Senior Lady Sleuths: Gray Locks Join Gray Matter

Posted on October 6, 2016 by Jeff

By Katherine Sharma

Now that I’m joining the ranks of senior citizens in a few years (I’m holding off true membership till age 65), I find myself more interested in mystery tales featuring older lady sleuths. Of course, Agatha Christie’s Miss Jane Marple, the shrewdly observant spinster of St. Mary Mead, has an international fan base. And Jessica Fletcher, Donald Bain’s retired English teacher and novelist, even won a TV following for the “Murder, She Wrote” series.

There are many other outstanding examples: M.C. Beaton’s Agatha Raisin, a retired PR agent turned PI (with a BBC series); globe-trotting Mrs. Emily Pollifax, grandmother and spy, of the eponymous Dorothy Gilman series; and Eugenia Potter, widowed chef and star of the culinary cozy mysteries of Virginia Rich and Nancy Pickard.

I wondered if there was some special set of skills offered by older ladies to make them appealing to mystery writers. And I came up with five reasons a mystery author might choose to create a gray-haired female detective.

For one thing, as retirees, and often widows or spinsters, older women have more time to devote to detection without the constant, complicating drag of career and/or family on character and plot.
Second, their judgment can be informed by age rather than years of police training, so they can draw on long experience with personal and social interactions to pick up the subtle clues to murder.
Third, these fictional characters can be freed by age, maturely comfortable in their own skins and less constrained by worry over social conventions and sexual politics. This allows authors to create an eccentric, independent, adventurous or even comical character that would be less believable as a 20-something or 30-something heroine.
Fourth, older ladies can approach evil obliquely and catch it unawares, because there are few people seen as less threatening than a grandmother or maiden aunt.
And, finally, these fictional sleuths are not just older people, they are older women. Even today, most societies reward men for action, control and dominance, and encourage women to be more observant, emotionally attuned and socially participant. Female detectives can turn that gender bias into an advantage in terms of honed human observational skills.

For some more senior sleuths, check out author Chris Well’s post at http://chriswellnovelist.blogspot.com/2010/07/retirement-is-murder-10-senior-sleuths.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.

Visit Katerine’s Website or Sign up For Her Blog

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

Posted on October 6, 2016 by Jeff

“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.”

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.

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.”

“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.

9 Ways To Be A Single Empowered Female

Posted on September 29, 2016 by Jeff

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being single. Not all of us are ready to find love, to settle down, or even to meet for coffee unless it’s going to advance our careers. Sure, deep down we’re all dreaming about the day we bring home “the one.”

But right now? Right we want to create a home of our own on our own. Or we want to jump from home to home because we’re not tied down, and we like it that way for now.

Society can make it seem like being single at a certain age means you’re falling behind. As a fellow single woman, I vehemently disagree. Take yourself, for instance. Chances are, you’re a highly motivated, ridiculously passionate, and a bright-eyed young woman with all the potential in the world to change it. Am I right?

Our digital culture can make it a little discouraging to be single when everyone else is getting married and having babies. Yet our culture is also seeing a change – one that supports women going after their dreams and not after diamond rings. We’re seeing our world evolve this way and it’s up to us to grow with it and to make the new “normal.”

Because you’re not falling behind… you’re just falling for the wrong guy.

It’s time to forget societal expectations. It’s time to change the way fairy tales are written – it’s not a matter of erasing the happy ending but changing the way we get to one. For now, focus on being a badass single woman who’s chasing her dreams. Go chase headlines and go change lives. You don’t need a man to do any of it. But what you do need are these 9 tips to help you get there:

1. Travel the world. Travel opens up your eyes and your heart. If anything is going to empower you, it’ll be watching the sun rise in another part of the world. Go with friends or travel solo, either way there’s an entire world waiting for you to discover it, to have an adventure, and to explore.

2. Read about other successful women. Get inspired by badass women that are making a real difference in this world that has nothing to do with who they’re married to – or if they even are. Remember, you can be one of them.

3. Pamper yourself and glam it up. Forget that it sounds silly because there’s no woman out there that doesn’t feel better after going to the salon or getting dolled up. So give in and splurge on the spa (Gilt City always has some great offers) or have GlamSquad arrive before a night out with the girls.

4. Surround yourself with great women. Being around people who make you laugh, support your dreams, and make you want to be a better person is the key to a happy heart.

5. Subscribe to a subscription service. Each month you’ll receive fun surprises that will serve as a reminder to treat yourself and hopefullt be useful in your every-day life. You can try everything from Birchbox to Rocksbox to FabFitFun to SinglesSwag – the options are endless!

6. Spread a message of love. Instead of spreading your lack of a dating life, spread the love. Spread your love of self, of the world, of your family, of your pet, or, hell, even your brand of wine. You never know what it’ll attract from it.

7. Focus on your career. Put absolutely everything you’ve got into following your passions, climbing your ladder of choice, taking risks for a bigger reward, and doing it all without depending on a man. Maybe reading a book would help.

8. Go to networking events. I recently went to a life-changing Creative Mornings talk so I can attest that sometimes external inspiration can be very powerful. Sometimes you need a peripheral push, and there are plenty of other groups too, like SheSays or IVY – all of which I suggest trying out.

9. Give yourself a break occasionally. Enjoy that glass of wine (maybe try a wine of the month club), have a relaxing night in, eat the whole tub of ice cream (especially if it’s Halo Top), and don’t scold yourself for any of it. Indulge because you deserve it.

While some of these may seem a little cliché, when is the last time you actually chose to practice any of them? Instead of jeering at the commonality, try to simply embrace it. You might surprise yourself, you might love yourself a little more, and you might find yourself more empowered to go change your world.

“I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.” –Warsan Shire

From Never Liked It Anyway, the number one destination for all things break-ups and bounce-back! It’s the place to buy, sell and tell all things ex! Sell your breakup baggage, tell your story and join the community of rock stars bouncing back better than ever! )

Playboy Daddy: Time To Grow Up

Posted on September 29, 2016 by Jeff

A quick fling five years ago changed my life forever.

My answering machine was blinking like a Christmas tree when I got home that Thursday evening. I unfastened the top button on my shirt, flung my tie over the back of a chair, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. It had been a frazzling day. I’d sold two SUVs at the dealership where I worked—one to a woman who’d taken two hours to decide on the color. The other vehicle had gone to a hardcore price-haggler using a magnifying glass to find imaginary flaws in the finish.

I flopped down into a chair and listened to my phone messages. The first call was from Laurie, my current girlfriend. “I heard about a great new band playing at one of the clubs, she said brightly. Want to check it out?”

The second call was a mystery.

“This is Molly McGowen from Child Protective Services,” the voice said crisply. “I’m calling for Jarred Gillman. Please call me back as soon as possible. It’s important.” There had to be some kind of mistake. Child Protective Services? What was that about? The only kids I had any contact with were the ones dragged unwillingly into the dealership by their parents. Not yet concerned, I returned the call. She answered immediately.

“Are you in a place where you can talk privately?” she asked.

“Yes, but are you sure you’ve gotten the right person?”

“As best as I can tell. Did you have a relationship about five years ago with a woman named Renee Carlson?”

“Yes, but not for long. What are you getting at?”

“Mr. Gillman, are you aware that she later had a child?”

My stomach tightened. “No . . . ”

“There’s a very distinct possibility that you may be the father.”

The tautness in my midsection was now a hard, burning knot. “What—how?” I stammered. “I mean, wouldn’t she have let me know? This makes no sense.”

