Moments In Time: The Complete Novella Collection

The Complete Novella Collection

By Dori Lavelle

Copyright © 2014 by Dori Lavelle

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art: Najla Qamber

Editors: Leah Wohl-Pollack and Samantha
Gordon

Formatting: IndieMobi (
indiemobi.wordpress.com
)

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

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Table of
Contents

Book
Description

Book 1: Entangled Moments

Book 2: Rekindled Moments

Book 3: Bittersweet Moments

Note from the Author

Books by Dori Lavelle

For My Wonderful Readers

Book
Description

Entangled Moments

Four years ago, Carlene Adams made a deadly
mistake. A tragic accident derailed the future she'd hoped for,
taking the life of the man she'd planned to spend forever with.

As a self-imposed penance for her solitary
sin, she has given up on every dream she ever had.

When she meets Nick Johnson, the single kiss
they share awakens desires she shoved aside for so long. But just
as she begins to believe in a fresh start, she's forced to realize
a horrible truth—one with the power to send her second chance
crashing before it even takes off.

Rekindled Moments

After Nick discovers that Carlene is
responsible for someone’s death, he disappears from her life.

Soon, rumors about Carlene’s past cause her
life to spin out of control, and she finds herself even further
from her dreams.

Even though Carlene is good at hiding from
the past, she can't move on without telling Nick the truth about
the life he thinks she took.

Bittersweet Moments

Six years ago, Melisa Bergfeld’s husband
died.

Left with a life she no longer wants, she
seeks salvation in a homeless shelter. For a while, that’s more
than enough.

But when a fire breaks out, in walks the man
who will try to save her life.

Florian “Heat” Dane has left behind a trail
of broken hearts in his wake. For all the girls he’s used to fill
the hole in his heart, there has been just one he could never
forget—Melisa, his dead best friend’s wife. Now that she’s back in
his life, he will do anything to recapture her heart.

Melisa still has feelings for Heat, but when
he confesses his love for her, she fears her secrets from the past
will destroy any hopes of a future together.

Entangled
Moments

(Moments in Time #1)

By Dori Lavelle

Lids heavy with sleep, I pulled myself to a
sitting position. My toes curled as my feet made contact with the
cool, tiled floor. Start of summer, and yet the sleeping hall never
warmed up.

I shivered as I ran the palms of my hands
over my bed sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles of the night.

Time to wake Melisa, whose bed was
positioned to the right of mine. We both relied on my cell phone
alarm, but Melisa didn’t respond to the ringing.

“Melisa, wake up,” I said, approaching her
bed.

“Go to hell.” She pulled the threadbare
blanket tighter around her petite body.

“Come on, we’re on breakfast duty.”

She sighed, and shoved the blanket from her
body. Her sluggish movements roused suspicion inside me. “You had a
drink last night, didn’t you?”

“Do I look drunk to you?” Her heavy lashes
flew up to reveal bloodshot eyes.

“Yes, you do.” I hated to think what alcohol
would do to her beauty. Even after all she’d gone through, at
thirty-four, Melisa Bergfeld’s beauty hadn’t faded. Her amber eyes,
fiery hair, and curves in all the right places made most everyone
look twice. I, on the other hand, was tall and slim with minimal
curves and full auburn hair that lacked luster. But I wouldn’t
trade my baby blue eyes for anything. They reminded me of the
mother I’d never known. All memories of my biological parents were
photographs.

My parents died in a car crash when I was
two, and I grew up in The Serendipity Sunshine Orphanage and later
with several foster parents. My last foster family cared for me as
if I were their own. They moved to Germany—my foster mother’s home
country—when I moved out at eighteen.

“One beer, that’s all,” Melisa admitted as
she folded her blanket carefully. It was one of the Oasis Shelter
rules for neatness. All beds should be well-made, and sleeping
areas tidy at all times.

On our way to the bathroom, we walked down
the aisle created by thirty beds, fifteen on each side.

The female staff bathroom had two shower
cubicles, a sink, and a toilet with a broken cover. Nothing fancy,
but at least it was clean. Unlike the two residents’ bathrooms. No
matter how much they were scrubbed down, the mildew, grime, and
dried globs of toothpaste never disappeared from the walls and
sinks.

“Morning, Suzie. Hi, Jade.” The two women,
both in their early thirties, stood at the sink, brushing their
teeth. They nodded at my greeting.

“I need a strong coffee. My head is about to
explode.” Melisa’s back slumped against the wall, as we waited for
our turn at the sink.

“What you need is to stop drinking.” I
extracted her toothbrush from her hand and squeezed toothpaste on
it.

“I’ll stop tomorrow.” She wrapped one of her
red pigtails around her hand.

“Isn’t that what you always say?” Lauren
finger-combed her short, spiky black hair.

“And I mean it every time,” Melisa retorted.
“What’s it to you, anyway? At least I’m not a crack
addict.”

“You know very well I kicked the habit years
ago.”

