERATION

TASHA MADISON

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2019 Tasha Madison.

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

Published by Author Academy Elite

P.O. Box 43, Powell, OH 43035

www.AuthorAcademyElite.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 express written permission from the author/publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019905757

Paperback: 978-1-64085-667-7

Hardback: 978-1-64085-668-4

Ebook: 978-1-64085-669-1

Available in paperback, hardback, e-book, and audiobook.

Cover design by Martin Smirmaul (martin.atspace.cc)

DEDICATION

In loving memory of my dear friend, Lyubov L. Botvina.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my former York County School of the Arts teacher and now friend, Susan Hyde, for her cultivation of my skill as a writer.

A special thanks goes to my sister, Tamara. She has been my greatest cheerleader in life, concerning all of my personal and professional endeavors, great or small.

I also wish to express my sincere gratitude for the love and support of my parents, whose encouragement and standards of excellence continually inspire me to reach for the extraordinary and to accomplish the impossible.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Miranda, the Mendacious

Chapter 2: Family Matters

Chapter 3: Reality Check

Chapter 4: A Love Rekindled

Chapter 5: Search and Seizure

Chapter 6: The Grass Is Greener …

Chapter 7: Family Values

Chapter 8: Miranda, Who?

Chapter 9: D Is for Discipline

Chapter 10: Providence

1

MIRANDA, THE MENDACIOUS

Miranda Wilson slumped down in the pew. The thin padding of the bench grinded against her shirt as she slid down. A warming sensation ignited mid-back and then quickly radiated down. Her half-lidded eyes gently fluttered open as the pastor rattled on about how our tongues have the power of life and death.

The Bible teaches us the importance of the words that come out of our mouths, the pastor said. The words we say determine the direction of our lives and ultimately reflect our destiny. Our words will either justify us or condemn us.

Life and death? Really? What a joke! Miranda thought.

We can sow words of death, defeat, and discouragement or words that produce life, hope, and peace, he continued. Parents, in particular, need to take responsibility for the words they speak over their children. They must decide whether they will adopt words of encouragement or use destructive, abusive language. It is a choice … one that we all must make daily.

Miranda almost LOLed right there in the fifth row from the back. I think my parents missed the memo! she wanted to burst out to the whole congregation. However sorely tempted, she chose to resist the shining lure the pastor’s admonition stirred up within her. She couldn’t help but think that someone should have shared this inspirational little tidbit with her parents this morning when they were fussing in the car on the way to church.

Do we always have to arrive late? Miranda’s father said, rumbling under his breath as he placed his key in the ignition.

We’re thirteen minutes off schedule, Daniel. Big deal! Miranda’s TV-producer mother snapped back as she languidly closed her car door and buckled her seatbelt at the same measured speed.

It sounded like a line from one of her sitcoms, but Dan didn’t think it was funny. Miranda’s father bit his lower lip as he sped out of the driveway. He desperately sought to keep the peace, but he only managed to stay neutral for about ten seconds.

Annie, if we made you late for work, heads would roll! Why don’t you have the same respect for God that you have for your job?

Miranda held her breath. She shared a knowing glance with her nine-year-old brother Christopher.

We’re thirteen minutes late and suddenly I don’t have any R-E-S-P-E-C-T for God! Anne clamored, saying the letters as though Aretha Franklin originally meant them as a cuss word instead of a declaration from a strong, confident woman.

All I’m saying is that I wish you prioritized going to church and spending time with your family the same way you do your work.

That’s when it happened. Miranda watched as her mother came unhinged like one of those women on Lifetime who smile and laugh one minute and then stab their unsuspecting husband the next. She winced as she listened to her mother attack her father’s profession. Miranda could almost see each insult her mother released into the Earth’s atmosphere as it coasted in the small pocket of air between the driver and front passenger seat before finally hitting its target and piercing her father’s heart. Did dad just wince?

Miranda leaned her curly brown mop against the tinted car window, yanked her MP3 player out of her shoulder bag, rammed the attached headphones into her eardrums, and slid the volume up as far as it would go. She silently hoped that the high-energy beats would deafen her father’s pain.

