Before The Sun Sets

By Phillip Tomasso

He was stuck living in the past. She could only focus on her future. Together, they dreamed of a happily ever after.

After a tragic accident, James quits his job at a law firm and sells his house. Unable to deal with constant reminders, he also severs ties with his family. Attempting to start his life over, James takes a job as a cook at a Second Breakfast,spending his days cooking and his evenings drinking himself to sleep.

On the run from a dangerous ex-boyfriend, Charlie is the new waitress at the same diner where James works. Despite an overwhelming sense of guilt, James ends up falling for Charlie. But before things get better, James' life takes another devastating turn: Charlie is sick. It is her fight to survive that helps James re-evaluate the time he's wasted.

They are determined to make plans for a life together. But sometimes, the plans made do not always align with what the future holds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Feb 12, 2022
• ISBN: 4867508128

Book preview

ONE

Sometimes you just know when it is not going to be a good day , James Cantrell thought. He stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the back of his bedroom closet door and aligned his necktie with his starched, white shirt collar.

As wonderful as the idea of crawling back into bed sounded, it couldn’t be done. Downstairs he heard his wife. Plates clanked. She half-whistled, half-hummed some made-up song. It was always the same song. One she’d either made up or one her mother had half-whistled, half-hummed when Linda was young.

He smelled bread toasting and bacon frying. He took his phone out of his suit pants pocket. There wasn’t time for breakfast. He was running far behind schedule. Avoiding stress means getting on the road before the inevitable morning rush. It was chaotic if he left for work on time. Ideally, he preferred hitting 390 before 7:30. Rarely was he that lucky. By 7:31 traffic became a wall of bumper to bumper, moved at a painstaking crawl, and God help you if you weren’t immediately in the lane you wanted. Merging and switching lanes were the stuff driving nightmares were made of. The stop-and-go lasted two miles at a cringeable three to five miles an hour. Despite the wonderful breakfast aromas from the kitchen, there wouldn’t be time to eat. If he waited much longer his hopes of getting to the office before anyone noticed he was late became increasingly less likely.

Jimmy? Linda called from downstairs.

Be right down, he answered, tightening the knot against his throat.

Your eggs are getting cold.

No time for breakfast, he thought. He snagged his suit coat off the foot of the bed, ran the back of his hand across the material as if a lint brush, and raced down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Matthew, their four-year-old son, sat in a booster at the table. He held a plastic fork in one hand and a fistful of scrambled eggs in the other. Hi, daddy.

James brushed the hair away from Matthew’s forehead and gave him a kiss. How’s my little man?

I am eating eggs and bacon! Matthew banged the end of the fork on the table. When he talked he oftentimes over-enunciated his prepositions. Eggs and bacon.

Yes, you are, James said. Here, buddy. Use the fork to pick up the eggs. It’s better than eating the food right out of your hand.

Matthew showed his father the strip of bacon in a fist. Daddy?

Yeah, James said, that is actually okay.

Matthew ignored the fork. James couldn’t blame his son.

Is it, though? Linda teased. Unbrushed auburn hair, tucked behind ears, flowed just past her shoulder and onto her back.

Is what though?

Using a fork is better than picking up food with your hands?

He’s going to be in school next fall. We have one year to teach our son he is not a caveman, James said. He winked at Matthew. It was an adult conversation. He doubted Matthew followed along. Just in case, he didn’t want his boy remembering a time when he compared him to a caveman. Although he doubted permanent damage would be inflicted, who could say for certain?

Here, Linda said. She brushed past him with a plate of food. At five-four, she was a good five inches shorter than he was. Sit and eat.

Love to, babe. No time. I have to prep Mrs. Rollins today.

Linda grinned. She had the most vibrant honey-brown eyes. Whoa boy.

Yeah. No kidding. And I overslept.

Matthew dropped eggs onto the floor.

Snooze buttons are the evilest invention. Linda took James’ breakfast plate back to the counter. She scooped eggs and bacon between two slices of toast. After she tore off a small square of aluminum foil she wrapped the lower half of the sandwich. We really need a dog. Here, this way you can eat it when you drive.

No dog. James kissed his wife. You’re the best. My briefcase?

Dog? Matthew said. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog.

By the front door, with your shoes. Linda handed off the sandwich.

No dog, James said, giving Matthew another forehead kiss.

I want a doggie.

We’ll talk about it, James said.

You shouldn’t tell him that, Linda said.

Why? We’ll talk about it. James started toward the front door.

You know how fast Matt will come to realize that ‘we’ll talk about it’ means ‘no’?

