A Few Simple Truths

By Ellen Lechter

Deandra Parker's teens barely need her, her husband is rarely home and she's bored with her job. Then Deandra discovers she is an Intuit, a descendant of a group of people dating back to early man with extraordinary abilities. As her abilities awaken, so does the voice of a 17th century ancestor that only she can hear. Soon she becomes her ancestor's scribe and is busier than ever, juggling writing with practicing her new skills while trying to remain a doting wife and mother. However, the abilities don't always work as she expects or often at all. And a secret of her husband's threatens to change their lives in ways she never imagined

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090985

Book preview

One

Deandra

It was a morning like any other. The sun peaked through the open shutters, casting shards of light across the bed. Deandra pushed back the sheets and swung her feet over one side, searching for her slippers. As usual, she only found one. She flicked it away with a toe and padded barefoot to the bathroom.

Why’re you up so early? said Lewis, his voice muffled from beneath the sheets.

Deandra didn’t bother to reply. Every morning it was the same. She got up, started the coffee and made sure Nicole and Conner had at least a glass of juice before heading to school. Lewis thought she was being a smothering mother: a Smother, he called it. He couldn’t imagine why two teenagers needed their Mommy in the morning. He was probably right, but he also missed the point. Before she knew it, the kids would be gone for good, off on their own adventures and leaving their parents far behind. Sometimes, in the quiet of the morning after they both left for school, she’d try on the idea that they were already gone, just to test the fit. Their absence became an almost tangible thing then, weighing down on her chest until she found it hard to breathe. It wasn’t something she wanted to consider yet she seemed incapable of stopping, like worrying a tooth-ache with her tongue.

Deandra splashed water on her face and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A new crease lined her cheek and she leaned in closer to examine it. She pulled at the skin on either cheekbone with her fingers. Her mouth was a grimace and her nostrils flared. So this is how I’d look with a facelift. She cringed, dropping her fingers.

This recent inability to sleep was playing havoc with her looks and even worse, steeping her in a mental fog that could often last all day. When she complained to her mother, hoping for sympathy more than advice, Felicia could be counted on to offer something trite. Try wearing make-up for once, she’d say. Always put your best face forward, no matter the night you had. And Deandra, a grown woman but a moot point during their conversations, would wonder why she had bothered mentioning it at all. Besides, she happened to like her low maintenance approach to make-up—a little mascara, a dab of lipstick. It suited her just fine, despite her sallow skin, puffy eyes, or creases that looked suspiciously like wrinkles.

She frowned, pulling her long hair back into a ponytail. That too, she knew, might soon require a dreaded change. She loved the curtain it provided, hiding her from the rest of the world. But at some arbitrary age, the length was probably considered a tad inappropriate. Unfortunately, just what age that was remained unclear. Was it sixty? Fifty? Was it now?

At forty-five, she thought she looked all right, particularly from a distance. Her body was still in decent shape, despite that little tire around her stomach that wouldn’t disappear no matter how many crunches she did. The face hollowed while the belly bulged; a cosmic joke of getting older. But what was bothering her most went beyond her fading looks.

Here she was, middle-aged, and the days stretched out before her, gaps once filled by purpose. There had been no large seismic event, just a lot of minor ones that chipped away at her once-clearly established role as Mom. The bits and pieces lay in a heap at her feet, yet she still clung to them, unable to let them go.

She turned on the bath faucets, willing the cascading water to wash away her negative thoughts. She shed her nightgown, stepped into the tub, and sank down. For the moment, she would try to not let it matter that she was no longer the kids’ main confidante in their lives, not even close, or that she was bored by her job. Or that the busy lifestyle she had once taken for granted was vanishing and perhaps taking her very identity along with it.

She turned the faucets off with her toes and closed her eyes. Seconds later, she heard the bed creak, announcing that Lewis was getting up. Lewis, her husband of twenty years, remained as busy as ever with long work days and numerous hobbies, just as he always had been. But she couldn’t complain; the arrangement they had made so many years ago of her staying home and raising the kids was one she’d readily agreed to. And she’d do it again! It wasn’t Lewis’ fault that for her everything seemed to be subtly shifting, like the contents of a bottle tipped just slightly on its side. It wasn’t his fault that his life remained status quo.

