Blooming Into Life

By Kristie Booker

In the heart of Chicago, Colleen's picture-perfect life is shattered by a single photograph—a mysterious image that raises questions about her husband's faithfulness. Amidst the suffocating expectations of her elite social circle and the constant scrutiny of her mother-in-law, Colleen must confront the doubts that plague her marriage and the void within herself.

Guided by her personal coach, Colleen embarks on a transformative journey of self-discovery, determined to break free from the confines of her insecurities and rediscover her true strength. As she navigates the complexities of love, trust, and personal growth, Colleen begins to question the life she has built and the woman she has become.

Meanwhile, nestled in the rolling hills of rural Illinois, Mary Ann's century-old family farm stands as a beacon of tradition and resilience. But beneath the picturesque surface lies a family torn apart by tragedy and the passage of time. With her beloved son, Johnny, forever frozen in memory and her daughter, Colleen, lost to the allure of city life, Mary Ann yearns to bridge the gap between past and present.

When a local news channel offers to showcase their farm as the oldest and largest in the county, Mary Ann seizes the opportunity to reunite her fractured family. Determined to share the wisdom and values of their heritage with her grandchildren, she sets out to convince Colleen to return home for the Fourth of July filming.

As Colleen and Mary Ann's paths intertwine, they must confront the ghosts of their past and the uncertainties of their future. Through laughter, tears, and the unbreakable bonds of family, they discover that the key to healing lies in embracing their roots and finding strength in each other.

In this heartwarming tale of resilience and self-discovery, author Kristie Booker weaves a tapestry of love, loss, and the enduring power of family. Blooming Into Life is a testament to the courage it takes to trust, the freedom found in letting go, and the joy of coming home to oneself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cricket Press
• Release date: May 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798894432946

Kristie Booker

Kristie Booker worked for several years as a wellness coach before turning to fiction. She lives in the city of Chicago, Illinois, with her husband, two sons, and their lovably lazy labradoodle. Blooming Into Life is her first novel.

Book preview

Blooming Into Life

Kristie Booker

Copyright © 2018 by Kristie Booker

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Mary Ann Smith

Contents

1.Colleen

2.Mary Ann

3.Colleen

4.Mary Ann

5.Colleen

6.Colleen

7.Colleen

8.Mary Ann

9.Colleen

10.Colleen

11.Mary Ann

12.Colleen

13.Colleen

14.Mary Ann

15.Colleen

16.Colleen

17.Colleen

18.Colleen

19.Mary Ann

20.Colleen

21.Colleen

22.Mary Ann

23.Colleen

24.Mary Ann

25.Colleen

26.Colleen

27.Colleen

28.Mary Ann

29.Colleen

30.Mary Ann

Recipes

Author's Note

About the Author

1

Colleen

Chicago’s relentless spring rain hammered against the car roof, a commotion that mirrored Colleen’s mounting frustration. Her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel as she glared at the blurred taillights ahead, each minute slipping away like water through cupped hands.

Pressing her foot on the brake, Colleen swiveled to face her daughters in the backseat. Chloe, age 5, blissfully unaware of the tension, noisily slurped her chocolate milk, lost in a world of her own creation. Beside her, Mabel, age 7, seethed with barely restrained anger, her arms locked in a defiant cross as she clenched the uneaten Pop-Tart in her small fist. The unwashed dress incident still brewing within her, the frustration was evident in the scowl etched upon her face.

Girls, we need to hurry, Colleen said, her voice strained with urgency. We’re late. Again.

Daddy gets home at lunch time, right? Chloe asked, her innocent question cutting through the tension.

He lands at noon. He’ll be home around one, right after your recess, Colleen confirmed.

As if on cue, the school attendant emerged from the gray backdrop, her black umbrella a stark contrast against the weeping sky. The pounding rain intensified as she opened the back seat door, droplets clinging to the edge of her umbrella like crystal beads. Good morning, Adler family, she greeted as she waited for Mabel and Chloe to unfasten their seat belts and gather their backpacks, a task that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Morning, Ms. Allie, Chloe chirped. My daddy gets home today. Right after recess!

That’s wonderful, Chloe, Ms. Allie replied.

Mabel tossed her crumbled Pop-Tart onto the seat as she scooted across to exit with her sister. You ruined my day. Tell Daddy that I want him to pick me up, she demanded, her glare a dagger aimed at Colleen’s heart.

Colleen managed a nod of acknowledgement, her lips curving into a brittle smile. Have a great day! she called out as her daughters clambered out of the car, their small frames swallowed by the unforgiving rain. The bitter taste of the words on her tongue reflected the hollowness of guilt gnawing at her conscience.