“She didn’t want to involve you at all,” the case worker explained. “She’s not asking anything from you. It’s just that the child has been in foster care, and the foster parents want to adopt him. Renee signed away her rights from the beginning because of an alcohol problem. She refused to list anyone as the father on the birth certificate. Now that the adoption is pending, we’re obligated by law to do everything we can to determine the father’s identity to make sure that all parties’ rights are protected. When we finally convinced Renee of the importance of this, she gave us two names. One was yours.”

“It has to be the other guy,” I argued. “I’m always very careful.”

“He’s been tested,” she said. “He’s not the father.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. “But there could be others—”

“In theory, yes. But we need to get a DNA sample from you first.”

I swallowed hard. “Sure. When?”

She gave me the name and number of a laboratory. “It’s important that the test be done as quickly as possible, because it takes at least two weeks to get the results,” she explained.

“I’ll do that.”

I thanked her, not knowing why except that it filled up space in an awkward conversation. I hung up and walked around the room in a daze.

Renee Carlson had been in my life five years and a couple of dozen women ago. I wouldn’t have remembered that much about her, other than the fact that she could put away more martinis than anybody I ever saw and still be able to walk a straight line.

I met her, fittingly, in a singles joint. I was new in the city and feeling lonely and disoriented when I walked into Swizzle’s and found her sitting at the bar. I was struck by her dark beauty and slim figure. Her sable hair flared out slightly at the ends and barely grazed her shoulders. Her big green eyes and childlike gaze made her look more like she belonged in a church choir instead of in a bar. Surprisingly, there was an empty stool next to her. I slid onto it, figuring she probably wasn’t too interested in the three-hundred-pound guy to her left, even though he was making a valiant effort in the face of all odds.

As it turned out, she’d come with a girlfriend who’d left with an old acquaintance just moments before. On her third martini, she was in a social mood. We hit it off right away. She told me about the city and all the hot spots, adding that she was between relationships. I had two beers, she had two more martinis—extra dry, with two olives—and the next thing I knew, I was taking her home.

Honestly, I had no ulterior motive. Without my giving her a ride, she would have had to call a cab. She invited me into her apartment and poured herself a glass of wine while I nursed a beer. We talked a little about our backgrounds. She was pretty candid. It must have been the liquor, because it came out that she had run a stop sign as a teenager, resulting in the death of her identical twin. Renee was a graphic artist, she was twenty-six, and her goal was to have her own professional design studio someday.

My goal was simply to make a little money. My father had abandoned my mother and me when I was two. My mom supported me by working as a school secretary. Six months before my high school graduation, she died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage. A coach took me in, but after that I was pretty much on my own.

My love of cars led me to learning how to fix them, but I discovered I could make more money by selling them—especially the most popular ones. When I met Renee, I’d just moved up to one of the biggest dealerships in the state.

Our relationship lasted all of about four weeks. Frankly, I was concerned about her drinking. She was great fun as long as she had a drink in her hand; but in the morning she awoke irritable and moody. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to guess where the need to drink might have come from. When I suggested that maybe she could use some help, she denied that the problem was serious. The relationship ended on that mind-your-own-business note.

We’d had sex maybe a dozen times. She was taking birth control pills. She’d even showed them to me, so I figured we were safe. I took measures of my own, mainly for disease protection . . . at least that’s the way I wanted to remember it.

After Renee, there had been a string of others. The first was a woman I fell hard for, but she dumped me for Todd Holcombe, a rich guy with a BMW and an MBA. I’d grown up without a father, I’d lost my mother, and then I lost the only girl I’d ever loved. Emotionally, I kept my distance after that. From then on I was out for fun, nothing more.

I took a deep breath and sat down. At that moment, I was having no fun at all. Me, a father? I only halfway knew how to be a son, let alone a dad. Surely, this was sort of a mistake.

But what if it wasn’t?

The next morning I was the first in line when the lab opened at seven. They swabbed some cells from inside my cheek. It was quick and painless; the wait that followed wasn’t.

Sixteen days later, the social worker called. Sweat broke out all over me as I closed my office door.

“The results are in,” she said. “There’s a ninety-nine-point-nine percent probability that the child is yours.”

Chilled, I slumped onto the corner of my desk.

“Mr. Gillman, are you still there?”

“Yes. But that’s not a hundred percent, right?”

“No, but it’s virtual certainty.”

I took a few seconds to absorb it. “I guess we need to talk about it.”

“Of course. I’m at your disposal.”

I left work early, telling the boss I wasn’t feeling well—which was the truth—and headed toward the CPS office on the other side of town. As I drove, the fog in my head failed to clear.

I had a son. He was four years old. And I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do next.

In addition to being a social worker, Molly McGowen was a grandmother. The evidence was a framed, finger-painted picture on her wall. On it To Nana, with two backward N’s, had been scrawled. I should have been amused, but anything having to do with kids was now scary.

She got me a cup of coffee, then sat down across from me. A folder about three inches thick rested on her desk.

“What is he like?” I asked. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s a lovely child,” she said. “The foster family has done an excellent job. They’ve had him since he was a month old.”

“Where was he up until then?”

“He was in the intensive care nursery. He was several months premature and had a heart problem. Both were believed to be connected to his mother’s use of alcohol during pregnancy. He later had corrective heart surgery.”

I stared at her, stunned. Suddenly, I felt a flare of resentment toward Renee. How could she have continued to drink when she knew it could harm the baby?

“How is he now?” I asked.

“He’s fine, mentally and physically. He can do anything a normal four-year-old can do, as long as he doesn’t overdo it.”

“Can I see him?”

“You’re the father. You have the legal right.”

I swallowed hard. “I know it might be awkward. . . . ”

“It’s a delicate situation. The foster parents were quite shocked to learn that the father issue hasn’t been put to rest after all. Understandably, they’re upset. They thought the adoption was all set to go through. They’re very worried now about what you might do.”

“For right now, I just want to see my son,” I said.

“I understand. We’ll have to go through some legal channels. Once that’s done, I’ll notify the foster parents. Of course, someone from the agency will need to be present.”

I nodded. “Can you tell me anything about the foster parents?”

“They’re in their late thirties and have their own real-estate company,” she said. “They’re well off, decent people, married for twelve years. They’ve done a lot of volunteer work in the community.”

I couldn’t deny that they had a lot going for them. “Where does that put me, exactly? I mean, what are my options?”

“Of course, the first option would be to forfeit your rights, clearing the way for adoption,” she explained. “Another would be to seek visitation privileges. You would also be within your rights as a father to seek sole custody. All would have to go through the courts, but the last option would likely involve a court battle.”

“I’d have to fight for my own child?” I asked.

“The foster parents have legal custody and desperately want to keep him,” she said.

My head swam. I still didn’t know what to think. “Just one more thing: Why did Renee finally reveal my name after all these years?”

“At first, she didn’t want to complicate anyone’s life. She felt she’d already complicated enough lives as it was. She was also ashamed of her behavior. She was essentially too drunk to remember much. As the adoption drew near, and with her alcoholism under control, she realized that the father had the right to know.”

I sat quietly for a moment. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. Mostly, I was overwhelmed. “Looks like the next move is mine,” I said.

“Yes, Mr. Gillman. You hold the future of four people—yourself included—in your hands.”

For starters, my first move upset three people. After taking Laurie to see the new band that she was excited about, I broke the news about the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn my life had taken.

She nervously twisted a stand of long blonde hair. “ What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t just walk away.”

“This complicates things,” she said as we shared a nightcap in her apartment.

“It certainly does for me.”

“I mean . . . this is not where I hoped our relationship would be heading.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suddenly, you’ve got all this . . . baggage. I don’t know if I can deal with it.”