The hot water was lapping at her chin and she reached for the soap, determined to scrub away all vestiges of self-pity. She had plenty to feel grateful for, beginning with her family and their health. The house was nearly paid off and though it was low on storage space, it was cozy. Montreal winters could be brutal; however, she believed they enabled her to appreciate the fleeting summers all the more. When life sent lemons, make lemonade, she often preached to the kids. A cringe-worthy platitude perhaps, but she happened to believe in it. And then there was Kevin, their retriever mix. Who didn’t feel appreciated when faced with the smiling face of a dog?

She sat up in the tub and pulled the plug, definitely feeling cheerier than before. Her life was good, great actually. Now if only she could shake this gnawing sense of a lack of purpose.

Mom, I can’t find the orange juice, called Nicole from the bottom of the stairs.

Well, there’s my purpose this morning. She stepped out of the tub and into a plush white towel.

Coming! she replied, grabbing her robe hanging behind the bathroom door.

Two

Acurious development with teens, thought Deandra later, was how quickly those sweet faces of childhood morphed into the sullen and withdrawn ones of adolescence. But that was probably necessary; otherwise she might never be ready for them to grow up.

She sat at the computer in the tiny room in the basement that served as her office, checking e-mails and upcoming appointments. It was only 8:30 a.m. and the client scheduled to train at her house wasn’t due for hours. That gave her plenty of time for laundry, housework and to shake the melancholy that wafted back after her bath and had now settled gloomily on her shoulders.

She and Fran, her best friend, often discussed the physical changes they were encountering as women in their forties. Perimenopause. The word rolled fluidly off her tongue, not as fluidly as it hijacked her body. As she had done several times before, she typed the word into a search engine. Symptoms popped up: Depression, anxiety, disrupted sleep, forgetfulness. She clicked it off. It was best not to dig further, self-fulfilling prophesy and all that.

Besides, most of her discontent sprung from the inevitable truth that her role in her kids’ lives had shifted. Leave me alone, or Shut my door, had replaced the lengthy discussion of topics on which she was once considered the resident expert. As she lingered in the upstairs hall, ready for conversations that neither teen was interested in having, she was painfully aware that more than a closed door stood between her and the kids. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her but she couldn’t deny it hurt to be rebuffed; just a little. Her mother seemed to have somehow skipped this stage, buzzing perkily along from mother to grandmother with barely a blip in her routine. Of course, that was probably because she had left the raising of Deandra and her brothers to a parade of nannies, so perhaps she wasn’t the best example.

No doubt it would be better if she had more varied interests like Lewis. She was uninspired by her job as a fitness trainer and while she couldn’t imagine quitting just yet, she had been fantasizing about it. But realistically, what could she do instead? She wasn’t exactly qualified for another career. Most likely, she was in a working slump and the smart thing to do was wait for it to pass. However, it might pass more quickly if some of her clients were less exasperating. She thought about the session a few days ago with Sandy Butler, her least favorite client.

Okay, Sandy, lie back and pick up the weights, instructed Deandra.

You know Sarah Morgan, from Morgan Apparel? Her company is a sponsor at the Golden Globe Awards and she and her husband are going! It’s sooo exciting! Gary and I are such good friends with them.

That’s great, Sandy. Concentrate now; don’t forget to breathe.

Sandy lay on her back, knees up, clasping a five-pound weight in each pudgy hand. Will you be at the game this weekend? she huffed. You must be sooo thrilled that Gary picked Conner for our team.

Sandy’s voice was girlish, belying her fifty-odd years and impressive girth. Usually Deandra approached Sandy’s gossip and social status reports with a smile and a change of subject. Nonetheless, her words rankled. This year, Sandy’s husband Gary was the coach and since he played in an adult league with Lewis, he did their family a big favor by drafting Conner. At least that was how it seemed to Deandra whenever Sandy brought it up, which was often.

Probably, she replied. She knew she would go despite that Conner didn’t seem to get as much ice time in the games as most of the other boys, and especially not as much as Simon, Sandy and Gary’s boy. She also wished it didn’t bother her as much as it did. Whenever she whispered this to Lewis, as they stood huddled in the arena with the other coffee-toting parents, he told her she was being overly sensitive. Besides, if Conner felt he wasn’t given enough ice time, it was up to him to say something, not them.