As the car door slammed, Colleen’s façade crumbled. The nagging thought that she should have given in to their pleas and let them stay home pressed on her chest. She had prioritized the rigid routine of school over precious moments with their father—a man whose presence had become as fleeting as a ghost.

Chloe climbed the imposing stone staircase that led to the entrance of Northside Day School. Just before disappearing inside, she paused, turning to offer a quick wave to Colleen. Her baby doll dress, adorned in vibrant floral patterns, fluttered in the wind. The dress, paired with polka-dot leggings, and shiny, hot-pink Mary Jane shoes, had become her signature look—a Chloe-fit, as Mabel fondly called it. With her lopsided pigtails bouncing, Chloe embodied the unique spirit she embraced since the tender age of three.

Through the veil of rain cascading down the passenger window, Colleen waved as she watched her daughters walk inside. Guiding her car away from the curb, her stomach growled, reminding her of her neglected needs. The promise of food and caffeine drew her toward Molly’s Cafe, located just a few blocks away.

Colleen’s excitement grew as she counted down the days until school’s end. With only thirty-three days remaining, each one felt like a step closer to the freedom of summer. As she approached the café, visions of peaceful mornings and afternoons spent with Mabel and Chloe played in her mind.

However, a wave of anxiety punctured Colleen’s enthusiasm for summer. The thought of exchanging her winter wardrobe for summer attire made her heart sink. Shedding her trusty ‘Spanx suit’ for skin-baring dresses and shorts would leave her exposed and vulnerable.

Colleen had come to rely on her winter uniform—black control pants, a matching body-shaping shirt, and long cardigan sweaters. They provided a sense of comfort and security, hiding the parts of her body she felt self-conscious about. The prospect of baring more skin in the summer months filled her with dread.

A silver Mercedes occupied her usual parking spot near the cafe entrance, forcing her to maneuver her car into a tightly packed space farther down the street. Gathering her purse, Colleen stepped out into the rain, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head as she navigated through the downpour, carefully dodging the puddles along the sidewalk.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted Colleen as she entered the cafe, her favorite refuge from the snobbishness of the school mothers or country club women. Here, she felt at ease, where casual and ordinary were celebrated. But today, an exception to that rule unfolded. A cluster of elegant, impeccably dressed women with perfect hair huddled in the corner around a table, their attention drawn to the commanding voice of Priscilla Barr.

Colleen felt the tug to leave, yet the rumble in her stomach served as a reminder of her initial purpose for being there. With her head held low, she made a beeline for the restroom. She tugged at her black control pants, trying to smooth away the lint and wished they would do a better job at hiding her belly. Reaching into her purse, she fished out Chloe’s American Girl hairbrush and tamed her wild hair, pulling it back into a loose bun. As she looked in the mirror, she used warm water to wash away the sleep encrusted around her eyes. A dot of pink lipstick on each cheek gave a rosy hue to her pale skin.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and kept her gaze straight as she strolled across the room. With each measured step, her dad’s words—walk in like you own the place—came to mind, reminding her to be confident.

As she made her way toward a small table by the window, Priscilla Barr rose from her seat and intercepted her. The self-proclaimed queen bee of Northside Day School and beloved pickle ball champion at Harborview Country Club, greeted Colleen with an overbearing wave. Draped in a hot-pink cashmere cardigan, perfectly matching her lipstick, Priscilla’s condescending tone made Colleen feel like a child as she asked, Oh, my dear, are you all alone?

Colleen plastered on a fake smile, shushing the lie that sat on the edge of her tongue begging to brag about the fabulous friend who would be joining her. But before she could answer, her favorite waitress, Brenda, walked over with a cup of coffee.

Here you go, hon, she said, her raspy voice sounded as though she’d been smoking her entire life. How are those precious little girls? Bet they’re ready for summer, aren’t they?

Thanks, Brenda, Colleen said as the air filled with an awkward silence, all eyes on Colleen. We’re counting down the days.

Priscilla’s second in command, Victoria, leaned in and inquired with inflated curiosity, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t at the fashion show. Everything okay?

Colleen masked her true reasons as she replied, Oh, I had a prior commitment. I’m sure it was as amazing as ever. She could have attended if she pleased, but refused to show up in her Spanx suit. Everything else in her closet no longer fit.

This year’s Raina Rose collection is nothing short of spectacular. Such a shame you couldn’t have been there to order a dress. But I’m sure you’ll find something gorgeous, Priscilla said, an air of disapproval in her gaze. So, what brings you into the cafe this morning?

Jay can’t get enough of Molly’s scones, Colleen fibbed. Jay had never even tasted one of Molly’s creations.

