Turning to Color: Garden Valley Series

By Jean Shelby

GARDEN VALLEY is the perfect town to raise a family, but that doesn't mean everyone stops dreaming for more.

 

MONICA BODIN is tired of waiting for her life to start as a stay-at-home mom. She wants nothing more than to make a name for herself in the competitive world of makeup, but the closer she gets to what she wants, the more she realizes it costs her what she already has. If Monica is going to make it, she'll have to make a choice: is a career in makeup more important to her, or is her own family?

 

BAILEY HILLDAY is ready to immerse herself in all things hair. After putting her desires on hold for a year when having her baby, she makes the decision to finish her schooling. Can she juggle working, being a single mom, going to school, and keeping her baby a secret from the father?

 

When the paths of Monica and Bailey cross, they find common ground in their fight to reach their dreams. They each learn how important family really is, and how it's okay to ask a friend for help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Shelby
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201515546

Jean Shelby

Ever feel like you’re on an island with your emotions? Jean Shelby draws on her experience as a working mother to touch the heart with her inspiring stories. Her goal is to offer a sense of belonging, instill inspiration, and bring entertainment to anyone who deals with the negative chatter that wracks the brain. The ultimate success for Jean means her readers laugh or squeeze out a tear or two. She’s excited to share her world filled with quirky, emotional, funny, and unforgettable characters! Snuggle in for a bit of laughter and a book you can’t put down. You might just find a bit of yourself in these pages! *** Jean Shelby lives in Oregon with her husband and two daughters. When she’s not writing, she’s either laughing with her girls, playing the piano, or swimming laps in the pool.  

Book preview

Chapter 1 Monica

If you ask me, school mornings are purposely designed to stress moms out.

Hurry up, girls, I holler, throwing a yogurt and cold pack in each lunch bag. I hurry to the base of the steps to drive my message home, passing my desk that can’t possibly hold any more papers. I’ll get to you soon, I promise to the work that awaits me. I’m proud to be the bookkeeper for my husband, Brandon’s construction company. It takes time away from my true desires but keeps me grounded in where he and I started. I have a hand in the business to keep his wandering eyes focused on the job instead of the receptionist.

Ugh, Monica, let it go! That was the last receptionist, and not how it went anyway. My therapist would be proud that I dodged my usual one-way trip to negativity land. She reminds me every session that going to dinner with a woman doesn’t mean that Brandon cheated. And I agree, I say to drive the message home.

Of course, there’s still the new receptionist I need to meet...

We need to leave in five minutes, I sing as I tromp up the hardwood stairs to see what stage of the getting-ready process the girls are in. They don’t need me to help them go to the bathroom and get dressed anymore, but I’m still the one who packs the lunches, bags, water bottles, and jackets.

What a disaster, I sigh after peaking into Mia’s room. Callie’s is equally thrashed. Neither of the rooms has my girls in them. It takes a great deal of self-restraint to not dig in and organize the messiest rooms in the house and find a place for every little toy and stuffed animal. How can they do this in just a couple of days? I complain, having just spent five hours over the weekend picking everything up so I could vacuum. Such nice rooms that are ruined with all this crap! Well, crap. I get on my knees to clean up Callie’s nasty blue slime stuck to the beige carpet without much luck.

A trickle of giggles filters to me from far away. I figure it’s from a fart, burp, or something else usually reserved for the other gender. Poop, pee, and all the other bathroom jokes are a part of my life right now, none of which I find amusing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m equipped with a sense of humor, but slapstick jokes have never coaxed any laughter from me.

The sweet sound of my girls laughing works enough to pull me from the prison of their rooms. Even when I’m away from the house, my chest clenches at the thought of the mess beyond their doors. I force a bounce in my step down the stairs to jostle the disapproval from my brain. They’re just kids, after all.

I return to my country-style-meets-the-modern-world kitchen with white cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. I run my hand over the brown and black granite countertops, remembering when Brandon and I picked them out. Those were good, easier times when there weren’t sticky hands to undo my cleaning efforts, and I wasn’t so strapped for time to get everything done. Of course, I wouldn’t change having those little hands in my life for anything.

I throw homemade fruit snacks and applesauce in the girls’ lunch to complete the food bags I labor over without appreciation. As always, Brandon is already at work, having the luxury of getting only himself ready and leaving with the lunch I packed for him. I rush to the foyer at the base of the stairs to stuff the lunch bags in the girls’ backpacks. When will someone make me lunch?