An uneasy feeling passed through me. “What were you hoping for?”

“Commitment, maybe more. Just us . . . two people steering our own course.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t ignore what’s happened.”

“You could if you signed away your rights,” she insisted. “That might be the best for all concerned. The child is obviously happy and secure where he is. You wouldn’t want to disrupt that.”

I felt a stirring of anger. “Look, this is a child, not a dog, and he happens to be mine. I’m morally obligated. I’m a father, and with that comes responsibilities.”

She stood and took several steps toward the door. I took that as a sign that she was ready for me to leave. “I respect that,” she said. “I hope everything works out for you.”

I got up. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s been nice knowing you, Laurie.”

She paled. “So . . . it’s over, just like that? There’s no chance you’ll change your mind?”

“I can’t.”

She opened the door and I walked out. It was just as well. Even if my son were not in the picture, Laurie wanted more than I was willing to deliver.

Steve and Jenny Norwood were the couple who wanted to adopt my son. They had named him Collin. When they learned that I wanted to see him, they were understandably nervous. Worse, they were angry with CPS for hurling this last-minute, radioactive obstacle at them. That obstacle was me.

Forewarned by CPS and coached on what and what not to do, I drove to the Norwoods’ the following Saturday morning. Their neighborhood, referred to as “Country Club” because of its proximity to that vaunted establishment, was thick with old trees and old money. Their house was a sprawling, brick two-story colonial, with lush landscaping and matching luxury vehicles in the driveway.

In front was a compact car with the state seal on the doors. I parked behind it, wiped my sweaty palms on my new gray suit, and vainly patted down a sprig of dark blond hair that jutted from my crown. My heart beating hard, I got out of the car and made my way to the front door. Nervously, I ran my fingers over the dimple in my chin and punched the doorbell.

Right away, the door opened. A guy with dark hair appeared. He had a polish about him that triggered a memory from the past—that of Todd Holcombe, the rich guy who had stolen my girlfriend. Like threatened animals, we instinctively eyed each other.

“You must be Jarred Gillman,” he said. Norwood extended a hand. It was cold.

I followed them into a formal living room. A petite woman stood by a baby grand piano. Attractive, with shiny auburn hair cut stylishly short, she stepped forward and introduced herself. She smiled but her dark eyes were overcast with fear.

“I’m pleased to meet both of you,” I said. “I’ve been told that you’ve been very good foster parents.”

“Thank you,” Jenny Norwood said.

An awkward silence followed. I glanced about the room but there was no sign of Collin. The social worker stepped forward.

She gave us a little more information about each other and struggled to put us at ease, but the tension in the air was almost palpable. I was anxious to see my son, though no one seemed to be in a hurry to get him.

Finally, Mrs. McGowan asked if I was ready to meet him.

“Yes,” I said, my throat dry.

The social worker gave me a knowing look. “Remember what we talked about.”

I nodded. We were going to ease into this; I wasn’t going to present myself as his father—at least until we could see how things were going to unfold.

“I’ll bring him down,” Jenny Norwood said. “He’s with his aunt.”

My pulse quickened as she disappeared. The social worker tried for some semblance of conversation, but I was beyond engagement.

Then I heard footsteps. I turned, and my heart almost stopped. There was Jenny Norwood with a blond, blue-eyed boy. Here was the missing fraction of proof that this child was mine. From the straight eyebrows to the dimpled chin, he was almost a copy of a portrait of myself at that age. His eyes shyly met mine.

“Collin, this is Jarred.” Mrs. Norwood’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s come to visit us.”

I crouched down to his height. “Hello, Collin.”

He stepped slightly behind his foster mother.

“He’s a little shy,” she explained.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a toy fire engine. “This is for you.”

Cautiously, the boy stepped forward and took it. With a bit of coaching from his mother, he thanked me and began pushing the toy over the Oriental rug.

“He goes to the top preschool,” Steve Norwood said. “He lacks for nothing.”

I nodded without taking my eyes off the boy. Was the father trying to reassure me, or hinting that they could give Collin more than I could?

“How far can you count?” I asked the child gently, but he ignored me. “What’s your teacher’s name?” I persisted.

Collin turned away and scurried onto his foster father’s lap. “Look, Daddy! It has two ladders.”

Oddly, I felt an ache at the sound of the word Daddy. Could I ever mean anything to this kid? From the first moment I saw him, he meant something to me. It was as if some primal force had pulled him straight into my heart.

“Does he like sports?” I asked.

“Basketball,” Steve Norwood said. “He has a child-sized goal. We play in the back yard.”

“That was my sport in high school,” I said. “Our team made it to the state semi-finals.”

“That’s interesting to know.” He looked at me warily and tightened his arms around the boy.

“What are your impressions of Collin so far?” Mrs. Norwood asked.

“I can’t put it into words. Wonder, amazement . . . ” I stopped short of saying that I couldn’t believe this beautiful little boy was mine.

“I can assure you that you’ll never have to worry about him,” Norwood said. “He’ll have the best of everything, every advantage.”

“He’s our heart and soul,” Mrs. Norwood added, her eyes misty. “We couldn’t love him any more if he were . . . ”

Silence hung in the air as we all focused on Collin. He was spinning the wheels on the toy truck, happily oblivious to the delicate semantics at play around him.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time,” the social worker said. “Let’s take a few days to absorb things, then go from there.”

The Norwoods exchanged nervous glances. “That will be fine,” Mr. Norwood said.

I got up and touched my son’s shoulder. “See you, sport. How about a high-five?”

“What’s a high fly?” he asked.

I demonstrated by touching my own hands together. When I turned a palm toward him, he gave it a slap and grinned. Maybe I was getting as dopey as a new parent, but to me that little smile was the eighth wonder of the world.

The Norwoods walked us to the door. They went through all the usual courtesies, but I sensed they were anxious to part company. A few feet down the sidewalk, I turned back for another look at my son, but the door was already closed.

I drove away, replaying the whole scene in my head, especially the image of Collin in Norwood’s arms. Once again, I thought of the rich guy who had stolen my girl. Now this one had my child.

I didn’t know what to expect when I went over there. I’d worked hard over the years at being emotionally guarded. “No deep feelings, no heartbreak” was my motto. Maybe I thought I could satisfy my curiosity as to what Collin looked like, make sure he was in a good home, then go on with my life. But without even trying, the kid had put his hooks in me. I couldn’t get loose, nor did I want to. I wanted him to know me, to know that I cared, to know that I would always be there for him.

Three days later I got a call from a man who identified himself as the Norwoods’ attorney. He asked if we could talk. Right away, I was on guard. “What about?”

“Something that might interest you . . . in a positive way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s discuss it in my office.”

An hour later I was sitting in front of Richard Markley, a partner in one the city’s top law firms. His office had more leather than a feed lot.

“My clients have had Collin since he was practically a newborn,” Markley began. “They’re the only parents he’s ever known. He’s happy and healthy. The Norwoods have passed all the pre-adoption tests with flying colors. It’s a winning situation for all of you. You have the assurance he’ll be well cared for, and you’ll be able to go on with your life. They’ll have the family they wouldn’t otherwise be able to have.

“That in itself should please you, but the Norwoods want to offer you even more. For not standing in the way of the adoption, and for granting them sole custody, they’re prepared to pay you fifty thousand dollars immediately.”

I stared at him. “You mean they want to buy my child?”

“Of course, not. Baby-selling is illegal. They’re just trying to avoid what could be a long and expensive legal battle. They want to avoid any negative impact on the child. I’m sure you do as well.”

