Moments In Time: The Complete Novella Collection (10 page)

I knew almost immediately that Chris was the
love of my life. I experienced a lot of things for the first time
with him. He pulled me out of my shell, made my world come alive.
Together we went skydiving, paragliding, motor biking, sailing.
Anything that promised an adventure.

That was Chris, an adrenaline junkie. At
first I thought it was in his blood, but two months after we met,
he became depressed and revealed to me the shadows that had
followed him from childhood. When he was just five, Susan, his
adoptive mother, had committed suicide while Chris slept in the
other room. The only thing she left was a note:
I’m sorry. This
is too much. I can’t cope.

I realized his hunger for adventure, the
rush of adrenaline, made his heart beat faster and harder. It made
him feel alive. Chris was incapable of being happy on his own; he
needed something to charge his batteries.

The problem was, the greater the thrill of
an adventure, the harder the crash afterward. His euphoria usually
only lasted until we landed back into reality.

He laughed and smiled, but I knew him too
well. The happy part of him had died with Susan—the second mother
to abandon him. The only thing Chris had inherited from her was her
depression, and he’d never healed.

Interestingly, he had gone to college for
psychology. But I suspected it had little to do with a future
career and more to do with his desire to understand his own psyche.
Unable to find the answers he searched for, he dropped out and went
on to earn his living as a self-taught IT specialist.

Even though Chris was dying inside a little
more each day, he brought me to life. He lifted me to heights I
never imagined I’d reach. He only needed to call me “my girl” to
send my stomach doing flips.

I did the best I could to make him as happy
as he made me, to soothe him with my love. I thought I could change
him, help him heal. I was there when he needed to talk; I held him
when he awoke in the dead of night, cowering from his demons. I was
there. Period.

But in the end, I didn’t save his life. I
ended it.

I struck a match and lowered the flame
toward the candle in my hand until the wick caught. Although I
could light my candle using the flames of the other candles that
were already burning, I preferred creating my own flame. A new
light in the world.

The fire on the matchstick died before I had
a chance to snuff it out, releasing a thin stream of smoke that
drifted upward.

I placed the candle on the stand—a new flame
among dozens—and sent up a prayer for Chris. That he would find
peace and happiness, wherever he was. Two things this world had
withheld from him.

Done with my weekly ritual, I slipped into
the last pew of Grace Chapel, my usual place to sit. To hide.

I sat straight as a rod, my eyes fixed on
the flickering flames at the candle stand, their vivid sparks
blurred through my curtain of tears.

The candle had been for Chris, and so had
the prayer, but the wait was for Nick.

Two brothers who each held a piece of my
heart. The two men I’d loved and lost.

The mint sweet I had in my mouth when I
arrived had melted away, so I popped in another. It, too, melted
away, and still, Nick didn’t appear. Just as he hadn’t on any of my
last visits.

Falling in love with Nick had not been part
of my plans. Chris was my first. I thought he’d be my last. But
fate intervened and knocked the wind from my lungs.

Six months ago, I met Nick right here in
Grace Chapel. We had coffee at a café down the road and then he
kissed me, flipping my world upside down.

Thanks to my friend Melisa, I opened my eyes
to see what I had been missing. Maybe the time had come for me to
stop paying for my sins. Four years of living and working at the
Oasis Shelter as payment for my crimes had been enough. That one
kiss shoved me out the doors of Oasis and into the world. To start
over.

When Nick bumped into me again, I had a
glamorous job at Stalford Jewelers and worked as a part-time
jewelry model. I had a place to stay, a life. After one night of
passion, I thought he’d stay long enough to decorate my world.

But through a cruel twist of fate, he found
out I’d killed his twin brother—Chris. Nick never gave me a chance
to explain, and it was destroying me inside to know he hated me. If
only I could make him understand I had not meant to kill his
brother. But how? Even though I had stumbled upon the slip of paper
with his number in my purse, my calls to him went unanswered and
unreturned.

In the end, I had no choice but to stop
contacting him, if I didn’t want to be thought of as a stalker,
that is. If we ever communicated again, he’d have to make the first
move.

