It’s Me Or Your Junk—One of Us Has Got To Go!

Woman sitting on sofa surrounded by clothes.

“No! Don’t you dare take one step into this house with that—that thing!” I screeched—and after ten years of marriage to Jared, I could really screech.

“But, hon, this time I think I’ve found something—a real antique!”

I tried not to roll my eyes. I didn’t want to mention for the tenth time that the house itself needed renovations, not more junk. It would just make me sound like a nagging spouse again. I didn’t like what I was turning into when I spent time with my husband.

Today he was trying to sneak past me with some kind of “antique”, as he called his junk. This one was leaking some kind of oil and he hadn’t even bothered to wipe off the cobwebs before he got it into the car. I could actually hear my teeth grinding.

“Calm down, Sandra,” my mother would say. “In every good marriage, you have to learn to pick your battles.”

She was right, but this was one battle that I found myself battling more and more.  We had so much stuff in our two-car garage that we hadn’t been able to park even one car in there for five years now.

And it wasn’t just the normal stuff that a family accumulates, either, like bikes and skis. There were things Jared had brought home from garage and auction sales. He also picked up any old piece of furniture that his buddies wanted to take to the dump, but somehow Jared couldn’t bear to see them destroyed, so they inevitably ended up in our house.

We now had five complete sets of living room furniture cramped in the basement, the garage, and the attic. I refused to let him replace our nice set that I’d brought a few years earlier. If I didn’t watch him like a hawk he would take our good stuff to an auction house and use the money to buy more junk.

I kind of felt like that little Dutch boy who had to hold back all the water in the dam by himself. Jared just didn’t seem to realize that our home was fast becoming a junk store. Except that in junk stores at least some of the stuff disappeared out the door occasionally.

“Sandy, it’s my only hobby,” he said. “It’s not like I spend thousands of dollars on this. Look at Mark. He likes to golf, which wouldn’t be so bad, but he likes to golf on courses all around the world.”

Mark and Brenna were our neighbors. They’d worked hard all their lives and now had enough money to retire in style.

“All right, then. Why don’t you save your hobby for when we retire?” I asked.

“One day you’ll be sorry you’re not more supportive, Sandy. One day I’ll bring something home that will be worth a lot of money!”

“In my dreams.”

Most of our arguments ended with me trying to get away from Jared and his “hobby” for awhile. I’d go up to our room and read or I’d take my new car—the first car I’d ever owned—out for a long drive in the country.

I was sure that my sweet husband had crossed the line into mental illness. This wasn’t just a case of a wife not being able to put up with her husband’s junk. I couldn’t even walk through the hallways without having to dodge things laying around. There was just no other place to put them. Couldn’t he see what was happening to us?

Some people had a rule that when they brought one more thing into their home, something else would have to go. But Jared couldn’t bear to part with anything once he got it home. I’d overheard his friends offer him good money for some of the stuff, but he’d refused.

Still, I tried to understand. This was obviously something he felt strongly about—or something he couldn’t control. But I knew that he’d gone too far the day he started piling old shelving up in the corner of our bedroom.

“Jared, what are you doing? that stuff is dirty, and who knows how many insects are in that old wood? I don’t want it in our bedroom!”

He gave me a look that meant he wasn’t listening to me. His mind was on the next sale, the next “bargain”.

It didn’t stop there. The next day when I came home from work, half our bedroom was filled with old lumber and light fixtures that he’d gotten from a demolition team that had been tearing down an old office building.

“Jared, I can’t sleep in here with this mess! Please, get rid of it.”

“It’s only temporary, Sandy, just until I can bring in that used tool shed I bought from Hal. Then I can put all this lumber in there.”

“Jared, please listen to me. This is not normal. No one lives with this—this dirty old junk in their bedroom. Nobody except us.”

garage of an abandoned house

But he either wouldn’t listen or he didn’t know how. For the first time since all this had started, I was seriously considering leaving him. The thought of that nearly broke my heart, but when was he going to see reason? I was at my wit’s end.

I would have asked his mother for advice, but that poor woman was in a world of her own. Jared was devoted to her, calling and visiting her every other day. I’d learned the truth about Millie about a year into our marriage: she was an alcoholic. She could barely live on her own in her small house. She wouldn’t be any help to me in understanding her son and his bizarre behavior. Jared’s dad had died many years ago, when he was about fifteen. The two of them had been alone since then.

My heart went out to my husband. I sat on our bed staring out at the old bricks and boards stacked up around our bed and cried. How could something so good have gone so wrong?

When I met Jared, he was a sweet and vulnerable man. His jock friends would tease him constantly about his devotion to his mom and his nerdy ways. But when we started going out, he was considerate and polite, never seeming to get angry about anything. I thought he was just too good to be true.

At that time I thought it was kind of sweet that he saved things, like his leather jacket from his eight grade school basketball team. It was just something that men did, I thought. They seemed to have a need to hang onto things that women would typically consider junk.

I was falling in love with him. When he asked me to marry him, the world just took on a fairy tale quality. All these good things just couldn’t be happening to me! I was the one who wasn’t supposed to make anything out of my life. I had an older brother and sister who were very successful professionals. As for me, I’d barely passed high school and had to work hard for everything in life.

But meeting Jared—that was like bringing magic into my life. He treated me like I was the most special person in the world. We loved each other so much in those early days. We didn’t need anyone. We’d take long walks and spend the whole day talking, stopping for a quiet picnic lunch and laughing over the antics of the ducks on the nearby lake.

As for his mom, she was polite to me but didn’t seem to be all there. Jared looked out for her, always asking if she remembered to take her medication, if she’d eaten. It was only later that I learned he knew she was an alcoholic and wouldn’t eat for days at a time unless he reminded her. He wasn’t honest with me in those days. He would only say that his mom had been sick for years, but he was vague about what sort of sickness it was.

I did find it strange that neither Jared nor his mom seemed to have a picture of his father anywhere. They never talked about him, either. Whenever I asked about what he was like, I’d get the same blank stare from them both.

Still, Jared was the man of my dreams. I knew from the start that he liked to collect things. He had almost every toy he’d ever owned—and in mint condition, too.

When we got married, I surprised him by having a special cabinet built to hold all of his toys. When he saw it, he was elated.

“Sandy, you don’t know how much this means to me,” he’d said. “Thank you, honey. I knew from the moment we met that you were the one for me.”

It was quite a collection, too. Not only did he have his own toys in it, but there were some of his father’s toys, too. Jared admitted that much to me, although I had already guessed that the old cast iron piggy banks, wind-up toys, and a small teddy bear were much older than Jared. But that was about the only thing he’d ever said about his dad to me.

At first, I was the envy of my friends. Imagine having a man so sweet that he still had his teddy bear! They envied me that I had the nicest guy in our little circle.

But I didn’t know that his innocent-looking hobby was the start of something that would tear us apart. At first, he wanted to add to his toy collection. He’d buy books on the history of some of the toys. I was proud that he had a hobby that he loved. Some of my friends’ husbands spent their money on beer and gambling, but not my Jared.

But the toy collection became an obsession. Instead of spending time with me, he spent more and more time poring over his books on toys. Then it gradually spilled over into other things; he went to shows and conferences, becoming interested in comic books, baseball cards, you name it.

We began arguing about the cost of his hobby. He told me that instead of buying new clothes for himself, he’d rather spent it on buying his valued collectibles.

There were no more long picnics by the lake. There was very little time together at all.

“Sandy, why don’t you and Jared come over to our place for supper on Saturday night?” Brenna would ask.

But I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Jared’s life was equally divided between work and his hobby. He didn’t spend any time with me anymore. We just coexisted, with me watching television or reading and Jared taking inventory of his growing collection. Every weekend was taken up with antique and collector shows and sales.

Someone suggested that I try to get involved in his hobby, too. I would have, but I suspected that this wasn’t just a pastime for Jared; it was a real obsession. I didn’t want to contribute to that, but to wean him away from it.

But it didn’t work. I was spending more time on my own. After all, by then we’d been married for several years. I couldn’t expect the first heady feelings of romance to last forever. Married people had separate hobbies and interests, after all.

But we weren’t spending any time together at all. At that time I decided to have a talk with his mom, even though I doubted it would help.

It was an eerie feeling, talking to Millie. She was polite, but I could have been anyone who’d just dropped by her place instead of her only daughter-in-law. She was forgetting things lately. Jared was worried about her and was spending more time with her when he wasn’t busy with his collections. I didn’t begrudge him the time he spent with his mom. After all, she needed him, and it had been one of the things that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.

Millie didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. She did talk a little about Jared’s dad, though. “Jared’s a good boy. His father knows that, deep down.”

I frowned. She was talking about her dead husband as though he was still alive. I was beginning to worry about her. I knew that Jared came to her place each evening to turn off the breaker switch to her stove so that she wouldn’t get up at night and try to cook something. Several times he’d walked in and found something burning on the stove.

Pretty soon Jared and I would have to talk. Should we bring her to live with us? If we did we’d have to get rid of some of his junk to make room for her and make renovations. Truthfully, I couldn’t see her living alone for much longer. The good thing was that Millie wasn’t drinking so much nowadays. Maybe she was even forgetting to do that.

In any case, I knew I was alone with my problem. In fact, his mother’s condition only made Jared worse. I hardly ever saw him now. He spent much of his time with Millie, and the rest of the time he was furiously collecting everything that he thought might be valuable in the future. From toys he’d jumped to furniture to glassware to postcards, all in the space of a few months.

But it was all still collectible items, things that other people considered to be valuable. The day he started to stack newspapers on the kitchen table, I knew that there was something really wrong.

“Sandy, these will be worth something. If we can just keep saving—”

“Jared, I’ve heard that before. We just can’t save everything for thirty years or so until it’s valuable! What do you think this house is? A museum? We have to live here, too.”

Later that week I noticed a box full of used paper cups in the hallway. This time I didn’t even bother to confront him about it.

But the old, molding lumber in our bedroom—that was the final straw.

“Jared, I want us to go for counseling. We need to talk about this obsession of yours. And we need to talk about your mom, too.”

“What about my mom, Sandy?”

“Jared, can’t you see that she’s a danger to herself living on her own?”