Heat crept up my neck. “So, in exchange for a bag of money, I’ll agree to relinquish my rights. Is that correct?”

“You can go back to the life you were living and be free of any obligations or responsibilities.”

“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not signing. I want to be able to see my son again.”

“The Norwoods wouldn’t be averse to occasional visits.”

I looked at him distrustfully.

“Think it over,” he said.

“I already have.” I got up and walked angrily out the door.

I didn’t have a lawyer, but I already knew after talking to the social worker that relinquishing my rights entitled me to nothing. The Norwoods could say I could visit, but they wouldn’t be legally obligated to do anything once I’d given him up. I thought of the money and bristled. Sure, someone else might be tempted, but not me. What kind of person did they think I was?

I thought of the scout outings and ball games of my childhood, and how it seemed that everyone but me had a father or stepfather present at one time or another. I’d spent years wondering what was wrong with me that had caused my dad to leave. It didn’t matter that I was just two years old when he’d left. In my kid’s mind, I figured it might have had something to do with me. It especially haunted me on every birthday, when no card or letter ever came. Mom did her best, but she couldn’t be both mother and father.

A lump formed in my throat. I wasn’t going to let my son grow up thinking his father didn’t care. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to let the Norwoods come between me and him. They had money and power, but I had something more: blood ties.

The next day, I hired my own lawyer. My immediate goal was to get legal visitation rights. A few weeks later, the Norwoods, who had little choice, agreed to regular visitation. The judge specified that the visits were to be supervised by a CPS representative. Yet the thorniest issue remained: the adoption. There was no way I was going to sign off on that anytime soon.

My life now had meaning and purpose. The partying, the girlfriends, all of it now seemed hollow. The big hole in my heart was now being filled by a little boy.

On the first Saturday after my regular visitation rights were granted, I loaded up my car with some toys I’d bought. There was a child-sized football, a make-believe Army uniform in desert camouflage, like the one I’d worn during Operation Desert Storm. I’d even brought a duplicate of my own army jacket. Then there was something really special—a toy gun I had as a kid.

The Norwoods and I greeted each other with a hollow and stilted politeness. They knew I was displeased over the deal they’d proposed because my lawyer had told their lawyer. But with Mrs. McGowen present, it just really wasn’t a matter for discussion.

“Collin is upstairs,” Mr. Norwood explained. “We thought it would be best if we had a little chat first.” He glanced at Mrs. McGowan.

“Collin has been told that you’re his ‘second daddy’ and that you’ll be visiting him once a month,” he explained.

I felt a slight twist in my gut. “I’m not a ‘second daddy.’ I’m his father.”

There was a glint of resistance in Norwood’s eyes. His wife, looking paler than I remembered, laid a hand over his.

“Collin will understand more later,” the social worker interjected. “Remember, he’s only four years old. We don’t want to give him more information than he can handle, especially from an emotional standpoint. It’s important to move slowly.”

I backed off. “What did he say when you told him?”

Norwood took a deep breath. “He said that Timmy, a boy in his preschool, has two daddies, so it wasn’t a foreign idea to him. Timmy has a father and a stepfather.”

“See, this isn’t going to be so hard,” I said.

The Norwoods responded with silence.

“Are you ready to bring Collin down?” the social worker asked, filling an uneasy void.

A few minutes later, the boy appeared with his aunt.

I moved toward him. “Hey, pal.”

He shrank back against his foster father, but he kept his eyes on me.

“How about a high-five? Remember how to do that?”

Collin nodded and held up his hand. I smiled and touched my palm to his. “ ’Atta boy!”

His look of caution melted into a grin.

“I brought you something,” I said.

“A toy?” he asked.

“No.” After a teasing pause I said, “Three toys.”

“Let me see!”

I grabbed the bag I’d brought. “For starters, here’s a football,” I said, tossing it up in the air. His blue eyes sparked. “Do you know how to throw a pass?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll teach you.” I glanced at the Norwoods, who wore strained smiles.

“What’s the other toy?” he asked.

I pulled the tiny army uniform out of the bag. “How about dressing like a real soldier?”

“Wow!”

“Let’s try it on.” I helped him into the jacket. Thanks to the clerk at the store, it was a good fit. Then I pulled out my own and put it on. A look of awe crossed his face.

The Norwoods’ expressions froze.

“I was in the Army,” I explained quickly. “An artillery unit.”

They nodded stiffly.

“And here’s what every soldier carries—although it’s not exactly regulation,” I said. I pulled out a six-shooter. “It’s to protect yourself against bad guys.”

Collin examined the toy gun with fascination. “Does it really shoot?”

“Just caps. It won’t hurt anybody. I played with it myself when I was a little boy. It’s very special. I saved it just for you.”

He pointed it across the room. “Bang! Bang, bang!”

I laughed. “Maybe next time we can play, soldier.”

“Let’s play now!”

“Perhaps some other day,” Mrs. Norwood interjected. “How would you like to show your . . . second daddy your room?”

Collin took off upstairs. The rest of us followed to a room at the end of a hallway. In it was a set of twin beds with headboards that looked like halved canoe hulls. The whole room was done with a red, white, and blue nautical theme. Even the curtains, which were a navy blue and white stripe, hung from oars mounted across the tops of the windows.

I didn’t see any toys except for some educational-type gizmos. Instead, there were a lot of books lined up neatly in a built-in bookcase. I could tell by their thin spines that they were all kids’ books.

“Look, fish!” Collin said, pointing toward a small aquarium. He grabbed some food and sprinkled it inside.

“Collin has responsibilities,” Mrs. Norwood said. “One of them is to feed the fish.”

“And I have two beds,” he exclaimed. “The other is for Ralph.”

Ralph, he explained, was the family dog, a mixed breed from the animal shelter. Then he pulled out all the drawers to show everyone what was inside as the adults softly chuckled. I felt a lump rising in my throat again. This was my kid, and he was a great kid.

“Where’s the television?” I asked. I figured every rich child these days had a television in his room.

“We don’t encourage a lot of television watching,” Mrs. Norwood said. “What we watch, we watch together downstairs.”

I was introduced to Ralph, had Mrs. McGowan take a few shots of Collin and me in our matching army jackets, and before I knew it, visitation time was over. I wasn’t sure if the Norwoods would ever really loosen up, but I felt I’d made progress with Collin. How could it be any other way? We were father and son.

I’d just returned home from dropping off the film when the phone rang. It was Norwood.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I mean in person.”

I felt a tightening in my chest. “Look, I thought the money matter was settled.”

“No, it’s something else.”

My heart beat uneasily as I drove to his real-estate office. At the door he shook my hand briefly, then slipped his hands casually into his pockets. It was a gesture that reminded me once again of Todd Holcombe.

He led me into a comfortable but not lavish office. On a ledge behind his desk was a recent portrait of him, his wife, and Collin.

“I know you meant well,” he began, “but we try not to spoil Collin with lots of toys.”

I bristled. “Are you telling me that you don’t want me to bring him any more?”

“Maybe if you could just use some restraint—with guns, in particular.”

“But it’s just a toy,” I protested. “It was mine when I was a kid.”

“We’ve never bought him toy guns. We feel they’d lead to an acceptance of violence as a way to solve problems.”

Wavelets of heat crept up my neck. “I hardly think a cap pistol is going to turn him into a hardened criminal. Ever heard of shooting as a sport? There’s even a category for it in the Olympics—”

“Maybe so, but the purpose of most guns is to kill or incapacitate.”

