Fly Away Butterfly

By EG Antonin

Sheila Larksdon had all the comforts most women wanted. Attractive, married, wealth, a beautiful home in the Atlanta suburbs, and her own business. Except she wasn't satisfied in her bedroom where she pined for more from her husband, Mark.
Asked to assist a female relative of Mark's, sell her home and buy a new one, Sheila readily agreed. But it required spending long weekends away from home. It was during those weekends that Sheila and the relative began an illicit affair that altered Sheila's life forever. A senseless act of betrayal brought Sheila to her senses, and she ended the relationship before it ruined her marriage.
Years later, after Mark's death, Sheila left her life in Atlanta behind and moved in with Regina, the woman Sheila had an affair with, and the two reignited their love affair. Content in her life as a lesbian, Sheila made plans to take on new challenges and make new memories. But fate intervened, and Regina was fatally shot and killed during a robbery.
Alone again, Sheila longed for human companionship and began engaging in affairs with men and women. One was A New Year's Eve dinner date that ended tragically for Sheila and almost lost her life.
A chance encounter with Charlotte, a woman from her past, led to the women forming a bond. Both shared intimate things from their past, and the bond strengthened into love. Sheila saw a future with Charlotte and began a life with her designed to last forever. But, did anything last forever for Sheila?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Mar 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662901362

Book preview

PROLOGUE

January 1947

Maddie Ralston took Saturday night off from her waitressing job to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. She shed her drab gray waitress uniform for tight-fitting jeans, an alluring top that left nothing to the imagination, and cowboy boots. She glanced in the mirror at her long blonde hair and slender figure.

Oh yeah, said Maddie, smiling. I’ve waited a long time for tonight, and I’m gonna have fun. She dabbed some perfume in the cleft between her breasts and smiled. And I intend to raise hell doing it.

Maddie had no idea that tonight would change her life forever.

Maddie and her friends headed to Annie’s Roadhouse, a working-class bar known for its wild Friday and Saturday nights, and its owner, Annie Magdoon, a fifty-five-year-old buxom Irish redhead. Annie kept the guys in line but let the gals have their fun. Annie’s husband, Frank, was one of the bouncers and also the local sheriff. He parked his car nearby for all to see. Most of the patrons wore cowboy hats and jeans and drove pickup trucks. The music was mostly country and pop, played by a local band or on the jukebox.

Maddie and her friends partied hard. They drank and danced with as many men as they could—Maddie especially. She singled out one guy in particular and kept him on the dance floor, except when they stopped to down shots of tequila. When they slow-danced, she pressed her head against his shoulder, let him stroke her back, and let him kiss her hard on the mouth.

As the night came to an end, her friends tried to get Maddie to go home with them.

Let’s go, Maddie, said one of her friends. The night’s over.

Maddie wasn’t about to lose the guy who’d kissed her. He had her mesmerized with his blue eyes that stared intently into hers, and she ached to be alone with him. No other guy had made her feel that way.

You girls go without me, said Maddie as she tilted her head and smiled. I’ll get a ride from this guy.

The next morning, Maddie woke naked in bed next to the guy in a musty-smelling cabin that had only one bed, a chair, a toilet, and a sink. The cabin was one of thirteen listed on the roadside sign that read, Motel – Vacancy.

Maddie sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed her hands through her hair, stood, steadied herself, and walked to the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back at her as she washed her face and hands. Maddie reached for her crumpled pile of clothes on the chair in the corner of the room. As she did, a sock fell off it.

After dressing, she walked to the bed and felt ashamed for having spent the night with a total stranger. She tapped him on the shoulder.

Hey, can you give me a ride home?

He rolled over, sleepy-eyed, and noticed she had dressed.

Damn! We musta drunk a bunch last night, he said.

He got out of bed. Maddie watched his naked ass as he walked to the bathroom and used the toilet. Modesty had gone out the window last night. He washed his face, brushed his teeth with his finger, gathered his clothes, and dressed.

I look like hell and feel like it, he said.

Maddie gave him directions to her house. They left in his truck and drove off in silence.

When he pulled up to her house, he said, Happy birthday, Maddie.