“No counseling, Sandy, please. We can sort out our differences by ourselves.”

“No, we can’t. You don’t seem to think you have a problem.”

“No counseling,” he repeated. “A shrink would only bring up bad memories, anyway.”

“What bad memories?” I asked, but by this time Jared had stopped talking to me.

I didn’t know where else to turn. What do you do when there’s a serious problem in your marriage and your spouse refuses to acknowledge it? How were we going to start to make it right?”

I had no choice. One day, when Jared was at work, I wrote a note and left it on his pillow. By this time I had to tiptoe over old boards with rusty nails sticking out just to get to his side of the bed. I had to leave, if only to shock him into seeing that we were in crisis.

My worst fear was that he wouldn’t even know that I was gone. I spent that first night at a hotel. I didn’t want to stay with friends and admit that my marriage was crumbling, especially when they all thought I had the ideal husband. I thought of all the times I’d been so happy that my husband didn’t fool around our stay out to all hours with his buddies. I’d thought our marriage was as solid as granite.

The second day I found myself a small bachelor apartment near my work. I called Jared to tell him that I was okay and where I was staying, but I had to leave the message on the answering machine. I realized that if I went through with the divorce, it would no longer be my business to know where my husband was.

I was abandoning him when he needed me most. But the thing was, he didn’t see that he needed my help—or anyone else’s.

I didn’t know what to do about Millie. Jared and I had both looked after her. She didn’t have anyone else in the world. Did I continue to check up on her, or would he think that I no longer had the right to do that? I didn’t know what to do.

Millie hardly ever answered her phone anymore. A few years ago we had put our number on her speed dial so it would be easier for her to call us if she needed anything. I phoned several times, but she didn’t answer. I considered going over there and giving her my new number, but I thought it was likely that Jared hadn’t told her that we’d split up.

It took a long time for me to get into a new pattern of living. Most days my mind was more on Jared than it was on work. Then I seemed to cross a line where I didn’t want to think of him at all, concentrating instead on work.

But my friends at the office knew that something was wrong. I confided in a couple of them that I’d left my husband. They took me under their wing, inviting me out after work and on weekends, which was the worst time for me. I don’t know what I would have done without them.

I finally got up the courage to go and talk to Jared a few months later. There were things I wanted to know if I should go ahead and press for divorce. Surely any judge would clearly see that we had irreconcilable differences.

“Jared? Jared, are you here?” I called out. The front door was open so I’d gone in.

What I saw nearly knocked me to the floor.

The house was spotless. There was no junk around anywhere.

I must be dreaming, I thought. I went into the kitchen and saw a man working on the kitchen counter, laying down new Arborite—something I’d been begging Jared to do for years.

“Hello,” I greeted the contractor.

Kitchen

He turned and smiled at me. “Hello. You must be looking for Jared. He should be right back. He said he had to take some more things to the dump.”

To the dump?” I repeated, laughing. Maybe I’d walked into the wrong house!

I went to the living room to wait, still amazed that Jared had hired someone to redo the kitchen. What was going on here?

My curiosity got the better of me. I went upstairs. The first thing I noticed was that there was no more junk blocking the way. Jared had a habit of even putting stuff on the stairs. At first he would set things down on the very edge, but soon there would be hardly enough space to put your feet. Now the stairs were clear.

The upstairs hallway was empty, too. I crossed my fingers and sighed as I went to our bedroom, now Jared’s bedroom.

The whole room had been redone. It was beautiful. I’d shared my dreams for this room a few years ago with Jared. I wanted soft, relaxing colors, and here they were. There was a sage green carpet, off-white gauzy curtains, a twig chair in one corner. And a new bed! My hands went over my mouth in shock.

What had gotten into my husband? Or was this his way of starting a new life without me?

“Do you like it?”

I whirled around to see Jared standing in the doorway.

“Troy told me you were here. So what do you think?”

I stared at him, wanting to know if there was hope for us. “Jared, what’s going on?”

There was stress in his face, stress that hadn’t been there a few months ago. Had I caused all that?

“The day you left me was the worst day of my life, Sandy,” he said softly.

The guilt rushed in. I couldn’t talk right then. He looked at me for a long moment. “It wasn’t the best night for me, either,” he said. “That night, Mom set fire to her kitchen.”

Fire raging in domestic kitchen at night

“Oh, Jared, no! Why didn’t you call me?” But then I remembered that he didn’t know where I’d gone. I didn’t call to tell him for a couple of days.

“I didn’t go to see her that night.” He didn’t have to tell me that it was because of me. “The police called me. There had been a fire.”

“How is she?”

“She was fine. She was trying to cook dinner for all of us. For some reason she thought we were going to her place for dinner. She left a pot on the stove and it boiled over and started the fire. When I got there, I couldn’t find her, Sandy. I couldn’t find her. There were cops and firefighters all over the place. Finally, a neighbor approached me. Mom had gone over there as soon as she saw all the smoke.”

“Thank God,” I said, letting out the breath I’d been holding in.

“Yes, thank God.”

“So what about the house . . . destroyed?”

“The kitchen was gutted. I decided it was as good a time as any for Mom to try out a nursing home. I found a private place for her where she has some independence, but she has supervision, too.”

“Jared, I’m sorry. So sorry. For everything.”

“I’ve had time to think since you’ve been gone, Sandy. I never really thanked you for what you’ve been doing for Mom over the years. I thought I was the one who looked after her all by myself. But I was wrong.”

“I’m just sorry that this had to happen, Jared.”

“No, don’t apologize. There’s more—much more. Sandy, remember that I was always telling you that one day one of the things I brought home would make us rich? Well, it happened.”

“It . . . did?” That explained the renovations.

“Do you remember my toy collection, especially the older toys?”

I nodded. How could I forget? When we were first married, I’d been proud of Jared’s collection—until all the craziness started.

“I hit pay dirt. Almost every one of my dad’s old toys was worth a lot of money. He had those old piggy banks, remember? And all those tin toys, some from his own father. I even had a couple of dolls from his mother. But it was the teddy bear. Remember that bear? It was worth the most.”

I looked around. I could hardly believe it. Even so, I wondered how Jared could bring himself to part with his treasured toys.

“But you loved those toys, Jared. It was the only thing you had to remember your father by.”

His face twisted in a bitter smile. “Oh, no, Sandy. You’re wrong about that. I have memories from my father. Hateful memories. Do you know what drove Mom to booze? It was him. He beat her, and when she couldn’t prevent it, he beat me, too.”

He lifted his shirt. There was an old scar on his ribs. I remembered when I’d asked him about it years ago he’d said it was a childhood injury.

“This is where he burned me, when I couldn’t recite my tables fast enough,” he said quietly, pulling down his shirt again. “That’s the truth about that.”

“Oh, Jared.” The tears were coming fast and furious. I couldn’t help it.

“There’s more, but it doesn’t matter. Mom’s got a lot more scars than me. Every day with that man was a day of terror. Thank God he left us when I was about fourteen.”

“He left? Then he might still be alive?”

“If the booze hasn’t got him by now. I don’t care, Sandy. He’s out of our lives.”

“Jared, why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?”

“I didn’t figure you’d understand. When we started dating, I could see that you came from a nice family. You lived in a good neighborhood and your parents cared about you. I envied you, Sandy.”

I could hardly take this all in. There was so much about my husband that I didn’t know. No wonder he couldn’t talk to me about his past! And no wonder he had such a bond with his mother. The two of them had survived that misery together.

Jared told me that most of the money from his father’s toy collection went to pay for his mother’s care.

“Then how did you pay for all this?” I asked.

“We had saved for it, remember? You forgot about the account you started years ago. Then each month I’d been putting some cash aside, adding to it. It’s grown quite a lot over time.”

“But, Jared, why now? I mean, I’d left you.”

“I know, Sandy. But I wanted to get you back.”

“Jared, you didn’t have to do this to get me back. What really impressed me was the fact that all the junk is gone! How did you part with it?”

“I thought about what you’d said. Here I was, sitting alone in a house full of junk. It wasn’t an investment, it was just trash. I knew that I’d either have to get a handle on this obsession or I’d lose you for good. And I don’t want to lose you, Sandy.”

He came to me and gave me a hug. It felt so good. We just held each other tightly for a long time. I missed his scent, the way he felt in my arms. I’d missed him with my whole heart.

“The bed is empty now,” he whispered softly.

“I can see that.”

“Lots of room for . . . whatever you might have in mind.”

“Oh, I have a lot on my mind right now,” I told him.

Just then we felt another presence in the room. We looked around and saw the contractor standing in the doorway.

“I—er, just wanted to tell you that you had a phone call, Jared,” Troy said. “Some lady from the nursing home? She says to get over there right away.”

Jared and I stared at each other. Something must have happened to his mom!

“I’ll go, Sandy. You stay here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going, too.”

It was a good thing there were no cops around, because we must have broken every speeding record getting to the home. As Jared pulled up in front I noticed that it was a very nice place. I told myself that nothing bad could happen to her in a place like that.

“I’m Jared Spencer. Someone called about my mother,” Jared told the woman at the front desk.

The receptionist said she’d page the nurse in charge. It seemed like forever until a petite woman in a uniform came out to us.

“Let’s talk in here, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer,” she said, leading us to a quiet room.

I could tell that Jared was just barely keeping control. I knew he wanted to shake the truth out of that nurse. What had happened to his mother?

“Mr. Spencer, you mother is missing,” she began.

Missing? What are you talking about?”

“She’s missing. We think she’s been gone for a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours! Why didn’t you call me before?”

“We did, but no one answered,” the woman explained.

“I know what happened, Jared,” I said. “Troy was working on the kitchen counter, there was a lot of noise. He probably didn’t hear the phone ringing at first.”

Jared turned to the nurse. “That doesn’t matter now. Where’s my mother?”

“The police are out searching for her. Do you know where she might have gone?”

“Maybe to the old house. She might have gone there. I was having it fixed after the fire so we could sell it.”

He took me by the arm. “Come on, Sandy. I have a feeling she might have tried to get back there.”

