I Know It to Be True

By Melanie D. Wilson

Stella is forty-three, single, with no children, living in Saint Paul, Minnesota, surviving a horrific childhood. Her instincts are to be antisocial, but her therapist wants her to try and make new friends. Her life changes when she meets her next-door neighbor, Amanda, and begins playing Scrabble with strangers on the internet. Soon, she finds herself making a new friend, surrounded by children, going to clubs, and falling in love in a most unusual way to a man that is the complete opposite of herself. This is a story of survival and redemption in a harsh world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503598928

Melanie D. Wilson

Melanie Wilson lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota, with her family. Ms. Wilson has grown up in the Midwest. She was born in Brainerd, Minnesota, living there until she was six. She went to elementary school in Dakota and Houston, Minnesota, before moving to Arcadia, Wisconsin, in fifth grade. She graduated from Arcadia Public High School in 1990. Ms. Wilson attended Winona State University in Winona, Minnesota, double-majoring in studio art and English literature. She spends her time raising her children, writing, and doing direct support for people with disabilities. She is also a singer and painter.

Book preview

VOLUME ONE

CHAPTER ONE

***

S TELLA DIDN’T HAVE any friends. Although she was attractive with thick hair the color of chestnuts, and dark, green eyes, she didn’t know it or believe it. Her self-esteem had been driven to non-existence at an early age. It wasn’t that she had ZERO friends…but more like her close friends were scattered and only kept in touch via Facebook. She didn’t make new friends, easily. So, currently, she had no friends—so to speak.

There she sat in front of the computer screen, debating whether to contact somebody—anybody. She wondered how Sara and her new husband, Alfred were getting along in Texas. Even if it was Austin, it was still Texas, right? She just didn’t feel like listening to how blissful and happy they were doing, nor did she feel like bringing anybody down with her own baggage. She knew Sara would call her out on her bullshit, knowing something was wrong the second they were in contact—that was the kind of person she was.

She clicked on her cover picture and started fumbling with the camera lighting on the laptop to retake her photo. She began taking her picture every day, deciding to keep a photo diary. She wanted to see something that she couldn’t see in the mirror. Maybe this way, she would know exactly what to tell her shrink each month when she tried to readjust her meds. She would have proof that she was not crazy…but then again…she had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Attention Deficit Disorder (PTSD and ADD) with just a touch of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Go figure. Those were just stupid diagnoses. The true test was in behavior. So, she started taking pictures to see something. She wanted to capture something she couldn’t see, otherwise—like proof: but, proof of what? Maybe she was being obsessive about taking her picture?

Snap! She took a quirky picture of herself with her tongue sticking out. She was feeling a bit silly today—maybe even antsy and pissy…naughty…the picture fit the mood. The point was to gather more evidence for her shrink, and to show her Facebook friends she was still alive. Throw them a bone so they didn’t come sniffing around anytime, soon. She would talk about her social life the next time she met with her therapist. If she had to show her stupid Facebook page, she would—she had been told to try and be more social.

However, she was feeling anti-social these days, and she didn’t want any company. It was bad enough being surrounded by brat face one, two, three, and four, day in and day out, the neighbor lady’s cherubic daughters. They bombarded her doorway, daily. Sometimes they were clean, happy, and well fed, while other times they came to the door looking like street urchins with sagging britches, dirt on their faces, trying to keep their smiles from bursting wide open. They always wanted to come in and see her pictures and play with her collection of ceramic piggy banks she had inherited from her grandmother. Stella often caved, letting the girls in to explore, wondering where their mother was, considering the little one had to be less than three.

This morning was quiet. The sun wasn’t up, nor were the birds chirping. This was the perfect time of day, she thought, smiling to herself. Me time—perfect me time. She could only hear the distant sounds of the city passing by as she sat perched in front of the laptop, trying to decide who to talk to. Maybe Tee and Amy had finally set a wedding date, now that Minnesotans voted no against banning gay marriage?

That could be a loaded question, Stella thought, dismissing her idea to talk to her friends.

She didn’t feel like connecting with anyone she knew right now. They all had their own lives and she didn’t want to explain hers, at least not to her friends, and she didn’t want to ask meddling questions, either. She kept scrolling through the posts of her friends, not even bothering to like anything.