So here she was, training Sandy, trying hard not to say something she’d regret. Simon and Conner were also friendly off the ice, although Deandra noticed he seemed to only call Conner when no one else was available. He was probably a social climber just like that mother of his, she suspected. While Lewis might agree, he also believed she should meddle out. Can’t shelter him forever, he’d say, the few times she brought the Butlers up for conversation.

Ohhh! I think I pulled something! Sandy sat upright, a weight dangling loosely from each palm.

What happened? Damn it. She had let her mind wander only a minute.

I felt a twinge in my neck. Don’t you remember? You know I have an old cheerleading injury!

Oh yes, the old cheerleading injury. Yes, of course. You must have aggravated it for a second. Let’s try this.

Deandra rolled her head up and down, from side to side and Sandy copied her, bright red curls tossing every which way.

Better?

Not really, said Sandy in her breathless little girl voice. She reached for her water bottle and took a long swig. But I have a high pain threshold. You know, once an athlete, always an athlete.

Oh please. Deandra settled her features into what she hoped passed for a smile.

We’ll have to call the session, chirped Sandy, not looking in the slightest bit of pain. I’ll pay you for just half an hour.

DEANDRA WONDERED NOW if she should try to make amends. Sandy Butler had a cutting tongue and she could do her reputation some harm. And possibly, her own indifference to the woman’s supposed injury should be concerning her more. If she wasn’t careful, she’d soon be one of those old ladies on the bus poking everyone in her way with the pointy end of her umbrella. Maybe crotchetiness was another symptom of menopause. This was probably something else she should discuss with Fran.

I can’t sleep half the time and when I do, I wake up drenched in sweat. It’s disgusting, Fran cheerfully confessed over her second cup of latte at their favorite café, the morning after the Sandy Butler session. Then I finally fall asleep and Peter’s snoring wakes me.  I can’t tell you how often I just end up sleeping on the couch.

Deandra sipped her cup of herbal tea. She really liked Peter, with his hearty laugh and bear hugs; she could tell he was just crazy about his family. So is Lewis, a defensive little voice popped in her head. Where did that come from? Of course he is, she told the voice.

I made the mistake of confiding in Pete’s mother who, I should add, apparently never had any symptoms of menopause, continued Fran. She suggested I stay away from caffeine.

I see you’re taking her advice.

Honestly, may I not get struck down by lightning or something, but you’re lucky you have no in-laws, Dee.

Well, at least your family is normal, she replied. If I tell my mother any detail of my life that isn’t perfect, she attributes it to my lack of what she calls a real career. It’s hard being the only underachiever in a family of overachievers.

You’re not an underachiever! Fran said loyally. And my mom may be laid back, but I wish she’d stop collecting cats. I told her I can’t bring the kids over anymore because of Joshy’s asthma.

She and Fran had managed to fit their weekly coffee dates in regularly over the past twenty years. As Fran always said, they were better than sisters since they had chosen their friendship. The only topic they ever veered away from was the accounting firm where their husbands both worked and where Lewis was now a partner. Deandra was aware that Peter’s lack of ambition used to bother Fran a little, that she worried their twin boys might want things their parents couldn’t deliver. But as part of their unspoken agreement, she and Deandra didn’t discuss it.

Sometimes, when she and Fran were out together, they would tell people they were sisters although they really didn’t look alike. Though both were small in stature, Deandra was angular with dark brown hair and eyes, while Fran was softer around the edges and fair. But despite their differences in appearance, they often saw the world, the raising of their children, and life in general the same way.

DEANDRA DRUMMED HER fingers along the surface of the desk, wondering just how she should fill the hours looming ahead. She knew she wasn’t alone, that many of her friends seemed to be going through their own kind of changes. There was Susan, who lived in Boston and had a great career in marketing, but still kept obsessively dating, trying to find Mr. Right before she turned fifty next year. Then there was her high school friend Esther, recently divorced and travelling often for her work. Where did she say she was this month?

