Excerpt from Book 1 – Lines on the Mirror
The smell of coffee made me haul my sorry ass out of bed the next morning. Mom stood in the kitchen staring at the machine with a mug in her hand. “Hey,” I said.
Her blue eyes, which looked so much like my own came up, and so did a quirky smile. “Morning. Sleep well?” she asked as if we’d said more than two words to each other over the past few years.
I nodded. “How’re you?”
She gave a soft laugh. “I’m okay. Better. I, uh, don’t know how to do sober yet, but I’m going to give it a shot.” She laughed again. “Shot!”
“Funny, Mom.”
She bumped my shoulder as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Come sit outside with me, Martin.”
I followed her outside, and we sat at the table near the sliding door.
“I’ve always loved it out here,” she said. “Normally, it’d be a glass of wine or a mixed drink, but coffee works.” She held up her mug. Joking about things had always been her coping mechanism, even when she was drunk. “You okay, baby boy?” she asked.
“No. Honestly. I’m scared.”
“You have a good lawyer. You’re not going back to jail,” she said confidently.
“It doesn’t always work out that way, Mom.”
“Well, things never do. I never thought I’d be so shocked to be sober, but here I am.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Just that I never thought of myself as being a drunk, but I can’t recall a lot of sober days over the years. It seems as if I fell into bad habits and life felt better when I didn’t have to deal with anything.”
Her truth felt heavy for the early morning. The sun played across the water of the pool, sparkling silver and white, and it seemed like it should be hotter than it actually was. California mornings had a way of doing that. I sipped my coffee and gazed at my mother.
“I’m doing this for me. Don’t misunderstand. I know you’re having a tough time right now, and maybe you need me to be sober, but that’s just a nice side benefit, really.”
“I want you to be happy, Mom,” I said, setting my mug on the glass-topped table. “You should do this for you.”
She held her mug with both hands and regarded me over the rim. “Yes. So? Daltrey Boxbaum?”
I smiled and asked, “Didn’t you know what we were getting up to back then?”
My mother laughed hard until her eyes were watering, and I couldn’t help but join her. “No,” she gasped. “I had no idea, Martin.” After a minute, we both calmed down. “I’m sorry I didn’t pay enough attention to you over the years.”
“Well, most of the time we counted on that.” I smirked, then wondered if that was a little unfair. Regardless, it was true. “He means the world to me.”
“I get that. Listen. Most of my adult life has been spent in the oblivion of alcohol. Because I haven’t been happy. Because I married your father thinking he was beneath me, but I did it because I loved him. So that wasn’t fair to either of us. Don’t do that. You both deserve more.”
“I don’t know how any of this is going to turn out.”
She put her hand on top of mine. “In rehab, I learned that happiness is worth pursuing. It’s more important than anything. Sometimes we think we don’t deserve it or maybe we think it’s too hard to keep after. I don’t know. It should be everything. Why live this life at all if we don’t try to be happy, Martin?”
Her words were both inspiring and terrifying on multiple levels. She sounded like she might kill herself if this sobriety thing didn’t work out for her, and I was afraid it wouldn’t.
My father wouldn’t change. He loved her, but it had taken him an awfully long time to get her into rehab. If he didn’t try to make her happy, would she give up? And what about Daltrey? Could we ever be happy together? Could I make him happy? I only had questions, no answers.
Excerpt from Book 2 – Paint on the Canvas
It was nice for one person, but I could put the entire thing in my bedroom and still have extra room. “Bathroom?”
Martin pointed to the door across from us, next to the kitchen. I went in. The sink, toilet, and tub were standard, but around the tub and sink, everything was tiled. “That’s the nicest thing in the place,” he said from over my shoulder.
“It’s not bad at all, Martin.”
“It’s small.” He curled his nose up. “I could put three of these, no four, in my apartment in LA, and this one is still more expensive.”
“It’s New York. Manhattan, no less.”
“I know this is all about location. I’m close to work.” He didn’t smile.
“It’s going to be fine. You know? Like, there’s always tradeoffs.”
He smiled then. “It’s worth it.”
“Maybe we can fix it up some?”
Martin scoffed. “I hung my TV. There’s nothing you can do with an exposed brick wall.”
“No, but I can give you a painting.” I pointed to the wall behind his bed. It was a big blank canvas. “Or paint you a mural. What do you like?”
“You.”
“Ha. I’m not painting me. I don’t do self-portraits.”
“Now, that’s not true. I saw the one you’re working on.”
“Well, yeah, that’s an exception.”
Martin sat on the bed, bouncing a little. “I’d really appreciate that. Anything you painted would be amazing.”
“I’m not much on landscapes and architecture, but it’d be neat to paint like a mural of LA there.”
Martin laughed. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Okay.” I bit my lip. “Besides me, what do you like?”
Martin shrugged. “Music. Maybe something abstract?”
“Oh, yeah! I have an idea. I can kind of look over some of your favorite album covers and do something abstract with them. Swirl it into a collage, and maybe add some instruments and music notes. How’s that?”
“I love it. Come here.”
I moved to stand between his legs. I bent down and kissed him. “I’m glad you’re here, Martin.”
“Me, too.”
Thanks so much for sharing this!
~Lynn Michaels
Love the covers!
I love the covers.
Good luck with the series!
Looks great! I have to add them to my wishlist.