Yeah, thanks, she replied with a false smile.

Maddie got out of the truck and gingerly walked toward the house. She knew she was going to have one hell of a hangover. She didn’t even glance back as the guy drove off. She was too ashamed and couldn’t remember his name.

A month later, Maddie missed her period, and another month after that, she started having morning sickness. She visited a doctor, who performed a cursory exam and told her she was pregnant.

As a waitress, Maddie was barely able to support herself, let alone care for a baby. She couldn’t rely on help from her thirty-seven-year-old mother, who enjoyed partying more than parenting. Her mother had been pregnant at sixteen; she also didn’t know who the father was, and she’d been terrible at raising Maddie.

Maddie still had a friendly relationship with her high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Paxton. If it hadn’t been for her, Maddie would have dropped out of high school before graduating.

She contacted Mrs. Paxton and asked if she could meet with her.

"We can, but Maddie, what’s bothering you?

I’m pregnant! Maddie blurted.

Oh. Then we’d better meet tomorrow.

The next day, they met at Mrs. Paxton’s home. Mrs. Paxton considered Maddie’s situation and gave her three choices: keep the child, put it up for adoption, or have an abortion.

No! Absolutely no abortion! Maddie shouted. This was my mistake, and no butcher’s gonna murder my unborn child.

Then you either keep the baby or put it up for adoption.

Maddie knew if she kept the baby, she would have to rely on her mother. If it hadn’t been for her deceased grandmother, Maddie would have ended up in a home for girls. In 1947, there wasn’t much sympathy for unwed mothers. Maddie chose to go through with the pregnancy and give up the child for adoption.

Mrs. Paxton arranged an interview between Maddie and an adoption agency specializing in matching couples with pregnant women. She also helped with the interview process to find a suitable couple for Maddie’s child.

Frank and Theresa Bucknell were schoolteachers from Atlanta. They couldn’t have children of their own and desperately wanted a child. So at the age when most parents were sending their kids off to college, they decided to adopt. They found an agency that handled adoptions with pregnant women. It linked them with Maddie Ralston and arranged an open adoption.

The agency also operated a home for unwed mothers and offered Maddie room and board as part of the agreement with the Bucknells. She was grateful because she didn’t want to stay at home or live in Deckerville, where she’d have to endure condemnation from the town and her wandering mother.

Unfortunately, six months later, the birth was difficult, requiring a cesarean section. Because of excessive and uncontrollable bleeding, Maddie died after giving birth to her daughter. The Bucknells had hoped Maddie would have lived to say goodbye to her daughter and maybe someday have a relationship with her. The adoption agency took care of the necessary paperwork for the birth certificate.

The Bucknells were sad as they left the hospital with their baby, Sheila.

***

Sixteen years later, Sheila Bucknell’s parents told her about the adoption and as much as they knew about her birth parents. Maddie Ralston had been openly honest about everything, including the birth father. She had asked the Bucknells to tell Sheila about her.

Sheila took the news with sadness and a longing for the mother she never got to know. She eventually decided what her parents had told her was enough. But it left an empty place in her heart. That emptiness would persist throughout her life.

During Sheila’s junior year in high school, her menstrual cycles became abnormal. Because of excessive bleeding one night, she was rushed to the hospital. In 1963, what little doctors knew about uterine abnormalities, and their treatment was still in the research stages. The doctors recommended a hysterectomy.

Sheila and her parents were devastated and unable to reach a decision. The doctor advised them that the hysterectomy was the best alternative. He said he knew it was a difficult decision to make, but they had to understand it was about Sheila’s life. After discussing it, Sheila and her parents consented to the operation.

Several weeks after convalescing at home, Sheila was back to her usual activities. But when she looked at other girls, she felt different from them. And boys no longer attracted her.

The week before the senior prom, after a cross-country meet, Sheila overheard some girls in the locker room talking about French-kissing boys. When she got home, she looked it up in the dictionary.

Sheila didn’t have girlfriends or boyfriends because of her study habits, running, and her part-time job. There was one girl who worked at the same barbecue restaurant as Sheila. Her name was Betsy. They became friends and also study buddies, and sometimes they spent Saturday nights studying together.

