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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781426711602 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Abingdon Press |
| Publication date: | 03/01/2015 |
| Series: | A Jessie Stanton Novel Series , #1 |
| Pages: | 288 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
On a Ring and a Prayer
A Jessie Staton Novel
By Sandra D. Bricker
Abingdon Press
Copyright © 2015 Sandra D. BrickerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4267-1160-2
CHAPTER 1
Watch this. If I hold my coffee at just the right tilt, the reflection off my ring will blind her."
"Jessie, stop that."
Jessie angled her hand so that the sunlight streaming through the café window bounced off nearly four carats of perfect clarity, ricocheting back toward the window. Just one slight adjustment and—
"There!"
"What are you? Ten?"
"Ten-year-old Jessie would never have this ring."
She grinned as the woman two tables over flinched, squinting as the beam of sunlight hit her right in the eye.
"And why are you acting like this anyway?" Jessie asked in a graveled whisper. "Support me in my cattiness like a good friend should. You know perfectly well that Shea McDermott has been talking smack about my marriage for three years now, since the night of Elton's Oscar party."
They both glanced over toward Shea's table, and Jessie offered the bleached blonde a forced, cursory smile.
Through her tightened, pearly white expression, Jessie muttered, "She makes me crazy."
"I can see that. But you have an unfair advantage, Jess," Piper replied with a serious tone as she tucked her short, streaked strawberry-blonde hair behind one ear. Then a sunbeam grin ignited her face, and her glossy green eyes shimmered with mischief. "You've got nearly two carats on her."
They both snickered just as the waiter approached the table.
"Can I get you ladies anything else?"
His nametag read DIRK. Jessie thought it was the perfect name for an obvious actor-turned-waiter like so many hundreds of them flanking trendy restaurant tables from Malibu to Glendale. Dirk-the-waiter looked like he belonged in a leading-edge fashion layout in Esquire rather than schlepping lunch for LA's hot-du-jour.
"It happens to be my friend's birthday," Piper told Dirk, and Jessie held her breath and used her birthday wish against Piper revealing which one. "We'd like a generous slice of amaretto cheesecake and two cappuccinos."
"Right away."
"Oh, and—" Piper wrinkled her nose at him and whispered, "put a candle in it?"
"Piper, no."
With one hand, she waved Jessie into submission, and with the other she sent Dirk-the-waiter quickly on his way.
"So what are we doing?" Piper asked. "Twenty-five again?"
"Sounds good."
"Twenty-five it is. And you don't look a day over twenty-four."
Jessie smiled. She didn't feel her thirty-seven years either. At twenty-four, she'd been working the fragrance counter at Bloomingdale's in the Beverly Center. Jack had parked outside of the store on his way to pick up a couple of new suits from Hugo Boss. On his way back through the store, he circled Jessie's counter three times before he stopped and asked her to recommend a perfume for his mother's birthday. They made a date for dinner at Moonshadows Malibu that very evening; a patio table at sunset. And Jack had swept her off the size-seven Manolos she'd borrowed from one of her roommates before the panna cotta had been served for dessert. Six dinner dates later, she learned that Jack's mom had passed away in the previous decade, and he'd only summoned up her memory as an on-the-fly excuse to talk to "the pretty brunette with the light blue eyes." But by the time the truth rolled out, he'd already reeled her in and Jessie dismissed his little white lie in the name of true love's course. She'd fallen hard, and they were married that very summer on the white-sand Pacific shore, not far from that patio table at Moonshadows.
"Funny how everything seems to come full circle, isn't it?" Jessie mused as the recollection of her first days with Jack wafted through her mind. "I was just thinking about—"
Dirk-the-waiter's arrival at her table sliced her thought clean through. "Happy birthday," he sort of sang as he set the cheesecake and coffees on the tabletop between them and lit the lone candle sticking out of the center of the dessert. "Make a wish."
Jessie smiled at Piper, closed her eyes—I wish this perfect life would last forever!—and blew out the candle before they both dug into the cheesecake from opposite sides of the gilded plate.
"Uh, Jess?"
Piper narrowed her eyes and scrunched up one side of her collagen-enhanced pout as she glared through the window toward the street.
Jessie set down the large white cup after taking a sip. "What's wrong?"
"Isn't that ... your car?"
Jessie's eyes darted after Piper's, and she caught sight of the rear bumper of her Deep Sea Blue convertible 640i BMW ... just as the large tow truck dragged it around the corner of Cross Creek toward Pacific Coast Highway.
Jessie instinctively smacked her heart to get it beating again, and she willed her wide-open mouth to shut tight when she caught Shea McDermott's Botox-lifted eyes focused directly on her.
"I ... It couldn't ... But ... Nooo. It had to be someone else's ..."
"Ms. Stanton, I am so sorry," Joseph-the-valet whimpered as he approached her table. "He took the keys and he said your lease had been revoked by—"
"All righty, Joseph!" Piper intercepted. "That's fine. We understand." She leaned closer and lowered her voice considerably. "Call us a taxi, will you, please?"
"Of course."
Dirk-the-waiter looked like some sort of canary-eating feline as he set the leather folder on the edge of the table. "Your check."
"Thank you, Dirk," Piper replied.
Jessie tasted a sour version of her coffee at the back of her throat as she plucked a credit card out of her wallet and slipped it into the folder, handing it to him.
"Uh," Dirk muttered. "Isn't it your birthday?"
She shook her head until it rattled. "Yes. Why?"
"Well, normally the other person pays for the birthday lunch."
"Oh. Right." Jessie inhaled sharply before continuing. "It's our thing. She'll get the check on her birthday. This one's mine."
"Thank you, Dirk," Piper interjected.
The moment he left them, Piper leaned halfway across the table until her face was about eight inches from Jessie's. "He said your lease was revoked, Jess. What's going on?"