I glared at him, unable to contain my anger. “I gave him the only thing I had from my childhood. It was a gift from the heart. When my mother got that for me, I thought she was the greatest mom in the world. Let me remind you, Mr. Norwood, that he’s my son. I have the right to give him whatever is mine. You didn’t like the army uniform, either, did you?”

He took a deep breath. “I think we’d better let it go at that.”

“Any objections to the football?”

“No.”

“Look, I know I’m the last person you ever wanted to see, but I have rights, too. That child is my flesh and blood. I appreciate everything you’ve done for him. I would have done those things, too, if I’d known he existed.”

“Mr. Gillman, indications are that you might have been too busy. Some have used the word ‘playboy’ to describe your lifestyle. How would Collin have fit into that?”

I leaned forward. “How do you know anything about my past life?”

“We’ve done some checking.”

“You’re investigating me?”

“We’re only doing this in the interest of our son.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “No, you’re doing this in your own interest. You’ve already got everything—money, a big house, nice cars—and now you want the only thing I have—my boy.”

He swallowed hard. “Mr. Gillman, we’re the only parents he’s ever known. We’re the ones who sat up with him when he had an earache. We’re the ones who paid the doctor bills. We’re the ones who fed him, clothed him, and rocked him to sleep. We’ve been here for him twenty-four-seven for four years. No one could love him more.”

“I appreciate what you’ve done, but he’s not for sale!”

Norwood’s expression hardened. “That was never what we had in mind. We just wanted to give you something in appreciation for doing what’s best for Collin. We never intended to shut you out of his life. That wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t trust you. Those of you with means are always taking from the rest of us.”

He stood up. “You don’t know anything about me!”

I rose to face him. “No, I don’t, because I don’t have the money to investigate you like you did me. But I do know one thing: I’m not going to let you keep me from being a father to my son.”

I turned and stalked out of the room.

That evening I sat in my apartment, holding the pictures of Collin that I’d picked up at the one-hour photo booth. There was a football game on, but the sound was being drowned out by my own thoughts.

This child was mine. There we were, wearing matching coats and matching smiles. But the Norwoods were gearing up to take him out of my life, just like Todd Holcombe had taken Holly. Why else would they be investigating me?

Although I’d lost Holly five years ago, the hurt and humiliation was no distant memory. I’d felt some of it again when the Norwoods had reacted negatively to the gifts I’d given Collin. I was his father, for heaven’s sake. How dare they?

I studied the pictures again. As his blue eyes sparkled back at me, I knew what I wanted: I wanted sole custody of my son. It was the Norwoods who should be the visitors in his life.

During my next visit with Collin, I took educational puzzles, so I wouldn’t upset the foster parents. They would be plenty upset as it was when they learned of my decision.

This time, I talked Mrs. McGowan into allowing me to take Collin out for ice cream and to a park. Since she’d be with us, the Norwoods reluctantly agreed.

I was nervous at first, thinking Collin might cry when separated from his foster parents. But the promise of a fun afternoon seemed to override any anxiety he might have had. We took the football I’d bought him and I taught him how to handle it. I pushed him on the swings. We walked through the park as I carried him on my shoulders. Mrs. McGowan walked a few yards behind us.

“Do you like this?” I asked. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I’m a pretty good second daddy?”

“Yes!” he said without hesitation.

“Would you like it if we could spend more time together?”

“Yes.”

“I love you, Collin.”

“I love you, too.”

The next day, when I told my lawyer to file the paperwork so I could get custody of Collin, one of his eyebrows rose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to think about this a little more?” he asked,

“What do you mean?”

“This can be an expensive and protracted battle. You could be out tens of thousands of dollars.”

“He’s my son. I’ll do what I have to.”

“The Norwoods will pull out all the stops. They’ll bring in child psychologists to say that the child will be harmed if he’s torn from a stable and secure environment. They’ll question your fitness as a parent—a single parent, at that.”

“They already have me under investigation,” I said, providing the details.

He stroked his chin. “Things could get nasty, Jarred.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m playing devil’s advocate with you, like I do with all my clients. I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“But he’s my kid,” I argued.

“You’re right, but it’s just not that simple. In these cases, there’s more to consider than that. Take a few days to think about it.”

“All right, but I’ve already made up my mind.”

A week later, my lawyer notified the Norwoods’ lawyer of my intentions. Needless to say, they weren’t pleased. “Devastated” was the word their lawyer used. I took no pleasure in causing them pain. I’d experienced enough of it myself. But Collin was only four. He was still malleable and resilient. It wouldn’t be like taking an eight-year-old out of his home. Besides, I was his father; there was a bond between us, and the Norwoods would be able to visit him. We would all adapt.

One day, when I got home from work, I was surprised to see Jenny Norwood get out of a car in the parking area in front of my apartment.

“I have to talk to you.” There were tears in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but that’s what we have lawyers for.”

“Please,” she said, taking off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red. “I just want you to hear this in my own words. Can we get in the car?”

I hesitated.

“Just five minutes. Please.”

Reluctantly, I got into her SUV. I couldn’t help but notice the child’s booster seat in the back.

“Please don’t take Collin away from us,” she said. “We’re the only parents he’s ever known.”

I gave a short sigh of impatience. “Look, I know it’s tough, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my child.”

“Think of him. It would devastate him.”

“I’m not sure about that. I’ve asked him how he would like for me to be his full-time father, and he said he would.”

She responded with a stricken look. “I don’t believe that.”

“Ask him.”

“You’ve been manipulating him!”

“You’ve been trying to buy him,” I shot back. “You rich people have a sense of entitlement. That just doesn’t work when it comes to other people’s flesh and blood.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Is it so wrong for a woman to feel entitled to have a child? Being able to have one is a given for most women. Do you know how it feels not being able to have one of your own, to go to doctor after doctor, only to be told there’s nothing else they can do?”

“I’m sorry, but with your money, I’m sure you can adopt another child.”

“Collin is my child,” she rasped out the words. “He might not have grown under my heart, but he grew in it. No one could ever love him more. As for money, there’s something about us that you don’t know. We’re not the callous rich people you seem to think we are. We built our real-estate company ourselves from the ground up. We started with nothing. Steve’s father was a maintenance man. My father was a prison guard. Does that sound like bluebloods to you? We’re just two hardworking people who want to continue being this baby’s parents.” She broke into tears.

Instinctively, I reached out to touch her, but I drew back. I didn’t know what to do or say. Collin’s mother was to blame for the mess we were in. I handed her a clean tissue from a box on the seat and waited for her to calm herself.

“I’d better go now,” I said.

“Please, I beg you, don’t take Collin.”

Without responding, I opened the door and slipped out. There was nothing I could say to make her feel any better.

Although I wasn’t unmoved by Jenny Norwood’s tears, I continued on the path I’d already chosen. I couldn’t walk away from my own son like my father had done to me. With both sides gearing up for a court battle, I continued my visits. My plan that weekend was to take Collin to a festival in a large city park.

With Mrs. Johnson, a representative from Children’s Protective Services, I picked up Collin. Never had the atmosphere between me and the Norwoods been so tense, but they were struggling not to let it show in front of the boy.

Mrs. Norwood gave him a hug and a kiss. “I love you. Be good.”

She looked at me with a sober expression. “Please watch what he eats. He’s not used to junk food.”

I nodded curtly. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“We’ll be at the park in a few minutes, but we won’t interfere,” she said.

I nodded, although I was definitely unconvinced.

At the park I carried Collin on my shoulders, but once he saw all the kiddie rides, he dumped me for them. I watched with a mixture of love and amusement as he bobbed up and down on the merry-go-round. It was a warm day, and after a few rides I suggested that we get something to drink.

We found a lemonade booth in the thick of a churning crowd. Not far away was a band playing in a large gazebo.