“Maybe it’s time for you to move on without
him,” Melisa said to me last week, when I went to volunteer at the
Oasis Shelter. We were sitting in the cafeteria after serving
breakfast to the residents.

“I wish I could. I can’t bear the thought of
him believing I’m a crazy murderer.”

Melisa shook her head. “I’m sure he doesn’t
think that.”

“He did call the woman who killed his
brother deranged.”

“That was before he knew you.”

“The fact that he knows me makes it worse.
He probably regrets the time we spent together… That night… Every
time he thinks of that night, he’ll be disgusted with himself for
sleeping with his brother’s killer.”

Melisa placed the slice of bread she was
about to take a bite of back onto her plate and turned to face me.
“You know what?” she said. “Let him think whatever the hell he
wants. You know what really happened that morning.”

I was determined to heed Melisa’s advice,
and Cora, my foster mother, also agreed when she called from
Germany.

But Nick was a hard man to forget. Not only
was his name stamped on my heart, but he was businessman of the
year and a self-made millionaire, so his face was everywhere. To
help me forget him, I stayed away from newspapers and magazines and
hardly watched any TV. If he had moved on, I’d rather not know.

To evade thoughts of him, I worked seven
days a week. I spent my days selling jewelry to rich customers at
Stalford, my nights at Oasis, and every other day I did photo
shoots for Stalford’s upcoming jewelry campaign. I worked until my
body ached and my mind was numb, until I was so exhausted that the
only thing I could do when I got home was fall asleep. I gave
myself no time to hurt, to cry, to remember. No time to wish I
could turn back the clock. It was an option I didn’t have. All I
could do was find a way to function. A way to breathe.

Mark lowered his camera and pinched the
bridge of his nose. “Carlene, where are you? I need you to be here.
All of you, or this won’t work.”

I smoothed down my silky dress. “I’m sorry,
Mark. I’ll try harder.”

“You’re losing your spark, Carlene.” He
snapped his fingers. “It’s fading. Let’s try again.” He raised the
camera and I struck a pose.

I did my best to be in the moment as the
camera flashed, but it took a lot out of me. My heart just wasn’t
in it.

“Just a moment, Mark.” Silvy, the makeup
artist rushed over to me, a magazine tucked under her armpit.
“Speaking of sparks, Carlene’s nose has too much.” She patted the
tip of my nose with a powder puff, then stepped back to the
armchair in the corner, leaving behind the smell of the ham
sandwich she’d just eaten. She raised her magazine. She could tell
this shoot was going nowhere.

My gaze focused on the cover; Nick’s
handsome face was smiling straight at me. I blinked and read the
caption.

Serendipity’s most eligible bachelor is
no longer single
.

Whatever piece of my heart that was left
intact splintered, and a tear rolled down my cheek.

***

Lilliana Stalford, the owner of Stalford
Jewelers, strutted through the boutique doors, past Amanda and
Julie, and headed straight for me.

As usual, she was polished and expensive—her
face glowing, blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, lips
painted ruby. Without a smile, she almost looked her age, somewhere
in her fifties.

I handed a jewelry package to a customer and
pointed him in the direction of the point-of-sale just as Lilliana
reached my side.

“Carlene, I’d like to have a word, in my
office,” she said quietly.

A flicker of anxiety raced down my spine. I
followed her as she sashayed up the stairs.

In her vanilla-scented office, Lilliana
pointed at one of the elegant padded chairs, then sat down behind
her glass-topped desk and pulled a thick white envelope from her
bag. Something was definitely wrong. Very wrong. Whenever she came
to Stalford, which wasn’t often, she usually sat on the couch.

“Lilliana, is everything all right?”

“You tell me.” She handed me the envelope.
“Have a look at these and tell me if everything is all right.”

Refusing to jump to conclusions, I pulled
out the contents and frowned. “These are the modeling photos from
last week.”

“Yes, they are. They are meant for the
anticipated winter collection campaign. Do you think they’ll
convince a customer to purchase our jewelry?”