It won’t always mean ‘no’. James kicked his toes into his shoes. He switched the egg and bacon sandwich from hand to hand as he jammed thumbs into the heels of his shoes to fit them on over his feet.

So, we might get a dog this weekend?

James shook his head. We’ll talk about it.

In other words …

James opened the front door.

Linda said, Your briefcase.

James spun around and picked it up. What are you guys going to do today?

Visit pet stores, Linda said.

Doggie! Matthew called from the table. Woof, woof, woof!

Linda, James said.

She rushed towards him and gave him one more kiss goodbye. Have fun with Mrs. Rollins.

We will talk about that thing tonight.

You mean it?

Linda had been raised with dogs. James had never had a pet larger than a goldfish. Matthew constantly asked about getting a dog. He wasn’t sold on the idea, but with two against one, the last thing he wanted was a dictatorship. We’ll talk about it, he said.

And that doesn’t just mean ‘no’?

He kissed Linda on the forehead. No. It doesn’t. Now, I’ve got to run, he said. If Mrs. Rollins gets to the office before I do, I’ll never hear the end of it. Enjoy your day off.

TWO

Linda sat Matthew down on the kitchen counter. She used a clean washcloth on his face and hands. He squirmed but let her clean him up.

What do you want to do today?

The boy shrugged, his eyes focused on his spread, clean, fingers. Something fun, he said.

Something fun like what?

He wiggled as he shook his head. I don’t know.

James told Linda to enjoy her day off. She worked in the emergency room as a registered nurse at Highland. She mostly worked the graveyard shift. A few twelve hours days on, a few off. It balanced to just over forty hours a week. The days she worked, she was able to get home before her husband left for work. This was important. Neither wanted Matthew in daycare if they could help it. Soon he would be in school. She hated wishing time away. However, the idea of getting home from a long shift at the hospital and climbing right into bed sounded wonderful.

Days off were no vacation. Things needed doing, especially laundry. The three of them created mounds and mounds. Thankfully, James did his share of the housework. They were a traditional couple. They both worked so they both pitched in. James loved cooking. He made most of the meals. She teased him often on how Pinterest was his go-to for creative recipes. He’d keep the tablet on a stand propped on the kitchen counter when cooking dinner. Between Pinterest and YouTube, he was becoming a master chef home cook. She threatened to film him working his kitchen magic and submitting the video as an audition tape for one of the competition shows on Food Network.

Tell you what, she said.

He stared right into his mother’s eyes. What?

Let me throw some clothes into the washing machine, and wash these dishes, and then you and I can go to the mall.

Go to the mall?

He didn’t sound enthusiastic about the outing. She couldn’t blame him. The truth was she wanted to get some steps in. She was on her feet all day at work. She averaged over 15,000 steps per shift. So, on her days off she felt somewhat compelled to keep it up. She dropped most of the weight from when she’d been pregnant. The nagging few remaining held on in places she couldn’t seem to work off.

Her figure was important to her. James kept himself in good shape. He didn’t have a baby though. She might have to work twice as hard at it, but letting herself go flabby was not in the cards. Not to mention she felt better when she exercised. Tell you what, she said again, but this time she was ready to sweeten the deal.

What? He looked over her shoulder. Something stole his interest. She was losing him.

How about when we get to the mall we ride the merry-go-round?

Merry-go-round? Matthew did not hide the awe in his tone of voice. It was as if the musical ride held some kind of magical properties he was anxious to explore. She knew it would recapture his attention.

You can ride any of the animals you want. Which animal would you like to ride?

Giraffe!

She picked him up and carried him with her into the basement. Most of the time he wouldn’t let her carry him anywhere. He preferred walking around on his own. The few chances he allowed it she cherished the opportunity. The giraffe?

"And, the horsey."

I like the horses.

"And Mom? Can I ride the lion?"

You can ride any animal you want. How does that sound? She set him down. The finished basement had something of a play area. Carpeting and a sofa. There was an old flat-screen television. She put on cartoons and then sighed as she stared at the pile of dirty laundry. Without knowing for certain, she suspected there was clean clothing still in the dryer. That would need another cycle because she was certainly in no mood to iron anything. Fortunately, James took his dress shirts and suits to a dry cleaner.

Outside, and in the distance, she heard thunder rolling. Well, Matthew, it looks like we might be in for a little storm.

Yeah, he said. He was rocking himself on the small sofa, hands clasped together in his lap. In for a little storm.

Mentally, Linda rolled up her sleeves and went to work on sorting whites from colored.

Sorting the laundry took longer than expected, but once she got a load into the washer and the washer started, she relished the sense of accomplishment. Taking Matthew upstairs, she decided she would quickly wash the breakfast dishes. It would take two minutes, and when they got home from the mall she wouldn’t regret not having done them first.