We drove to the old house. Along the way was the river. I didn’t want to look down as we drove over the bridge. I didn’t want to think of my mother-in-law trying to cross the bridge on her own—or worse still, coming to the riverbank and trying to wade across. From what Jared was saying, she was no longer thinking clearly anymore. But when we got to Millie’s old house, there was no one there.

We went inside. The workers were almost done with the repairs to the kitchen. There was no sign of the fire anymore. We walked through the rooms, thinking that somehow she might have climbed in through a window and was hiding somewhere.

It broke my heart to think of her yearning for her old home. I knew that Jared had to put her in some kind of home, especially after I’d left him. Who would have looked after her when he was at work? She was obviously a danger to herself when she was alone.

I made a vow then. If we found her I would find a way to work this out with Jared. I didn’t want to think of her living among strangers all day long. I could cut back on my hours at work so that she could come live with us.

I didn’t know how it was all going to work out. But judging by the look on Jared’s face as he searched the house, I knew I had to try something. We were a family, the three of us.

“Honey, we’ll find her. We will,” I assured him, drawing him into my arms. I could feel his back convulse with sobs. He really loved his mother. “And when we find her, I want to bring her home with us. What would you say, having both your favorite women under the same roof?”

He nodded, but I could tell that his mind was on finding her.

“Let’s call the police. Maybe we could help in their search,” I told him.

The hardest thing to face was the night. The police kept looking on city streets then, but they didn’t look in wooded areas until dawn, when it was lighter out. We had a very long, sleepless night.

“We wanted to know how this happened. How, when she was supposed to be in a secure place, could she just walk away without anyone knowing?

“It happens,” the nursing home director told me. “Your mother-in-law didn’t look sick; she didn’t look like she had dementia. We suspect that she just walked up to a visitor and left at the same time. The other person likely had no idea that she was one of our patients.”

It seemed incredible to me that it could happen. Another family might be thinking of a lawsuit, but we just wanted Mom back. I knew that my husband wouldn’t eat or sleep until she was found.

The next day, Jared opened up to me. He told me that he loved me, and he held me so tight I wondered if I’d have bruises afterward. But I’d been waiting for this moment all of our married lives. We were close again.

“I can’t lose you again, Sandy. When we find Mom, I want to hire a companion for her. I’ll build an apartment onto the house—there’s still enough money for that. And Sandy, I want you to follow your dream, the one you’ve been holding inside ever since I met you, and even before.”

“My dream? You’re not talking about that little design business I wanted once?”

“Yes. Why not? Haven’t we got proof, right here and now, that life is too short to pack away for dreams?”

“But I don’t even know if I could do that now.”

“Just think about it, honey,” he insisted.

“All right. I’ll think about it later. After we bring Mom home.”

We talked far into the night. Neither of us could sleep, and we wanted to be right by the phone in case the police called to say they’d found her. Jared told me that he’d started counseling right after I’d left. The counselor told him that his junk addiction had something to do with his father’s abuse. It was like he hadn’t been able to let go either of his father or of the “priceless treasures” that he’d started to hoard.

Jared himself wasn’t sure how it all blended together, but he was finding that the more junk he threw away, the freer he felt. He found he could think about his father now without all the terrible emotions.

“It’s like I feel numb, almost like all of that happened to someone else. But it happened to me. I have the scars to prove it, both physical scars and emotional. But now I know that my obsession was driving you away, Sandy, and I don’t ever want to do that again. You’re the best thing in my life.”

He told me that he realized how much it must have hurt me, someone who loved interior design, to see my house go from a lovely place to a makeshift junkyard.

“I think I’m ready to be a good husband now. But you’ll have to help me. The only role model I had for a husband wasn’t the greatest,” he said.

“I’ll give you all the time you need, babe,” I said, smiling and holding his hand tightly.

Suddenly, the phone rang. I waited while Jared spoke to the police. His face lit up.

“They found her! Sandy—they found her!”

We rushed to the hospital where they’d taken my mother-in-law. I still held Jared’s hand on the drive there and when we rushed to the emergency entrance. We found her laying on one of the curtained beds.

“Mom!” Jared cried as he hugged her.

“She’s broken her hip,” the doctor told me. “We’re just calling the surgeon now to repair it. We’ll give you a few moments alone.”

Millie looked confused and pale, but other than her broken hip, she seemed to be all right. I was right about my premonition on the river: The police had found her trying to cross it. She’d fallen down the bank and was half in and half out of the water. No one knew how long she’d been there, but thank God they’d found her.

Jared blamed himself for putting her in the home; I blamed myself for not being there for him. In the end, we both agreed blame was useless. We brought her home, where she recovered from her hip surgery. When she was well enough we hired a part-time companion for her as a respite to me while I worked on my new home business of interior design. That summer she was well enough to travel, so we rented a beach cottage and had the best time of our lives.

She lived for a year and a half after her fall by the river. We had some good times, the three of us. I comforted Jared at her funeral, and by that time Millie and I had grown so close that he needed to comfort me, too.

I think about the time I left him and I wonder what would have happened if I’d gone through with the divorce. Not having Jared in my life would have been the biggest mistake I’d ever made. But these days we’re joyfully talking about growing old together.

I’m certainly looking forward to it.

3 Stories from Losing It For Love: TruLove Collection

Always there to motivate each othrer

All of us long for true love. Unfortunately, however, some of us despair of ever finding it. Often it’s because we live with a gripping sense of defeat brought on by some unwanted feature. Usually our nemesis is our weight, although sometimes it’s a particular part of our body, like a nose or a chin that is undeniably out of proportion to the rest of our face.

There are more than enough thoughtless or shallow people in the world who may insist upon defining us by our single most troubling physical feature. We’re fat, we’re ugly, we’re not sexy.

Here are three stories from Losing It For Love:

Read Stories

‘Light’ shines on Fassbender, Vikander Romance

mike2

It’s hard to fathom, but Michael Fassbender has only been working, really working, for eight remarkable years. Ever since director Steve McQueen saw what a decade’s worth of casting directors didn’t and chose him to play Irish hunger-striker Bobby Sands in 2008’s Hunger, his career has been in the Hollywood fast lane. The first time Fassbender appears in Hunger, his character is being forcibly stripped and washed. Fassbender is thrashing and naked, howling with the fury of a guy who’d pretty much given up on basic human vanity, let alone a career. He was 31 then and had no reason to think the next ten years of his life would be any more fruitful than the prior ten, most of which he’d spent behind a bar as a bartender.

“I had already been turned down by two drama schools,” Michael Fassbender, who grew up in Ireland, explained to a New York Times reporter. He was 19 then, and that rejection led him to London to try his luck auditioning for the Drama Centre there. He was accepted, but later dropped out stating, “In drama school, they don’t think of movies as a pure form like theater, and it’s films that I love most. There’s an intimacy in movies — I wanted to have the same impact on others that movies had on me. “

mike1It’s difficult to imagine that before 2007, although Fassbender had played small parts in television and film, arguably his most well-recognized role had been as a man who swims across the Atlantic Ocean to apologize to his brother over a pint in a Guinness commercial. Since 2007, Fassbender has starred in three Steve McQueen films, and has been sought after and worked with directors such as David Cronenberg, Cary Fukunaga and Ridley Scott; he had an especially glorious bit in Quentin Tarantino’s ‘‘Inglourious Basterds.’’ Today, Fassbender is both Magneto in the ‘‘X-Men’’ series, a darling of critics and intellectuals, and starring as the ultimate icon of inventiveness and imagination, Steve Jobs.

His latest role, takes him far away from a character with superpowers or super fame. In The Light Between the Oceans, based on the bestselling novel by M.L. Stedmen, he plays a lighthouse keeper with a dark secret.  While filming the movie, he met and fell in love with his co-star Alicia Vikander, a Swedish actress and dancer, who had just won a best supporting Oscar® for her role in The Danish Girl.

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The 27-year-old actress, who now lives in London, shot from relative obscurity to international superstardom with four major films in just 12 months—Testament of YouthEx MachinaThe Man from U.N.C.L.E., and The Danish Girl. She’s both a muse to modern fashion designers—a year ago she became the new face of Louis Vuitton—and a dream for costume designers doing lush period dramas.

Her mother, Maria, was a company member at the state theater, which provided a kind of collective creative playground for Alicia. She performed small roles there as a child. By nine, she was studying dance at the Royal Swedish Ballet School and was, almost without realizing it, on the path to becoming a serious dancer. However, the stress and her desire for perfection was too overwhelming.

She found relief in the form of acting when, at age 16, she was cast in a mini-series. But her hopes were dashed when she applied to, and got rejected by, the local drama school. Then, one day, while working at a Levi’s store, she got a call from a casting director. A Swedish film director, Lisa Langseth, was looking for a girl to star in Pure, about a deeply troubled young woman whose only solace is classical music and who falls in love with an older, rather cruel conductor. She got the part, and her performance captured the eyes of several casting directors.  It was not until Alex Garland’s script for Ex Machina landed in her lap that she had the kind of material that would make her a movie star. The plot revolved around a computer analyst charged with administering a Turing test to an alluring female android. In fact, “Is the really hot droid human?” was the central dramatic question—one that any actress would love to sink her teeth into.

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In The Light Between Oceans, Michael Fassbender and Alicia Vikander portray doomed newlyweds whose makeshift family collapses under the weight of moral dilemmas. Alicia portrays Isabel, whose whirlwind romance and marriage to lighthouse keeper Tom (Fassbender) results in heartache when she suffers two miscarriages. Their grief dissipates when a dinghy washes ashore carrying a dead man and a baby girl, whom they opt not to report to authorities and instead raise as their own daughter (Florence Clery). For years, they live in familial bliss, until a chance encounter with Lucy’s birth mother (Rachel Weisz) sends the couple into a moral tailspin.

Fortunately, the real-life couple’s love story is much rosier. It began in 2013 with a classic meeting on the dance floor during the Toronto International Film Festival, where the two were promoting their respective 12 Years A Slave and The Fifth Estate.

“We had a boogie,” Vikander remembers. “He’s a very good dancer.”

The actors reunited a year later to shoot Oceans (in theaters nationwide Friday), where their relationship blossomed on the period drama’s set in Australia and New Zealand.