She decided to get up and walk around the small apartment, stretching her limbs. What can I do to keep myself from going stir crazy? Instincts sent her to the refrigerator. Luckily, it was nearly empty. At least there was diet coke. There was always diet coke. She popped open a can, taking a long drink, savoring every swallow.

You know that will kill you, don’t you? she heard her mother say in her head.

Shut up, Mama! Stella groaned to herself. "What do you know? It’s better than coffee!" She lied to herself. She loved coffee, but couldn’t drink it because it made her sick.

"One of life’s little fuck-overs," she heard her friend Ben saying inside her head. Now she was feeling guilty about not responding to his hundreds of Facebook postings.

Stella padded back to the laptop and sat down. She started flipping through the public posts from her friends again. Speaking of Ben, he had just sent a new post. It was a picture of a hippopotamus sitting on some guy’s entire body. All you could see were the guy’s legs sticking out from under the giant ass of the creature, which looked mildly amused. About a foot away laid a push broom and a hat on the floor of the animal’s filthy enclosure. The caption read: Karma’s a Bitch.

Isn’t that the truth, she thought, shuttering.

She quickly moved on. Although the caption was funny, she did not want to think of Karma, and how it had bit her in the ass more than once in her life time. She did not want to look at anything that reminded her of all the shit she’d been through.

Sorry, Big Ben! Stella thought, feeling guilty. She clicked like on his post, just to make herself feel less rotten.

Something caught Stella’s eye on the computer screen. For some reason, she noticed the Scrabble icon at the left hand side of the page—something she had never paid attention to before. Clicking on the tab, she was curious to see if the on-line version, was anything like the original game. After all, she really liked playing Scrabble, the board game. The problem was there was no one to play with—maybe this version was just what she needed: a new distraction from her life. Maybe this was a new way to divert herself from herself—if that was possible.

**********

CHAPTER TWO

***

J AMES SAT WITH his tablet enjoying the evening breeze out on his deck. He was playing Scrabble on Facebook, one of his favorite things to do when he wasn’t working, hiking the mountains of Utah, or taking care of all seven of his children. He liked being competitive with words, coming up with new words, and learning the meanings of words he had never heard before. He kept his dictionary close at hand as a reference guide. To him it was more fun to look words up in the old tomb than using Google. It reminded him of his college days and he loved keeping his vocabulary fluent.

He was tall and lanky with boyish good looks. Despite being forty-one, he still looked like a young man. With sandy hair and clear blue eyes, he could tilt the ladies’ heads at the super market without notice or effort. Being young looking was frustrating for James, because it grew tiring when people thought of him as that young kid over there. It wasn’t that he wanted to be old; he just wanted to look closer to his age. He wanted the respect that his colleagues and peers received. He wanted the respect he knew he had earned and deserved. After all, he worked hard for it, and being the father of seven children earned him a great deal.

James was a widower. His wife had died nearly three years ago in a car accident on her way home from a bridal shower. It had been raining and she had been driving up the steep canyon road, and lost control in a hydroplane. Their youngest had been just three years old at the time. James was still angry when he thought about it. Why in the heck didn’t she have her seatbelt on? They said if she would have had it on, she would have survived. She was just thirty-six years old and she had been the only woman he had ever shared anything with, including his life—and, then she was gone, because of a stupid seatbelt? God must have had a plan.

He continuously clicked the mouse, shuffling the letters on his page:

A-L-E-M-S-O-F… F-L-E-O-M-A-S…M-O-L-E-S-A-F…M-E-L-S-A-O-F. This went on and on for minutes, so it seemed, until he realized he wasn’t even focusing on his letters anymore. Where had he just gone? Suddenly aware of his surroundings, he noticed a mourning dove below the feeder nearby. A rare sighting in this area, he wished he had his camera. A-F-L-M-E-O-S!

That’s it! He thought, getting excited. With the A in AUNT already on the board, I can spell AFLAME with the F and M on the double letters that makes…at least eighteen points, times a double word…makes thirty-six. I can live with that.