I regarded the photo on top; my eyes were
blank and surrounded by circles makeup couldn’t completely hide.
The sapphire and diamond necklace would have looked better on a
mannequin.

I had to be honest. “No. No, they
won’t.”

Lilliana clasped her hands on the desk in
front of her and leaned forward. “What’s going on, Carlene? When
you started modeling for us, you gave one hundred percent. Now you
give less than one percent.”

“I’m sorry. I was having a bad day.”

“You’ve been having many of those lately.
Mark told me you broke down during the shoot again. That’s
unacceptable.”

“I apologize for that,” I said. “I’ll
control my emotions better next time.”

Lilliana cleared her throat. “Carlene, I
chose you for this job because you’re stunning. But beauty alone
doesn’t create great photos. It doesn’t sell jewelry. You need
something else…commitment and hard work. Currently, you lack those
qualities.” Her grey eyes had narrowed to flints.

I’d never seen her like this—disappointed,
angry. Words would be useless at this point, so I simply nodded and
mentally braced myself for what would follow.

The phone rang before Lilliana could say
more.

“Hi, Sam,” she said into the mouthpiece, her
voice wary. “Yes, I’m talking to her right now. I’ll meet you
downstairs in five minutes.” She hung up and turned back to me.
“I’m afraid we can’t keep you on. Too much money is on the line for
this campaign to fail. I hope you understand.”

“I understand.” I wanted to convince her she
was wrong, that I could hide my crap and smile for the camera. But
I couldn’t. I could hardly smile at all these days, let alone for
the camera. How could I pretend to be happy when my insides were in
ruins?

And I wanted the best for Lilliana. She had
been good to me. She’d given me the chance of a lifetime, and I
blew it. I swallowed. “What about my job here as sales
associate?”

“We had a long discussion about that, and we
decided you know a lot about jewelry and you’ve sold some of the
most expensive pieces. So you may keep doing that.” Lilliana stood.
“But please don’t bring your personal life to work.”

I parted my lips and exhaled quietly. I’d
lost the man I fell in love with, and my high-paying modeling job,
but I still had a reason to get up in the morning.

For the first time since I started working
at Stalford, a colleague accompanied me to lunch. Julie was only an
intern, but it still boosted my ego. Especially since my spirits
had plummeted after discovering the change in Nick’s relationship
status last week. I’d been trying to hold it together; I didn’t
want to disappoint Lilliana. But my stomach cramped up every time I
thought of him with another woman.

Curiosity—or masochism—had driven me to buy
and read the magazine. I had to see the woman who was now giving
Nick what I couldn’t. But there was hardly any information. The
woman was unknown, and they had been caught kissing in public on
several occasions.

Julie and I had lunch at a Chinese
restaurant at Stepside Mall.

For the first time in days, I enjoyed my
food. The curry chicken and vegetable fried rice never tasted
better.

At least my appetite was finally returning.
I really had to stay away from the news, or I’d end up stick thin.
I was already too slim for my liking. Many people thought my body
type was sexy, but I’d always thought women with curves were
gorgeous.

After lunch, we still had some time on our
hands, so I asked Julie if we could stop by the bookstore. I needed
a new escape from reality.

While I tugged novels off the shelves and
got lost in the cover descriptions, Julie hurried toward the
magazine section, heels click-clacking on the wooden floor, in
search of juicy celebrity news.

Being in a bookstore was like going on a
holiday. I could spend hours wandering the aisles, reading titles
on spines, listening to people discussing stories in whispers,
breathing in the dry scent of paper and espresso from the coffee
bar. This was my escape. If I didn’t like the reality I lived in, I
could choose another.

I had just read through the first chapter of
Dark Tides
, a romantic suspense novel, when Julie tapped me
on the shoulder.

“You have to see this,” she whispered into
my ear and led me to a red circular couch, where she urged me to
sit.

“What is it?” I placed the novel on my
lap.

“Look.” She produced a magazine, flipped it
open to the middle, and thumped a finger at a photo. “This is
you.”