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A Future and a Hope

By Caroline Powers

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CHAPTER ONE
Seven-hundred and fifty-two days, but what was the point of counting? Larkyn Wagner merged with the afternoon surge of traffic leaving downtown Raleigh. She could ignore her exit. Drive until she reached the Atlantic Ocean.
Like a motorized Forrest Gump, she would come to the end of the highway and face the vast expanse of water. A barefoot tromp across the beach would take her to firm, wet sand.
What if she fought beyond the breakers to reach the neck-deep swells? If she dared to leave the bottom, her head would go under. Her hair would float in a fan, suspended, until the ocean took her.
A sleek speeding sedan cut in, forcing her to hit the brakes and a zing to shoot through her belly. Yikes. She might die right here in the car if she didn’t pay attention.
Her morbid fantasy dissolved as duty geared up. She was a bridesmaid now and had a job to do. Not to mention that such thoughts were wrong, and she’d never have the nerve.
Larkyn eased right into the slower lane and aimed for the looping exit. Her best friend, Sara Kelly, had been her loyal supporter through the week of Matthew’s coma, his funeral, and for the past two years—and twenty-two days.
Her little Jeep Patriot hunkered down and held its line as Larkyn hugged the boundary stripe. It was already five-thirty but only two blocks to go. The mall had been a dumb idea. Completely wrong for something Sara would like. Now, with forty-eight hours left to produce the perfect gift, she came face to face with the reason behind her procrastination.
Jealousy. Of Sara’s new life with Cisco.
Her shoulders slumped. The first time Sara needed something from her, she could only think of herself.
Vi’s varicolored sign stood out in the quaint row of rundown storefronts. Steps toward gentrification stood out in fresh paint and new awnings. Hopefully, most of the shops would make it, especially the Tea Boutique. But never mind the tea. Vi’s Antiques invited the discriminating shopper to explore the crafts, gifts, and certain-to-become heirlooms within.
Larkyn parked under a tree and stepped into the midSeptember heat. Surely among Vi’s treasures, she’d find the perfect gift for a bride who leaned toward the quirky and eclectic—along with superfoods, sustainable energy, and organic cotton underwear.
The door creaked as Larkyn pushed in and set off a tinkling bell. Her entrance loosed a flurry of dust motes into air scented with furniture polish and lavender. Venturing deeper into the hush, she passed by a kitty the size of a sumo wrestler who slept undisturbed by her presence.
“My stars.” A white-haired matron appeared from behind a dresser patting her flat bosom with her wrinkled hand. “I didn’t hear the bell. I’m Vi. How can I help you, dearie?”
Larkyn smiled at the proprietress whose vintage dress came straight from Driving Miss Daisy. “I need to buy an engagement present for a special friend. Her party’s Saturday. I wanted to find something unique.”
“Something befitting the nature of your deep friendship.” She nodded as if Larkyn’s mind were an open book to her discerning watery-blue eyes. “How about a picture frame? It’s a timeless gift made only more valuable by the photograph inside.”
Yes, what a great idea, since photographs were Larkyn’s thing. Thank goodness she had dozens because pictures were all she had left of her marriage and the love of her life.
She picked up an elegant silver frame encrusted with tiny seed pearls. Heavy. Practically a piece of art.
Fruitless hours spent shopping at the mall made the decision easy. With a smile of relief, Larkyn handed the frame to Vi. Now Sara could start a collection of her own.
“This one is perfect. Can you wrap it for me?”
Miss Daisy nodded her approval and led the way up front where she used her bony arthritic fingers to pad the frame until nothing short of a drop from space could cause damage. She wrapped the box and topped it with a lacy silver bow.
Larkyn left the shop with a lighter step. The weight of the package in her hands lifted the burden of this mission from her shoulders. Skirting the cracks in the buckled sidewalk caused by the roots of an ancient sweetgum tree, she reached her car. Sara’s engagement shouldn’t have hit her so hard. Just because Matthew died didn’t mean her friends couldn’t be happy even if their marriage left her dangling like an extra buttonhole.