That’s how the words came to him. He would just flip and flip his letters until he would lose focus or go into a trance for seconds…but then the words would just pop out at him. If he was unsure of a word’s validity he would look on the game’s built-in dictionary to make sure the word was true. He never used his hard cover to cheat. He only looked up words when there was nothing else to do or if he actually needed it for work, which is why he kept it in his brief case with his tablet.

James had made a habit of never using a word unless he could get ten or more points out of it. This was one of his main strategies. He never left a triple word space vulnerable, unless it was worth a lot of points to do so, and he never sloughed off letters, hoping for future bingos, especially late in the game—by that time it was usually too late to fit a bingo on the board, anyway. He always saved his S’s and blanks for something special, and the rest was just pure dumb luck.

Scrabble was a game that he loved because anyone could play it. Although, he rarely played good old fashioned board Scrabble, he could see why people did. It was challenging, poetic, educational, and just plain fun. The feeling he got when he used all of his letters at once, achieving a bingo, was so satisfying, it made him hope he would always appreciate the small things in life.

The evening was warm and breezy. The air smelled of wood smoke from a nearby campfire in someone’s backyard. There were lots of fires in folks’ yards in this area of the mountains where James lived. Everyone’s backyard was next to the state park. It was beautiful living here and it made it hard for him to put his tablet down to get back to work. He had been pitting twenty pounds of cherries for pies in between taking his turns, but the night was so peaceful, all he really wanted to do was sit here, listening to the birds, looking up new words.

He turned to the Q’s in the dictionary. James loved his dictionary. It was worn in all the right places, smelled like his old college dorm, and still had all of the tabs marking the letter sections. It was beautiful and he used it faithfully for work and play. He thumbed through the pages lovingly, waiting for someone to take their turn, listening to the night noises in the mountains.

Currently, he was playing five different people. However, there were times when he played up to twenty people at once. People tended to rematch him a lot. He felt confident that he was a good opponent, and knew that was why he was constantly being re-challenged by other opponents. People didn’t like to lose, so they would rematch a few times before giving up. Occasionally, he would find someone that would beat him, or someone that just wanted to keep playing because it was fun.

He tossed a cherry into his mouth and looked down at his tablet. Yes! Saved by the pop-up, he thought, happily. Spitting out the pit he looked to see who had taken their turn. It was the new girl. Her picture showed her on a playground with a young child on a swing.

Someone else with children, he thought, smiling. Wonder if she is any good?

She looked rather young—maybe she was a new Scrabble player. He checked her stats. Sure enough, she had only been playing for a couple of weeks. Wow! He thought, excitedly. "Maybe this will be an easy match."

**********

CHAPTER THREE

***

O UTSIDE OF WORK, Stella couldn’t focus on anything but on-line Scrabble these days. She was obsessed with it. Ever since she had started playing two weeks earlier, she couldn’t stop. All her spare time was spent playing the game. She wanted to get good at it, learn new words, but most importantly, keep her mind off her lack of social a life —keep her mind off her mental health .

She had gotten so into the game that she had stopped at the book store on her way to work one day to buy a new dictionary. It was perfect—shiny, red, hard covered, and unabridged. Everything she needed in one single reference book. She did not mind spending the money on it—it felt good spending the money. Lovingly, she ran her fingers over the cover. So many possibilities in this book!

Today was her day off. She was startled awake at seven o’clock this morning when she heard a distant banging in her sleep. She had been dreaming of a man. All she could see was the distant figure of him in a dense fog, but he appeared to be getting closer as if gliding rather than walking toward her. She could not make out his features, but he seemed to be tall from a distance. Was he saying something? What was it? She could almost make out his words from the distance, but then…BANG! BANG! BANG!

Stella jumped out of bed and grabbed her robe as she realized someone was at her front door. She was just tying the robe around her waist as she opened the door. Standing in the doorway was the neighbor lady with her four daughters, looking panicked. The girls looked as if they were little kittens that had gotten to split the entire canary for breakfast. Stella was not impressed.

Excuse me, the woman, started out in a rapid tone. "I know you know my daughters because they talk about you all the time. You’re the cool Picture Lady. Unfortunately, my sitter has fallen through…and I can’t lose this job, too. Please, please, is there any way you’d hang with them? At least until I can start work? Maybe I can make a few phone calls on my break, she pleaded, desperately. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have any other choice. My name is Amanda, by the way."