Well, I’m sure he appreciates you coming here to get him scones. Priscilla said, placing her jeweled hand across her chest. It must be so hard having him out in California all the time. But how nice that he could go to his sister’s gallery party. The other women at Priscilla’s table nodded their heads in agreement as they stared at Colleen.

Colleen felt her cheeks flush as she maintained the tight-lipped smile. Jay hadn’t mentioned anything about attending Betsy’s gallery party. Avoiding eye contact, she replied, Oh, he loves working with Eli and catching up with Betsy while he’s there. As usual, her mother-in-law, Dinah, kept her country club companions abreast of her children’s activities. She admired these women as much as they admired her.

Sidestepping the gossipy cluster, Colleen made her way to her table, shrugging off their judgmental stares. Finally seated, she let out a deep exhale, finding solace as Brenda promptly took her order.

What are you having this morning, sweetie? She pulled a pen out of the dark part of her otherwise yellow hair.

Brenda’s rush flustered Colleen. She had planned to say, Yogurt Parfait but she said, Pancakes and bacon.

I’ll sneak you a scone while you wait.

Thanks, Brenda. The scones reminded Colleen of her mother’s biscuits, but they had Molly’s special touch, with added fruits, lemon zest, and spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.

The cafe radiated a welcoming coziness like her childhood home, its walls trimmed with warm-toned wood panels, lit by sunlight streaming through windows draped with delicate lace curtains.

While sipping her coffee, Colleen scrolled through her sister-in-law’s art gallery page on Facebook when suddenly, she spotted a photo of Jay standing next to a beautiful blonde woman holding a glass of champagne. They stood as though they were a couple, as if they were one, waiting for people to stop by to say hello. The towering woman locked eyes with her husband. Her sun-kissed tousled waves hung past her shoulders. Despite being at a gallery in upscale Beverly Hills, she stood out with her ripped skinny jeans, chunky cropped sweater, and an abundance of rings on her fingers.

Colleen stared at the phone screen, twirling her hair around her fingers. Smells of maple syrup and bacon curled under her nose, forcing her to look away from her phone. Thanks, Brenda.

She took a bite of a meaty strip of bacon while she waited for the maple syrup to soak into the spongy pancakes and found herself, once again, missing her mom.

2

Mary Ann

Mary Ann shooed clucking chickens out of her way as she made her way through the coop. She lifted the metal lid of the feed container and filled a bucket with golden grains before scattering them on the ground for the eager chickens. The earthy aroma of corn, wheat, and hay tickled her nose as the hens swarmed around her feet, pecking at the kernels of grain with their beaks. Navigating through the flock, she entered the hen house and collected warm eggs from the nests, placing them into a basket.

Shades of pink and orange painted the sky, casting a glow onto the freshly plowed fields as she trekked toward the house. Her husband John stood on the porch, steam floating from his mug as he took a sip of his coffee. Their two Labradors, Nelson and Cash, waited at his feet, tails wagging as they watched Danny’s white truck approach.

Thirteen-year-old Kirby climbed out of the truck like a sloth, her oversized hoodie and baggie sweatpants devouring her slight frame, and her curls escaping every which way from the scrunchie that struggled to contain them. Kirby, just like Mary Ann’s daughter Colleen, had inherited her grandmother Mabel’s unruly curly hair, only instead of red like Colleen’s and her grandmother Mabel’s, it was dark like Danny’s.

Danny’s jaw tightened with frustration as he watched his daughter trudge up the porch steps.

Well-versed in teenage rebellion, Mary Ann passed the basket of eggs to John and then led her niece to the couch in the living room. After placing a quilt over the sleepy girl, she patted her head gently.

As she walked into the kitchen, John handed her a steaming cup of coffee before pouring a second one for Danny. Is she feeling alright? he asked, joining Danny at the table.

She’d sleep half the day if I let her, Danny said.

It’s her day off from school and let’s not forget that she’s a teenager. Mary Ann lit a match and held it to the burner, watching as the blue flames came to life before positioning the cast-iron skillet over the fire. She understood how much it meant to Danny for his daughter to take on her farm duties, so she brainstormed ways to make cooking with a great-aunt and a grandma fun. She thought back to the joyful times spent cooking with her grandmother and mother, particularly when they made biscuits together. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself standing on a stool, just as she stood now, barely tall enough to reach the countertop. The three of them would gather around a large, well-worn wooden bowl. Her mother would measure the flour while her grandmother cut the cold butter in with a fork. Mary Ann’s task was to slowly pour in the buttermilk, watching in wonder as the dough came together. The kitchen would fill with the buttery aroma of baking biscuits, a scent that always evoked feelings of love and security. Now, thinking of Kirby, she held onto the warmth of those cherished moments, hoping to recreate the same joy and connection she had experienced in her own childhood. You need to find a middle ground with her. When your mom and I were younger, Granny Mabel and Mama trusted us to have total creative freedom with everything they made. You name it, we decorated it, she laughed. You should have seen some of the things we came up with.

