Moments In Time: The Complete Novella Collection (18 page)

Despite the great differences in social
class, no one seemed out of place. As I sat at the wedding table
during the reception, holding Nick’s hand, I even spotted Donny, an
old friend of mine who had once been homeless, talking to a movie
star.

“Looks like everyone’s getting along great,”
Nick whispered into my ear.

“I told you they would.” I grinned and
kissed my new husband on the lips.

“Time for you to dance the night away, Mr.
and Mrs. Johnson,” said Melisa, my maid of honor, interrupting our
kiss.

Perfect timing. I’d been meaning to talk to
her. “Honey, I’ll join you in a bit. I need a quick moment with
Melisa.”

“That’s fine. See you on the dance floor,
Mrs. Johnson.” He kissed my forehead.

“Melisa,” I said when Nick was gone. “I kept
my promise to you. I broke out of my shell and started a new life.
It was terrifying, but look where I’ve landed.”

“You did great. I couldn’t be prouder of my
best friend.” She hugged me.

“I want the same for you,” I said with tears
in my eyes. “You deserve another chance. If one presents itself, no
matter how terrifying it may seem, don’t be afraid to take it.”

Melisa laughed. “What are the chances of me
landing a multimillionaire husband?”

I shook my head. “It’s not about money. It’s
about love and living again. I wouldn’t care if Nick were
poor.”

“I’m damaged beyond repair, inside and out.
Who in their right mind would want me?”

“Shut up. You’ve been through a lot, but
you’re strong and smart. Plus, you’re gorgeous.” I always found it
hard to believe Melisa was oblivious to her own beauty. The jade
green, mermaid-style bridesmaid dress she wore accentuated her
curves, and her fiery corkscrew curls were pinned to her head in a
flattering updo. “I saw a few men staring at you tonight.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I’ve fulfilled the promise I made you, and
now I’m giving it back to you. Please keep it for me.”

Melisa sighed and pursed her lips. “I’ll
try.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” I kissed her on
the forehead and left to dance with my husband, who had just
finished a dance with his mother.

“By the way,” I said, drawing close to him
and whispering into his ear as we began to spin gracefully across
the floor. “I have a wedding present for you tucked away
somewhere.”

“What is it?” He squinted his beautiful
green eyes.

“I can’t say, except that you’ll have to
wait nine months to see it.”

Nick stopped dancing and his eyes widened.
“You are... We are?” A grin split his face.

I laughed. “Yes, we are,” I said. “Two
months.”

He kissed me hard on the lips, then picked
me up and swung me around until my head spun.

“Put me down!” I pushed at his chest,
giggling. “I don’t think that’s good for the baby.”

“Oh, sorry.” He lowered me to the ground and
held me close as we danced to the song that had played in the café
the first time we kissed. We swayed into our future, our bodies
cushioning our perfect little promise. Our new beginning just a
heartbeat away.

END OF BOOK 2

Bittersweet Moments

(Moments in Time #3)

By Dori Lavelle

Melisa wished she could drown herself in a
bottle of whiskey tonight. Out of the question. Sparkling water
would have to do. She lifted her glass to her lips and sipped.

She was at her best friend Carlene’s
wedding, surrounded by happy people, but her heart was filled with
rocks. Not that she wasn’t happy for Carlene. After what her friend
had gone through, she deserved every piece of happiness she was
getting.

But when the night was over, while Carlene
headed for the airport on her way to honeymoon in Greece, Melisa
would return to her life in hiding. She had worked and lived at the
Oasis Shelter for five years now.

When guests started trickling out into the
summer’s night, Melisa kissed and hugged her friend, then walked
out to the sidewalk and hailed a taxi. Although she had given the
address of the shelter to the driver when she got in, she changed
her mind and asked him to drop her off in front of The Roll &
Dice instead. She hadn’t been there in months.

Just inside the door, she basked in the
sounds of music mixed with the chinking of coins being dropped into
machines, cards being shuffled, and the roulette wheel clicking.
People talked and laughed, happy for the moment—until they walked
out of the red-and-white doors of the casino and life punched them
in the face.