The evening of the prom, Sheila and Betsy were in Sheila’s bedroom studying because no one had invited them to the dance. A Beatles record was playing on the small record player.

Sheila glanced at Betsy.

Since we didn’t get invited to the prom, Betsy, want to make-believe our dates are kissing us?

Betsy fidgeted with her necklace. I don’t know. Do you think we should?

Have you ever been kissed by a boy?

No, have you?

Never. Come on, let’s try it.

Betsy nervously scratched the back of her hands. Okay, but you start.

Sheila gave her a playful grin. Close your eyes.

Betsy closed her eyes, but Sheila kept hers open. She leaned forward, placed her hand on the nape of Betsy’s neck, and drew her mouth close to hers. She pressed her lips to Betsy’s, let them linger for a while, and then attempted to stick her tongue in Betsy’s mouth.

Betsy opened her eyes, jolted back, and slapped Sheila.

That’s disgusting, Betsy said. She grabbed her books, and stormed out of the room.

Although Sheila’s cheek burned, she smiled and savored the moment.

The study sessions ended, as did their friendship.

***

Sheila attended South Georgia State College in Waycross, Georgia, and majored in business. In her junior year, she answered an ad for a part-time receptionist at a local realty agency. She was hired but had to juggle her schedule. During her senior year, she took an interest in the real estate business and took a few classes.

The owner of the agency, Rebecca Lansing, a thirty-five-year-old brunette, took a liking to Sheila and suggested she take the necessary courses to get her real estate license after graduation. Rebecca even offered to assist Sheila on weekends.

Sheila enrolled in the courses, and Rebecca spent time teaching her about the real estate business. Oddly, as she spent time with Rebecca, Sheila became mildly attracted to her.

With her heavy course schedule, studying, a part-time job, and weekends learning about the real estate business, Sheila had no time for a social life. However, she still managed to complete her studies in four years.

After graduation, Sheila took the necessary tests, got her license, and was hired by Rebecca as a junior agent. Rebecca became her mentor and even took Sheila shopping to help choose the proper business attire. Two years later, Sheila decided to return to Atlanta to be near her parents and maybe in the future open her own realty office.

Before leaving for Atlanta, Sheila had a late-night dinner with Rebecca. As they were about to say goodbye, Rebecca took Sheila in her arms and hugged her.

When Sheila looked into Rebecca’s eyes, she couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing Rebecca on the lips.

Rebecca stepped back, smiled, and placed a hand on Sheila’s cheek.

Sheila felt an urge to kiss Rebecca again—and did. It was more than a friendly goodbye kiss, and she never forgot it.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Atlanta 1981

That was exhausting, said Sheila Larksdon, the owner of Larksdon Realty, as she locked up the office for the night.

Damn right it was. Can you believe they hit on us? said Sheila’s lead associate, Trish Peterson, a slender, dark-skinned thirty-one-year-old with jet-black hair.

Both Sheila and Trish were licensed to sell commercial properties and handled most of those sales together. They’d just wrapped up a more extended than expected closing on a commercial property.

It should have taken only forty-five minutes. Unfortunately, Sheila made the mistake of acting as the agent for both the buyer and the seller—two rugged and crusty individuals in their mid-sixties who were tough as nails when negotiating, especially with each other.

Unbelievable, said Sheila. Did you see how quick Gus became like a teddy bear when I said I’d tell his wife?

Trish laughed. It was precious.

See you in the morning.

And be on time for a change.

Screw you, replied Sheila.

In your dreams.

Sheila waved her off. But oddly, although said in jest, the thought intrigued her.

Sheila licked her lips. Bet they’d be sweet dreams.

Trish shook her head, and they left.

***

Mark Larksdon, Sheila’s husband, finished working on the account he was handling, put the papers in a file folder, and locked it in the fire-protected file cabinet. Mark was forty years old and an attorney, investment banker, and senior partner in Larksdon Investment, LLC, the firm his deceased father had established. He grabbed his briefcase, left the office, got into his 1981 Porsche 924, and drove off, listening to disco music on the radio.

