Lead Me Back

By Irene Onorato

~A faith-based novella~

 

"I love you, Bobbie. Please don't go." Caleb's voice echoed from the past and brought with it the almost-tangible sensation of summer breezes floating across the lake.

 

She could clearly visualize them sitting in the tree, bare feet dangling, Caleb's shoulder brushing hers. How often had she coiled her ankles around one of his so she wouldn't tip backwards and fall? His friendship and strength were anchors she could always count on.

 

The lump that formed in her throat ran tandem to the instant throbbing in the area around her heart. Would Caleb even want to speak to her after all this time, or would her non-verbal rejection of his declaration of love be a wedge between them forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Irene Onorato
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224878291

Irene Onorato

Irene Onorato was born and raised in Bronx, New York. Her father, a first-generation American whose parents were born in Italy, was an Army veteran who had served with the 178th combat engineers during WWII. He told numerous stories of battles, hardships, tragedies and triumphs. The glimpses he gave into the hearts of many American warriors would later become the inspiration for much of Irene’s writings.   In 1972, a few months after graduating high school, Irene met James Onorato, a soldier who had just returned from Vietnam. After dating two weeks, they married, raised three children, and are still happily married today.   Irene and James, both radiation protection technicians, retired from the nuclear power industry in 2014 and now reside in Louisiana. Readers can visit Irene’s website at ireneonorato.com, and find her on Facebook.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Roberta sank to a knee and ran a finger across a random terrazzo-and-brass square on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame. One day, I’m going to have my name engraved in a star on this walkway. Everything in her hoped it would be true.

Of course you will. Celeste Diamond adjusted a Gucci purse higher on her shoulder then clutched the handles of several bulging shopping bags with both hands. We’d better go get ready for tonight’s premiere.

Who would have thought the premiere would be for Roberta’s second movie in such a short time? What was it the entertainment magazines and tabloids had printed about her debut film last year? Supporting actress Roberta Lancing shined brightly in her role as Lena in Rich Man’s Fool. The accolades went on and on.

The leading lady had gotten less press and was none too thrilled about it. Doubtful she’d ever speak to Roberta again unless absolutely necessary. And that was fine with her. Working with the pouty, controlling diva had been difficult for the whole cast.

She stood to her feet. Thank you, Celeste. If I didn’t have you for an agent, I wouldn’t have gotten the part in the first film, or this one.

Tonight, the public would decide if her role in Frost on the Mountain would win critical acclaim. It had certainly been a challenge having to memorize lines in a crunch. Not to mention dealing with an overbearing director who seemed to think screaming would motivate the actors to understand his vague expectations about each scene.

The whole thing from beginning to end had been a major source of stress, but she’d managed to survive. Thrive. Make a name for herself. The goal? Make it to the A-list of sought-after actresses or fade into obscurity like so many others.

Legs coiled underneath her, Roberta relaxed against the armrest of the loveseat with the Shout ‘N Tout magazine open in her hands. Two and a half weeks since the movie premiere, and the media was still going hog-wild. About her. Everything from her youth told her that pride was a precursor to a downfall. And being proud and puffed up would lead her down the road to destruction. Harrumph! She pooh-poohed the idea.

Pride wasn’t involved. Not at all. She worked hard, exhausted herself, and strove to be the best she could be. And, it had paid off. The movie-going public loved her and indicated that she—country born and raised Bobbie Lance, now Roberta Lancing—had left her humble roots in Walden, Alabama behind and made a name for herself. There wasn’t a thing in the world wrong with that. After all, didn’t God want His people to be successful?

Ring, Ring. Caller ID identified her agent.

Smiling, she answered. Hello, Celeste.

"Did you see the latest article from Shout ‘N Tout?"

Boy, did I. It was fantastic.

Well, if you think that was awesome, just wait until you hear what I’ve lined up for you next week.

Excitement pulsed like gunfire through Roberta’s veins. Tell me.

"Roots of Fame magazine wants to do a full-spread print article and an online mini-doc about you and the little Podunk town you came from. Celeste laughed. Go ahead. Say, wheeee."

Heart speeding into overdrive, Roberta could hardly believe it. Seriously?

Yes, seriously. Am I wonderful, or what?

I hardly know what to say. How did you pull this off?

Because I’m the wonderful me that I am, of course. Celeste tittered. Okay, it helps that my former significant other works at the magazine, and I threatened to tell about a little, shall we say, ‘incident’ involving an under-aged girl that⁠—

Spare me. She didn’t want or need to hear sordid details about the man’s distasteful trysts. Something inside cringed at the very idea. And to hold something over a person’s head as collateral to further someone else’s career? It was distasteful at least, reprehensible at most. She sighed. So, when and how do we start?

Damian, my ex whatever-you-want-to-call-him, a cameraman, and I, will accompany you to your hometown and do the story. You can show us that trailer park you grew up in, the narrow-minded village people, the church, and one-horse town you called home, and we’ll take it from there. Fair enough?

Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Celeste. Bye. Who was she to argue with the woman who had brought her from being a virtual unknown to bright-and-shining star in such a short time? On the other hand, why couldn’t she grow a backbone and stand up to Celeste’s insults and unsubstantiated claims?

Narrow-minded? One-horse? And what did the church have to do with anything? "Tsk. I’m a wimp."

Roberta tossed the magazine aside. Everything would turn out okay. She’d make sure the article wasn’t slanted in a way that maligned her old stomping ground. Quite the contrary. If it were up to her, the piece would portray the honorable, hard-working town, the church and its dedicated saints, and the otherwise humble beginnings of her career. No more. No less. She would see to it.

CHAPTER 2

Heart in her throat, Roberta tightened the seatbelt until the strap nearly cut off the circulation in her legs. First-class seating didn’t make a difference when it came to turbulence. The bumps, pitches, and elevator-dropping sensations were still terrifying.

Her seatmate on the aisle leaned forward, took the bounces in stride, and pulled a flask from the backpack he’d stowed under the seat in front of him. He took a sip. Then another. He started to screw the cap back on, stopped, and held the slim, silver container toward her. Take a swig of this. It’ll calm your nerves.

A whiff of liquor churned her stomach, and how he’d gotten the flask through security baffled her. No, thanks. As many times as she’d been offered and even tasted an alcoholic drink, she never developed a liking for it. Not to mention the voices in her head that brought old Sunday School scriptures to bear. Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. Where she came from, people frowned upon imbibing.

Suit yourself. Thirty-something, scrawny, and heavily tattooed, the cameraman who would be filming the biographical piece on her replaced the cap after taking another generous swallow or two of the repulsive-smelling stuff. Name’s Kendall, by the way. Sorry we didn’t get properly introduced on the ground. Almost missed the flight. L.A. traffic, you know.

Her head spun. Roberta reached for the barf bag in the front seat pocket, and held it open, just in case. I’m sorry, Kindle, I⁠—

"Kendall. A Kindle is an electronic book. You know. For people who read."

Goodness, gracious. Next to her was a man who referred to people who read as if he wasn’t part of their elite group. Was he illiterate, or— Oh, it didn’t matter with her stomach lurching with every bump. If she