“Uniforms!” Collin said, pointing at the band. Since I’d bought him the army uniform he’d developed an interest in uniforms of all kinds.

“Cool,” I said, balancing him on my shoulders.

But I saw something of interest to me, as well. One of the women running the lemonade booth was a gorgeous brunette with a megawatt smile and a low-cut T-shirt. I put Collin down and led him up to the booth. Mrs. Johnson, the CPS chaperone, stepped over to a window on the opposite side.

“Hi, can I help you?” the brunette asked with an inviting tone.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I asked. It might have been the oldest line in the book, but it had never failed to work.

“I’ve only been in town for a year.”

“Ever been to Swizzle’s?”

“A time or two,” she said coyly.

“What do you do here in the city?”

“I’m a dental hygienist. Part of the proceeds from this booth go to the County Dental Society.”

“That partially explains the great smile,” I said.

She blushed slightly. “What do you do?”

“I sell cars.”

She asked me what kind. I invited her in for a test drive.

“I’d like that,” she said, taking one of my cards.

“I work on the first Saturday of each month. Two Saturdays are reserved for my son—I’m a single dad, but most of my nights are free.”

The meaning of that didn’t escape her. “I have some free nights, too.” Her eyes twinkled as she handed me one of her cards. “How about some lemonade?”

“Two.” I glanced down at Collin, but there was a blank spot where he’d stood.

I whirled around, eyeing the immediate vicinity, but I didn’t see him. My breath caught at the back of my throat.

“Collin!” I yelled.

There was no answer. The CPS worker appeared. “Do you have him?” I asked.

“No.”

A sick feeling spread over me. I plunked some money on the counter and went off without the drinks.

“Collin!” I yelled. “Has anybody seen a little boy with blond hair and a red T-shirt?”

There was a mumble of regretful no’s.

“I’ll get security,” Mrs. Johnson offered.

With my heart beating fast, I made a sweep of the general vicinity, but there was no sign of him. Sweat broke out over me as I pushed desperately through the crowd. I thought of the families of missing children I’d seen on television and began to understand their horror.

A security officer appeared, asked me a few questions, then made an announcement about Collin on the public address system. After ten minutes, there was still no sign of him. The Norwoods, who had heard the announcement, appeared along with another security officer. Norwood was red-faced with anger, and his wife was hysterical.

“How could you let this happen?” she demanded.

“It could happen to anyone,” Mrs. Johnson said, trying in vain to reassure them.

Sickened, I apologized and joined in the search. City police arrived on the scene. As the minutes ticked by, I knew that the chances were increasing that Collin had been taken from the park. In kind of an eerie backdrop to the whole thing, the merry-go-round, which had been temporarily stopped to search for Collin, resumed revolving to a happy tune.

Dizzily, I searched the perimeter. Suddenly, there was a cheer in the distance and a voice came over the PA system.

“Mr. Gillman, please report to the grandstand. We’ve found your son. He’s unharmed.”

I literally leapt for joy. Running at speeds I hadn’t reached since high school track, I was at the grandstand in nothing flat. I found Collin in Norwood’s arms. Both of the Norwoods were crying with happiness. I extended my arms to Collin.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said, clinging to my neck. “I tried and I tried.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” I said.

As it turned out, he’d stepped over to watch the band as I was talking to the girl in the lemonade booth. As the band left, he followed them, but as he turned to come back to the booth he couldn’t find his way back through the crowd. Having been warned against abductions and talking to strangers, he hid under a tarp covering some packing boxes. When he heard his name over the loudspeaker, he was still afraid to venture out until he saw someone he could trust. In this case, it was a policeman.

“You’ve got a smart boy there,” said the officer who found him.

“He’s had good training,” I said, crediting the Norwoods.

Despite the happy ending, the event left me shaken. It made me realize that it takes a lot more than biology to be a father. While I was behaving like a playboy, my son was unguarded.

I’d come into his life at full tilt, showering him with gifts to win his affection. I’d moved too fast. I wasn’t taking the time to think things out. Emotions and old baggage got in the way. There was my hostility toward the Norwoods because of some rich guy who’d probably done me a favor by stealing my girlfriend. There was my desire to spare Collin of the fatherless childhood I’d known.

During those awful minutes when he disappeared, I realized how much I loved him. When you love someone that much, you put their interests above your own, even though it hurts. That’s why I’ve dropped the suit to get full custody.

Arrangements are being made for an open adoption. Collin will live with the Norwoods. I will visit regularly and have a secondary role in his life. No more spoiling, either. I know better now, although I still have things to learn.

If life were fair, the Norwoods would have children of their own and Collin would have been born into better circumstances. But we must play the hands we are dealt. You can be sure that for the sake of one great little boy, we’re all going to do the best we can.

Answer The Call: Love On The Line

Posted on September 28, 2016 by Jeff

From The How I Know I’m In Love Series

The first and only time I ever fell in love was when I met Dennis, but the strange thing about it was that I didn’t meet him face to face. I fell in love with his voice as we talked on the phone one night.

It all started when he called a wrong number and asked for someone with the same name as mine. When I answered the phone, he asked for Diane, and since that’s who I am, I said, “Hi!” I thought he was a friend of mine. We started to talk — without even knowing who we were really talking to!

We’d been speaking for a few minutes when he said something that I didn’t understand, and when I asked him about it, he suddenly realized that I wasn’t the Diane he knew. When he realized what had happened, we both laughed and he told me he was glad it had happened because he thought I had a nice voice and liked me already. I told him that I felt the same way, and he began to call every day after that for almost a week.

We finally met, and when we did, I knew that I loved him even more than I loved his voice. I could tell that he felt the same way.

Dennis and I have been dating for three years now, and we plan to get married someday. I never thought that I’d fall in love by talking to a stranger on the phone, but now that it’s happened, I couldn’t be happier. That’s how I know I’m in love.

Submitted by Diane from Nashville, TN
Previous submissions can be found here on How I Know I’m In Love

How do you know that this crazy, wonderful feeling is the real thing? Share your experience with others. Tell us in 300 words or less. Send your submissions to trulovebooks@gmail.com and we’ll go over each submission. If we select yours, we’ll feature right here on our site and we’ll send you a free romance e-book!

The Reviews Are In. Should You See Bridget Jones?

Posted on September 22, 2016 by Jeff

Oscar winners Renée Zellweger and Colin Firth are joined by Patrick Dempsey for the next chapter of the world’s favorite singleton in Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Directed by Sharon Maguire (Bridget Jones’s Diary), the new film in the beloved comedy series based on creator Helen Fielding’s heroine finds Bridget unexpectedly expecting.

After breaking up with Mark Darcy (Firth), Bridget Jones’s (Zellweger) “happily ever after” hasn’t quite gone according to plan. Fortysomething and single again, she decides to focus on her job as top news producer and surround herself with old friends and new. For once, Bridget has everything completely under control. What could possibly go wrong?

Then her love life takes a turn and Bridget meets a dashing American named Jack (Dempsey), the suitor who is everything Mr. Darcy is not. In an unlikely twist she finds herself pregnant, but with one hitch…she can only be fifty percent sure of the identity of her baby’s father.

The much-anticipated third installment of the Bridget Jones’s franchise welcomes fellow Academy Award winner Emma Thompson to the cast.

So what do the critics think? Is this a movie worth your time? Read below and see what the people who get paid to do this think.

Although it’s patchy and gives off an air of trying too hard, the movie is surprisingly funny.