We’re leaving in three minutes! I openly shout to no one with my hands out wide. The entrance to my house is one of my favorite places. It offers a view of our living room, kitchen, and expansive countryside view through the vast windows that line the east side of the house. It was my preference to decorate in a country theme with white Wainscoting and light blue touches. I smile at the realization that it still works after twelve years in our home.

Once again, giggles respond that they are now just feet from me. What’s this all about? I ask with a light voice. I tiptoe to the coat closet with this game having thrown my previous pungent mood away.

I throw the white door open and growl out my best monster impression, coupled with curled fingers in the air. Callie and Mia scream so loud under the jackets that I think the closet itself shakes. After taking my fingers out of my ears, I douse them with hugs, allowing the guilt from my cranky mood to float away. In this instant, the tightness of the morning has released its hold enough for me to enjoy my little beauties. Alright, you little jokesters, it’s....

Time for school, we know, Meme, Callie says without energy. She trudges past me, and I marvel at how much she has grown this year. I have no idea how she’s aged to eleven while I’ve maintained my youth.

See, I have a sense of humor.

I didn’t say goodbye to Frank and Mary, Mia says with her eyebrows up by her hairline as I gently guide her to the door.

The chickens don’t care if we see them, Mia, Callie spouts.

We’ll collect their eggs later, okay? I say with a hand on Mia’s back, inching her to the car. She hops up on the footrest once I open her door. Hey, look, you’re as tall as me when you get up there, I say, brushing her hair out of her face. She’s a little version of me with green eyes and touches of red in her hair. This isn’t the outfit I picked out, is it? I say, tugging on her tie-die shirt paired with pink stretch pants.

Callie helped me pick it out, she says proudly of her sister.

That was nice of you, Cal, I say, noticing that she’s wearing the same sweatshirt she did yesterday. She plops in the front seat and curls her long legs to the side, a position that practically plasters her to the door. Geesh, if she doesn’t want to sit next to me, she can sit in the backseat. She’ll be a teenager in just two years. Does she have to start with the attitude now?

Even at eight, I can tell Mia will have my long legs and smaller bone structure. Callie has my pointy chin and high cheekbones, but the thickness in her body that shows in her broad shoulders and hips was passed down from Brandon.

The view of our white ranch-style house, complete with a wrap-around porch, vanishes from the rearview mirror as I pull away. I still enjoy the memories of Brandon and me building this house with our own hands.

The trees are turning early this year, I say to the girls, pointing to the maples in the field by our house. Leaves flitter in a light breeze, showing off a hint of yellow on their tips. Our town has more trees and grass than cement and buildings, a sight even I can’t deny is beautiful. Still, I dread this time of year when the temperature requires a jacket instead of my favorite style of spaghetti-strapped tank tops and shorts.

Callie rests quietly in the passenger seat, with me still not used to her being big enough to sit up front. With Brandon’s light brown hair and my oval-shaped eyes, she’s a mixture of us both. Even with this being the second week of the fifth grade, I’ve noticed a change in her. She used to insist on wearing her hair in a ponytail. Now it covers most of her face, a feature I disagree with. I’ve had to choose my comments these days as she’s quick to be cranky.

This growing-up thing has been progressing nicely, giving me more freedom to get my own things done. Don’t get me wrong, I love, love, love my family. But when people say having kids is a commitment, they aren’t lying. Most people will recite a loaded line such as ‘I don’t know where the time has gone,’ or ‘I blinked, and time flew by.’

Not for me.

I remember every diaper changed and spit-up rag washed and put away. Every sleepless night when Callie and Mia awoke me with their crying etched a wrinkle somewhere on my body. This was when Brandon came in handy, as he loved to rock the girls back to sleep or bring them back to bed with us.

Hi, Rick! Mia says, waving her hand to the horse we’ve named on the farm we pass every morning. Mia continues to say hi to the alpacas, scrunching her face against the window as if she wants to join them.

We’re only a few minutes late, I say to the girls after a glance at the clock. We usually pass this farm at 7:35. I strive to keep my words calm while my foot itches to make us go faster as the clock just hit 7:40.

Relax, mom, you’ll be rid of us soon. Callie is in her last year of elementary school and has a more advanced logical side than most. With my childhood being ruined, I should be more aware of this to ensure that she doesn’t think she’s a burden.

Mommy doesn’t want us around? Mia asks sadly. While Callie is at the top of the scale regarding maturity, Mia resides in her eight-year-old world of imagination with a heightened sensitivity to her sweet personality.

Come on, Monica, get it together!

Oh, girls, I just don’t want you to be late. I reach my hand in the back to squeeze Mia’s bony leg as I glance at her in the mirror. My pretty little girls, I say with a glance at Callie’s chilly side of the car. And without any of my makeup on.