When she finished the dishes the idea of running the vacuum around the living room quickly made sense. It was raining hard, she wasn’t thrilled about taking Matthew out in the rain. She would, but maybe it the downpour would die down in a half-hour. As long as Matthew was being good, she figured taking advantage of his patience was an ideal opportunity. If she was lucky, the rain might stop altogether.

THREE

James Cantrell enjoyed depositions when he was the attorney deposing the witness. Depending on the particular goal preparing the sequence of questions became one of his favorite art forms. Intimidation was not James’ style. He liked putting the witness at ease. He always let small talk border on the familiar before going on the record. The idea behind a successful deposition stemmed from making the deposed feel super-relaxed.

Today, James sat in his conference room with his client. They prepared for Monday’s deposition. The meeting wasn’t so he could coach his client’s answers as much as coach her on how to answer. He had explained things as simply as he could. Somehow, Mrs. Rollins couldn’t fully comprehend basic deposition rules.

You answer only the question asked, James explained. At nearly seventy years old, Rebecca Rollins struggled to keep things short and sweet. It could prove her downfall. It wasn’t as if she had something to hide, but the more she said, the more she opened herself up to additional lines of questioning by the defense.

I know. I understand. You’ve told me this a hundred times, Mrs. Rollins said. She couldn’t keep her hands still. They would lay in her lap for a moment and then she would put them on the table. Her fingers never stopped fidgeting.

Mrs. Rollins, you need to keep your hands—

She dropped her hands into her lap, clapping one hand tight over the other. I know. I’m sorry about that. I just get nervous.

That’s okay, Mrs. Rollins. It was why they were here in the first place. This meeting gave them time for reviewing procedures and topics prior to the actual deposition. Don’t let that get to you. The important thing is that you remember to only answer the question asked.

I know that. Mrs. Rollins turned up her nose. James knew she felt insulted.

Okay. Then, let’s try this. Are you ready?

What are we doing? Mrs. Rollins asked.

Some sample questions.

Like a test? she asked.

He shook his head. Exactly like a test, he thought. No, Mrs. Rollins. Not a test. I just want to run through some scenarios. This will make both of us feel better about the deposition tomorrow.

Mrs. Rollins nodded. Fine. I suppose some additional practice can’t hurt. I’m ready. Ask your questions.

Outside the office window, the rain came down hard. The slate-grey sky looked foreboding at best. A crack of lightning split the sky and lit the conference room with dark shadows. It gave James an ideal starting point. Okay. Mrs. Rollins, was it raining when you left your house this morning? Simple. Basic. She should nail this one with minimal effort.

His client smiled. It was as if she silently asked why he started the questioning with something so easily answered. I brought my umbrella because I knew it would be raining by lunchtime, she said. Not to mention the bones in my feet are so arthritic I knew two days ago it was going to rain today.

James sighed and sat back in his chair. Mrs. Rollins—

I knew it would be raining by noon and here we are at eleven fifty-five and it has been raining cats and dogs for the last ten minutes now.

Mrs. Rollins—

You know about my arthritis, Mr. Cantrell. You know I can forecast the weather better than those folks using Doppler on TV. She pursed her lips. Sometimes I wonder if all they do is guess? Can you imagine having a job where you can be wrong ninety percent of the time? Meteorologist is just another word for carnival psychic. It’s not a real thing.

It was as if she knew she’d done something wrong but was not ready to concede a loss. This was another problem. Her rambling rants risked her getting backed into a corner when they were in court. And her inability to admit she knew she was ranting only made matters worse. "Mrs. Rollins, please now. All I asked you was if it had been raining when you left your house this morning."

I know what you asked me.

What is the answer.

Well, the—

Mrs. Rollins, the answer is yes or no. That’s it. James leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. He thought his words might have had some bite in them. He regretted the tone used, but she needed to understand the reality of what they faced in the morning. Mrs. Rollins, when you left your house this morning was it raining?

His client looked like her closed mouth was wrestling with her tongue. Her lips writhed, but she did not say a word.

Mrs. Rollins?

No.

No, what?

No. It wasn't raining when I left my house this morning.

James smiled, he nodded, and his shoulders slackened. Exactly. Okay. You got it. Only answer the question asked. How about this one? Mrs. Rollins, did you have any reason to suspect it might rain today?

Of course, I did. I just told you. My arthritis—

James bit down on his lip and shook his head from side to side. Mrs. Rollins, the answer is only yes or no. Did you have any reason to suspect it might rain today?