Why can’t my parents act normal? Miranda pictured her mother and father spending the day scouring upscale furniture boutiques, inspired by the latest trends in Architectural Digest, in the quest for the perfect piece to complete the rest of the living room ensemble. She imagined them disagreeing over where they would put a new love seat, heatedly discussing the difference between eggshell and ecru paint, and ending the day giggling over the misplaced élan of strangers shuffling between aisles 28 and 29 in Home Depot. Instead, she witnessed her father compete against the portmanteau of her mother’s loyalties, for his wife’s affection, as her mother pretended not to notice.

Our tongues have the power of life and death.

Miranda’s mind whirred back to the present as she reconsidered the pastor’s words. She slowly straightened her posture, 007 style, to gain a look into her mother’s face without observation. This pastor could teach my mom a thing or two about being quick to listen and slow to speak, Miranda thought. She wondered if her mother was paying attention.

The next day, Miranda’s mother had the good fortune to put what they heard at church into practice. Unlike most mornings, Anne didn’t have to leave for work for another hour. She had one of the studio’s executives flying in to meet with her. She planned to pick him up from the airport, which gave her the uncommon task of actually seeing and talking with Miranda and Christopher before they left for school.

Anne took the opportunity to verify her daughter’s after-school obligations. She asked Miranda how she planned to spend her time. When Miranda informed her that she intended to go to Smoke & Mirrors, her favorite magic shop, her mom lost it. Anne thought that Miranda wasted too much of her time there already.

Instead of accepting her daughter’s hobby, Anne started to ask questions. Soon, her mother’s queries turned into accusations. Miranda resented her mom’s suspicion that she was doing something wrong and fired back. Tensions rose on both sides and quickly erupted into an inevitable minefield. Anne reached into her arsenal of guilt trip and manipulation to assert her control as Miranda loaded her cannon with blame and disappointment to maintain her out-of-sight independence. The result? Utter, head-spinning, Cheerio-spewing glory.

Anne pressed pause in an escape to exercise her authority at work. Dan intervened to take Miranda and Christopher to school. Miranda willingly abandoned the heat of the battlefield for a milieu of her own choosing. She thought of Ms. Matthews, her history teacher, and smiled. She envisioned students scurrying down the halls, frantically trying to race to class before first period began.

• • •

Patricia Matthews looked at the clock in her classroom, expecting last-minute stragglers. After about twenty seconds, four more students trickled in as the late bell waited for permission to sound. Ms. Matthews quickly scanned the room. Just when she started to pull out her attendance sheet and ceremoniously check everyone off, she noticed an empty chair. Not again, she thought. Ms. Matthews sighed with impatient anticipation.

All right, class. Settle down. Let’s do the roll call as quickly as possible so that we can get started.

Tanya Alberts?

Here, Tanya called.

Brent Anderson?

Present.

Christina Bryant?

Over here, Mrs. M!

Ms. Matthews went over the list until she had called the last name. She curiously peeked down the hall. Her heart sank as she stared at the empty corridor. She lingered a moment more but soon reluctantly closed her classroom door. Miranda, where are you? Ms. Matthews wondered.

• • •

Miranda marched down Main Street as the clatter of cars and the shuffle of feet filled the town. Smells of coffee and freshly baked donuts wafted up her nose as she paused momentarily to people watch and enjoy the enticing morning aromas. She soon pressed on to visit Smoke & Mirrors.

Hey, Marty! the sixteen-year-old hailed. Anything new?

You betcha! Marty shouted over a loud choong choonk. Check the back! As Miranda passed him, he added, Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in school?

No, they gave us the day off, Miranda coolly declared as she averted eye contact and walked toward the rear of the store.

Oh, that’s nice.

Marty, an older gentleman, angrily punched the buttons of the store’s new cash register. He had worked himself into such a tizzy, trying to get what he perceived as a crazy, modern contraption to work correctly. So, he did not actually hear the awful lie that Miranda had just told him.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Again. Dad’s going to kill me! Maybe I should just …

Miranda’s eyes widened when she saw Marty’s new inventory. Several books caught her attention.

Magical Multiplications & Spellbinding Levitations

Water Wizardry

Mystical Mind Reading

Enchanting Props

Advanced Sleight of Hand & the Art of Illusion

Miranda’s heartbeat flapped with excitement as the pages of each book came alive in front of her. She delved into the countless volumes, attempting to unpack the mystery of each illusion until it no longer remained an enigma. After a while, Marty teetered into the room, but Miranda did not notice.

