Evergreen Drive , livre ebook

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31 pages

English

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On Evergreen Drive the past collides with the present.

Erika K. Hunt has lived an idyllic life. A married mother of two, she has a loving sister and a reliable best friend. Each day she questions her love, devotion and awareness. A comfortable lifestyle steadfast by her husband's side has begun to disintegrate. In just a few short weeks, lies surround her, and her marriage is in jeopardy.

If the people you trust most can betray you, then where does hope reside?

Evergreen Drive delivers a series of punches through the fragile walls of Erika's sanity, a narrative that will leave the reader stunned. Can she love her husband, without ever really knowing him?

Sujets

Vie de famille

Soutien psychologique et conseils familiaux

Family Life

Fiction

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Publié par	eBookIt.com
Date de parution	11 octobre 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781456629182
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

EVERGREEN DRIVE
By
S. A. Jenkins

Copyright 2017 S. A. Jenkins,
All rights reserved.

Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2918-2

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

For my mother, Lillian Yvonne. She lived a life of grace and gifted an abundance of love.
The Slap- We All Tell Lies
I was content with the disapproval of my Mama. Found the bitterness of my daddy’s words a comfort to the pain I caused. But it is the distrust I feel for that other half of me that pours acid into my veins.

In a cold sweat, I woke that summer morning wondering how the air-conditioned chill still felt so hot. Evan was still asleep snoring as usual. If I kicked him, all he would do was flinch and continue his horrid tune. The sun was barely raised, and the birds on the eaves trough chirped with rapid ease.

I got up and washed the sweat off my face, looking deep into my eyes as the reflection of the mirror portrayed my unease. At that time, my world was closing in, my fears dissolving the most basic hope. Celine called it a temporary funk. Best friends can be counted on for optimism, even at the dimmest hour.

My prayers go unanswered, or I'm just too caught up in misery to see the answer. My husband has ignored every discontent and shallow act I had displayed, trying my best to silently exhibit my discomfort with the current state of our marriage. Just the other week, Evan had called me a ‘lifeless tick’ – an expression I’d heard before, his single recognition of my depressed state.

The only person to see my flagrant need for consolation was my sister Gwen. She bought herbal remedies, how-to-books and uplifting CDs, even paid for a spa weekend on her modest salary, all because my douche of a husband insisted I could get my nails done at home for less, his having no realization that what I was desperate for was escape.

Hearing sound behind me made me turn. The tiny steps of Nibbles, our black Cocker-Poodle, were a relief. She was twelve years old and seemed to know exactly when her company was needed.

I finished by patting my face with a hand towel. Quickly, I let the dog out and back in again before returning to our bedroom. I stood in the doorway and watched Evan still sleeping as if he had no burdens. In my view, he always had life’s journey at hand a little too easily.

At first I thought to head back to bed, but instead I went to the den and switched on the computer. Without hesitation, I logged onto my personal email account and hurriedly clicked open the crude message from two days ago.

The subject simply titled, He and I, brought a rush of heat to my core, and still I felt cold. When I’d first read it, I thought it a cruel internet prank, a sort of virus or phishing scam, but the words were too direct, too curt to be impersonal.

I read it now for what was the fifth time. So far, I had only shared it with Gwen. Three spaces down in the body the message read:

I exist. I know him best! When he moans, it’s me he thinks of. He has told me everything I need to know- each and every secret, and I love him more for it each day.

He may sleep beside you at night for now, but in the end he will be mine. So let him GO! Walk away with what you already got. I need him more.

I please him more than you ever could. If you are woman enough to see the truth, meet me at Strawberry Fields at the ferris wheel exit Monday at noon. Yes I KNOW you have Mondays off.

His Favorite Girl

The calculated words made my skin crawl. Worst yet, the signature His Favorite Girl made my stomach turn each time I read it.

Gwen hadn’t hesitated, telling me it was a hoax and to ignore the disgusting plea. Still, my instincts said to go to the park and meet this supposed nemesis, even if she was a nut job.

That morning, I hadn’t yet made my decision, and in two days, it would be Monday.