I’ve dabbled in the makeup world for years but only have a few clients who are mostly friends. This used to be my passion, as it was my mom’s, selling skin products and makeup to help women feel more confident. Over time, this hobby has dwindled down to nothing. I still practice new techniques on my face, as I barely step outside the house without at least one layer of makeup.

As if you’d let me wear any makeup to school, Callie grumbles, turning her head away to purposely cause her long hair to hide her face. Her voice stays low, mimicking her mood, which has shifted nearly as quickly as mine does these days.

You know I’m teasing. You told me the other day that you’d be embarrassed to step outside the house in color. You’ll have plenty of time when you’re an adult to doll yourself up. For now, enjoy being kids and not having to cover up blemishes and wrinkles.

I hope they have gravioli for lunch today, Mia says, swinging her feet in the backseat.

It’s ravioli, Mia, Callie says with a shake of her head and a hint of a smile.

"No, it’s gravioli," she says firmly. It’s delicious. They put that white cheese on it. Mmm, she hums, holding her face up to the ceiling.

Don’t you eat the huge lunches I make for you? I ask, doing my best to keep the irritation out of my voice.

I have both sometimes, Mia says with a proud smile.

I guess if you can get away with it, I say, stopping short of commenting about my little roll of fat in my midsection. I swear, I loosen my grip on clean eating for a couple of weeks during the summer, and boom here’s the weight. "I’ll have to make some gravioli for you sometime," I say with a wink at Callie that sadly goes unnoticed.

The school is nestled at the end of a tree-lined street with acres of surrounding green pastures. It’s a neighborhood with spacious lots, allowing people in town to have a plot of land for goats and chickens, if so please. Sheep and horses lazily graze in the fenced area around the school. The sound of screaming kids is normal in their lives.

With a mixture of energy and cars, drop off and pick up times are complete chaos at the school. A cool air blast hits me nastily when I open the car door. I zip my jacket to keep the morning chill out when a familiar car pulls in next to us.

Hey there, Mo, says my younger sister, Amy. Her blonde hair bounces about as she opens the back door for my eight-year-old niece Jamie. Amy stands a few inches shorter than me with a healthy, full figure and more curves than I’ll ever have. We look nothing alike, our personalities are worlds different, and yet we get along like, well, sisters.

She’s dressed in her usual outfit: a flowy skirt paired with a blouse that cinches at the waist. We are lucky that our kids are the same age and at the same school. Not only do they get to grow up together, but I see Amy just about every day at drop-offs and pick-ups.

I hate it when you call me Mo. Makes me feel like I’m a hick, I say, glancing at the makeup-free faces of the moms walking their kids up to the school.

When you’re in Garden Valley.... Amy says with a playful elbow in my cushy side. I look at her with a shake of my head as this comment always brings about that cooped-up, down-about-this-town feeling.

I eye the crowd of moms around us. Even though I’m not actively selling makeup, the desire to wow a woman with a makeover is always there. A few years ago, Brandon ‘allowed’ me to put his books on hold for a couple of months to pursue my makeup dream. With almost zero progress, it was clear that I needed to halt my efforts at making this my career. The moms at school certainly weren’t interested in my passion. I’ve barked up that tree so many times that they’ve kicked this dog out.

There’s so much potential here. Look at that woman over there with the high cheekbones! Maybe I’ll throw one giant makeover party, I say, apparently not so quietly, judging by a glare pointing my way. You look great, of course. Amy radiates with a muted palette of brown eyeshadow and barely-there pink lipstick. Are you going blonder with that thick hair, or is it just me? I fling her hair up and allow it to cascade down to her shoulders.

Thank you for noticing, she says with a wiggle of her womanly hips. That’s one thing about Amy, she’s curvy in all the right places. This one’s from a box, so we’ll see how long it lasts before it fades back to my drab color. I need to find a new hairstylist. Bye, Jamie! Amy says, kissing her hand and waving to her youngest.

Have a good one, Mia, I say, stealing the parenting tip from my sister, the best mom in the world. Jamie comically drags her feet behind her to gain a few laughs from Mia. She looks tiny with her oversized backpack around her shoulders. Callie is long gone, having rushed off with her cousin, Jake, as soon as the car stopped.

My phone buzzes with a text from Brandon.

Hey, honey. When do you think you’ll be done with the third-quarter numbers?

Brandon isn’t afraid to crack the whip with me, I tease with a smile.

It’s not quite the end of the month yet... I text back.