Then the smells of cigarette smoke, sweat,
cologne, and beer hit her nostrils, and a wave of nausea rolled
over her. She turned to walk out again. This was goodbye. On her
way home, she stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of
whiskey.

At Oasis, the lights were out. They were
always switched off at nine-thirty. Oasis had been her home for a
long time, and she never wanted more. But as she approached the
worn front door of the building tonight, she felt as if she were
entering a jail cell. This was not her home anymore.

She had lost her first home six years ago,
when her husband of three years was killed while saving lives in a
fire. When Scott was alive, she’d always joked that he should get a
job that wasn’t bound to kill him. A job that wouldn’t keep her up
at night, dreading a middle-of-the-night call. But with her bakery,
Mel’s Delights, just getting off the ground and a baby on the way,
they needed the money, and she would never ask him to stop doing
what he loved.

Melisa grew to accept that being a
firefighter for the Serendipity Fire Department was in Scott’s
blood. His grandfather had been one, so had his father and brother,
and it was only expected that he follow in their footsteps.

Melisa had no choice but to learn to sleep
without worrying, and take care of their unborn child. As she
relaxed, the midnight call came, and from one day to the next, her
life went up in smoke. She had dropped the phone as a sharp current
of pain zapped through her and she crumpled to the bedroom floor, a
pool of blood drenching her lace nightdress. She was rushed to the
hospital to try and save the baby and check on her husband, but it
was already too late. They were both gone.

In the months after that terrible day,
Melisa pushed away everyone in her life who tried to tell her how
she should feel or grieve, and turned to the two things that made
her forget the pain—alcohol and gambling. Soon she lost everything,
including the small house with a white picket fence and a porch
swing, which Scott had bought her as a wedding present. She ended
up on the streets until Oasis offered her refuge. That was five
years ago, and she still lived at Oasis, but as a staff member
now.

Melisa turned her staff key in the lock and
tiptoed inside. Instead of heading for the sleeping hall, she used
the light of the new cellphone Carlene had given her on her
birthday to lead her to the kitchen.

The kitchen was spacious and furnished with
top-of-the-line industry appliances and equipment. A few months
ago, as a wedding present to Carlene, Nick had renovated the
shelter that had been Carlene’s home for four years, the place
where—like Melisa—Carlene had hidden from the demons of her
past.

Once in the kitchen, Melisa walked to a
drawer in the back, slid it open, and fumbled inside until her
fingers made contact with a candle and a box of matches. She didn’t
want to attract attention by switching on the bright kitchen
lights, and she longed for the comforting glow of candlelight. She
lit the candle and followed its light to the pantry, her whiskey
bottle in hand. She turned the handle and pushed open the metal
door, then locked it behind her using one of the keys on her
keychain. She wanted to be alone. No surprises.

Melisa tipped the candle over the shelf
nearest the door and waited as the melted wax dripped to form a
dime-sized puddle on the saucer she’d brought in from the kitchen.
She then pressed the butt of the candle into the hot wax until it
stuck and stood. Next, she twisted open the cap of the whiskey
bottle and closed her eyes as the sharp, inviting aroma taunted her
and sent adrenaline rushing through her veins. She gritted her
teeth and pulled herself together. She’d bought the bottle simply
for closure and emotional support. She had no intention of drinking
it. No matter how hard it was to let go of, that part of her life
was over. This was the last bottle she would ever buy. No more
gambling and no more alcohol. She had been sober for a year;
relapsing would be a hard fall.

She almost sold her soul to the devil before
she realized she had reached rock bottom. At that moment, she could
either stay down there and rot or start climbing her way back up to
the land of the living. Carlene had forgiven her for selling her
story to the press—which Melisa refused the money for in the end,
thank God—but it would still take a long time for Melisa to forgive
herself.