Stella looked down at the smiling faces of the neighbors tiny daughters and knew it was pointless to say no. Come in, she offered, shrugging.

How did they know I was off work? She wondered to herself.

"I think you know my daughter’s names, Faith, Hazel, Mathilda, and Micah—Mike. We call her that, because she was like a little Tyson in my belly. She continued in her fast speech. Here are the keys to my apartment so if anyone needs a change of clothes or anything—otherwise, here is the diaper bag for Mike—she is the only one in diapers. You can take them over to my apartment for lunch. It will save a mess on your kitchen. Faith is a big help. She can even change diapers."

Breath, lady, Stella thought observing her demeanor. What is wrong with this woman?

Amanda was a petite, yet solid woman. She appeared to have lots of curves, but that was deceptive, because she wore padded bras to compensate for having no chest. Still, she was beautiful when she wanted to be, like now. Today, she wore a short skirt and a long jacket.

How does that song go? Stella wondered to herself, observing her neighbor. "The song by the group Cake? She remembered seeing them in concert when they performed at her college years ago. Oh DAMN! Now I am distracted, she moaned inwardly. Focus Stella!" Her nerves were being unraveled, causing her to lose her attention span.

Amanda’s hair and make-up were flawless, and she had perfect acrylic nails on each finger—French manicured and sport length. With blue eyes, beautiful, like most of her daughters’ eyes, she had platinum hair (obviously from a bottle). She stood five feet three inches tall, but today she was five foot six in heels—a bombshell. Supposedly, she was a temp for Man Power—so she said, but rumors had been floating around the building about her real job.

Judge not, less ye be judged, Stella thought, quoting her mother inside her head.

She hated the stupid rumor mill in this building. Everyone had something to hide and was up to something, according to all the oldsters in the building. Half of them were recovering something-or-others, one step above homeless, themselves. They had no business passing judgement on anyone.

Gossiping makes the old farts feel better about their own crappy lives. Stella mused inside her own head, getting distracted, again. Dang it! It is too early for all this!

When will you be back? Stella asked, recovering her focus, while trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. I mean I may have some plans with friends, tonight, she lied unless you count her Scrabble opponents. I just want to make sure my evening is freed up…in case I go out.

No worries…Stella—is it? I am done at five o’clock and I should be home by six, Amanda replied, smiling.

Yes—Stella, she answered, silently berating herself for forgetting to be polite. Why hadn’t she told Amanda, her name? Do you have a phone number in case of an emergency?

Boy did Stella anticipate an emergency. Her alone with four kids for more than eight hours! What the hell was she going to do? Trouble was brewing, and how was she supposed to catch up on Scrabble now? Some day off this would be, she thought, feeling bombarded.

Stella had always been the kid magnet. As long as she could remember, kids of all ages flocked to her like moths to flames. She didn’t understand it. She wasn’t particularly fond of children, and she never really wanted children of her own. So, there was not a natural instinct to be kind to the cute, little, curtain climbers. More often than not, she was uncomfortable around children, feeling like she had to make herself be nice to them. She must have done a good job fooling them, because year after year, time and time, children managed to seek her out at parties, family functions, and events—wherever there were children around she somehow ended up surrounded by four to sixteen year olds of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There were times she had ended up at the kid table just because someone’s bratty, three year old begged to have her sit by them. Stella the push-over gets the kids’ table, again!

Here we go again, she thought, bitterly. The universe wants me to be miserable.

After the girls’ mother left, they immediately gathered around her legs, plaguing her with questions: What are we going to do today, Stella? Can we wook at your pitures?

I wanthoo bake a cake! yelled Hazel, jumping up and down. Can we build a theven layer cake with chocat frothin? She sounded like Tweetie Bird and Sylvester the Cat, all rolled into one cute, little girl.

Stella was overwhelmed with the questions. Hold it! Hold it! She boomed over their heads. One at a time. Faith, you are the oldest, right? I need you to help me out here. What can I do to make them simmer down? Dang it! Stop crowding me. Back up! Back up! Back up! She was feeling herself start to sweat.