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What with all the success, and the highly visible romance, Vikander has found herself the focus of public curiosity. She’s well aware that the public likes to build female stars up, only to take them down a few notches, and of the cruel power of tabloids and social media. But with her unending drive and focus to be a success that is matched only by his, the young couple has the makings of a perfect pair that can effortless combine work and play.

My Daughter’s Teaching Me How To Date…And She’s Thirteen!

Lovely mother kissing her daughter

Out of the mouths of babes . . . came the sweetest love opportunity of a lifetime!

I remembered being thirteen and giggling with my best friend, just like my daughter, Violet, and her friend, Andie, did all the time. Usually, I didn’t bother them while they enjoyed their “girl time” together. But this time, I couldn’t help it.

“What are you two plotting?” I finally asked the conspiring duo.

My daughter looked up at me, considering me seriously.

“We’ve decided that you and Andie’s great-uncle, Grant, should get together.”

“Like on a date,” Andie clarified.

“I don’t need a date.” I smiled at their concern for my social life, or lack thereof.

“Yes, you do, Mom. It’s been six months since you went out with that Roy guy.”

I groaned and covered my face. “Please, don’t remind me. That disaster made me give up on dating for good.” Roy had spent the entire evening talking about his ex-wives, child support payments, and golf.

The girls joined me on the couch. “Leave it to us, Mrs. Spencer,” Andie insisted. “We’ll set it up with my great-uncle. You don’t even have to talk to him until you meet—we’ll do all the work.”

“A blind date?” I blanched. I’d had plenty of those in my ten years as a widow, but nothing ever seemed to work out. Maybe I’d set my standards too high. I’d married my high school sweetheart, Don, right after graduation and we’d had a wonderful marriage.

“Well, yeah,” Violet admitted. “But it’ll be fine—you’ll see. You don’t have to do anything except show up. Sounds perfect, right?” When I hesitated, Violet flung her arms around my shoulders. “Pleeease?” she begged, drawing the word out. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll think it over, but you still have to talk poor Great-uncle Grant into it.”

I did some quick calculation in my head. Andie’s parents were at least ten years older than I was. That meant that one of their uncles would be in his late sixties. I didn’t feel comfortable dating someone thirty years older. But then, he couldn’t be as bad as Roy or some of the other dates that I’d had over the years.

I thought about calling Andie’s mother to ask about Grant, but I didn’t want to burst the girls’ bubble. They were having such a good time with this dating arrangement.

My busy job as a junior accountant kept my mind off the date, and I’d forgotten all about it until the girls cornered me on Thursday evening. “It’s all set,” Violet said excitedly.

I gave her a blank look. “What is?”

Andie sighed. “Your date with my great-uncle Grant.”

Before I could lodge a protest, Violet went on, “Seven-thirty tomorrow night at Pasquali’s. We know how much you love that place.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and wondered if I really wanted to go through with this.

“My great-uncle’s a lawyer,” Andie added as possible enticement.

“He still works?” I stopped myself from adding, “At his age?”

“Of course,” Andie said. “He works long hours and doesn’t have time for lots of dates. I think that’s why he’s still single.”

Poor guy, I thought, a night out might do us both some good. “Pasquali’s is perfect for a blind date.” I gave both girls a big hug and found myself looking forward to meeting him.

The next evening, dressed in my favorite turquoise silk blouse, beige slacks, and low heels, I frantically hailed a cab. I’d parked my car at the edge of the heavy traffic section of the city where parking spaces were extremely hard to come by. The workday had been a disaster and I’d had to put in some overtime. Because of that, I was running more than half an hour late. By the time the cab driver pulled in front of the restaurant, it had started drizzling. I fumbled for my purse, paid the driver, and scurried inside.

I quickly surveyed the room and spotted a white-haired gentleman sitting alone at a table near the center of the restaurant. He seemed to be having a heated conversation on his cell phone.

“I see the party I’m meeting,” I told the hostess, and then made my way past the other diners.

Great-uncle Grant slammed the cell phone on the table, and muttered a four-letter word under his breath. Then he abruptly stood up and bumped into me. “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, noting the annoyed look on his face. He must be a stickler for promptness, I thought.

He looked puzzled. “You’re welcome to the table, young lady,” he said, hurrying past me and out the front door.

I stood staring after him. “Nice to meet you, too, Grant.” He hadn’t even given me a chance to explain. Embarrassed, I slowly headed for the door. I only had enough money for cab fare back to my car—definitely not enough for a consolation dinner at Pasquali’s. I figured after I got home, I’d snack on leftovers, and drown my sorrows in a large helping of fudge ripple ice cream.

Outside, the drizzle had turned into a downpour. A cab roared to the curb, and quickly deposited its passenger. As I ran toward the open door, my hair and clothing got soaked. The tall gentleman who’d left the cab held the door for me. His handsome face flashed a dimpled smile as I slid inside and our eyes met and held. I felt a surge of heat spread across my damp cheeks.

a man stepping out of a taxi with an umbrella

“The watered-down version of my usual self,” I told the gorgeous guy, trying for a light ending to the blind date fiasco. My lame joke made him laugh before he shut the door and the throaty, deep sound sent tingles up and down my spine. I sighed and settled into the seat.

My thoughts turned to Don. Even on his worst day, he’s still always managed to be polite and considerate of those around him—something that Grant needed lessons on.

I was glad the girls were spending the night at Andie’s because that meant that I wouldn’t have to report on my disastrous evening until the next day. I was tempted to call Andie’s mother and give her an earful about Great-uncle Grant’s behavior, but I decided against it.

“That sure doesn’t sound like my great-uncle,” Andie said after hearing my version of the story.

I didn’t tell her how irritated I was with the man. It’s true that first impressions can be way off base, but I didn’t think that was the case this time. Great-uncle Grant’s bachelor status probably had more to do with his intense personality than the long hours he put in at the law firm.

“We’ll set up another date,” Violet said. The two conspirators then disappeared into the kitchen.

Let them have their fun, I thought, but I’m not going along for another round. “Count me out,” I shouted to them. I liked people who had manners and patience, and the sour expression on Grant’s face the night before suggested that he didn’t have much of a sense of humor, either.

Besides, I was happy with my life. I had some good female friends—although that didn’t truly make up for being alone. I’d been scared those first years without Don, but I was proud of how I’d stood on my own. I took night classes and got better jobs that added to my confidence and security.

I spent the day running errands and cleaning house. I’d already decided on an early spaghetti dinner when the girls raced into the kitchen.

“Blind Dates, Inc. is back in business!” Violet shouted.

I pulled a pound of sausage from the refrigerator. “What in the world does that mean?”

Andie smiled and glanced at the kitchen clock. “It means that Great-uncle Grant is on his way over!”

“What?” I shrieked. My hand flew to the disheveled ponytail I’d tied my hair in hours earlier. I was also wearing my rattiest jeans and a faded Bon Jovi T-shirt. But then I stopped worrying because I didn’t owe it to Grant to look nice after the way he’d treated me the night before.

The doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it,” Andie said, bolting for the door.

We’ll get it,” Violet corrected, leaving me holding the makings for our dinner.

I could hear a deep voice coming from the living room. Tossing the meat into the sink, I quickly wiped my hands on a dishtowel. Before I’d had much chance to compose myself, the girls burst back into the kitchen with a dark-haired stranger in tow. Well, he wasn’t exactly a stranger—it was the same gorgeous man who’d held the cab door for me in the rain!

“You’re Great-uncle Grant?” I asked, my thoughts whirling. He was taller than I remembered. “But you’re not old enough.” Heat rushed to my face as soon as the impolite comment slipped out. How did I miscalculate his age? This man can’t be more than a couple of years older than I am.

Andie piped in, “He’s my uncle, and he’s great, so he’s my great uncle. Get it?”

Grant extended his hand to me. “I’m Grant Peters, Andie’s mom’s baby brother. I’m really sorry that I was late last night,” he continued sincerely. “I was held up in a meeting, but I called the restaurant and left a message. Anyway, I’m sorry that you got drenched.”

I laughed. “I was late myself. I didn’t get the message because I rushed to the wrong table and was promptly brushed off by an irritated older gentleman whom I thought was you.”

Grant smiled, his blue eyes filled with humor. “If you’ll let me make up for last night, we can go anywhere you’d like right now.”

“How about something home-cooked?” I asked. “I’ve got the makings for spaghetti.” If we had any chance at a lasting relationship, he’d have to accept my ratty jeans and marinara sauce.

“That sounds great,” he answered, removing his jacket. “But only if you’ll let me help. I’m not helpless in the kitchen.”

“We told you he was great!” Violet beamed.

I smiled just as broadly. “You certainly know your clients.”

“I’m great at putting a salad together,” Grant said as the giggling teenagers vanished. “Or maybe you’d prefer that I try not to use the word “great” since it seems to have already caused a lot of confusion.”

I chuckled. “You don’t know the half of it.” I told him then about my experience in the restaurant. He laughed in that deep way again, a sound I was already learning to take pleasure in.

I handed him a head of lettuce and the rest of the salad fixings. He looked right at home as he searched the drawers for just the right knife, and he chopped the vegetables with ease.

Couple breakfast

“Andie and Violet make quite a team,” Grant said, as he tore leaves of lettuce into bite-sized pieces.

“They’ve been best friends for a long time,” I said as I stirred the sausage, carefully adding the marinara sauce. “This isn’t their first business venture, either. They’ve sold lemonade and oversized zucchini that I grew in my tiny backyard garden. Once, they even made perfume from your sister’s rose petals.” I laughed. “They’re nothing if not hardworking.”

“That they are.” Grant draped his arm around my shoulders. “It took a lot of convincing to get me to agree to this blind date business, but they were right on the money.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

 

I’m In Love With My Married Patient

Male Doctor Examining Female Patient In Emergency Room

Stephanie was seething. “If you think for even one minute that you’re going to put that thing in me, then you’ve got another thing coming, Randall Scott.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and made a vain attempt to hide the smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. She was a sight, but even under extreme duress her emerald green eyes hadn’t lost their spark or challenge, intriguing me. I approached her gurney cautiously and held up the catheter in mock surrender. Her long, fiery hair lay tangled all around her with soft tendrils clinging to her sweaty forehead. Beads of perspiration formed along her temples and began a slow descent down the side of her freckled cheeks.