It’s none of my business what you guys do behind closed doors, Amy jokes.

Ha ha.

Preliminary numbers, then, Brandon responds with a wink emoji.

I know it’s my job, but bookkeeping has lost its luster lately. It’s how Brandon and I met, with me doing the bookkeeping for his father’s construction company. Brandon was being groomed to take over. I was self-employed, working from home with a healthy set of bookkeeping clients. Brandon and I only conversed over the phone or via text for years, even though he was right in town. It was an added bonus when I met the man who first charmed me with his words. We’ve been together ever since that first meeting thirteen years ago.

Amy and I lazily head back to the cars after all the kids are safely in the school. Her boss is flexible with her hours, which allows us to have a few sisterly moments in the mornings.

Now I can get into my comfy pants that don’t squeeze my waist, I say, running my hand along the waistband of my pants.

Whatever, Amy says with a shake of her head.

I gained almost fifteen pounds this summer! I blurt before wishing I hadn’t just raised my voice for fear that the other parents have overheard.

You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world. You can use the extra pounds, even if I can’t see one of them on you.

Tell that to my jeans. We laugh at this commonality of having to watch every morsel of food in our mouths. How come Aunt Edna was always so skinny?

Because she drank more than she ate, Amy says without emotion. It’s a conversation we’ve shared before, with me hating any envy that I’ve had for our late caregiver’s tiny body. It was immediately apparent that she never wanted to gain custody of us after our parent’s unfortunate car accident.

She was probably too busy bossing us around to eat. My phone buzzes again, with me figuring it’s Brandon. Oh my gosh!

What’s wrong? Amy says, mistaking my excitement for alarm.

It’s Janine, I say with a smile, reading the message from one of the top cosmetic saleswomen in the skin product company I used to work for. She’s inviting me to a meeting today. It’s at ten-thirty. I wonder... I stay quiet, calculating the hours of the day to figure out if I can be back in time to pick up the girls.

I didn’t know you were thinking of getting back into the makeup game, Amy says with a smile.

I’ve never stopped thinking about it, I say with pride. Even though I’ve mostly ditched this hobby, the desire to jump-start my sales always rests in the back of my mind.

Just like mom, she says with a little pop of her hip on mine. Knowing you, you’ll be sprinkling your beautiful hues over the town in no time. I bet you can make that meeting, Amy says with a sneaky glance.

I bite my lip to keep a smile from fully spreading across my face. But I need to get the books done for Brandon.

I can pick the girls up today if that helps. I have about a hundred more favors to pay you back, Amy says.

I cross my arms and shake my head at her incessant need to repay me. I helped Amy last year when she needed a place to stay after ditching her crappy husband. My helping hand was second nature, after all. It’s been my job to take care of her since I was ten years old when our parents died. I bet you have a spreadsheet calculating a payoff schedule, I tease. In the short time that I helped Amy, she made advances in her life that were truly inspiring. As such, I’ve been itching to switch my schedule up a bit.

Check, Amy says with her finger, making a swoop in the air.

Goodbye, Sheldon. Mommy loves you! echoes a mom from across the parking lot, who appears to be late dropping her son off. She dabs at tears while walking back to her parking spot after the boy enters through the school’s double doors.

Geeze, this is week two of school. You’d think she’d finally get over her separation anxiety, I say with a giggle to Amy.

Monica, learn how to whisper! Amy chides for the millionth time. Deb’s right there. Jake and Jamie wouldn’t have learned how to swim so quickly if it weren’t for her swim classes. Besides, Sheldon is her youngest.

With four kids, I’m surprised she’s not already racing out of the parking lot by now, I say in a deep voice that apparently doesn’t equate to being quiet.

Deb turns from the driver’s side of her car and looks me straight in the eye. Like you do, Monica?

Whoops!

Oh, Deb, you know I’m joking, I say with a huge smile.

I don’t need to apologize for my love for my kids. Don’t you have to go play dress up or whatever it is you waste your time on all day? Obviously, Deb hasn’t forgiven me for our little spats in high school.

I snap into business mode with the meeting invite fueling my sales pitch. I turn on a smile and plant my hand firmly on my newly cushy hip. Are you volunteering yourself for a makeover, Deb? Our new eyeshadow colors would look great on you. Even though I’m not officially with ‘Just You,’ I still thoroughly study their weekly newsletter.

There’s no reason for me to have makeup on to teach swimming lessons. I’m in the pool all day since I work full-time at my business, Deb says with a tone of obviousness.