A sense of anxiety and dread was settling into Stella’s bones. This is what happened to an individual with PTSD when they felt threatened or cornered. At the moment, Stella was feeling bombarded by these children—she had to get her shit together, fast, before she had a full blown anxiety attack.

Faith stepped up. She had snow, white hair. So white, in fact, you would swear it would glow in the dark if you shut all the lights off. Her eyes were a lovely shade of pale, robin’s egg blue. She was short for her age, so she looked much younger than seven, but she was solid like a little bulldog puppy—cute as a bug.

She had two or three different kinds of smiles. One was for honest joy, which glowed as much as her hair did, and one was for pure snobbery, which featured a convenient eye roll along with it. The third was…well…sort of a half-smile, which meant she was uncomfortable or trying to pretend she was happy. The kid was brilliant, and Stella knew she was going to be at her mercy while she looked after their little group.

Hazel! Mama said no cake til yer birthday! So, STOP BUGGING HER! She barked like a tiny, drill sergeant. YOUR DANG CAKE IS SOOOOO IMPORTANT TO YOU!

Hazel squeezed her arms around her chest, defiantly. Yer not da both of me! She shouted back with a look of utter disgust on her face.

She too had glowing white hair, but her hair was long and curly where Faith’s was short and straight. Hazel’s eyes were also a pale blue, except instead of being soft, they were icy like a husky’s eyes. She was tall for her age. At five, she stood as tall as Faith did at seven, but she still had that baby voice.

The voice of a little bird, Stella thought, starting to melt into a puddle. "These kids are so cute. How can I resist any of them?"

Faith and Hazel, together, looked a lot like twins—they were the same height, they had the same complexions, and the same hair color. Many folks in the building commented on it, and when they walked out in public, strangers would ask if they were twins. Hazel thought it was hilarious—how cool to be a twin! Faith, on the other hand, was offended. It got her dander up to think that she and Miss Thing were the same—they didn’t even have the same fathers. Stella could sense the jealous vibe oozing between the two girls—mostly coming from Faith.

Finally, a kindred spirit, Stella thought, not being able to stop herself from smiling at their antics.

Like Faith, Stella had grown up with little sisters, only she had been the oldest of six—five girls and one boy. She understood what it was like to have a bunch of younger sisters to have to protect and compete with at the same time. When her sisters were little, they spent half their time annoying Stella, and the other half their time needing her. Then when they became teenagers, they spent their time trying to steal Stella’s clothes or treasures. NOW…now they all just went their separate ways, barely speaking to each other.

Stella felt a tug on her bathrobe. She looked down to see little Mike looking up at her with big, wide eyes. Unlike her sisters’ eyes, Mike’s were brown like a fawn or a calf. They were deep, chocolate pools of earnestness. Stella couldn’t help but be moved by the child’s beauty.

Go park? she asked in her tiny little baby voice. I wan go park! Micah wasn’t yet two, but having all those big sisters, had taught her to keep up and learn fast. She did not say much, but when she wanted something, she knew exactly what to say and how to say it.

I want to go to the park, too! Shouted Mathilda, jumping up and down in front of Stella. Can we Stelwa? Pwease can us go?

Mathilda was the second from the youngest. She too had blond hair and blue eyes, but was not nearly has fair-headed as her older sisters. She had long waves of light, honey colored hair that curved beautifully around her face. Her eyes were deep, dark, blue pools, making her look so innocent. However, at age three, she was a holy terror, compared to her sisters. She loved to pick fights with other kids her age, was not opposed to kicking or biting to get her way, and loved to torment her sisters—Mike, especially. She did not really mean to be so terrible—it just couldn’t be helped sometimes. She had earned the nick name Terrible Tilly from her sisters.

Could we go to the park? Stella wondered, to herself. That would be better than keeping them cooped up inside all day.

The park was five blocks off of University on Lexington about seven or eight blocks from Stella’s apartment complex. She wondered if the girls were capable of walking that far or if they would whine about it the whole way. She had her beater car, an old orange Volvo, station wagon, but she didn’t have any car seats to put in it. Faith and Hazel could certainly make the jaunt, but she wasn’t certain about the two little twerps.