I stood next to the gurney looking down into her eyes and calmly stated, “You know you can’t undergo a Cesarean Section without a catheter.”

She started to protest, but again I held up my hand. “I could nick your bladder, Stephanie. Please don’t be unreasonable. As soon as the baby is born and you can get out of bed, I will have it removed . . . I promise.”

Tears formed in her eyes, enhancing the depth of their color even more. Seeing her like that tore me in two. I wanted to hold her and soothe her fears, but I knew I had to remain professional. The situation clearly outweighed any personal desires. The bottom line I had to force myself to remember was that I was still her doctor. Regardless, it didn’t stop me from wishing I could relinquish her care to another colleague.

So much had happened since we’d first met. I felt as though we had known each other forever. I couldn’t imagine not having her in my life. She had to be the one to act first. I’d laid all my cards out for her a month earlier. Now it was her turn to make the next move, and I vowed to accept whatever decision she would make.

Handing the catheter to the nurse, I took Stephanie’s hand. It was the most I could offer her at that moment. She squeezed it tightly as a contraction hit her. Once it subsided, the nurse placed the catheter and wheeled her into the operating room. A few minutes later I joined her once more.

Throughout the operation, I hummed softly in an effort to ease her anxiety. Slowly and calmly, I explained each step. Her only acknowledgment was an occasional nod. Never before had I been so acutely aware of the size and location of the incision, my patient’s anxiety, or my own abilities.

“All right, Stephanie, you’re going to feel a lot of pressure right now . . . here we go,” I recalled telling her.

A low grunt emerged from her throat, followed by the piercing wail of a newborn infant. I handed the newborn to Dr. Richardson, Stephanie’s pediatrician, announcing, “You’ve got a beautiful baby girl, Stephanie—shocking red hair and all!”

“Thank you, Randy . . . thank you so much.” She quietly sobbed in relief.

Her voice and words filled me with more satisfaction and happiness than I’d ever felt in my entire career. It wasn’t until Dr. Walsh, who was assisting, cleared his throat and brought me back to the present that I realized our level of intimacy was evident to everyone in the room.

I went to work removing the placenta and closing the wound. Occasionally I would glance up at Dr. Walsh, catching the disapproving scowl on his face. I was relieved when the procedure was finished and Stephanie was in recovery. My relief was to be short-lived, because my colleague wasted no time in interrogating me.

“I wasn’t aware that you and your patients are on a first-name basis.”

“Most of us are not,” I offered casually.

Dr. Walsh removed his surgical scrub cap and adjusted his glasses. I couldn’t help but think that the old man should leave the cap on. I’ve always detested the way some balding men grow the sides of their hair long, just so they can stretch it across the rest of their scalp. At least when he wore his cap, no one could tell the difference.

“So . . . Mrs. Adler is different?” he asked.

“Yes, we’re neighbors.” When Walsh continued to stare, I reluctantly continued. “She and her husband purchased the Victorian house, two houses over from mine, about a year ago. It’s customary on our block to welcome new neighbors to a barbecue. Introductions were made, and when she became pregnant, she and her husband chose me as her obstetrician.” I shrugged my shoulders with indifference, secretly hoping he would drop the subject.

Dr. Walsh seemed somewhat placated. “What does her husband do for a living?”

“He’s a police detective.”

“Ah. And where is Mr. Adler today? I’d like to meet him.”

That was exactly what I was afraid would happen. Averting my eyes, I continued to clean up. “He isn’t here today. In fact, he left her about seven months ago.”

“Perhaps I should speak with her.”

“No,” I nearly shouted. “I mean—that won’t be necessary, Ken. Things have been rather difficult for her, but they’re getting better. I think it’d be best if you didn’t mention her husband right now.”

“I see.” Clearly, he didn’t understand at all.

“Thank you.”

Dr. Walsh continued to change in silence, warily eyeing me. He must have come to the conclusion that it really wasn’t any of his business and dropped the issue altogether.

As soon as Stephanie was settled in her room, I went to join her. I stood in the doorway, watching her quietly for a moment before entering. The nurse was in the bathroom prepping her toiletries when Stephanie’s eyes caught mine.

I recalled when we first met at our neighborhood barbecue. She was standing next to the picnic table, spooning potato salad onto a plate when I arrived. As I picked up my own plate, Charlotte Taylor quickly made introductions.

When told I was a doctor, Stephanie chuckled. She said I looked more like a logger or a bouncer than a doctor because of my size and broad shoulders. She’d blushed after the admission. She was so beautiful, with her long hair flowing freely down her back, gently swaying in the breeze. She wore a soft rose print summer dress revealing long, shapely legs and soft, creamy skin.

I was instantly captivated. Then, like a bad dream, her husband approached, introduced himself and held out his hand. Quickly, I regained my composure. Within minutes I’d determined that I disliked the man immensely. He talked down to his wife, eyed all the other women openly, and was boring.

Stephanie’s eyes shifted back to the nurse as she returned to the room. The nurse brought me up to date on her vitals, and I nodded appropriately. Only after the nurse left did I pull up a chair next to the bed, took Steph’s hand in mine, and kiss it gently.

“You did fine in there,” I whispered, “and the baby will be moved into your room as soon as you recover from the anesthesia.”

She smiled. “How did you know I wanted the baby in my room?”

“I just knew.”

“Thank you.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes once more. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Just like her mom,” I agreed, brandishing a silly grin from ear to ear.

Always Together

She raised her hand and stroked my cheek. “I love it when you smile. It lights up your whole face and adds humor to your blue eyes.” She proceeded to run her fingers through my hair. “Your hair is getting long, I need to give it a trim.” Before I could reply, she giggled, “And it’s getting more silver.”

“You think so?”

“I’m afraid so. I think I’ve done this to you over the last few months. I haven’t exactly been a calming entity in your life.”

“That’s all right. I wouldn’t have traded these last few months for anything in the world. By the way, have you chosen a name for her?”

“Yes—Tabitha.”

I stood up and squeezed her hand gently. Only once in passing did I ever mention I liked the name. “Tabitha. I think that’s a wonderful name.”

“I know.”

I walked to the foot of her bed to make a notation on her chart. “They’re waiting for me in the OR again, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything, ring the buzzer, all right?”

Stephanie smiled bravely, feigning calmness. “Randy?”

“Yes?”

“How am I ever going to thank you?”

Emotions running as high as they were, I was moved beyond words. With great difficulty, I swallowed past a huge lump in my throat and murmured, “Love me forever.” Then I left the room.

The next few days passed by quickly, and soon Stephanie was preparing for her discharge. Tabitha was dressed in a delicate pink dress and a white knit sweater and bonnet when I arrived to sign her discharge orders.

“I really do wish you’d reconsider,” I admitted.

“I can’t. It wouldn’t be right, Randy—and you know it wouldn’t. Everyone in the neighborhood would be talking.”

“Yes, they would, but I really don’t care. All I care about is making sure you and Tabitha are cared for. You shouldn’t be going home with no one to help you care for a newborn. If you stayed with me, I’d be able to cook and clean for you.”

She looked up into my eyes. “Thank you, Randy, for everything. Tabitha and I will be fine, I promise. And if we do need anything, you’ll be the first one I call.”

I sighed heavily. “All right. You have my beeper number?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s coming to pick you up?”

“I called a taxi.” She grimaced when she tried to tug on her sweater.

I helped her into it. Only then did I notice her braid in disarray. “Cancel the cab, Stephanie. I’ll give you a ride.”

I thought she’d protest, but instead she smiled and thanked me. When she hung up the phone, I turned her by the shoulders to face me. She looked up in anticipation, perhaps thinking I was going to kiss her. When I didn’t, she appeared somewhat dejected.

“Why don’t you let me fix your braid for you?” I offered.

She was temporarily stunned, then slowly grinned. That was the beautiful smile I’d come to adore.

“I wondered if you’d notice. I can’t lift my arms over my head to braid it properly.”

I chuckled. “I can see that.”

“How did you learn how to braid hair?”

“I’m fifteen years older than my little sister. Sometimes she’d stay with me at my place, and I’d have to braid her hair for her. It took some practice, but eventually I became quite good at it. She’s in college now, and if I’m guessing correctly, she’s probably learned how to braid it herself.”

Stephanie giggled, then turned around to hug me. I wished she was mine to hug forever.

We drove home in silence, apparently worrying about the same thing. She was the one to bring it up first. “Do you think he’ll call?”

“Yes . . . or worse. He may show up. She’s his daughter, too.”

“I was worried he’d show up at the hospital.”

“I was too. That’s one reason I consented to having Tabitha stay in your room so soon after surgery. I knew it would bring you peace of mind to know she was where you could see her at all times.”

She reached over and patted my hand. “Thank you.”

I looked over to find fresh tears running down her cheeks. I was at a loss for words.

I pulled into her driveway, pleased to find a strange car parked in the middle of it. I opened her car door and helped her out. Seeing her confused glance at the unfamiliar green Honda parked in her driveway, I explained, “I hired a housekeeper to come in for a few hours each day to help you out. I told her she was to take all orders from you, and you could terminate her at any point you felt ready.”

“Oh, Randy. I don’t know how to thank you. You just keep amazing me at every turn.”

I left once she was settled in. Respecting her need for privacy, I left her alone for the next couple of weeks, only paying her the occasional visit or phone call. Each time I found her cheerful and happy.

But I was shocked when I received the housekeeping agency’s bill, which stated that Stephanie had let Mrs. Emery go after only three weeks. Only three days had passed since I’d last seen Stephanie, and she hadn’t said a word about letting the housekeeper go. I was about to call her from my office when my secretary announced she was there to see me for her routine postpartum checkup.

“She’s here?” I asked in confusion. “Isn’t she scheduled two weeks from now?

“Yes, but her husband called and asked that we move it up, so I changed her appointment. I knew you’d want to see her.”

I wasn’t prepared for that news. “Her husband?”

“Yes, her husband. He’s with her. I was surprised, too.”

I sank back heavily into my chair, stunned. After digesting the information for a few minutes, I went to see the Adlers.