“Once a drug addict, always a drug addict.”
When Melisa was drunk or hungover, her fuse was as short as a
matchstick.

“Same as a drunk.” Jade intervened to defend
her friend, but then sighed. “We’re just trying to help.”

“You can help a lot by butting out of my
business.”

Jade and Lauren both shook their heads and
left the bathroom.

“Melisa, we’re all in Oasis to heal. Putting
each other down only worsens things.” I handed her back the
toothbrush.

“I know. That Lauren just drives me mad
sometimes. Come on, let’s finish up here.”

***

Two other women were on duty with us in the
kitchen—Rory, a resident, and Lynnette Magill, a frail woman with
grey hair who founded the shelter.

By quarter to six, two large pots of coffee
and two of tea stood on the scarred wooden table next to the
kitchen entrance. Melisa sliced the bread, and I smeared the slices
with peanut butter and strawberry jam. Halfway through, my knife
scraped the bottom of the jam jar. At Oasis, that spelled disaster.
Some residents would throw a tantrum if they didn’t have their
bread with both jam and peanut butter, as they were used to. It had
happened before—some disgruntled resident got aggressive and threw
a punch at one of the helpers.

Working at Oasis could be dangerous
sometimes, and exhausting, what with the long hours. But nothing
could compare to the feeling of being there for people in need. In
my case, it was also an opportunity to hide from the past and atone
for my sins. By helping others get by, I helped myself. The more
strenuous the work, the better. It gave me less time to think, to
remember.

“I guess you’ll have to run to Shop ‘n’
Carry,” Lynnette said in her deep voice, unexpected for such a
small woman. “Three jars should be enough. I’m sending out some
orders on Wednesday.”

The Serendipity Shop ‘n’ Carry chain of
grocery stores had once belonged to Matthew Magill, Lynnette’s
father. Though he had sold the chain at a nice profit, it still
occasionally donated food to Oasis.

Getting out sounded perfect. I’d already
planned to go out for my monthly prayer at Grace Chapel.

***

I descended the front steps two at a time,
and hurried down the street, past The Rising Dough. The door to the
bakery was half open, and the aroma of cinnamon bread wafted out.
My mouth watered, so I increased my pace to avoid being lured in by
the smell. As I neared the chapel, I considered going in but then
decided to stop by on my way back. When I spotted a queue that
started at the door of Patty’s Petals, cut across the pavement, and
stretched all the way into the street, I slowed down. Cars honked,
and people laughed and talked, excitement dripping from their
voices.

Patty, her breasts spilling out of a
too-small dress, handed out bouquets of flowers and single roses.
Today was her favorite day. The Rose Petal Festival occurred every
year on the first day of summer, drawing people from not only
Serendipity and other towns in Door County, but from the rest of
Wisconsin. A yearly tradition, attended by lovers and seekers of
love. People brought food, drink, music, and of course, rose petals
from loved ones and admirers to sprinkle into Lake Serendipity at
midnight—a wish for good fortune in love. It wasn’t my favorite
day, though. The Festival reminded me only of the day Chris died.
But I had to find a way to get through it.

“Excuse me.” I pushed my way through the
queue, breaking it into two.

Twenty minutes later, I was headed back to
Oasis. With every step, the jars of jam chinked against each other
inside my carrier bag as I quickened my step.

But I stopped abruptly in front of the
chapel, my stomach clenched with tension.

A black Porsche was parked near the
entrance. Expensive cars were a rarity in this part of
Serendipity.

Brushing aside my surprise, I lugged the jam
jars—and my heart—up the cracked steps and pushed open the heavy
wooden door. The cool interior smelled of burning candles and
comfort.

I parted my lips and slowly breathed
out.

For years, I’d lived life holding my breath,
except when I came here once a month to exhale. I wouldn’t call
myself a religious person, even if I did believe in God and had
attended a church service every Sunday as a child with Aunt Deena
from the orphanage. But today, as always, I longed for the soothing
power of prayer.

I slipped into the last pew to the right and
placed my bag on the burnished wooden seat, next to a leather-bound
hymnbook. The chink of glass against glass rang out and echoed in
the silent chapel. I looked up, ready to apologize if I’d disturbed
someone’s quiet moment.

Apart from a tall, suited man lighting a
candle at a stand near the altar, the church was isolated. He
didn’t turn from the dancing flame of the candle. But his broad
shoulders slumped forward, and he shook his head as if unwilling to
come to terms with something.

Relieved not to have disturbed him, I
clasped my hands and closed my eyes to see the darkness in my soul.
All I remembered were the events of that fateful day.

Tears stung the backs of my eyes and then
spilled out, unhindered, warming my cheeks and dripping onto my
hands. With every drop that fell, guilt and regret shredded my
insides.

I opened my mouth to pray, but the words
froze inside my throat. After all this time, I still found it
difficult to put into words what I’d done. Every time I came here,
words failed me, and I ended up praying without them, asking
silently for the forgiveness I could never give myself.