Maybe Amanda has a stroller or car seats, she thought, looking at the set of keys still in her hand.

**********

CHAPTER FOUR

***

T AKING THE GIRLS to the park, turned out to be the best decision Stella could have made. After getting dressed and going over to Amanda’s apartment, she found a double stroller and plenty of snack food to fill the girls’ tummies for hours. She also threw together some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, along with some apples just so they would have some semblance of a wholesome lunch. She grabbed a blanket and her laptop for her own comfort, as well.

Whatta ’bout sun screen? Faith asked, doubting Stella’s babysitting skills. You have to put sun screen on us. I will help! She rolled her blue eyes at Stella.

Ah, where would I find sun screen in here? Stella asked looking around Amanda’s cluttered apartment.

The place was tiny for five people. Amanda kept it clean, but it was crammed with stuff everywhere. It was a two-bedroom with Amanda in the small room and all four girls sharing the big master bedroom. The kitchen and living room were like one big room that blended together with a narrow hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. It was just like Stella’s place only facing the opposite direction and much, much more full of things. Stella thought of it as an obsessive compulsive’s worst nightmare. The clutter, alone, would kill somebody with OCD. There has to be some kind of fire code being broken here. Stella thought out loud. Never mind, I have some at my place. Let’s get going. She had no interest in looking for a needle in a haystack.

**********

CHAPTER FIVE

***

A T THE PARK, Stella set the blanket out on the grass in the shade near the swings. The park was the size of two full city blocks and had a playground on one side of it and a picnic area on the other side. In the middle, was a big rain garden, filled with native, Minnesota plant species, including swamp milk weed, butterfly weed, day lilies, jewel weed, cup plant, queen of the prairie, and more. She loved this park for its garden. She often came here on her own to sit and read or just to get out of her apartment for a change of scenery. She loved coming in the late spring and early summer to watch the monarch caterpillars eat and grow. In June, they make their chrysalis’s, dissolving into nothing but goop on the inside, later becoming the beautiful orange and black butterflies that love to feast on the milk weed. It was a beautiful symbiotic eco system to watch grow and develop, and she was fascinated by it.

After being slathered with sun screen, each of the girls took off in different directions on the playground. Stella scanned all four corners of the play yard. Shit, she thought, getting frustrated. Maybe this wasn’t a good decision, after all. How am I supposed to watch them all at once? She had to make a decision. Finally, she decided she would find the little ones, and let the big ones fend for themselves. What else can I do? She moaned inwardly.

Scanning the play yard again, she spotted Mathilda and Mike trying to climb into the swings. She trotted over to the swings to assist them into the seats. Lifting each of them in one at a time, she was starting to feel annoyed by all this attention they needed. How did I get roped into this again? PUSHOVER!

Push me! Push me! Stelwa! Hollered, Mathilda. I want to go verwy high!

Push me! Push me! Mike, mimicked her sister perfectly. "High, high, high!

Stella took turns pushing the girls until her arms were sore. The whole time she was pushing them, she kept thinking about her laptop sitting unaccompanied on the blanket. She wondered how many turns she needed to take in Scrabble. She was playing a lot of games at the moment. She hadn’t meant for it to get so out of hand, but she just kept challenging random people until before she knew it she had over twenty games going at one time. It was getting very difficult to keep up with it all. She knew she was going to have to back off sooner or later.

I want an unner puppy! Stelwa, Mathilda hollered again, interrupting Stella’s thoughts.

Unner pup… py! Stelwa! Mike aped.

Man she is cute, Stella thought, annoyed by her failure to stay unmoved by the girls’ cuddliness. "They were both so damn cute."

She was starting to like these little twerps and that was bothering her. The last thing she needed was to grow attached to someone else’s children. After all, there was a good reason for not having any children of her own, and she didn’t have any intention of changing her mind. She could barely function for herself, let alone for someone else. How could she ever make a good parent? NO WAY! She would be glad to give the rug rats back at the end of the day—she was sure of it.

Stella scanned the playground, looking for Faith and Hazel. They were both hard at work trying to scale the poles of the jungle gym. Faith had nearly made it to the top, while Hazel was still a foot from the ground struggling. It was funny to watch her try and kick her legs up, instead of using her arms and feet like a monkey, the way Faith did. She was stubborn, and refused to change her strategy just because her sister might have a better plan.