Deandra sighed, pushed her reading glasses further up her nose, and opened her email. Junk, junk and more junk. Perhaps she should send Esther a message. She should send one to Sandy, just to check on her neck. She knew she should but she didn’t want to. She was well aware of what Lewis would say: Quit that job and stop worrying about pleasing the Sandys of the world. Then again, Lewis had been after her to quit for years. He considered the job demeaning, so she refrained from telling him the worst of her complaints. She might have become disillusioned with her work but not because she was embarrassed by it. And if she were to quit, it would be on her own terms. That snobbery he developed over the years got under her skin way more than a few annoying clients.

When they had first met, Lewis had been a lot more unassuming. A prickle of tears unexpectedly formed at the back of her eyes and she blinked them away angrily. Obviously, Lewis wasn’t the same; neither of them was. Yet she couldn’t help but miss the old Lewis, before time and experience had smoothed out the jagged edges, polishing them to the luster of today.

She could still remember the night he told her about his parents and the car accident that claimed their lives when he was twelve. It had been on their third date and they had intended to go to a movie. Instead, they sat huddled in Lewis’ old car outside of the theatre while the threads of his past unraveled before her. That was probably when she first fell in love with him, her heart warming to the vulnerable boy she glimpsed behind the facade of a man. Of course, her own upbringing had been entirely opposite from his and that too had probably added to the attraction.

Although there was a huge disparity between their upbringings, Deandra believed she understood his loneliness, that feeling of not quite belonging. After all, among her own family, she was a weed surrounded by glorious blooms. Just how little she and her family had in common was illuminated by her choice of English as a major in university. Felicia had warned her the degree wouldn’t lead to much and, as usual, she had been right. By contrast, Deandra’s older brothers had become medical doctors, a suitable career for the offspring of two prominent lawyers.

She had wanted so desperately to fit in while growing up that for a few years she had even searched for any similarities she might have with extended family. There was a time when she thought she might have found some among her mother’s Protestant relatives.

For a few summers, Deandra and her family would visit her great uncle’s cottage in rural Ontario. They were carefree days, splashing in the lake or playing on the slip of beach with her tow-headed cousins, all far more alike in appearance to her mother than she. Days were idled away in complicated fantasies involving pirates and mermaids, ideal for a young girl who still believed in magic. The cottage was in need of repair and the electricity sporadic, so the kids often slept outside in sleeping bags, daring one another to enter the spider-infested boat house in the middle of the night. It all seemed so idyllic, a part of her childhood she revisited later like a favorite chapter of a book. But as they got older, the games changed and became far more organized and competitive. This was a plus for her brothers but she often begged off, preferring to wile away the hours with her books. Eventually, the visits stopped altogether and she remembered only feeling relief.

For a while, she had also felt a brief affinity with her father’s Jewish side, at the weekly dinners at her grandmother’s tiny apartment. She would listen to her father and uncles reminisce about pranks they had pulled as children, when there hadn’t been much money but the kids still found ways to entertain themselves. And she envied their easy camaraderie that had survived the transition to adulthood. She also felt a loss, as if she weren’t quite in on the joke and didn’t know how to be. Then her grandmother died and the dinners abruptly ended, the memories never able to develop beyond childhood perceptions. To this day, the smell of fried onions and freshly-baked bread brought her right back to the narrow hallway, how the mingling scents accosted her from the moment the elevator door opened onto her grandmother’s floor. She could still picture Bubby standing in her kitchen at the stove, sweat beading her brow, a smile on her face. She remembered longing to learn how to please people like that, to create something so special it captured their attention for however long it took them to eat. One day I’ll teach you, promised Bubby. One day, fate and heart problems intervened and that was that.

By the time Deandra was in university, she had mostly made peace with the fact that she didn’t have much in common with any of her family and was well on her way to accepting it. And then along came Lewis, ambivalent towards religion like her, but also articulate, confident, and very ambitious. Her brothers and parents welcomed him right into the fold and it made sense. He was just like them. She admired how he so effortlessly threw himself into the debates around her family’s dinner table; for her, the same dinner was like riding a dinghy in a hurricane.

Once Lewis let her in and revealed the pain of his past, all she had wanted to do was fix it, fix him. Yet she also admired how he wasn’t easily intimidated by anything he faced. He anchored her to a world she often tried to escape through daydreams and literature, and in return she gave him a place to belong. It seemed like a fair exchange.