You’re still back here? You’ve poured over these books for hours.

Miranda frowned at the various complex illustrations in her book until she glanced at her watch in disbelief. The hour hand rested on the one dial as the minute hand fast approached.

Up you go, he said with a simple gesture. We best get you something to eat."

I can’t believe how long it’s been, Miranda said partially rising, book in hand, as if trying to decide between either standing up entirely or continuing to analyze her new treasure that still desired reading.

Yes, yes. I know, Marty said as Miranda finally stood up and relinquished the book. Now, then, what do you want to eat? he asked as they walked toward the front of the store.

Pizza, of course.

Duh! Mom never lets me eat pizza.

Pizza it is! Marty exclaimed as he indicated the time of his return on the sign he had on the door.

Pizza Hut, here I come. This one’s for you, Mom!

Miranda’s gaze clouded as Marty fumbled in his well-seasoned pants pocket for his keys.

All right, Missy. If you’re going to lament over your new-found trinket that much, you can bring it with you, he said after he noticed Miranda’s distant expression.

Miranda’s face instantly brightened. She slung the shop door open, galloped to the inventory room, and grabbed the book she wanted to finish reading.

Let’s have a look-see, Marty said, extending his hand for the book once Miranda had returned. The Ultimate Magician’s Handbook: Magic & Mystery Revealed. Hmm. That sounds interesting.

Doesn’t it? It has amazing sketches of some of the most complicated illusions I’ve ever seen. It even gives the history of how certain magicians invented and perfected their magic tricks.

Marty grinned, delighted by Miranda’s excitement. In a flash, though, his grin waned. He furrowed his eyebrows and lifted his reading glasses from the breast pocket of his crumpled button-down dress shirt.

What’s the matter? Miranda asked somewhat peevishly.

Oh, nothing. I just don’t remember ordering this book.

Well, you know what they say about getting old: of all the things you’ll lose …, Miranda started.

If you finish that sentence, young lady …

… you’ll miss your mind the most!

Miranda Wilson!

Okay, okay. No more jokes about old people, Miranda relented.

I think you mean senior citizens, Marty corrected, jokingly revising Miranda’s prior description of his age group, but she ignored the correction.

Besides, Miranda continued, I have a funnier joke to tell …

Well, I have an even better idea. Why don’t you read this thoroughly and make sure it’s worth adding to my inventory?

Miranda did not say anything, somewhat skeptical about his intentions.

You would truly be doing me a favor, Marty added.

Really? Miranda asked, half-convinced Marty’s benevolence resulted from some sort of prank she had yet to discover.

Really, he said as he reassuringly handed the book back to her and then locked the front door to the shop.

Miranda’s eyes lit up from an inner glow of enchantment as her cynicism branched out into a boon of appreciation. Thank you, Marty, Miranda said, giving him a massive bear hug. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

A tentative, weak smile ignited across Miranda’s face as she stared down at the book. The vibrant book jacket reminded her of the big, colorful props of the magician her father hired for her fifth birthday. The magician told her where to look and what to do, but she wouldn’t hear it! She started pointing out the performer’s mistakes. Her father said she cried out, Magician in trouble! after taking a wide stance, fists on hips, elbows wide. But, the magician avoided patter and continued his fluid, larger-than-life movements, winning Miranda over with pure buffoonery and showing an impressed birthday girl that his mistake was intentional. Miranda’s smile rocketed at the memory.

On the other side of suburbia, Miranda’s father stood in his workshop and gawked spellbound. His latest project, a sturdy no-nonsense chair, incorporated an elegant Rococo style. His callused hands tenderly applied an aromatic salve, rubbing it in until the grains of wood absorbed every velvety drop. The chair noiselessly drank the murky liquid. When it could imbibe no more, Dan stood back and looked at his creation—flawless!

Although this beautifully polished chair, like most of Dan’s creations, would not grace his home with their presence, he knew the chair’s intended owners would surrender to the passion of the design as earnestly as he had. But, just when he prepared to commend himself for the exquisite rendition he had finished, a voice shouted from afar with equally distant footsteps.

Hey, Danny!

