Julia Becker is a 25-year-old elementary school librarian living in upstate New York with her successful journalist husband, Jim. Up until the moment Jim is involved in an accident while away on business, Julia’s life is comfortable, secure, and hardly exciting. While tending to Jim, however, Julia uncovers some hard truths about herself, her husband, and their marriage. And when a new teacher begins at Carson Elementary, Julia finds her allegiance to both her husband and her best friend, Kris, being put to the test.
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Chapter 1
I woke with a start at the sound of glass shattering. I sat upright in bed, head cocked and heart racing. The blinking light pulsing from the computer’s power switch in the corner of the room caught my attention, and I stared at it, holding my breath and listening for other sounds that were out of the ordinary. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I quietly got out of bed and made my way to the closed door, carefully avoiding the creaky spots in the wooden floor.
Closing and locking the bedroom door while my husband is away on business has always made me feel a little safer in our too-large house; but I felt suddenly vulnerable, like one of those girls in a cheap, B-Rated horror flick who goes looking for trouble and finds it lurking in a darkened closet.
I reached for the knob, disengaged the mechanism, and very deliberately opened the door so as not to make any noise. I steeled my nerves and stepped across the threshold. The hallway was black, minus the sliver of dim moonlight filtering in through the window of the adjacent guest bathroom. It cast an eerie shadow against the far wall, but at least it provided just enough light to see by. I stood completely motionless, afraid I might betray myself to an intruder with even the slightest of sounds.
I took a small step forward, and then another, until I found myself creeping down the staircase to the floor below, gripping the banister in fear as I slowly progressed. Stepping onto the landing, I immediately tripped over a cat that had begun to intertwine himself around my legs with the mistaken assumption it was time for breakfast. I steadied myself before I could fall to my hands and knees and mentally cursed the cat. Peering down the long hallway, my eyes adjusting to the dense, gray light, I could make out a dark, shadowy movement just inside the kitchen.
I stood frozen, my heart pumping wildly, not knowing exactly what to do. Should I high-tail it back up the stairs, lock myself in my room, and call the police? Should I attempt to hide and wait for the intruder to leave? Or should I confront him?
But then the shadowy figure looked directly at me, its yellow eyes glowing in the night, and mewed.
“You damn cats!” I exhaled sharply, instantly relieved.
I flipped on the light switch closest to me and immediately saw the source of the noise that had abruptly awaken me from my sleep. One of the cats had knocked a glass of water from atop the kitchen table to the ceramic-tiled floor below where it had broken into several large shards. Despite the danger, the cats were lapping at the cool liquid.
“Go on! You’re going to hurt yourselves doing that.” I ushered the cats out of the way and retrieved a hand broom and roll of paper napkins to clean up the mess. “You guys really piss me off sometimes,” I said. I did not particularly enjoy the company of my cats, and I certainly did not appreciate cleaning up the consequences of their middle-of-the-night exploits.
After sweeping up the broken glass and dumping it into the waste bin, I made my way back to my room where I closed and locked the door behind me once again. A quick glance at the digital clock perched on my bedside table told me it was just after midnight.
I laid in bed for awhile, too pumped up on residual adrenaline to relax. I cursed the hour, knowing how I would feel in the morning if my sleep was jeopardized much longer. The fact that tomorrow was my first real day back to work in over two months didn’t help any. I needed to be rested. Realizing I wouldn’t fall asleep if I laid there obsessing about the passing minutes, I rolled over and switched on the lamp.
The wedding photo of my husband and me caught my eye, and I felt an unexpected flicker of annoyance. As a successful journalist, Jim often traveled to meet with sources, and he had been gone on assignment for only two nights out of the four he was expected to be away. He had driven the commute from Ithaca to New York City, instead of catching a flight, making me all the more anxious. I couldn’t help imagining the worst would happen to him whenever he was away. Jim didn’t take my concerns seriously, as usual, and he often dismissed them with an indignant huff.