–David Edelstein, New York Magazine

Sweet, slight and fitfully funny, it’s a movie admirers of the earlier films should mildly enjoy, but cast in terms any new parent can understand, isn’t worth the price of a sitter.

-Brian Lowry, CNN.com

It sounds godawful in title and concept – but which in execution is a fizzy delight. Warning: The sight of middle-agers bonking may cause teen tremors.

–Peter Travers, Rolling Stone

A third installment that attempts to recapture the charm of the first (2001) but, much like the second (2004), is only a sour facsimile.

–Leah Pickett, Chicago Reader

If “Bridget Jones’s Baby” is the best an actress like Zellweger can expect from the film industry, maybe she’d be better off just saying “Hashtag: Let’s not.”

–Ty Burr, Boston Globe

The verdict, in a Bridget Jones-ian nutshell: not v. good, but v. enjoyable.

–Moira MacDonald, Seattle Times

Can’t decide? Watch the trailer below and see for yourself!

How Did He/She Propose?

Posted on September 22, 2016 by Jeff

It’s a fairly simple question with an even simpler answer. But the way in which the question can be asked is nearly infinite and that’s what makes it all so beautiful. We’ve gathered a collection together of some of our favorite marriage proposal stories that were submitted by our readers. Do you feel like you can top these? Write us at info@trulovestories, or leave a post on our facebook page, and we could post your great story! We might even randomly select you to receive a free book of romance stories as well.

Runaway Crisis

Were you ever chased by a runaway truck? Well, I was. It was on a summer’s night when Steven and I were out driving, taking the longest way home.

At the top of a long, steep hill we passed a truck parked at the side of the road, its big cab and trailer dwarfing us as we passed. Just as we drove over the crest of the hill, this truck somehow broke loose and took off after us. It rocked from one side of the steep road to the other, not ten feet behind us, and where it was we weren’t! I had my face pressed against the back window, watching it and screaming, “The other way! The other way!”

It took some quick thinking on Steven’s part, but we finally made it onto a side road just as the truck careened past us. I promptly fainted. When I came to, I found we were alive and unhurt, and Steven was beside me promising to be the best husband in the world if only I would wake up and marry him. That was the best moment of my life.

—Mrs. O.A.D.

Pies Fit for a Husband

When Hugh came home from the Army and we began dating, he got in the habit of coming over for dinner once a week.

One evening we had chocolate pies that I had baked myself, and though they were good, I was taking a lot of family teasing about what a sorry man my husband was going to be. But Hugh became my champion then and there. He looked across the table to me and said, “Those are the best pies I ever ate. I want you to bake pies like that for our wedding dinner—and for the rest of my life.”

So there amid the hoots and whistles of my brothers, and with mom and dad beaming at us both, we became engaged.

–Mrs. T. McG.

Writing on the Wall

Brian and I had known each other since we were kids. We had played together, gone to school together, and dreamed together. He had always called me “his girl,” but it wasn’t until I was about seventeen that I began to realize what that could really mean. The feeling between us was very tender and precious and though we hadn’t spoken of it yet, we both knew it wave love.

On my sister Diane’s birthday, we planned to taker he up to the caves which had always been our favorite spot. It’s a long two mile hike but once you get there, they are so strange and beautiful and breathtaking that it’s worth it. But at the last minute, Brian couldn’t go.

The next morning when Diane and I were ready to start, I found that Diane had invited a gang of her friends and their parents to join us. The hike was fun with such a large group. We called back and forth, picked berries along the way and teased each other and laughed.

Naturally, we got to the cave before the parents and called down excitedly that someone had been there before us and left mysterious footprints. We made a big game of it, guessing who it could have been. Finally, one of the girls pointed to a flat rock propped up opposite the entrance with fresh writing on it. Everyone clustered around and read the message aloud.

“Rachel, I love you. Let’s get married and spend our lives together. Brian.”

Sweet Brian. He had come up early this morning and left his proposal for me to find, never dreaming that a family hike would turn into a community outing. I was kidded all day and by the tie we were ready to go home, I was almost in tears for their having spoiled what should have been a perfect proposal to me. I was glad that Brian didn’t know how his proposal had backfired.

Well, that evening I slipped away and made that two mile trip back to the cave alone. In the evening stillness I recaptured the sweetness of my darling’s proposal. And knowing that Brian would come back here to find me, I sat down to wait.

When I saw him climbing the hill below me, I ran stumbling down the steep path till I was tight in his arms. And with a kiss, I answered yes.

–Mrs. R.F.

Dream Girl

Do you believe in love at first sight? I do! One bright April morning I answered a knock on the door of my parent’s farmhouse in Oklahoma. There stood the most handsome young man I had ever seen. Neither of us said a word. We just stared. I soon became conscious of my childish red checked dress and pigtails. I brushed at my hair and straightened my dress and tried to make myself presentable.

“Just stand still like you were,” the stranger said. “Don’t move. You are the girl I dreamed about, and I am going to marry you. What do you think about that, Dream Girl?”

If I thought I was self-conscious before, I was more flustered now. But I managed to stammer that I didn’t know if he was the right man for me.

“If I prove to you that I am the right man , will you marry me one year from today?” the young man asked.

“I will let you know,” I answered.

It turned out the stranger had come to ask my father about renting some land. During that next year he established himself as our neighbor. Needless to say he proved to my satisfaction, that he was the right man, and exactly a year to the day we first met, we were married.

Now, forty-nine years later, three children and six grandchildren later, we are still sweethearts and I am glad that he proposed to me three minutes after he saw me.

–Mrs. J.F.

3 Stories from Losing It For Love: TruLove Collection

Posted on September 21, 2016 by Jeff

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

The Top 25 Wedding Movies

Posted on September 8, 2016 by Jeff

Weddings are supposed to be one of the happiest days in a lifetime. But it doesn’t turn out to be a fairy tale day for everyone. It’s a day that can be crimped or ruined by bridezillas, grooms with cold feet and embarrassing best-man toasts.

Luckily, we go to the movies to experience these events in their heightened states. Extraordinary couples who triumphed and overcame all odds to get married, as well as those who opened their hearts and helped those in need.

Here is a list of the Top 25 Modern Wedding Movies. We included a poll at the bottom so you could vote on which one is your favorite. Make sure to come back to check out the results!

Monster-in-Law (2005)

Charlotte (Jennifer Lopez) is blissfully happy with her new fiance, Kevin (Michael Vartan), until she meets his mother who is determined to drive them apart.

Monsoon Wedding (2001)

Cultures and families clash in Mira Nair’s exuberant MONSOON WEDDING, a mix of comedy and chaotic melodrama concerning the preparations for the arranged marriage of a modern upper-middle-class Indian family’s only daughter.

Made of Honor (2008)

For Tom (Patrick Dempsey), life is good: he’s sexy, successful, has great luck with the ladies, and knows he can always rely on Hannah (Michelle Monaghan), his delightful best friend and the one constant in his life. It’s the perfect setup until Hannah goes overseas to Scotland on a six-week business trip… and Tom is stunned to realize how empty his life is without her.

Sex And The City: The Movie (2008)

A New York writer on sex and love is finally getting married to her Mr. Big. But her three best girlfriends must console her after one of them inadvertently leads Mr. Big to jilt her.

The Wedding Date (2005)

Kat Ellis is a single New Yorker who returns to her parents’ house in London to be the maid of honor at her younger half sister’s wedding. She is dismayed to discover that the best man is none other than her former fiance, who unceremoniously dumped her two years ago. Anxious about confronting him and eager to impress him, she hires debonair male escort Nick Mercer to pose as her boyfriend.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Toula is 30. And unmarried. Which means as a nice Greek girl–she’s a failure. All her cousins did the right thing–married Greek boys and made Greek babies. So everyone worries: what will become of Toula? Then one day she sees the ultimate unattainable guy and realizes the only way her life will get better is if she gets away from her big, fat Greek family.