Trying to swallow the lump lingering inside
her throat, she placed the bottle of whiskey on the floor, next to
the shelf with the candle. She found the bucket of cleaning
supplies, removed them, and filled the bucket with soapy water. She
had never understood why there was a faucet inside the pantry, but
she appreciated it now; she dipped her hands in the warm water,
pulled out the dishcloth, and wrung it out. Then she cleaned the
wooden shelves, scrubbing and wiping every surface until some of
the tension melted away like the candlewax. She was a clean freak,
people told her, but it was therapeutic. The more she scrubbed the
shelves, the more in control she felt. She scrubbed until the palms
of her hands turned wrinkled and raw.

Fifteen minutes later, everything was clean,
and the food on the shelves was organized. Satisfied, she hung the
dishcloth on the lip of the sink and closed her eyes, breathing in
the lemon-scented all-purpose cleaner.

Something thumped to the floor, and then
there was a crackle. Melisa opened her eyes and whirled around to
face the door in time to be nearly blinded by a burst of flames.
The candle had somehow come unglued, tipped over, and fell,
knocking down the bottle of whiskey; fire and alcohol met in an
explosion of flames that now blocked the exit.

Melisa shielded her eyes with both hands and
screamed as a current of fear zapped through her body. Before she
could think of what to do, she felt a hot sting on the forearm of
her right hand. She screamed again as she yanked the melting, hot
plastic container from her skin. Too late. The damage had been done
and she was in excruciating pain.

Flashes of her past flooded her mind. Her
dead husband. Burned alive. And she was about to die the same way.
No
. She had little to live for, but she wasn’t ready to die.
She wouldn’t let the fire win. Not again.

She quickly placed her burned arm under the
faucet to cool it, then grabbed the bucket. She filled it with
water and dumped it over the flames. In response, they only fought
back, grew stronger. They were spreading along the wall now,
feeding off wood, paper, cooking oil, plastic. Thank God the pantry
was large or she would have been dead already. If only she could
get to the door. But if she tried, she’d be toast. She couldn’t
even see it through the flames anymore.

After the seventh bucket of water, Melisa’s
arms threatened to fall off her body, but she wasn’t ready to give
up. She was prepared to die fighting if she had to, even as she
felt her skin being melted from her flesh. After Scott’s death,
she’d had nightmares of him being burned alive over and over and
over again. It was one of the things that had driven her to search
for a way to forget. It had started with a sip of whiskey that had
singed her tongue—she had not been a drinker before—then it was two
or three sips, and then a glass, leading to several more. Until she
was drinking whole bottles and feeling less of the fire, and less
of the numbing effect. So she upped her doses until she forgot who
she was.

Giving up trying to quench the fire, she
dropped the bucket and grabbed the wet dish cloth. She pressed it
to her nose while moving to the furthest corner of the pantry and
threw any hard objects she could reach at the door. Maybe someone
would hear from the other side. But after a minute she couldn’t
breathe, and her eyes burned.

As large as the pantry was, the fire was
spreading too fast and it would only be a matter of time before it
reached her. Since she had run out of objects to throw at the door,
she had to think of another way to save herself. Fast. She swept a
frantic gaze around the pantry and rested it on the tiny window,
which was too high and too tiny to provide an escape. Her only hope
was that the flames would somehow be seen from outside. Until then
she had to keep herself alive. But how? In answer to her question,
an idea came to her. She could hide inside the walk-in fridge. She
wasn’t certain it would save her once the flames engulfed the
entire pantry, and she might freeze or run out of oxygen if noone
found her, but it was her only chance. And she would be able to
keep her burned arm cool. Without another thought, she scrambled to
the fridge and reached for the metal handle. She cursed under her
breath as she released it again. Too hot. Instead of touching it
with her bare hands, she managed to open it with the help of the
dish cloth, and slipped inside, sighing with instant relief as the
cool air assailed her. Before she closed the door, she removed one
of her new pumps and placed it outside the door. Maybe part of it
would survive the flames and someone would see it and think to look
inside the fridge.

Her legs gave way and she sank to the floor,
coughing and wheezing, her chest full of smoke. Her eyelids closed,
but she mentally willed them to remain open; if they closed, they
might never open again.