Ouch, I say with fake hurt. Honestly, it takes much more than this to dampen my spirits. Deb snubs her pointy nose in the air that I’m itching to put contour on before disappearing in her car.

You both sure get riled up every time your paths cross, Amy says of the feud that Deb and I have had since high school. She’s so nice when she’s not around you. I thread my arm around Amy’s shoulder, half a foot shorter than mine, being careful not to wrinkle her crisp white blouse.

It’s okay. We are pretty much playing anyway. You always look good in pale colors, I say with an extra squeeze goodbye.

I envy her successful career and the perfect life she has crafted. Her newfound success in her job and love life has jump-started my desire to plant my feet on the ladder leading to my dreams. I’m proud that she has settled down in her mid-thirties. But I’m the older sister, and I’ve always been the example. Aren’t I still supposed to be paving the ground?

I push away the call of the books and switch to the ‘Just You’ meeting. I’ve been not so patiently waiting for my leash to be loosened. Although it’s just one day of going to Eugene on this quest, that leash has been adjusted down a notch.

Eugene is our nearby city that’s a forty-five-minute drive away. Half a million residents are lucky to enjoy the fun shops and restaurants that go with living in a bigger city. It calls to me nearly every day, but I’m the only one in my family who would love to relocate.

My phone dings with a missed call from Brandon. Darn, this spotty service, I say, tapping my phone to call him back while keeping my eyes mainly on the road. My head spins with how he’ll receive the schedule change for my day. I switch to the hands-free option to send the sounds of a ringtone around the car with my heart increasing in rate.

Hello? I mean... the girl on the other end says with a little giggle, Bodin Construction Company, this is Bailey.

The peppy young voice has a direct link to the tightness of my hands on the wheel. The realization that I clicked the office number instead of Brandon’s cell reminds me of his new receptionist, whom I have yet to meet. As always, in this situation, I unfairly link Brandon to the cheating actions of my prior boyfriends, blending the two instead of giving Brandon credit for being the innocent one. Of course, there was that one dinner...

I need to speak with Brandon, I command before remembering that the previous woman caused the problems. Please.

Oh, I’m sorry, he’s out of the office right now. Can I take a message? Bailey says cheerfully.

This is his wife, I say, ensuring that I emphasize my standing. I’m sorry, I say with a shake of my head, I meant to call his cell.

Okay, well, have a nice day.

After clicking the red circle to end our call, I do my best to ground my irritation. Memories of the receptionist from a couple of months ago attempt to dampen my heightened day. Why can a person’s hundreds of good qualities be forgotten when one thing they do wrong greatly overshadows them?

I don’t even need to make a mental note to put a face to Bailey’s cheerful voice. My renewed sting of jealousy won’t be forgotten anytime soon.

Chapter 2 Bailey

Iswear that only thirty seconds have passed when a knock on my car window jostles me awake. Cathy’s sour face shows through my smudged window. I turn the key one notch to roll my window down as I plaster a sleepy smile.

Cathy, I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep, I say behind bleary eyes. What time is it?

It’s time for my lunch, she says in a huff, keeping her eyes on me. She’s a larger woman, nearly six feet tall, and she has a broadness that matches my brother’s. As such, she isn’t someone I want to mess with.

I jump from the car with intimidation, straightening my shirt and fussing with my hair as I shut the car door with my hip. Darn, was this smudge on my shirt this morning?

Cathy’s eyes search my car intrusively. I’m not the cleanest person in the world, as you probably already know from my desk, I say with nervousness. I shuffle in my seat, unsure if she’s come to any conclusions about the baby seat in the back. My sister-in-law has a daughter, so I help out.

My secret has been under my skin for the month I’ve worked here. The fear of the news leaking to my son’s father keeps it tightly behind my closed mouth. It’s an over-paranoia since it’s unlikely that the people in this small town would gossip about little ol’ me. My lips have also stayed sealed to forgo what I’ve labeled ‘the expression.’ Their faces turn to sympathy when they discover that a twenty-year-old has a baby.

Over the last year, I’ve come to terms with how my path has changed from its original plans. I don’t, however, want sympathy for the decisions that I’ve made to be a single parent. My love for my son has yet to be rivaled by anything else in life, especially now.

Come in so I can get my lunch, Cathy instructs, limping back to the building. She’s been at this construction company since before my boss, Brandon, took over from his dad ten years ago. The company pictures on the wall that dates back to before I was born show the same frizzy brown curls she wears today.

I relieve Cathy for lunch and get back to work while eating at my desk. A text message from the very man I’ve been ignoring this last year interrupts my egg-salad sandwich. He’s been pinging my phone more than