I sighed and felt my throat constrict, and yet I wasn’t exactly sure what had brought on the sudden feeling of sadness, or if it was even sadness at all. I blinked back a few tears, not really up to the emotional drain of a good cry that would be sure to leave my eyes bloodshot and puffy in the morning. I focused my attention, instead, on the book that had remained untouched on the nightstand for the past few days.
It was the latest rage, on loan from my best friend, Kris. Although I had seen the book on store shelves and read rave reviews about it, I hadn’t given it much consideration. In fact, I had resisted picking it up altogether, simply out of spite. I enjoyed perusing the few specialty bookstores downtown that carried hard-to-find and out-of-print books. I liked to bide my time standing between dark, crowded rows and smelling the sad, musty scent of books that had been somehow lost in the shuffle of today’s popular chick-lit. Kris’s idea of a good story seemed trite in comparison, even if they were, admittedly, entertaining.
Nevertheless, I picked up the book and studied the cover. It was a story of forbidden love, of course, Kris’s favorite theme. She was a hopeless romantic, despite her tough exterior and the illusion of bravado she constantly projected. I shook my head, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of my mouth. I turned the book over in my hands and read one praise-worthy review after another.
“Okay then,” I said aloud, trying to convince myself to get started.
I propped a pillow against the head of the bed so I could sit more comfortably, pulled the covers up over my legs, and turned to the prologue:
He was sure of only one thing: Despite the years that had passed and the physical distance that now separated them, despite how different their lives had become and how little they held in common, he loved her more today than the day they’d first met.
“Oh give me a break,” I said, slamming the book shut. How very tired and cliché. I closed my eyes to measure any degree of tiredness, but there was no pull to sleep. “Shit,” I groaned.
Opening the book for the second time, I began reading again.
He was sure of only one thing: Despite the years that had passed and the physical distance that now separated them, despite how different their lives had become and how little they held in common, he loved her more today than the day they’d first met.
Although she denied it, he was sure she felt the same way. She would never leave the life she had made with her husband and kids, though. She was too responsible. But the one time they happened to see each other by accident, her eyes had said it all. She loved him, too, even though she would never admit it.
I read until my eyes felt heavy and strained, and then I closed the book and let it fall to the floor. I checked the time and was surprised it was already 2:43. I cursed again, knowing that my alarm would be sounding a lot sooner than I would like it to be. I turned out the light, rolled over, and fell asleep almost instantly.
_____________________
Chapter 1
I woke with a start at the sound of glass shattering. I sat upright in bed, head cocked and heart racing. The blinking light pulsing from the computer’s power switch in the corner of the room caught my attention, and I stared at it, holding my breath and listening for other sounds that were out of the ordinary. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I quietly got out of bed and made my way to the closed door, carefully avoiding the creaky spots in the wooden floor.
Closing and locking the bedroom door while my husband is away on business has always made me feel a little safer in our too-large house; but I felt suddenly vulnerable, like one of those girls in a cheap, B-Rated horror flick who goes looking for trouble and finds it lurking in a darkened closet.
I reached for the knob, disengaged the mechanism, and very deliberately opened the door so as not to make any noise. I steeled my nerves and stepped across the threshold. The hallway was black, minus the sliver of dim moonlight filtering in through the window of the adjacent guest bathroom. It cast an eerie shadow against the far wall, but at least it provided just enough light to see by. I stood completely motionless, afraid I might betray myself to an intruder with even the slightest of sounds.
I took a small step forward, and then another, until I found myself creeping down the staircase to the floor below, gripping the banister in fear as I slowly progressed. Stepping onto the landing, I immediately tripped over a cat that had begun to intertwine himself around my legs with the mistaken assumption it was time for breakfast. I steadied myself before I could fall to my hands and knees and mentally cursed the cat. Peering down the long hallway, my eyes adjusting to the dense, gray light, I could make out a dark, shadowy movement just inside the kitchen.
I stood frozen, my heart pumping wildly, not knowing exactly what to do. Should I high-tail it back up the stairs, lock myself in my room, and call the police? Should I attempt to hide and wait for the intruder to leave? Or should I confront him?
But then the shadowy figure looked directly at me, its yellow eyes glowing in the night, and mewed.