Just climb the ladder, Hazel! Faith said with perturbation in her voice. You will NEVER make it that way.

I saiaidd…yer not da both of ME! Hazel replied, screaming at the top of her lungs. I do it MY WAY!

Stella looked at her watch. They had been at the park exactly twenty-five minutes.

Damn! She had thought they had been there at least an hour; it wasn’t even lunch time, yet. Ugh!

**********

CHAPTER SIX

***

J AMES WAS A Mormon. He was raised in the Mormon faith and still lived by that faith as an adult. He believed in the thirteen basic tenets of his faith. First, a Trinitarian belief in God. Second, all men will be punished for their sins—not for Adam’s transgression. Third, through atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by abiding the laws of the gospel. Fourth, abiding the first principles of the gospel—faith in Jesus, repentance, baptism, and the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. Fifth, a man must be called to God by prophecy and by the laying on of hands of those in authority in order to preach the gospel. Sixth, a belief in the same organization that existed in the primitive church—apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers, evangelists, etc. Seventh, a belief in the gift of Tongues, prophecy, revelation visions, healing, interpretation of Tongues, etc. Eighth, a belief that the Bible is the word of God, as well as the Book of Mormon . Ninth, a belief in all that God has revealed, all that he does not reveal, and the belief that he will yet reveal many important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God. Tenth, a belief in the literal gathering of Israel and the restoration of the ten tribes. Eleventh, claiming the privilege of worshipping God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allowing all men the same privilege—let them worship how, where, and what they may. Twelfth, a belief in being subject of kings, presidents, rulers and magistrates—obeying laws. Finally, a belief in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and virtuous, following the admonition of Paul.

He believed in the rituals associated with his religion, as well, especially the most important ones like marriage and education about the purpose of life, and an individual’s relationship with God. Being a Mormon was as much a part of him as he was of it. His role in life was to follow his beliefs and teach his children those beliefs, too.

He believed in the Mormon faith despite the tragedy he had endured in his life. Despite the fact that his wife, Megan, had senselessly lost her life, he still believed that God had a plan for himself and his children. God must have had a reason for calling Meg home, so soon. Every day he kept her memory alive through their children. He saw her face in each one of their faces, and heard her voice in the expressions they had picked up from her over the years—even the little ones. He smelled her scent in their hair, every time he bathed the little ones—he hadn’t realized she used the same shampoo as she used on the children. It smelled like honey and sunshine. They all use the same shampoo…something he missed from all of his work travels, church travels, and hiking trips.

How did she put up with me? He thought, sadly. Gosh I miss her. Why didn’t I pay attention?

When he first started noticing his dead wife in his children, it bothered him. At first, it was most noticeable in his oldest two children, Zack and Emma. Zachariah, because he was fair skinned and blue eyed like his mother. He looked so much like Meg it hurt to look at him after her death. Zack was nineteen now, but after her death, he was just a scrawny sixteen year old, shorter in height like his mother and her family. Now, he was filled out and taller—still not as tall as James, but more like his mother’s brothers. It was easier for James to see her in him without seeing her ghost these days.

His daughter Emma was seventeen now, at the time of Meg’s death, she had been just fourteen, and like her mother, she had stepped up, took charge of the little girls and her little brother. She didn’t look like her mother, as much as she acted like her—the bossiness, the need to make everything perfect, the need to take care of everyone else. This infuriated James at first, but then he realized it was her way of staying connected to Meg. So, he let his anguish go for the sake of his children. They all still reminded him of her, but now it was with deep love and honor, instead of great sorrow.

Besides Zack and Emma, there was Charlotte who was sixteen and Abigail who was fifteen. They were very close and spent a lot of time together, even more since their mother had died. They had always shared a room since they were little. They rarely fought. They finished each other’s sentences, shared each other’s clothes, hung-out with the same friends at school, and not much ever came between them. They both adored their father and often spent their time planning adventures with him—they loved to hike with him in the mountains and planned on doing serious mountaineering when they grew up. James was proud, but he wanted them to be good Mormon girls, marrying and starting families when the time was right. Emma was already promised to a young man, so he did not worry about her, but Char and Abby were much different girls. He was not even sure if they were interested in boys, yet?