I hadn’t said a word to Evan. I didn’t want to make things worse if it wasn’t true, but mostly I couldn’t give him a way out before I knew for sure.

Evan has always known how to work me. In the end, for him, I’m easy to subdue.

I question myself. The voice of depression yells loudest. If he is cheating, do I blame him?

For the last five or six months, I had dug myself into a self-pity hole even I didn’t recognize. Stuck in this hell, I managed to bind my soul with chains of gloom.

My kids know something has changed. They’re just too young to express their confused feelings.

I wake up each day trying my best to put forth the effort to bathe in motherhood, meeting all expectations. Yet, somehow, each day I fail or fumble my way into order.

That Saturday, all I had to do was arrive with charm at an eight year olds birthday party – a reminder to wrap the monster truck set my boys had picked out as a gift.

I decided to surf the web, trying my best to distract my obsession with life and duties. I found a short reprieve, lingering on a blog about my favorite cooking competition. There is nothing like gossip about a reality show to make the mind vacant.

Nibbles suddenly raised her head and looked up to the kitchen. That’s when I heard the rattling bottles as the refrigerator door opened. I went upstairs and discovered my eldest son Brennan, rubbing his eyes, wearing only his pajama top and underwear. At ten years of age, he is almost as tall as I.

“Are pants optional?” I asked him with a smirk, as he stood in front of the open fridge, barely alert enough to take inventory.

“I’m thirsty.”

“Of course, you are. That’s still no answer.”

“Really, Mom,” he said, looking as if his eyes were allergic to the bright light of the refrigerator’s interior glow in the pre-morning darkness.

“Here.” I pulled out the water jug and pour him a small cup. He was so sleepy he started drinking before realizing it was just water.

“I thought we had juice left?”

“I didn’t say we don’t. Are you headed back to bed?”

“Maybe.”

“Come on.” I led him back to his room, which is near the kitchen on the second story of our luxury, raised-ranch home. After he climbed back into bed, I placed the remaining water on his night stand.

The dawn light peaked through his window blinds softly lighting the room. Without pause, I tucked him in and headed to the next room along the hall to check on my other boy.

Hayden was on his stomach in bed, fast asleep, spread out flat as a pancake.

I took notice of the time. Soon, it would be seven o’clock. I decided to forget any notion of sleeping in.

In the shower, I allowed a blank daze to take over me at first, but then a short burst of energy hit. I finished and got dressed.

Returning to the kitchen, I began pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge. It had been months since I had cooked a real breakfast or meal. Everyone in the house, except for Nibbles, had gotten used to take-out, frozen, or processed food, since my mood disorder had taken command.

Nibbles watched me as I started the waffle batter and put a pack of frozen sausage links into the microwave to thaw. That was when I remembered, a whole bag of tater tots were sitting in the deep-freezer, in the garage.

The freezer was close to being full since my recent veto of cooking took effect. Hunched over, digging out the bag I heard Evan’s wimp yell.

“Erika? Erika, where are you?”

I didn’t bother to answer. I grabbed the bag and two frozen pizzas for later and headed back into the house. Evan stood in the middle of the kitchen seemingly astounded that I was using it to cook a meal.

“What got into you? Up, dressed and cookin. You finally take a pill or something?”

I ignored him, hoping he will just walk away. But not my husband, within minutes he started the coffee maker and grabbed his lap top out of his work bag briefcase. I had no idea what could be so urgent to look at on a Saturday, right after waking up.

To me Evan’s job is as lame as they come he directs what used to be my parent’s passenger transportation business before they sold it to a larger outfit. He smoothly worked out the deal so that he would remain in charge and get an income boost with an extra helping of bonuses.

All he does is show off his modest title of, Office Director, by monitoring the day to day and meeting with his managers, often returning home to promote his latest victory or maneuver.

Evan’s business pride and boasting fueled my resentment since he never brought that same passion home. Each person in this house managed to move in their own direction rather than one entity. I had long ago concluded that failure as our home leader was my wound to bear.