Stephanie sat quietly on the exam table in a johnny. With her head hung, she stared at her feet when I entered the room. Her husband stood across the room like a bulldog, with his arms folded across his chest and his feet slightly apart in a menacing stance.

I shut the door behind me. It didn’t take long for Gary to take the lead.

“Good morning, Dr. Scott. We’re here to find out how Stephanie’s doing.”

“You’re a bit early,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks.”

“Yes, but we’re anxious to have another child.”

I turned to him. “Mr. Adler, your wife has just undergone major surgery. She cannot conceive for a minimum of six months. The pressure of another fetus against the incision could make the uterus burst open, endangering the life of the baby as well as her own.”

Gary waved my words away as if they were a bothersome insect buzzing around his head. “I don’t think you realize the situation here.”

“Apparently, I don’t. Why don’t you explain?”

“Well, we didn’t want a girl—we wanted a boy. I won’t play games with you, Dr. Scott. I know you’re aware that I left my wife, but I’m back now. And I intend to correct the things she’s done wrong. I only left because I didn’t believe the child was mine. I’m sure you can understand . . . being a man and all.”

Though I fought for self-control, I wanted to pummel his face with my fists. I continued to watch Stephanie for some reaction, but she was void of all emotion, obviously deeply troubled.

Slowly, I picked up her chart. In mock reference I told him, “According to my records, you left your wife because you didn’t want any children. I also don’t see where any paternity testing has been ordered. Why are you convinced the baby is yours now?”

Gary’s face flamed with embarrassment. “The paternity testing will be done next week. I’ve already spoken to Dr. Richardson about it. We’re only here today to see about my wife’s condition, and her ability to produce a son.”

“Mr. Adler, I think it would be best if I spoke to your wife alone.”

“Really? Well, my wife has nothing to say in my absence—and I’m not leaving.”

I was fearful for Stephanie and didn’t want to create a situation that could put her in any further jeopardy, so I merely approached her gently. “Could you lie back, please?”

I called my nurse in and performed an exam. Stephanie openly wept throughout, apologizing and blaming it on postpartum depression. Her husband ordered her to knock it off, but clearly it was beyond her control.

Once finished, I announced she was healing well but that she still needed several weeks to fully heal. I reiterated firmly that she couldn’t conceive again for a minimum of six months. I was relieved to find no evidence of her having been raped.

Gary ignored the latter of my statements, inquiring, “What do you mean she isn’t finished healing? How long does that take?”

“It’ll be another four to six weeks before she can engage in relations.”

Annoyed, he paced the room, ordering his wife to dress. Stephanie never raised her eyes or looked in my direction. I made a notation in her chart regarding spousal abuse, and the minute they left I phoned in the report, despite Gary’s position on the police force.

The next few days crawled by in a haze. Stephanie never left my mind. She’d appeared so frail and scared that I couldn’t help but worry about her. Throughout the months we’d spent getting to know each other, she’d confided to me how happy she was since Gary had left. Her marriage had been horrible for quite some time; he was always cheating on her and openly bragging about his conquests to his buddies, even in front of her. He insulted her and resorted to threats if everything wasn’t done precisely his way.

I knew I wasn’t the only neighbor who watched out for her. Most of the neighborhood didn’t care for Gary’s boisterous ways. His flaring temperament didn’t sit well with the majority of us in our quiet little suburb. I must admit I was overjoyed when the Andersons, who live in the house between ours, befriended Stephanie, as well as the Taylors across the street. Those good people never failed to include Stephanie and me to any get-together, regardless how small.

I hadn’t intended to become so attached to her, but soon we were taking evening walks or sitting on her front porch and sipping drinks in the evening. Within just a few short months I knew I was in over my head. My love for her consumed me in a powerful yet helpless way, and being her doctor only complicated matters. I suggested at one point that perhaps I should turn her care over to a fellow colleague, but she adamantly refused. She insisted that our feelings for one another shouldn’t get in the way.

Technically, we were only friends. After all, she was a married woman. We certainly hadn’t broken any rules of propriety. For that very same reason I reluctantly agreed to stay on as her doctor.

A week after the incident in my office, I knew I needed to take a short vacation. Stephanie and Tabitha were all I could think about. I hadn’t been able to sleep or eat in days. I made several attempts to call, but each time Gary either answered and refused to let me speak to her or the phone would ring on and on. I telephoned the police station and was transferred so many times that I lost count.

Finally, a lieutenant came on the phone and told me that the complaint was under investigation. Despite my further questioning, he insisted that he couldn’t disclose any information. All I could do was to pray for their safety.

I hoped that a few days at my cabin at the lake would clear my head. Without a second thought, I packed and left that evening. Still, I was haunted by memories of Stephanie. Would I ever be free from her? I was tormented with recollections of her—like the day she told me she was pregnant and her husband had left her.

It was a gloomy, overcast day, and I’d been up all night dealing with a difficult birth. I had just arrived at my office when Stephanie appeared for an appointment. I should have recognized the name instantly on my schedule, but it didn’t connect until I saw her. There she sat in my private office, bravely facing a pregnancy alone. She announced that her husband had threatened her with an abortion or separation.

Apparently, he had a daughter with his first wife and rarely saw his child. He had never discussed with Stephanie his desire not to have children. She was left reeling when he made his proclamation. As a devout Catholic, she couldn’t bring herself to terminate the pregnancy. Consequently her husband left, but not without first making it clear that he’d be staying at his partner’s house . . . his female partner.

Many times I asked her if she intended to file for divorce. But she’d explain that her husband was the type of man who needed to make the first move or there would be hell to pay.

“In the meantime, I’ll just sit back and wait to see what he does,” she’d said. “Although Gary allowed me to work as a hairdresser, I was never allowed to use that money to contribute to the household expenses, so I have quite a bit in savings to fall back on. As long as I’m thrifty, I think I can manage financially for about a year. After that, I guess I’ll have to return to work. Regardless, I won’t file for divorce. Gary is going to have to be the one to act on that.”

I was uneasy with her approach. “Do you want him back?”

“No, I don’t ever want him to come back. At first I thought I missed him, but I really just missed the routine. I’ve never felt happier or more at peace.” After a long pause, she added in a whisper, “Besides, I think I’m in love with you.”

Her admission startled me, but once spoken, I was ecstatic. “I love you, too, Stephanie.”

The embrace that followed would stay in my mind forever. The child she carried would be raised as mine if she consented, but I knew I couldn’t broach that subject yet. I finally did, however, in her eighth month. She wept with joy in my arms, but she said she couldn’t make that decision yet. I understood and agreed to give her all the time she needed.

After a week of fishing, swimming, and canoeing at the lake, I began to relax. When I packed up to return home I knew what I had to do: Despite Gary’s attempts to keep me from Stephanie, I was determined to see her. He’d already spent two weeks at home and I knew his own vacation time was running out. He had to leave the house at some point, and I intended to be there the minute he did. If Stephanie wanted me out of her life, then she would have to tell me herself. I intuitively knew he was holding her prisoner. Regardless of my calls to the police station, no intervention had been done on Stephanie or Tabitha’s behalf.

As I drove home, I gave careful consideration to my approach. I had to make her realize that I’d do whatever it took to keep her and the baby safe, even if she didn’t want to pursue a relationship with me.

I turned onto our quiet street and was virtually thrown into a chaotic scene too unbelievable for words.

Just as I approached Stephanie’s house, I saw her bolting out the front door, carrying the baby like a rag doll with her. She was screaming hysterically as she ran across the front yard and into the street, in the direction of the Taylors’.

Charlotte Taylor, who was outside watering her flowers, stared in disbelief as Gary gave chase with a baseball bat in his hand. I screeched my Jeep to a halt in the middle of the street, bound from the seat, and ran after him.

Just before Gary reached Stephanie, I tackled him to the ground. Never before had I committed such an act of violence as I found myself beating his face with my fists, just as I had wished to do two weeks earlier. I rendered him nearly unconscious by the time Sam Taylor pulled me off him. Police sirens sounded in the distance. Charlotte had pulled Stephanie and Tabitha into the security of her home, locking the doors behind them.

When the police arrived, they immediately arrested Gary. The shock and disappointment on the their faces was apparent when they recognized one of their own. Regardless, they couldn’t deny Stephanie’s own blackened eyes and dislocated shoulder.

Her statement to the police made me want to brutalize Gary even more. Apparently, the fight started when Tabitha began crying and no one could settle her down. Gary was trying to get ready for a baseball game and was feeling harried. He suddenly declared, “I know how to shut the little brat up.”

He tried to pull the baby from Stephanie’s arms, but she refused to give him the baby. Her resistance infuriated him, and he punched her in the face. Even then she continued to clutch the baby to her breast like a life preserver. Gary violently grabbed at her arm repeatedly until he dislocated her shoulder. By some miracle of God, Stephanie managed to hold onto the baby. That was when Gary reached for his baseball bat. That split-second was all Stephanie needed; she leaped to her feet and ran for the door.

Stephanie and Tabitha were taken to the hospital; Gary was taken to jail. I stood in the middle of the street, not knowing what to do next. Sam clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Looks like it’s all over—for now.”

At home, I went over the events in my mind. Charlotte and Sam brought Stephanie and Tabitha home from the hospital. Later, in the early evening dusk, Stephanie appeared on my doorstep.

“May I come in?” she asked meekly. “I didn’t know if you’d ever speak to me again after my visit to your office.”

I opened the door fully for her. Tabitha, who was sleeping, stirred in her mother’s good arm. “May I take her?”

Gently, she placed the baby in my arms. I took her into my room and put her in the middle of the bed, where she could sleep quietly. I returned to the kitchen and joined Stephanie at the table.

She tried to cover her face with her hands as she cried, but her sling prevented her. I wrapped my arms around her.

“I never wanted him back, I swear!” she wailed.

Shh.”

“He showed up one day, out of the blue, and he threw the housekeeper out. He told me to stop lounging around, and he demanded to know who was paying for the services. When I told him it was you, he said he’d show you not to mess around where you didn’t belong. He didn’t want me—he just wanted to keep us apart.”