Accustomed to working in solitude, the unexpected visitor startled Dan. The can of varnish he had yet to put down inadvertently became air-borne and jolted out of his hand. He frantically dashed to retrieve the container, but the can crashed to the floor on its side, its contents oozing out. Dan stooped down to wipe it up. He took great care to quarantine the oily substance, but some of the liquid splashed onto his skin, lightly staining his hand. As he mopped the floor clean, the footsteps drew nearer, and the voice got louder.

Hey, Mr. Mom!

Dan stood up. He recognized the voice of his childhood friend and laughed as the footsteps and the voice became one visible form. Newly retired from the military, Dan had offered his friend part-time work in his shop. He always needed help with delivering furniture orders.

Watch it, Robert! That kind of talk can be hazardous to your health, especially when I have so many power tools close by, Dan replied with a mischievous smirk.

Just kidding. Well, sort of.

Dan responded with a gentle shake of the head.

"No, seriously, man. How does it feel having the missus bring home the bacon?"

Dan, used to serving as a proxy for the punch lines in most of his friends’ jokes, dismissed the insult with a playful yawn, which Robert mistook for genuine exhaustion.

You ok? Robert asked, softly patting his friend on the top of his shoulder.

Yeah, I’m all right. I always yawn when I’m interested in what someone has to say.

Dan started howling with laughter when Robert realized he had fallen into a spontaneous trap of playful raillery.

Look, man, Robert started after recovering from the friendly attack, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes because something like that would make me go crazy.

What do you mean?

Robert looked around, almost hysterically, for an invisible audience whom he half-expected to inform him of his debut in an episode of a reality TV show.

If my old lady made more money than me and spent twelve hours a day with twenty-five-year-old tycoons who, at any given moment, could sweep her off her feet, I’d need to check myself into a mental asylum.

What! Why? Dan asked mystified by such a hyperbolic statement.

Because just thinking about it infuriates me! Robert explained.

You’re right! You’re certifiable! You know that, right? Dan replied with a hearty laugh.

Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know, Robert said sarcastically as Dan just grinned. What, now?

I’m just trying to imagine how you get by with that funny, little brain of yours!

Just when Robert wanted to monopolize the opportunity to mock Dan again, the phone rang.

Saved by the bell, Robert joked as Dan turned away from his slightly wounded friend to answer the phone.

Hello?

Hello. Mr. Wilson? This is Patricia Matthews, Miranda’s history teacher.

Dan’s head ached.

A surprise call? Great. Please God, let this be a good surprise … More, You’ve won Publisher’s Clearing House! and less, Your daughter was arrested for trying to put her mother up for adoption on Craigslist!

Oh, hello Ms. Matthews, Dan said with a pasted-on smile.

I’m sorry I had to call you at home during your work hours.

That’s okay. To what do I owe the pleasure?

Ms. Matthews paused briefly to collect her thoughts. Her voice commanded deference in the classroom but, right now, it seemed to falter.

What’s wrong? Dan asked, trying to sound upbeat and casual.

Ms. Matthews exhaled a painful sigh before confessing, Miranda has skipped school again.

That’s impossible, Dan said almost inaudibly as if the mere mention of the words would make it so. A brief, awkward pause loomed in the air until he continued, Ms. Matthews, I personally dropped Miranda off at school this morning.

Let this be a mistake. This has to be a mistake.

Well, she apparently only showed up for the school assembly and then ditched all of her classes for the day.

But … how did she … I mean … I’m sorry … I don’t know what to say. Miranda has always loved school …

Mr. Wilson, since Miranda’s absence at school only started about five or six months ago, you and your wife may want to sit down together to try to figure out the changes that may have occurred recently in your home or work life. A lot of times, a small variation in a routine can trigger changes in adolescent behavior.

Oh, God! Why is this happening?

I suppose that’s true. I guess I just don’t know where to begin.

Dan’s shoulders curled down toward the base of the phone. He leaned his free hand against his weather-beaten shop desk as his body involuntarily sagged into a wooden chair he made with his own hands.

Don’t worry, sir. As long as we act quickly in identifying the source of Miranda’s absenteeism, I know we can fix this.

What do you mean?

The principal has just informed me that if Miranda skips one more class, she will have to attend at least two weeks of detention. Any additional absences will result in a temporary suspension. After that, if her attendance continues to wane, the principal will have to report her to the local juvenile court for truancy.