The phone rang, the shrill sound startling her. She reached across the desk, picked it up and saw Lewis’ number.

Hi?

Hi, Dee.

Didn’t you just leave?

Yeah, I know, but I was rushing and we didn’t have any time to talk, he said.

Okay... So why are you really calling me?

No reason, just driving in to work and thinking of you. Wanted to know what you’re up to today.

Hmm, training a client, walking the dog, grocery shopping. Not in that order, she said. You going to tell me why you’re really calling?

What? I’m not allowed to call my wife and tell her I love her?

No no, of course not, but you’re acting kind of weird.

Sorry, just a bit preoccupied with problems at the office. I’ll be home later. Be careful today.

I’ll be sure not to fall down any stairs, or get any paper cuts. It’s not like I’m going anywhere special.

No need for sarcasm. He sounded hurt. Talk to you later.

She hung up the phone, thoughtful. Sometimes Lewis tended to act a bit overprotective. The fact was, he was always worrying about something.  If she even dared broach her discontent, would he understand it or have the patience to really listen to her? Most likely, he’d probably file it under complaints of a bored housewife. And she sure wasn’t up to hearing the inevitable I told you so. He had always been disappointed she never pursued the writing career she said she had wanted while back in school. He never understood just how easily she allowed her dreams to slip away just like her Bubby’s family recipes. But it had been so easy, the minutiae of a busy life taking its place.

Now that she had two kids in high school and could find the time to start writing again, the irony was that she feared she no longer knew how. This wasn’t something she could say to Lewis, for whom decisions seemed obvious, life so black and white. ‘Decide what you want then figure out how to do it’, he’d say. That was all well and good for him, but not so easy for her, whose thoughts veered more to the grey, a shifting palette of tones, all similar yet too many to choose from. How did she find her way out to black or white where Lewis seemed to be?

Deandra got up from the desk and whistled for Kevin. She needed some air.

Three

Fall was probably her favorite season at the park. Leaves crunched under foot and the park was empty but the November air was crisp and she regretted not wearing a warmer coat. Evergreens and naked oaks loomed, allowing through only the weakest rays of sun. Deandra unsnapped Kevin’s leash and watched as the big blond dog bounded through the brush, listening to her own breathing in the air. Kevin barked and the sharp noise snapped Deandra from her reverie.

Come on, Kev, let’s go, she said.

The enclosed dog run was barren; gravel and straggly brush covered the ground while cedars lined the exterior of the wire fence. Deandra unlatched the gate and let Kevin off the leash. The wind was picking up and Deandra stood near the gate, huddled in her jacket. She pulled up the collar and jammed her hands into the flimsy pockets.

Deandra heard the ground crunching somewhere behind her and turned. Approaching the dog run on the path from the woods was an older woman with white bouffant hair. She was marching along at a pretty brisk pace, her arms swaying in tandem. She wore no coat but she didn’t look cold. Her pink velour track suit had a white stripe down either side, and as she approached, Deandra noticed her rosy cheeks. Normally, she wouldn’t stare, but this woman was walking along with such conviction that Deandra couldn’t help but admire her wherewithal.

Hello there! called the woman as she reached the gate.

Uh, hi, replied Deandra.

I’m going to come in now. The woman had a slight Scottish accent. Your dog is friendly, right?

Sure, Deandra said hesitantly, wondering why a woman without a dog would want to enter a dog run.

As soon as she walked briskly through the gate, Kevin bounded over, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Well, you’re a lovely dog, aren’t you? Now be careful of Mona, you don’t want to squish her. The woman reached down to pet Kevin’s sleek head. Beautiful dog, what’s the name?

Oh, this is Kevin and I’m Deandra.

Kevin! What a handsome boy, she said. People must tell you that all the time.

Well, actually Kevin is a girl, explained Deandra. See, my daughter wanted to name her after a friend who moved away at the time... Her voice trailed off, realizing how ridiculous the story sounded. She cleared her throat. Anyway, the name kind of stuck, so we kept it.