No matter how I tried to comfort her, she needed to continue. “I told him to get out. I’d changed my mind. I told him I wanted a divorce, but he said that if I tried he’d take Tabitha and I’d never see her again. He said . . . he said . . . ” She sobbed.

“None of that matters now, Stephanie.” I needed to know why everything had ended in such a mess. Why my heart had been ripped from my chest, when I was so sure I was on the brink of building a future with her and Tabitha.

As if reading my mind, she continued. “It does matter. He said that in his line of work, he knew how to disappear and never be found again—and that’s what he’d do if I didn’t take him back. Then he dropped the biggest bombshell: He said that he wanted a son immediately. He said that was the only way I could make up to him what I’d done to him by deceiving him with the first baby. I couldn’t believe it; I’d never deceived him, never. It was just an accident.”

“Hush, Stephanie. I know you didn’t.”

“He forced me to go to your office. He warned me to not say a word. I was so afraid, Randy, I didn’t know what to do. I love you so much. He has literally held me prisoner for the last two weeks. I’m not even allowed to use the phone. When you told him I still wasn’t healed, he was furious. He ranted all the way home about how his grandmother had given birth every year for fourteen years, and she’d had all boys. He couldn’t understand why I was incapable of giving birth to even one boy.”

The report of his cruelty infuriated me. I held her in my arms but realized my fists were clenched. I cursed myself for not doing more to protect her from Gary that day in my office. I should have known that reporting him to his commanding officer would accomplish nothing.

As I held her, I felt shame as well. How could I have doubted her love for me after all this time? I took her face in my hands and kissed her bruised lips tenderly.

“I promise you, Stephanie, that no one will ever harm you or Tabitha again.” She continued to weep in my arms as a horrible thought came to me. “Did he hurt you? I mean . . . ”

“No, he never raped me. He was too angry at both of us for not going through natural childbirth. If I’d been able to, he probably would have forced himself on me. I’m not sure why he even came back at all. I think it was more out of pressure from his peers than anything. I never cheated on him, Randy. It was all a lie. He had to have some reason for leaving me.

“Before I came over tonight, I called his first wife. She told me he accused her of adultery, and he actually filed for divorce the day their daughter was born. He was so angry over the sex of their child. I never even knew Gary had a daughter until after we married. Only then did he tell me, because the state had started garnishing his wages for child support.

“He told me that the child wasn’t really his. He said that was why he divorced her, and I was stupid enough to believe him. How could I have married such a monster? I keep asking myself how I could have been so blind to the real Gary. I’m a fool, Randy.”

“Stephanie, you’re an intelligent woman. What could you have done? Besides, would you have believed Gary’s first wife if she’d warned you? You told me yourself how smooth Gary was when you first met him. You told me he literally changed overnight after you married.”

She nodded in agreement. At that, she stopped questioning herself and wept silently in my arms. I held her throughout the night.

Now, a year later, we are blissfully happy as newlyweds. Stephanie’s divorce was difficult, to say the least. A lengthy trial allowed her lawyer to present evidence of Gary’s temper toward her and the baby. His first wife took the stand to tell her own story of his violence and abandonment over the birth of their daughter. The judge was clearly moved and only allowed Gary supervised visitation. It was further ordered that the house was to be sold and any profit was to be split equally. Child support was set, and Gary let out a cry of outrage.

A month later, he showed up at my office unexpectedly. He offered me the opportunity to adopt his daughter, stating he would do anything to get out of paying Stephanie any of his hard-earned money. We all returned to court and adoption papers were filed.

Now life is so much more fulfilling. At our annual summer neighborhood gathering, I realized just how truly thankful I am for the day Stephanie entered my life. My heart overflows with joy at the sight of her and our daughter. I was holding Tabitha when Stephanie came bouncing across the lawn with a grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Charlotte and Sam are going to take care of Tabitha for us while we’re away next month for your reunion,” she announced.

“Wonderful! Tabitha will be fine with them.”

I put the baby down so she could become acquainted with the Andersons’ new puppy. A large diesel engine truck coming down the road made us all look up. We watched as our new neighbors pulled into Stephanie’s old Victorian home with a large sold sign posted out front. The Greys would be a delight to the neighborhood. They already had two little girls and twins on the way. The neighborhood was coming alive once more with young children.

As soon as they parked the U-Haul, we called them over for hot dogs and hamburgers. They accepted immediately and more introductions were made.

Mature Friends Enjoying Outdoor Summer Barbeque In Garden

Later that night, after Tabitha was tucked into bed and the lights were out, Stephanie reminded me of a question she once asked me. “Do you remember when Tabitha was born and I asked you how I could ever repay you?”

I cradled her in my arms. “Yes, I do. I told you to love me forever.”

She grinned slyly up at me. “I will, you know.”

“I know.”

“I went to see a colleague of yours today,” she announced.

“You did? Who?”

“Dr. Walsh.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s against medical ethics for you to deliver your own child—and since you’ve already done that once, Dr. Walsh was only too willing to oblige me in delivering our second.”

I nearly jumped out of bed. “We’re going to have another baby?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Thank you . . . thank you so much,” I murmured in her ear.

“No need to thank me. You played a big part in it, too, you know.”

I kissed her deeply. “And you know, Steph . . . I don’t care if we have a house full of girls.”

“I already knew that.” She planted another passionate kiss on my lips. “I’ve always known . . . ”

The Most Ridiculous Romance Covers

cover

When it comes to romance novels, the image of a lion-maned Fabio leaning into a love-struck woman is indelibly embedded in American pop culture. But look beyond the cliché, and each romance cover offers clues as to its contents. In other words, sometimes you can, in fact, judge a book by its cover.

Each cover must distinguish itself from the competition, both in-house and across publishers, while fitting in with a particular brand or series aesthetic—all while reassuring readers that they’re going to get the love story that they expect.

However, sometimes publishers decide the best way to attract the viewer’s eye is to display the most absurd image they can conceive. Shock value, if you will. Here is our collection of the most ridiculous/bizarre/bad/shocking/bold covers we could find. And by the way, these are all legitimate books you can purchase online. Have any other great ones that come to mind? Tell us about them in the comments.

crossing the line

Crossing The Line

Grace Winters is the racing world’s best-kept secret. And now the secret’s out. The up-and-coming chef hopes her newfound celebrity as author of a NASCAR-themed cookbook will give her the financial security she craves. Falling for handsome, much-too-charming playboy Garrett Clark is just a recipe for disaster.

alien hound

Alien Hound Turned Me Gay

Connor is a engineer at the Space Administration in Washington, recently working on the construction of a cage and testing area for an alien beast that was discovered on Mars. This alien hound begins to tempt him though and soon enough his darkest and wildest fantasies are brought to life! 

firefighters woman 2

The Firefighter’s Woman 2

Evan broke up with Marlena and left Forest’s End. She thinks it was because of her weight and her education. Marlena decides she would’ve never had her heart broken if she’d just kept dating her own race. Yeah, right! So she’s dating a sexy black man when Evan returns trying to get her back. Marlena is not having it. Unfortunately, she still loves him. While she works to obtain her degree and runs with the amazing career opportunity that she’s been offered, she has to guard her heart from the sexy firefighter that never gave it back in the first place.

bosses gasses

My Bosses Gasses

When Michael has to stay late at work to catch up after his procrastination, he comes face to face with his sexy boss, Emily. But when they try to leave, their escape is cut short by a faulty elevator. And unfortunately for everyone, Emily is feeling a rumble in her stomach and the repair man won’t be there for almost an hour. There’s more than one thing that Emily wants to get out in the open, but will Michael be able to handle it? 

view to a kill

A View To A Kill

Sachin must make a choice, give up the one woman he knows to be his true mate and let her live in ignorant bliss of what walks among her people, or fight for what’s his, taking it at all costs. A trained assassin…a man even the deadliest of warriors fear. To cross him is foolish. To steal his heart is pure madness. 

spellbound in seattle

Spellbound in Seattle

Petra Field did not have a magical bone in her body, but it did not take a crystal ball to see disaster loomed. With enchanted blood on her carpet, a house full of Merlin-wannabes unable to clean it up, a petulant at, and house guests scheduled to arrive momentarily, she needed a miracle. She got a wizard, a whole lot of unwanted sparks, and a man-sized hole in the living room – a hole into which her feline promptly disappeared.

brawn

Brawn

One look at Brawn, and Becca is wondering how he’d look without his clothes. He’s also instantly attracted to her, but has sworn never to touch a human female. They just aren’t sturdy enough for the type of rough sex Brawn enjoys most. When he learns he’ll be living under the same roof with Becca, Brawn simply sees it as a chance to broaden his knowledge of humans. Hopefully he can do so while keeping his hands off her…

cavemen

Held Captive By The Cavemen

Ellie’s been pushed back in time by her vengeful ex-lover. Now a tribe of frighteningly large, muscular, and very sexy cavemen are holding her captive. And they *all* want a turn. Warning: This short novella contains dubious consent, forced seduction, the threat of real violence, some m/m action, and a four-cavemen-against-one-modern-woman gangbang—not rape. This is not a romance, it’s erotica. 

slammed

Slammed In The Butt By My Hugo Award Nomination

When Tuck Bingle receives an email explaining that he’s been nominated for science fiction literature’s most prestigious award, he’s left utterly confused. On one hand, Tuck is a successful writer of gay, science fiction erotic, but on the other, this email is addressed to someone by the name of Chuck Tingle. 

santa claus

Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes 

Santa Claus is back. And flying beside him is Wendy, his freshly minted stepdaughter, who can peer into the future of selected children and offer them glimpses of the wonders ahead. But with that power come horrific visions of the turmoil and trouble the less fortunate among them are fated to suffer. 

kiss my fist

Kiss My Fist

Chad Winters was a small-time bank clerk – until he was put in charge of the Shelley account. Vestal Shelley was plain, a bitch… and worth over seventy million dollars. No one had ever dared to stand up to her before – but Chad, determined to get his hands on her money, found the perfect way to treat her… and ended up as her husband. But he hadn’t reckoned on failing violently in love with Vestal’s secretary – a ruthless woman who also wanted her share of the fortune… and who cunningly turned Chad’s thoughts to murder…

evan

Evan’s Victory: Wolves of Climax 5

Evan is the first to try and convince Cassidy to stay in Climax, yet he still won’t make a decision without Garret’s approval. To win her back, the Gregor miners must pass Cassidy’s tests of devotion. It will take more than mind-numbing sex and tempting promises. But with a kidnapping in the works, the pack will have to act fast or lose their little human forever. 

jungle

Jungle Freakn’ Bride

Everyone’s heard of the mysterious Moon Ghost Jaguars, supposed shapeshifting men who steal women as their brides. What they forgot to mention was that half naked, ripped and oh so delicious, they always came in pairs – and turned into really big freakn’ cats! But Carlie’s not about to let these furry Tarzans dictate her future, even if they seem to have conquered her body. 

my fair dork

My Fair Dork

They say a guy can never be too hung. Well, Harold Jacobs doesn’t know who they are, but they’re wrong. Socially awkward for as long as he can remember, Harold feels his enormous package is just one more thing to be embarrassed about.