Rush hour traffic in Atlanta on a Friday afternoon was always a bitch. Cars crept along, and today a fender bender slowed traffic even more. Rubberneckers strained to see someone else’s misfortune. Savvy drivers such as Mark knew shortcuts. Unfortunately, he had already missed his shortcut.

Sheila pulled into the driveway at 445 Foxtail Road, punched the remote, and watched as the garage door rose on their two-story colonial brick house. She parked her 1981 BMW 528i and was about to put the door down when Mark pulled into the driveway. She waited until he parked, then got out of her car, briefcase in one hand, her suit jacket in the other.

Mark put the door down and got out of his vehicle.

Hey, beautiful, how was your day?

Sheila shrugged. Okay, except for the closing with Gus and Joe. How was yours?

It could have been better, but TGIF. He placed his hand on her cheek and kissed her.

Because Sheila had been the first to arrive, dinner was her responsibility. She set her briefcase on the dining room table, went to the bedroom, and hung her jacket in the closet. Mark followed her.

You freshen up, and I’ll make dinner. She kissed him on the lips.

Thanks, sweetheart.

Seven years ago, Sheila Bucknell met Mark Larksdon at a charity event. There was an instant connection, and they started dating exclusively. A year later, they were married. Sheila was an inexperienced virgin when she met Mark, and everything she knew about sex she learned from him. Mark was also the catalyst for Sheila opening her own realty office, and he helped her with the financing.

They had no children partly by design and partly because she couldn’t conceive.

At one point in their marriage, Sheila and Mark had considered adoption. Although she loved her parents deeply, being an adopted child was one of the reasons Sheila wasn’t keen on raising someone else’s child. Mark’s dad had died six years earlier from heart failure, before he’d met Sheila, and she worried it could happen to Mark, which was another reason they chose not to adopt.

Sheila prepared a tossed salad, seared salmon, sautéed asparagus, and French bread, and then set a place for each of them on the kitchen counter.

Damn, you’re fast, Mark said as he entered the kitchen.

She laughed. Not much to it. Pour us each a glass of wine and sit down so we can eat.

After dinner and several glasses of wine, Mark asked, You up for a walk?

If you want to.

After the day she’d had, Sheila was ready for a night of hot romance, but as usual lately, Mark wasn’t on the same page as she was.

I’ll be right back, Sheila said. I’m going to get a sweater.

They left the house and started down the walkway.

It’s a good thing I got this sweater. She felt a slight breeze. Late April evenings tended to be chilly at night. It’s perfect.

Mark turned and grinned.

A full moon made it a perfect night to be out. Neighborhood houses had Azaleas bushes in front that were still in bloom, and their front lights lit. There was also a hint of confederate jasmine that filled the night air.

Several neighbors out for a stroll and holding hands greeted them.

Sheila remembered when she and Mark took evening strolls holding hands, but that seemed ancient now. Tonight, they just walked next to each other, not speaking, and not holding hands. Sheila felt as though they were total strangers.

Thirty-five minutes later, they walked back into the house.

I’m going to make it an early night. I have to get up early in the morning, Mark said.

I’ll meet you in the bedroom. First I have to use the bathroom.

I’ll lock up and set the alarm.

Sheila went to the bedroom closet, selected a sexy nightie, went into the bathroom, and changed into it. She dabbed a few drops of Chanel on her cleavage, hoping to put Mark in the mood. As she came out, the lights were out except for the small lamp on his night table.

Mark was already asleep with a copy of a Golf Digest magazine next to him.

Disappointed once again, she set the magazine on the nightstand, turned the light off, and got in bed beside him.

She gazed up at the ceiling, saw the small glimmer of light from the bathroom reflecting off the mirror, and suddenly had a sense of yearning that overpowered her.

Why do I feel lonely and that something is missing in my life? Sheila thought. It was the same question she had been asking herself a lot lately. The answer was deep within her, but she couldn’t get it out as hard as she tried.

Is it my sex life, my career, life in general, or just something I crave?

Lately, she’d been longing for more when she and Mark made love but wasn’t sure if that was bothering her.