With the window lowered, the breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. The freeway with its rush hour snarls would take forever. Instead, she cruised a back road where rambling fences bordered fields dotted with modest country homes.
A glance in her rearview mirror revealed the chrome of a monstrous grill. When the aggressive driver didn’t back off, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Why didn’t he go around?
Larkyn waited for a way to escape. Looking more backward than forward, she took a sharp turn at the first available corner. Go, Mr. Bully, move on.
Returning her eyes to the road in front of her, she jerked. A man on a bike filled her view. She stabbed the brake with a shriek. The Jeep swerved and came to rest in a shuddering skid. Her stomach curled.
Open, open—she yanked at the door. No, no, no. She hadn’t done this. Her heart thudded as she lurched from the car. Her flats dug into the gravel.
“I’m sorry.” She rushed toward the man on the ground. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”
The rider in Lycra biking gear struggled to his elbows and managed to sit up. His arm was bleeding, but the bike appeared to be undamaged as he pushed it off his body.
Larkyn dropped to her knees. Her breath caught. An artificial leg? She’d run down an amputee?
The man removed his helmet to reveal sweaty, closely cropped hair and ran his shaking hand along the top of his head. His eyes narrowed.
“What was that? Oh, let me guess. You were on your phone.”
Tears that came so easily to Larkyn welled up. “No; not at all. That truck kept tailgating me.” A weak gesture over her shoulder proved useless. Naturally, the truck was long gone. “I was looking back. I never saw you until …” She moaned. “Oh, this is terrible. I can’t believe I did this.”
“Well, take heart.” He patted his different body parts and frowned at the scrape on his forearm. “I appear to be in one piece, such as it is.”
8
She watched the cyclist maneuver himself awkwardly into position on his knees. The tight fit of his synthetic riding shirt revealed the muscular definition of someone familiar with the weight room. Okay, he was hardly feeble, but a metal rod emerged from his shorts to form a joint at the knee, then extended into his shoe. His expression, stiff with the stress of being run down, couldn’t hide his striking features.
Whoa.
“Well, here goes nothing.” He grimaced.
Larkyn cringed and placed her hand over her quivering heart as he used his handlebars for balance. From a humble position on both knees, he rose to a half-kneel and slowly stood. She wanted to cheer. She wanted to weep. But nothing made it past the knot of guilt in her throat.
He bent over to right the bike and flinched.
What was wrong with her? “Wait. Let me help.”
“Just get it up here where I can lift it the rest of the way.”
The bike felt amazingly light. It had the same TREK logo as Matthew’s. His clothing too—like Matthew’s gear.
How totally bizarre.
“Thank you.” Her heart squeezed at his simple words.
When she dared to look into his warm brown eyes, her knees went weak. Trance-like, she observed the rider’s slight limp as he walked his bike to the curb.
“Hey, I’m fine. Honestly. Just shook me up a little bit there.” The corners of his mouth pulled upward with a trace of humor. “No tire marks, see?”
Larkyn shook her head. “Are you sure you’re all right? I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much.”
“Well, I forgive you, okay? You can move on with your life.” He straddled the bike and hunted for the pedal with his normal foot. “I’m almost home. I can soak out the
soreness in the tub.”
“A hit-and-run driver killed my husband while he was riding his bike.” What? She’d spoken that aloud? A gulp of air couldn’t stop the flow of words. “I can’t believe it. I’ve hated that person for two years. And now it’s me.” Like the person who took Matthew’s life, she could have killed this man.
“Hey, hey. I’m sorry about what happened to your husband, ma’am. But you missed me. An honest mistake, I’m sure. You can see I’m fine.” He hesitated as if he might need to put down his bike to reassure her.
No. He was the victim here, not her. Time to get away now, before she started sobbing. What a spectacle that would be.
Instead, she made a rude about-face and fled to her Jeep. Taking jerky breaths, she turned the keys. Her foot caused the engine to rev. Too loud.
A quick look both ways showed the road was clear. Her tires bit the pavement with a squeal as she pressed the gas and drove away.

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