Book 1 in The Art of Living Series
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Excerpt
The Art of Going Home
Prologue
June 25, Eighteen Years Ago
“My Angel” the mother sobbed. Clutching her wet daughter, she sat by a shallow wading pond, rocking back and forth.
A few yards away, the girl’s twin was lifted by a police officer from a puddle of vomit. Her mother’s voice penetrated her semi-conscious mind, and she opened her eyes with a desperate glance at her sister.
“What did you do?” her mother cried. “What did you do?”
As another officer approached, the woman turned away, refusing to release her grip on her ten-year-old.
But he’d already checked. There was no pulse.
Chapter One
Wednesday, July 1
I didn’t want to be here.
The other passengers in business class seemed happy to touch down. I wasn’t so enthusiastic. I hadn’t slept on the flight to Kansas City. Over the last two days, grief had worn me down, and my anxiety wouldn’t let me rest. I shuffled down the aisle, along the dingy hall, and through the terminal to the baggage claim.
Suddenly, a warm hand landed on my shoulder and turned me around. A tall, solid man held me against him. I couldn’t see who’d grabbed me, and I started to push away.
“Maddie, you have no idea how happy I am you came.” The voice was familiar. It belonged to Zacarias Redondo. I’d had a crush on him since middle school. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He cradled my head and rested his cheek against my hair.
Though we’d spoken on the phone three days before, I hadn’t seen him in ten years. Too soon, he straightened and gazed intently at my face. It made me lightheaded. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.
“What were you expecting?” Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help teasing him. Because I wouldn’t have time to change, I was already wearing my black fitted dress and pumps. The ballerina neckline dipped low, and I’d swept my long, honey-brown hair to one side and tied it in a black ribbon.
“It wasn’t this. You’re… um…”
“Um?” I prodded, raising one eyebrow.
“Sophisticated.” He brushed his fingers along my cheek. I amazed myself by tilting my head into the tender caress. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m in shock, I guess. How are you doing?”
“Well enough, considering,.” he said.
“Why did you come to the airport? I was going to rent a car to save you all the drive.” He took my hand as we moved toward the luggage carousel.
“We couldn’t let you do that. It’s no trouble.”
“How’s Sheriff Rey?” I asked. Zac’s father, Reynard Redondo, had been promoted from deputy sheriff to corporal in the county sheriff’s office six years ago. We’d always called him “Sheriff Rey,” and the inaccurate title had stuck.
“Dad’s doing okay. Taking it hard.”
Zac grabbed the suitcases I indicated, ignoring my attempt to take the lighter bag. He led me into the blistering heat to his parked truck. Its gleaming white paint looked pristine. He opened the door and helped me into the cab. While Zac stashed my luggage in the bed, I sank into the leather seat.
We made our way out of the airport complex, onto the interstate that would carry us away from civilization—first east and then south—toward the miniscule town of Clantonville.
Zac held out his hand, palm up. I raised my brows, hesitating before placing my hand in his. I didn’t remember Zac being so demonstrative. I decided he was being extra supportive due to the sad event that forced me to return.
He gave me a grin and turned his attention to the road. “You’re more beautiful than I remember, Maddie,” he said. Even after so many years, his familiar smile set my heart racing.
What? “I didn’t know you ever thought I was beautiful. You should get your vision checked,” I said, deadpan.
“Madisen Jessica Chandler! I’ve always noticed how beautiful you are. How could you not know that?” he admonished. “And my eyesight is twenty-twenty.”
He squeezed my hand with a devilish smile, knowing full well the effect he had on women. The inevitable pink seeped into my cheeks. I still blushed when he complimented me.
“How’ve you been? And don’t tell me you’re ‘fine.’ How are you really?” he asked.
I didn’t avoid looking at him like I used to, studying his profile. I saw all the reasons I’d been infatuated with him when I was in the eighth grade, and he was a junior. His Latino good looks made my stomach flutter. His sensuous lips begged to be kissed. He had straight, white teeth, cleanly arched brows and smooth olive skin. Chocolate eyes promised to fulfill secret desires. He was six foot three, with a perfect body that exuded raw power. He looked particularly handsome in his suit and tie. For the first time, I wasn’t self-conscious around him. Maybe you’re just too exhausted.
“I’m numb,” I replied. “Aunt Ceci’s passing was such a blow. She never told me the cancer was getting worse. I’m going to miss her.” I fought the lump in my throat. “I should’ve been there. Now I’ll never get to tell her goodbye.”
“She didn’t want to put you through seeing her in pain at the end.”
What? I was too surprised to comment.
“How are you doing otherwise? With life in general?” he asked.
“My life is going well,” I answered automatically. He looked unconvinced. “Truly it is. I guess Aunt Ceci told you I finished my Chartered Property and Casualty Underwriter coursework?” Zac shook his head. “It’s a designation for insurance professionals, kind of like an MBA. It took me four years. Also, I got a promotion at work a couple of months ago. The San Antonio office has over thirteen thousand employees, so the competition is tough. For the ten positions they were filling, two hundred and sixty people applied.”
“W“Wow! I heard about the promotion. I didn’t realize how many people you beat out for it. You know I’m proud of you,” he said. “What about your life outside work? What keeps you busy? Anybody to hang out with? Friends you’re close to?”
I knew what was behind his questions. I was positive Aunt Ceci kept him updated about my small circle of friends. And that I had no boyfriend.
Not that it was difficult for me to talk to people. I gave presentations at work with confidence. Yet, I worried that if others got past my professional façade, they’d think I wasn’t good enough.
“You may not believe I can have close friendships,” I said defensively, “but I do. I’m sure you know I belong to a running group. About twenty of us get together after work three times a week. On the days I don’t run, I work out at the gym. I know people there too.” They’re acquaintances, at least.
“What do you do on weekends? Holidays?” he pressed. “Who do you talk to? Is there someone you confide in?”
You’re letting this go too far, Madisen. “Okay, Zac. I get it.” I tried to cross my arms. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t think leaving Clantonville was a good decision. Nevertheless, I’m satisfied with my life.” It was mostly true. My best friend, Tabitha, was the one person I’d told about resorting to “just sex” hookups when I couldn’t take the loneliness.
Zac’s expression grew serious. “It’s not that I think your decision to leave was wrong,” he said. “When you escaped the bad memories of Angeline’s death, you left behind everyone who loves you.”
He was right. I’d paid a high price to leave the only home I’d ever known. I couldn’t tell him that memories of my murdered twin weren’t the sole reason I’d stayed away. Aside from feeling the whole town disliked me, it was the one place I heard my dead sister’s voice in my head. What if that meant full-blown insanity would swallow me? It had happened to my mother, and I was terrified I’d inherit her mental illness.
I struggled to keep my voice steady as my eyes stung with tears. “I know I left good things behind. Aunt Ceci was the best. She cared for me as if I were her daughter, and I wasn’t there for her at the end. I can’t forgive myself for that. And I won’t stand for you lecturing me about the choices I’ve made. I did what I had to do.”
With a pained look, he let the subject drop. I suspected it wouldn’t be the end of the discussion ...
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