 

 

True Romance–Love and Laughter

Layout 1Many of the relationships in these eleven stories begin as serious tales of rejected advances, broken engagements, sexless marriages and cheating husbands, but just when a happy ending seems impossible, a little laughter brings about a positive outcome! A shallow woman fixated on meeting a handsome but oblivious stranger is charmed instead by a persistent funny guy with a winning personality. The klutzy secretary with a snobby fiancé meets an admirer who finds her clumsiness more endearing than embarrassing. A married couple attempting to rekindle their sex life is faced with the challenge of finding a time and a place for intimacy while raising their two curious little boys, only to realize how much closer they’ve become since their carefree days as newlyweds. Finding a little humor in your relationship can make all the difference! Read More

 

News

real loveI Found My Man In The Classified Ads

Leaving soft candles burning, I took one last look around and, satisfied, pulled the door closed behind me. It was six o’clock. By then, I had a complete picture of P. McDougal in my head: a distinguished-looking gray-haired man, above medium height, who carried himself straight and wore his clothes like a banker in a Wall Street ad. By then, I was so curious to see him that I headed for the neighborhood Italian restaurant on the corner just across the street, planning to wait around in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. Read the Story Here

Culinary Mysteries Make Murder Appetizing

TS-535939389 Chef Murdercrop

By Katherine Sharma

The culinary mystery has become a popular subgenre, pleasing both crime-solving and foodie fans. Most of these nestle in the “cozy” mystery category, sport cute titles, include recipes, and form fictional series. Here’s a quick taste (pun intended) of popular foodie mysteries:

pies

Ellery Adams writes the Charmed Pie Shoppe Mystery series, so begin with her debut Pies and Prejudice, in which heroine Ella Mae returns to her Georgia hometown to open a bakery shop and becomes entangled in the murder of her childhood enemy’s fiance, with Ella Mae’s rolling pin as the murder weapon.

 

 

 

glazed murder

Jessica Beck offers more calories with her Donut Shop Mystery series; sample Glazed Murder in which the heroine proprietor of a donut shop tracks the killer of a customer. More baked goods come with Joanne Fluke’s Hannah Swensen Mysteries; for example, Blueberry Muffin Murder has Hannah, owner of the Cookie Jar eat-in bakery, investigating the death of a cookbook author and cable TV star.

 

 

 

enchilada

Diane Mott Davidson pens the popular Goldy Bear Mystery series featuring caterer Goldy Schultz; in The Whole Enchilada, Goldy digs into the presumed overdose death of a friend and uncovers murder. It’s not all baked goods and coffee; sometimes it’s baked goods and tea.

 

 

 

 

darjeeling

Laura Childs writes the Tea Shop Mystery series with entries like Death by Darjeeling, in which South Carolina tea shop owner Theodosia Browning seeks to solve a murder and salvage her reputation after a male guest is poisoned by her tea at a catered garden party. If you’re not full and want to keep grazing culinary mysteries, get a more exhaustive list at http://www.cozy-mystery.com/blog/where-to-start-with-culinary-cozy-mystery-series.html

ABOUT  KATHERINE SHARMA

Katherine Sharma’s family roots are in Louisiana, Oklahoma and Texas. But after her early childhood in Texas, she has moved around the country and lived in seven other states, from Virginia to Hawaii. She currently resides in California with her husband and three children. She has also traveled extensively in Europe, Africa and Asia, and makes regular visits to family in India. After receiving her bachelor’s degree. in economics and her master’s degree in journalism from the University of Michigan, Katherine worked as a newspaper and magazine writer and editor for more than 15 years. She then shifted into management and marketing roles for firms in industries ranging from outdoor recreation to insurance to direct marketing. Although Katherine still works as a marketing consultant, she is now focused on creative writing.

Can You Find True Love In an Arranged Marriage? Ask Ravi Patel

Ravi and Geeta

By Lindsay Piper Shaw

In 2009, Ravi Patel accompanied his family to their native home of India for a month-long trip. Unbeknownst to his parents, Patel had been dating an American woman for two years, and feeling conflicted that she was not Indian, he broke off the relationship. The breakup came just on the heels of this pre-planned family jaunt, which was conveniently timed during India’s wedding season.

Patel’s parents were hopeful that their almost 30-year-old son, who to their knowledge had never been in a serious relationship, would finally allow them to arrange him to be married. His sister, Geeta, an accomplished filmmaker, picked up her camera to document the trip and the quest to find her brother a wife in a film called Meet the Patels, which premiered in 2015.

Family shot

Patel’s parents and all of their family members and peers had been coupled through arrangements. Patel’s mother said that before they wed, she only spoke to her husband-to-be for 10 minutes, but she claims he made her laugh like crazy when the moment they met. After they wed, the groom moved his new bride to America, where they had two children, Ravi and Geeta, and by all accounts a loving and successful marriage. Their courtship had been minimal, but they spent the following years getting to know each other and developed a deep, mutual love — a love that both their children admired.

Determined to provide the same marital bliss for their eldest child, Patel’s parents jumped at the chance to find a partner for their son.

Patel, heartbroken, was open to examining any option to find love, including his family’s cultural practice of arranged marriage. His parents went to work distributing Patel’s “biodata,” a one sheet personal resume that acted as a physical dating profile. Patel’s biodata was given to family members and strangers to distribute, all while Patel’s parents were sifting through hundreds of eligible women’s biodata sheets. They spoke to other members of their community, setting up dates for their son, hoping he would find finally settle down.

Speed Dating

Patel dove head first into the cultural traditions to find a partner, all the while comparing the new women in his life to his old flame. The search for a suitable wife proved to be difficult and extended well beyond the Indian wedding season. While back in America, the quest continued through biodata sheets, dating websites, and even a convention designed to find an Indian partner. After two and half years, Patel had gone on countless arranged dates and had traveled across the U.S. to meet potential partners.

Finally, he realized, he had found The One.

The movie seeks to challenge Western views of arranged marriages and how different cultures determine a suitable partner. Meet the Patels shows the struggle between old and new ideals, and the age-old question of whether or not we’ll ever find true love.

You can find out who is The One in Meet the Patels, streaming on Netflix.

Meet Patels Poster

Lindsay Piper Shaw is a Millennial searching for the adult equivalent of a participation trophy. She loves podcasts, excel spreadsheets, and wearing double denim. She spends most of her spare time searching for a parking spot near her apartment.

Victorian Mysteries Debut Modern Crime-Solving

Sick woman and her friend.

By Katherine Sharma

Looking to escape back in time with your next mystery? England’s Victorian era is a favorite setting because it can combine old-fashioned moral certitudes with relatively modern crime-solving thanks to the era’s policing and forensic science advances. Indeed, the Victorian period ushered in the first true detective fiction, such as Charles Dickens’ Bleak House, Wilkie Collins’ The Woman in White, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes tales, and Edgar Allan Poe’s three seminal detective stories (The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Mystery of Marie Roget and The Purloined Letter).

If you want to sample other British Victorian mystery masters, try Lady Audley’s Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, unique for its contemporary portrait of a daring, ruthless woman. Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu was famed for his Victorian Gothic mysteries, and a good example is Uncle Silas about a sinister uncle threatening a plucky heroine.

But many modern writers are carrying on the Victorian mystery tradition–sometimes borrowing from the masters. For example, a series by Laurie R. King pairs an aging Sherlock Holmes with clever teen Mary Russell, starting with The Beekeeper’s Apprentice. Lynn Shepherd’s The Solitary House has two Charles Maddoxes, a private detective and his “thief taker”great uncle, solving a mystery involving the cast of Dickens’ Bleak House. Meanwhile, The Asylum by John Harwood is inspired by Wilkie’s structure and atmosphere as a young woman awakens in an asylum under a name she denies and repudiated by relatives.

Mystic woman with a book.

Among the modern Victorian-era mystery series are those penned by Anne Perry, with The Cater Street Hangman as the first entry of her popular Thomas Pitt London mysteries. While “Victorian” connotes England, the same time period has inspired great mysteries set in the U.S. One of the best is Caleb Carr’s The Alienist about 1896 child mutilation murders in New York, with an investigative team made up of a New York Times crime reporter,  his “alienist” (psychologist) friend, and then NYC Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt. Victoria Thompson’s Gaslight Mystery series also is set in Victorian-era New York but is notable for its female sleuth, midwife Sarah Brandt, first introduced in Murder on Astor Place.

For more Victorian mystery ideas: http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/new-titles/adult-announcements/article/56604-victorian-crimes-mysteries-2013.html

ABOUT  KATHERINE SHARMA

Katherine Sharma’s family roots are in Louisiana, Oklahoma and Texas. But after her early childhood in Texas, she has moved around the country and lived in seven other states, from Virginia to Hawaii. She currently resides in California with her husband and three children. She has also traveled extensively in Europe, Africa and Asia, and makes regular visits to family in India. After receiving her bachelor’s degree. in economics and her master’s degree in journalism from the University of Michigan, Katherine worked as a newspaper and magazine writer and editor for more than 15 years. She then shifted into management and marketing roles for firms in industries ranging from outdoor recreation to insurance to direct marketing. Although Katherine still works as a marketing consultant, she is now focused on creative writing.