The woman laughed, a tinkling sound cutting the crisp air. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Deandra and Kevin, she replied. I’m Lonnie and this here’s Mona. She’s a shi tzu.

Lonnie made her introductions so fluidly that Deandra found herself searching the empty space next to Lonnie to meet Mona. Could she somehow have missed seeing a dog? She peered in vain but there was no Mona, only Kevin still wagging her tail. The skin on her scalp began to prickle and she took a step closer to the gate. The other woman didn’t seem to notice, busily patting the air near her knee.

How did you get so dirty? Just look at those paws, she said to the ground. I swear, it’s like you need a bath a day in this weather! She smiled at Deandra. They give us such comfort, don’t they?

Um, yes, she replied. She quickly glanced around the empty park, but there was no one else around.

Now Mona, go play with Kevin and leave Mummy and Deandra alone, said Lonnie. That’s a good girl.

Deandra made a show of pretending to glance at the time on her cell phone. She was about to announce that they needed to leave when, in a loud clear voice, Lonnie called out: Wait!

Deandra looked up, startled.

I’ve been waiting to meet you for a really long time, Dee, said Lonnie, but it’s like our paths never cross. Is it okay if I call you Dee?

Confused, Deandra managed to nod. She’d been waiting to meet her?

I don’t want to freak you out or anything, if that’s the word you young people use, but I do know who you are, continued Lonnie. Just a second. Mona! You leave that stick alone! She turned back to Deandra and smiled apologetically. That dog is always trying to eat sticks and then she suffers for days with digestive problems. Anyway, where was I?

Deandra remembered that there was a seniors’ residence nearby. Lonnie must have wandered away from there; in fact, people were probably looking for her right now. She glanced around the deserted park for any residence search parties.

Oh yes, where I know you from, continued Lonnie. We met years ago when you lived on Batton Drive with your parents. You were such a wee little thing, always with your nose in a book.

Lonnie knew her as a child? She promptly forgot all thoughts of a search party. We met before?

Yes, on Batton Drive, Lonnie repeated patiently. And I know you grew up and married the accountant. You’re a fitness trainer and you have two wonderful children. Teenagers now.

How did she know so much about her life? Who was she? Deandra squinted in the morning light, trying to decide if Lonnie looked the slightest bit familiar. She decided she did not.

Look, I know it’s a lot to take in, but I really do know you. Lonnie stepped closer and placed a reassuring pink-gloved hand on Deandra’s arm. Why don’t we go someplace else and talk? When is your next fitness appointment?

Um, mid-afternoon. She knew she should probably go. The details this Lonnie woman knew about her were unsettling at the very least. Yet, she had no idea how to extricate herself, none at all. It was like she became rooted to the very spot where she stood.

Let’s round up the dogs and go back to my house for some tea, she said. I’ll explain everything there.

Thankfully, her legs finally worked and she neatly slipped out from Lonnie’s grasp. I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere. Who are you? How do you know these things?

Oh dear, I was worrying it was too soon, but I thought, well, she’s a capable girl, she’ll come around, said Lonnie.  I’ve known you for years but you just don’t remember me. We can stay here and talk a while and you’ll see I’m no danger to you. If not, we’ll say our good-byes. Sounds fine?

It didn’t sound fine exactly, but Deandra found she was unable to argue with Lonnie’s logic. Lewis was always saying she was too trusting, but this woman couldn’t actually be perceived as any kind of threat, could she? She doubted she was concealing a weapon in that track suit. Plus, she had Kevin with her. Surely that beast could protect her against little old ladies and their invisible dogs. She shivered and looked around for Kevin. There she was in the distance, happily running in circles.

Look what a good time the dogs are having together, said Lonnie, following her gaze.

Oddly enough, it did kind of look like Kevin had found a playmate as she tore around the run, a trail of dirt billowing up from the ground in her wake. What was wrong with that dog? Deandra shook her head as if to clear the thought. All right, we’ll stay a bit longer, she agreed, surprising herself. This situation was peculiar but there was something about this woman that piqued her curiosity. And it wasn’t like she had so many other things to do. Perhaps it would even give her something to talk about later with the kids.

Lewis

THAT MORNING LEWIS left the house but he couldn’t bring himself to drive to work. Instead, he sat in his Lexus parked in