Again, he watched as his client battled her words inside a closed mouth before she parted her lips and said, Yes.

James clapped his hands together, encouragingly. He wanted her to think, Yes, now we’re getting somewhere. They weren’t. Not really. He just wanted her to feel reassured that he was indeed on her side. Let’s start over. Mrs. Rollins, when you left your house today was it raining?

No.

He gave her an inspiring nod. Mrs. Rollins, did you have any reason to suspect that it might rain today?

Yes.

Mrs. Rollins can you tell me what made you think it might rain today, James said, and waved a hopeful hand, and here is where you can tell me about your arthritis.

A knock at the door interrupted the preparations. The door opened a crack. One of the firm’s paralegals popped her head into the conference room. Hate to interrupt, Mr. Cantrell.

That’s okay, he said. What’s up?

There’s an officer in the front lobby who wants to speak with you.

James pointed at his chest. With me?

Yes, sir.

Okay. Let him know I’ll be right down. James gave his client a warm smile. Mrs. Rollins, if you’ll excuse me? You’re doing great. We’ll pick up where we left off after I see what’s what.

Mrs. Rollins stared at her hands folded together on the conference table. Am I doing all right?

James reached across the table and patted the top of her hands. You’re doing just fine, Mrs. Rollins. Let me go see what the officer wants and then we will go over things one more time and call it a day. Because I think you are all ready for court tomorrow.

She let her lips curl. I just don’t want to let you down.

This has nothing to do with me, and you are going to do great testifying. He removed his hand and rose to his feet. You just pour yourself some coffee. Relax. I’ll be right back.

James left Mrs. Rollins alone in the conference room. There was coffee, iced water, and juice. He hoped she took the time to regroup. Testifying was never easy, regardless of whether it was for the plaintiff or the defendant. Lawyers had a way of picking apart any answer offered. Keeping replies as simple as possible, while not always doable, was what both sides always practiced. In court, it was all a crapshoot. Witnesses always carried an air of unpredictability.

James couldn’t shake an unpleasant feeling. The police could only be at the office for the purpose of delivering bad news. When he rounded the corner and saw the officer standing with hands folded in front of him in the waiting area, James’ his stomach rolled.

James’ eyes, instinctively drawn toward the items affixed on the officer’s belt, noticed the flat black grip of a handgun as well as the vibrant yellow grip of the taser. There were leather snap cases holding mace, cuffs, keys and a portable radio. Protruding on the one hip was a black nightstick. Everything about the appearance of the officer screamed intimidation. However, the man in blue wore a pained expression, his brow furrowed and his lips stretched into a single thin line.

The police officer stepped forward. Mr. Cantrell?

That’s me. Yes.

Is there somewhere more private we can talk?

Can you tell me what this about? James made eye contact with the front receptionist. Betty joined the small law firm about the same time he had, six years ago.

Conference room over here is available. Betty stood up. If you want to follow me?

James held up a hand. He didn’t want to be ushered into a conference room. He just wanted his question answered. Officer?

The sound of rain hitting the windows should have provided a calming effect. It did not.

James felt his mouth go dry. Officer?

Mr. Cantrell, I’m afraid there has been an accident.

FOUR

James Cantrell sped through a red light at the intersection, staying behind the police escort. The officer drove with lights flashing and sirens screaming. Cars ahead pulled to the side of the road letting them pass. His windshield covered in rain made streetlights, headlights, and taillights blur. The rhythmic sound of wiper blades raced back and forth in a futile attempt at clearing the rain from the windshield. The rhythmic swishing sound matched the fast, unsteady, and frantic beat of James’ heart.

On the next corner, his tires surfed across wet asphalt and the back end of his vehicle swung out wide-right before James regained control. He gripped the steering wheel tight enough that he began to lose feeling in his fingers, and lost color, his knuckles whitening.

At the next intersection, he saw the cluster of police cars, fire trucks, and two ambulances. The road was blocked. The officer he followed slowed down. The siren silenced, but the cruiser’s lights continued to flash along with the lights on top of the countless emergency vehicles on the scene. Blinding white, blue and red frantically pulsed, but the only sound was the heavy downpour and occasional voices that called out.

James noted the jack-knifed eighteen-wheeler. The back end of a car protruded from underneath. He recognized the vehicle.

Linda. He said her name out loud as he threw his car into park. Her car was sandwiched between the rig and the trailer. The trailer was on its side, laying on top of Linda’s car.

The officer jumped out of his cruiser. He came around to James’ car and opened the door.

Sir, he said. If you’ll come with me.

Come with him? James didn’t want to go anywhere near the accident. This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t happening. He felt his body respond as if