Maybe it has something to do with the way Mark makes love to me. He’s a good lover at times, but I pine for something more.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them with her hand, turned on her side, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

CHAPTER 2

As first light filtered through the blinds, Sheila rolled over and reached for Mark, hoping to wrap her arm around him, feel his warm body, and breathe in his scent—maybe make love with him. When she touched the spot on the bed where last night, he lay sleeping, all she felt was a cold rumpled sheet.

Damn, I hoped he was still in bed.

Mark had left to play golf with his office partners.

Sheila begrudgingly rolled over to check the time. The clock on the nightstand read 6:45.

Shit! I promised Trish I’d pick her up at six-thirty for our run. Dammit!

Sheila and Trish had started running together on Saturday mornings several years ago.

Sheila hurriedly put on her jogging shorts and an athletic top and then went into the kitchen.

Thank goodness he left me some coffee.

She poured a cup and read the note he’d left next to the coffee pot with two slices of toast. See you later, was all it said. She slurped down the coffee, ate the toast, and grabbed her keys just as the telephone rang.

Where the hell are you? said Trish.

On my way. I’ll be there in a jiffy.

Trish hung up.

I hope she’s not standing outside waiting for me, Sheila thought. She’s gonna be pissed.

Trish lived in a townhouse in a trendy part of the city. Her neighborhood was full of single professionals. Flowering pots adorned her front entryway like most of the other townhouses. Two doors down, a neighbor was mowing his lawn. When she pulled into the driveway and rolled down the window, the smell of freshly mowed grass mingled with the faint odor of gardenia bushes under Trish’s front window greeted her.

Trish was waiting by her front door, dressed in a high-quality running outfit consisting of a gray t-shirt and matching skin-tight pants that contoured her slender body and accentuated every curve. She had her hair tucked into a baseball cap with a ponytail hanging out the back.

Sheila surveyed Trish as she walked to the car.

I wonder why Trish is still single. A beautiful woman like her with gorgeous skin who dresses exceptionally well should have been snatched up by now, thought Sheila. I wonder what she’s like in bed?

Trish glanced at her watch and frowned.

As usual, you kept me waiting. Getting to be a habit with you . . .only this time, you’re really late, Trish scolded. One of these days I won’t wait for you.

Sheila leaned out the window. I’m sorry. Mark didn’t wake me. Get in before I leave without you.

You two are gonna have to start using the alarm clock.

Shut up and let’s go. I’m gonna beat your pants off today.

You wish, girlfriend.

As Trish settled into her seat, Sheila detected a whiff of lavender.

Are you wearing perfume?

What? Are you crazy? It’s the soap I use. There’s a hint of lavender in it.

Sheila smiled. You know lavender heightens the senses, don’t you?

I know, Trish smirked. You should have seen the look on my date’s face last night when he got a whiff of me.

Sheila waved her hands. I don’t need to hear anymore.

They giggled and were off to the Silver Comet Trail, thirteen miles northwest of Atlanta. The trail was sixty-one miles long, starting in Smyrna and ending at the Georgia-Alabama state line. Sheila and Trish had been going there for the past six months.

It looks like there’re still remnants of fog, said Trish.

The ground’s gonna be wet as well as our feet. It means dirt or mud in my car. We should have taken your truck.

If you had been on time, we could have.

Okay already. We’ll just have to ride to the restaurant with our shoes off.

Fortunately, a parking space was available since it was a popular place on weekend mornings. They made a quick stretch, checked their water bottles, and were ready for a five-mile run.

You ready? asked Sheila.

Yep. Catch my ass if you can.

They started at a slow pace and then picked up speed, running side by side. The wet leaves beneath their feet cushioned their strides, and the moisture from the fog dampened their clothes.

You know, if I had been later, we would have missed this fog, said Sheila.

But then the temperature would be warmer. This feels much better, and the air smells good too.

Their pace quickened. Sheila held her own until the last two miles when Trish took off, leaving her behind. With a half-mile to go, Trish slowed so they could finish together.

With two hundred yards to go, Sheila passed Trish and shouted over her shoulder, You’re gonna lose today, sweet cheeks!

Trish burst into full speed, passed Sheila, and left her in the dust. When Sheila reached the finish line, Trish waited with hands on her hips and a sardonic grin on her face.

"Sweet cheeks just whipped your ass,