“You damn cats!” I exhaled sharply, instantly relieved.
I flipped on the light switch closest to me and immediately saw the source of the noise that had abruptly awaken me from my sleep. One of the cats had knocked a glass of water from atop the kitchen table to the ceramic-tiled floor below where it had broken into several large shards. Despite the danger, the cats were lapping at the cool liquid.
“Go on! You’re going to hurt yourselves doing that.” I ushered the cats out of the way and retrieved a hand broom and roll of paper napkins to clean up the mess. “You guys really piss me off sometimes,” I said. I did not particularly enjoy the company of my cats, and I certainly did not appreciate cleaning up the consequences of their middle-of-the-night exploits.
After sweeping up the broken glass and dumping it into the waste bin, I made my way back to my room where I closed and locked the door behind me once again. A quick glance at the digital clock perched on my bedside table told me it was just after midnight.
I laid in bed for awhile, too pumped up on residual adrenaline to relax. I cursed the hour, knowing how I would feel in the morning if my sleep was jeopardized much longer. The fact that tomorrow was my first real day back to work in over two months didn’t help any. I needed to be rested. Realizing I wouldn’t fall asleep if I laid there obsessing about the passing minutes, I rolled over and switched on the lamp.
The wedding photo of my husband and me caught my eye, and I felt an unexpected flicker of annoyance. As a successful journalist, Jim often traveled to meet with sources, and he had been gone on assignment for only two nights out of the four he was expected to be away. He had driven the commute from Ithaca to New York City, instead of catching a flight, making me all the more anxious. I couldn’t help imagining the worst would happen to him whenever he was away. Jim didn’t take my concerns seriously, as usual, and he often dismissed them with an indignant huff.
I sighed and felt my throat constrict, and yet I wasn’t exactly sure what had brought on the sudden feeling of sadness, or if it was even sadness at all. I blinked back a few tears, not really up to the emotional drain of a good cry that would be sure to leave my eyes bloodshot and puffy in the morning. I focused my attention, instead, on the book that had remained untouched on the nightstand for the past few days.
It was the latest rage, on loan from my best friend, Kris. Although I had seen the book on store shelves and read rave reviews about it, I hadn’t given it much consideration. In fact, I had resisted picking it up altogether, simply out of spite. I enjoyed perusing the few specialty bookstores downtown that carried hard-to-find and out-of-print books. I liked to bide my time standing between dark, crowded rows and smelling the sad, musty scent of books that had been somehow lost in the shuffle of today’s popular chick-lit. Kris’s idea of a good story seemed trite in comparison, even if they were, admittedly, entertaining.
Nevertheless, I picked up the book and studied the cover. It was a story of forbidden love, of course, Kris’s favorite theme. She was a hopeless romantic, despite her tough exterior and the illusion of bravado she constantly projected. I shook my head, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of my mouth. I turned the book over in my hands and read one praise-worthy review after another.
“Okay then,” I said aloud, trying to convince myself to get started.
I propped a pillow against the head of the bed so I could sit more comfortably, pulled the covers up over my legs, and turned to the prologue:
He was sure of only one thing: Despite the years that had passed and the physical distance that now separated them, despite how different their lives had become and how little they held in common, he loved her more today than the day they’d first met.
“Oh give me a break,” I said, slamming the book shut. How very tired and cliché. I closed my eyes to measure any degree of tiredness, but there was no pull to sleep. “Shit,” I groaned.
Opening the book for the second time, I began reading again.
He was sure of only one thing: Despite the years that had passed and the physical distance that now separated them, despite how different their lives had become and how little they held in common, he loved her more today than the day they’d first met.
Although she denied it, he was sure she felt the same way. She would never leave the life she had made with her husband and kids, though. She was too responsible. But the one time they happened to see each other by accident, her eyes had said it all. She loved him, too, even though she would never admit it.
I read until my eyes felt heavy and strained, and then I closed the book and let it fall to the floor. I checked the time and was surprised it was already 2:43. I cursed again, knowing that my alarm would be sounding a lot sooner than I would like it to be. I turned out the light, rolled over, and fell asleep almost instantly.
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