I can only imagine, Danny chuckled, then shifted to a more serious tone. Why didn’t Colleen ever take to it?

Mary Ann shook her head and sighed. Because I forgot to make it fun, she admitted. Maybe if I had taken the time to understand what truly made her happy, I could’ve found a way to keep her interested in this farm. But you live and learn, right? She placed the bacon on the hot skillet, smoke rose with each sizzling slice.

You know, Aunt Mary Ann, you could still live here and do anything else you like even if you sold me your portion, Danny said. And, Uncle John, you can still farm. I’d pay you for your time.

Mary Ann took a sip of her coffee. She lived for the evaluation of weather conditions while strategizing the planting and harvesting of corn and soybeans, cutting hay, nursing orphaned calves on cold spring mornings, and meticulously planning, planting, and selling garden produce at the Criss Creek Farmer’s Market. Thanks, sweetie. But I’m not ready.

She observed her husband lounging in his chair, sipping coffee, while she cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisked them, and poured them into the skillet. In his unwavering support for her decisions, she found comfort—a trait she loved the most.

I know you worry about things getting complicated when I’m gone, Mary Ann said, turning the bacon. But I promise we’ll update the will so if Colleen sells to anyone, you get first right of refusal. She could understand his concern—Colleen’s slick-talking businessman husband always seemed to be making deals.

And, at a fair price, John reassured him.

As Mary Ann’s sister, Rose and her husband, Archie, entered through the screen door, the aroma of toasted bread filled the air. Every Friday, during planting and harvesting seasons, Mary Ann continued Granny Mabel’s tradition of having family breakfast. Along with the farmhouse, Mary Ann also inherited all the beloved traditions that came along with it.

Rose’s face lit up with enthusiasm as she asked, Where’s Kirby?

Danny motioned toward the living room. Still sleeping.

What’s the infatuation with the goats? Archie asked.

She’s got it in her head she wants to make soap from their milk, Danny replied.

Archie raised an eyebrow and accepted the cup of coffee John handed him as Mary Ann placed a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate stacked with bacon, and toasted bread on the table. Rose dropped to her chair and looked Danny in the eye. Let her try it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Danny’s fork clattered to his plate as he spoke, Well, we’re about to find out. I finally caved and let her spend a small fortune on all the supplies she needed for this experiment.

After breakfast, Mary Ann and Rose cleared the dishes from the table as the guys walked out the door, their conversation fading in the distance. Rose filled the sink with warm soapy water to wash the dishes and Mary Ann wiped the crumbs from the table. Their synchronized motions in the kitchen stemmed from a lifetime of working together.

Mary Ann reached for her worn gardening gloves and stepped outside, intending to pluck some fresh spring onions for the lunch salad. Standing at the edge of the garden, her thoughts were clouded by memories of her youngest child, Johnny, tragically torn from her life almost eight years ago. While Colleen’s aspirations took her away from the farm, Johnny’s aspirations anchored him to it. God had other plans, though. Rose’s good fortune allowed her son to embrace the farm life, dutifully carrying on the family’s legacy.

The warm sun caressed her skin, almost like a comforting hug as she knelt in the dirt pulling onions from the ground. Smiling to herself, she remembered the summer days long ago when she and Rose would run through the berry patch, picking plump blackberries and raspberries until their baskets overflowed. Back in the kitchen, they would help their mother and grandmother turn the juicy berries into jam, after washing and cleaning them and pouring them into a large pot on the stove, stirring in plenty of sugar and lemon juice. The scent of sugary sweetness filled the air as they poured the hot jam into glass jars, filling them to the brim before placing them on a shelf to cool. As Mary Ann recalled how beautiful the jars looked lined up in a mirage of colors, an idea struck her that Kirby could help today by making and decorating cupcakes.

Mary Ann returned to the kitchen to find Rose engrossed in conversation, the house phone pressed firmly against her ear. While she washed the dirt off the onions and arranged them on a paper towel, she listened to the rich tales of the farm’s history pouring from Rose’s lips. Meanwhile, she retrieved flour, sugar, cocoa powder, and the remaining dry ingredients from the pantry for the cupcakes, preparing everything as she waited for Rose’s conversation to end.

Rose beamed with pride as she hung up the phone. They want to feature us in a story for the Channel 2 News, she said, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Can you believe it? They want to tour our houses, the property, and interview each of us about how we all work together as a family to keep things going.

When would they do this? Mary Ann sighed as