Fools Rush In (1997)

Sparks fly and cultures collide in this romantic comedy about a casual night of passion that turns into the love of a lifetime. Alex Whitman is a New Yorker sent to Las Vegas to oversee a construction project.

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Robbie, a singer, and Julia, a waitress, are both engaged, but to the wrong people. Fortune intervenes to help them discover each other.

Honeymoon In Vegas (1992)

On her deathbed, a mother makes her son promise never to get married, which scars him with psychological blocks to a commitment with his girlfriend. They finally decide to tie the knot in Vegas, but a wealthy gambler arranges for the man to lose $65K in a poker game and offers to clear the debt for a weekend with his fiance.

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

A young woman who’s reinvented herself as a New York socialite must return home to Alabama to obtain a divorce from her husband, after seven years of separation.

Three Men And A Little Lady (1990)

The hilarity soars to new heights as the trio from the original movie, continue to bring up baby Mary, who is now an adorably curious 5-year-old. All is well until Mary’s mother accepts a marriage proposal and permanently relocates to England — taking Mary with her! The ex-dads quickly discover how empty life is without their little lady, and go to outrageous lengths in their efforts to win her back!

Coming To America (1988)

A pampered African prince (Eddie Murphy) wants more out of life than the beautiful woman to whom he’s engaged. So, he heads to America to find a mate who will fall for him, not his riches, in this comedy from John Landis. Joined by his trusty sidekick (Arsenio Hall), the prince plunges into a job at a fast-food chain — and romance with the boss’s daughter.

Rachel Getting Married (2008)

A young woman who has been in and out of rehab for the past 10 years returns home for the weekend for her sister’s wedding.

The Princess Bride (1987)

A fairy tale adventure about a beautiful young woman and her one true love. He must find her after a long separation and save her. They must battle the evils of the mythical kingdom of Florin to be reunited with each other.

27 Dresses (2008)

After serving as a bridesmaid 27 times, a young woman wrestles with the idea of standing by her sister’s side as her sibling marries the man she’s secretly in love with.

Four Weddings And A Funeral (1994)

Over the course of five social occasions, a committed bachelor must consider the notion that he may have discovered love.

The Proposal (2009)

A pushy boss forces her young assistant to marry her in order to keep her visa status in the U.S. and avoid deportation to Canada.

Wedding Crashers (2005)

John Beckwith and Jeremy Grey, a pair of committed womanizers who sneak into weddings to take advantage of the romantic tinge in the air, find themselves at odds with one another when John meets and falls for Claire Cleary.

Runaway Bride (1999)

Roberts plays small-town girl Maggie Carpenter, whose marches down the aisle become a series of near Mrs. when she bolts before saying “I do.” Gere is Ike Graham, a cynical, big-city newspaper columnist eager to write a tell-all story about Maggie. But the more Ike finds out about the skittish Maggie, the more he finds he’s falling in love.

My Best Friend’s Wedding (1997)

Julia Roberts makes a pact with her best friend and former boyfriend Dermot Mulroney that if they aren’t married in ten years’ time, they will marry each other. Years later, Michael is about to marry someone else. She’s asked to be the maid of honor and agrees with a plan to break up the couple.

The Wedding Planner (2001)

Mary Fiore is San Francisco’s most successful supplier of romance and glamor. She knows all the tricks. She knows all the rules. But then she breaks the most important rule of all: she falls in love with the groom.

Bridesmaids (2011)

Annie’s life is a mess. But when she finds out her lifetime best friend is engaged, she simply must serve as Lillian’s maid of honor. Though lovelorn and broke, Annie bluffs her way through the expensive and bizarre rituals. With one chance to get it perfect, she’ll show Lillian and her bridesmaids just how far you’ll go for someone you love.

Muriel’s Wedding (1994)

Living in a fantasy world of ABBA songs, Muriel Heslop waits for Prince Charming to come along and rescue her from her bullying father, her bitchy peers and the claustrophobic atmosphere of small town Porpoise Spit. But when Prince Charming is slow to arrive, Muriel decides to take control of her own life and rescue herself.

Father Of The Bride (1991)

George Banks (Steve Martin) and his wife, Nina (Diane Keaton), are the proud parents of Annie (Kimberly Williams), but when she returns from studying abroad and announces that she’s engaged, their whole world turns upside down, especially that of overprotective George.

Mamma Mia (2008)

Donna, an independent, single mother who owns a small hotel on the island is about to let go of Sophie, the spirited young daughter she’s raised alone. But Sophie has secretly invited three of her mother’s ex-lovers in the hopes of finding her father.

Honorable mention: I Love You, Man; The Corpse Bride; The Hangover; The Best Man; Meet The Parents

Partners in Detection: Crime-Solving Couples

Posted on September 8, 2016 by Jeff

By Katherine Sharma

We’re heading towards the final weekends of family barbecues, end-of-summer trips and last-of-summer reading indulgences. So why not combine family and mystery themes with detective fiction that features married teams? After all, the detective couple is a cherished tradition.

The era of mystery classics gave us Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Beresford and Dashiell Hammett’s Nick and Nora Charles. More recently conceived sleuthing couples range from Anne Perry’s Charlotte and Thomas Pitt in the foggy streets of Victorian London to Lt. Eve Dallas and husband Roarke fighting crime in the futuristic New York of the “in Death” series by J.D. Robb (aka Nora Roberts). Closer to our current time and place, there is the husband-wife team of Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock in the FBI Thriller series by Catherine Coulter and Faye Kellerman’s LAPD Lt. Peter Decker and his Orthodox Jewish wife Rina Lazarus.

What do couples have to offer readers that the lone detective can’t deliver? Well, there is the spice of romance (yes, married people are still lovers, even outside of fiction) and the opportunity to add character interest–either extra tension/distrust (when the couple is in a rough patch) or amusing banter/camaraderie (when things are copacetic).

Second, a sleuthing couple allows the author to combine mystery-solving styles to good effect; for example, one may be emotionally and socially intuitive, while the other is more scientific or legalistic. (If you assumed that the first description fits the wife and the second fits the husband, remember that good writers confound stereotypes.)

Finally, the plot tension with a crime-solving couple is literally doubled as each half of the duo risks both personal safety and that of a loved one by confronting evil. For some more partners in detection, check out http://www.criminalelement.com/blogs/2013/01/novel-crime-solving-couples-corrina-lawson-geekmom-harriet-vane-eve-dallas

ABOUT KATHERINE SHARMA

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ABOUT KATHERINE SHARMA

Runaway Crisis

Pies Fit for a Husband

Writing on the Wall

Dream Girl

Monster-in-Law (2005)

Monsoon Wedding (2001)

Made of Honor (2008)

Sex And The City: The Movie (2008)

The Wedding Date (2005)

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Fools Rush In (1997)

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Honeymoon In Vegas (1992)

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

Three Men And A Little Lady (1990)

Coming To America (1988)

Rachel Getting Married (2008)

The Princess Bride (1987)

27 Dresses (2008)

Four Weddings And A Funeral (1994)

The Proposal (2009)

Wedding Crashers (2005)

Runaway Bride (1999)

My Best Friend’s Wedding (1997)

The Wedding Planner (2001)

Bridesmaids (2011)

Muriel’s Wedding (1994)

Father Of The Bride (1991)

Mamma Mia (2008)

ABOUT KATHERINE SHARMA

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