James’s next child was Samuel. He was eleven and incorrigible. When Meg had passed, he had only been eight. He immediately turned to trickery and pranks to ease his own suffering. At school and church, he started getting into trouble by being a rabble rouser. The teachers quickly recognized it was his way of acting out towards the death of his mother. So, James spent many days in counselors ‘offices, or with their bishop, discussing ways to help him through his grief. James started playing soccer with him that same summer, which eventually gave Sam a better focus for his grief. Now at eleven, he was relatively happy, but still a prankster especially towards his siblings. He was getting very good at soccer, too.

James’s youngest two daughters were eight and six, Josephine and Margaret—Josie and Maggie. They barely remembered their mother, but resembled her greatly. They both had her long white-blonde hair, fair skin, sky blue eyes, and thousands of freckles on their noses, shoulders, arms, and legs. They always needed to be kept fortified and SPF’d from the deadly rays of the sun. James dreaded the sun screen routines in the summer times, but he couldn’t make them stay indoors if he tried. From the time they could comprehend the grass and sunshine, they were hooked on outside. What they didn’t remember, was being in the garden with their mother before they could crawl. James remembered Meg gardening desperately, girls in tow, trying with all her power to keep the deer away. She had a cart she hauled them around in from the time they were suckling at the breast until just before she died.

His breath still caught in his chest when he thought of her nursing his children. He remembered when each one of them latched on to her breast, hungrily, for the first time. It was beautiful, and with each new golden head at her breast, James felt himself and his family getting closer to Heaven. He didn’t have to have any more proof in his faith than that. During those moments, the proof was all around him.

*********

CHAPTER SEVEN

***

J AMES SAT BACK in his favorite chair relaxing with his tablet playing Scrabble. Zack was off preparing for his mission work, and Emma was out with Teddy, the boy she was promised to. All the other children had long since gone to bed. This was James’s time. He allowed himself a couple of hours per night for himself, before he shut down for the day and went to bed. If he didn’t stick to this routine he paid for it with pain and suffering. Being a Mormon, he did not drink coffee or tea, or any caffeinated beverages for that matter. So, if he didn’t get just enough sleep and exercise, he was a mess the next day. Tonight, was no exception, glancing at the clock to keep track of the time, he noted to himself that he still had a good hour before bed. He always went to bed at eleven o’clock, sharp.

At this moment, James was playing five different people in on-line Scrabble. He rarely talked to any of his opponents, but occasionally someone would talk to him, and he would end up having conversations with people from all over the country and world. However, tonight was a quiet night—he didn’t know anything about the players he was competing against at this time, except what their pictures gave away. There was Lillian an old white haired lady, Hakim a young man in a turban, Estella the young woman with a little girl, Joe an old codger that was very hard to beat, and Steven a young kid who appeared in a graduation cap and gown in his photo. So far, James was ahead of all of them, except for Joe.

Just at that moment, Estella took her turn. James noted that she left another triple word score open—she did that a lot. Since she was such a new player, maybe she didn’t know what she was doing? He wondered if she didn’t understand the rules. "But didn’t everybody know how to play Scrabble?" He wanted to tell her to stop leaving all those triple word spaces vulnerable, but it wasn’t his policy to volunteer advice to his opponents.

With the triple she left vulnerable, he was able to make a bingo, spelling the word CLOISTER across the bottom of the board for one hundred and eight points. He felt a little bad slamming her so hard, considering her score was now eighty-four and his was two hundred forty-eight.

Dang! Nice word, Whoop! 11:58pm, May 5, 2014

He was surprised to see the chat icon flashing. Finally, an opportunity to give her some advice.

You gotta stop leaving those 3wys open.

That was my best word, yet! 10:00pm, May 5, 2014

He hoped she didn’t think him too forward or a braggart. He didn’t want to make her feel stupid—he only wanted to help her improve her game, as someone had taught him a long time ago. He wondered why she kept rematching him for the last week. She never won—in fact, she rarely came close, but something kept her coming back for more.

Glutton for