I see, he said as his spine bowed toward his desk.

Dan held the phone in one hand and leaned his elbow on the desk as he cradled his forehead with his other hand. How on Earth am I going to tell Anne?

I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.

Really? Want to spare me the agony of telling my wife?

Ms. Matthews, you have no need to apologize. I understand completely. You’re just doing your job.

Thank you for your diplomacy, sir.

I appreciate all of your input. Thank you for taking the time to call, Dan said, trying to sound less despondent. Take care.

You, too, Mr. Wilson.

Even though Dan had hung up, he sat by the phone momentarily, unsure what to say or do next. When he finally forced himself to stand, his feet scuffed across the shop floor. His uncertain, almost drunken stride shuffled him back toward his friend, Robert.

How could Miranda do this to them?

Something the matter? Robert asked, attempting to break Dan’s glassy stare.

Dan closed his eyes, trying to assess the situation.

Is it Miranda, again?

Yeah, Dan said, letting out a heartrending sigh as he considered how he would break the unpleasant news to his wife.

Hey, cheer up, pal. Things have a way of working themselves out.

Dan desperately wanted Robert’s adage to ring true, but Ms. Matthews’ phone call uprooted his concentration. He felt like a piece of driftwood, lost at sea. Speculative what-ifs fogged up the day’s tasks long after the kids came home and even after the sun had extinguished its glow.

As threads of light sifted from the Wilson home, a svelte silhouette quietly tiptoed to the front entrance, cautiously approaching the residence to ensure that none of its inhabitants aroused unwittingly. The figure softly jiggled the handle to the front door and then one of the windows to see if someone had locked them. Someone had! The prowler shook the wooden lattice on the house to ensure its sturdiness and carefully yet clumsily attempted to climb it to the second-story balcony. Before the trespasser could gain much ground, a foot slipped and banged into two ill-placed flower pots. A harsh glint of light exploded on. The figure paused and inadvertently lingered to nurture a slighted toe. Footsteps rushed to meet the lurker as the front door violently swung open.

Who’s there? Dan howled as he surveilled the front yard. The figure moved toward him, hobbling. You, there! What do you think you’re doing?

The figure moaned gruffly. Dan charged the imposter. In no time at all, Dan and the other person collided to the ground, each attempting to strike the other. In a matter of seconds, Dan pinned the prowler to the ground.

It’s me! a small, stifled voice cried. It’s me!

Anne?

Yes! she confirmed as the color drained from her face.

Annie? he asked again in disbelief. I mistook you for a burglar!

Anne did not move. Instead, she grumbled something incomprehensible as her body crumpled in on itself.

I’m so sorry, baby. Here, let me help you, Dan said, trying to prop his wife up so she could catch her breath.

You knocked … the wind … out of … me! Anne said, her breathing rushed and painful.

I didn’t mean to hurt you, but why didn’t you use your key?

I accidentally left my house key here. I separated them from my car keys before I left for the airport this morning. I thought I put them back. I must have forgotten to do it, she explained, still breathless.

Why didn’t you call me? I would have opened the door for you.

I didn’t want … to wake you.

That’s why we have cellphones!

I know … I wasn’t … thinking, she said, trying to slow her breath.

I could have really hurt you, Dan said as he looked down at his wife, his muscles tightening as he examined her.

Anne’s eyes widened as she furrowed her brows. She gave a slow, disbelieving headshake.

I think … I’m okay, she assured, but her chest hitched up and down in defiance.

Let’s get you inside.

Dan helped Anne to her feet, but she grimaced when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

Sorry.

Dan bent down, picked up his wife, and carried her over the threshold, past the kitchen and into the living room.

Just sit still, and I’ll get you some ice, he said, gently placing his wife on the couch.

No, no. I’m fine, Anne objected through a weakened voice.

Dan still headed toward the kitchen to retrieve the ice.

Really, Anne insisted, her breath finally softening.

You sure?

Yes.

Dan hesitated.

I’m sure, she reassured before he reluctantly yielded.

Dan nabbed a pillow that reposed close by and delicately lifted his wife’s foot to rest on top of it before joining her on the couch.

Well, if you’re certain, then I have something to tell you.

Good news, I hope, Anne said as she adjusted the other pillows