"I have no idea. I need to call Jack."
Her hands trembled as she dipped into her Prada okra-orange Saffiano leather bag and pulled out her iPhone. She didn't take the time to swipe through the address book, and just dialed Jack's cell number herself. When the call failed to connect, Jessie inhaled sharply and tried again, but the shrill three-tone siren sounded again.
"We're sorry," the robotic recording stated. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service at this time. If you feel you have reached this recording in error—"
Jessie disconnected, but she continued to stare at the screen as if she hadn't.
"What happened?"
"I got an out-of-service recording."
"That's weird. Why don't you try his office?"
"Good idea. Okay."
Just in case it had been a simple user error, she used the address book to reach Jack's office. Tears stung her eyes as she took a deep breath and held it tightly in her lungs for a moment. Jack would certainly know what to do. She just had to—
"We're sorry. The number you have dialed ..."
Jessie's chest tightened, and the rogue tears streamed from her eyes and down both cheeks.
"Jess?"
"Piper, something awful is happening. I can feel it. His office number is disconnected too, and—"
"I'm very sorry, Ms. Stanton," Dirk-the-waiter interrupted, and when she looked up into his eyes, she spotted a flash of ... almost ... glee. "It seems your card has been denied."
Jessie's eyes widened to the point that the strain of it ached.
"Would you like to try another?"
She couldn't think. She simply turned her gaze toward Piper as the cascade of salty emotion reached her chin and dangled there for a moment before plummeting to the edge of the saucer beneath her cappuccino cup.
"Here. Use mine," Piper said, handing him her credit card.
The next several minutes blurred like a watercolor painting left out in the pouring rain. When Jessie finally blinked, she found herself sitting next to Piper in the back of a hybrid taxicab as they turned onto Malibu Road.
"Right up here," Piper told the driver, and he rolled to a stop in front of the expansive hacienda-style home where Jessie and Jack had lived for the last several years. "Thank you," Piper added, slipping the driver some folded bills before squeezing Jessie's arm and shaking it. "Come on, sweetie. We're here."
She somehow managed to drag herself out of the cab and mindlessly put one foot in front of the other until they reached the arched gate to the front courtyard. It took three tries to punch in the code, but just about the time that Jessie started to imagine that she'd been locked out of this one final part of her life, the gate buzzed and she pushed it open. She jumped as it clanked shut behind Piper.
Thankfully, the front door code worked on the first try, and she stepped inside with a sigh.
"What in the world ...?"
She turned toward Piper to find her friend gape-mouthed and wide-eyed as she scanned the conspicuously empty walls of the lavish living room. Every piece of Jack's extensive art collection had vanished, much of the landscape vacant and glaring at her. The remaining furnishings looked strangely out of place without it, like a half-decorated hotel lobby.
"Piper," she said, wincing. "What's going on here? Do you think we've been ... robbed?"
"And the robbers paused to revoke the lease on your car and cancel your credit cards? I don't think so, Jess."
"What then?"
And with that, the hot tears erupted again, and Jessie's chest began to pound with questions.
"I have no idea."
The two of them stood in silence for several slow-ticking seconds. Jessie labored against the array of panicked and disjointed notions skipping across her brain like plump children playing hopscotch. Beyond the wall of glass at the far end of the living room, the blue Pacific Ocean carelessly cavorted beneath foamy, white-capped waves that tumbled over each other to land on the shore. Nearly two hundred feet of private beach—the attraction that drew her to this house out of all the others they'd toured—seemed to laugh at her now, taunting that it knew something she didn't.
As she surveyed the artless walls one more time, a sudden notion hit her with a thud. She gasped, and then she spun around and clomp-clomp-clomped across the Mexican ceramic tile in the hallway. Crossing the large master suite, she reached Jack's walk-in closet at the far end and thrust open the door.
"Empty," she muttered.
"Jessie?" Piper called from the hall as she followed. "What is it?"
She turned back toward the door and waited for Piper to cross the threshold before she replied. "All of Jack's clothes are gone."
"What? Are you sure?"
Jessie didn't bother to answer. She just shuffled toward the king-sized, four-poster bed and dropped to the edge of the pillow-top mattress.
"Wow, you weren't kidding," Piper said as she peered into the closet. "Not even a dust bunny left behind."
Jessie couldn't react. She just curled both of her hands into fists around the Egyptian cotton comforter beneath her as Piper rushed past her and tugged open the door of the second closet. Jessie held her breath.
"Well, it looks like all of your clothes are still here."
She sniffed. "He left me."
"Nooo. Jack wouldn't ..."
"He left me, Piper. That's the only answer. He canceled my credit cards, surrendered my car, packed up his belongings, and he left me."
Just then, the front bell rang. Jessie and Piper both gasped.
"See! That's probably him now," Piper exclaimed as she jogged down the hall toward the front door.
"He's not going to ring the bell to his own house," Jessie stated softly.
She grabbed a tissue from the ceramic box on the nightstand and dried her eyes on the way to the door, sniffling as she did.
"You must be Mrs. Stanton," the balding man standing in the foyer said as she emerged.
"Yes. And you are ...?"
"Anthony Grana. Your Realtor."
"My ... what?"
He quickly produced a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Malibu Realty. I handled the sale."
Piper said it for her. "The sale?"
"Your husband left his cell phone behind this afternoon, and I thought I'd return it on my way home."
Jessie accepted the phone and just stared at it.
"You were with Jack this morning?" Piper asked him.
"Yes, at the closing."
"The closing," Piper repeated. "I don't understand."
Jessie inhaled sharply before clarifying. "I think what he's saying is ... my husband sold our home."
"We got a very fair price, too, if I do say so."
Looking over Piper's shoulder at the beckoning blue sea, Jessie shook her head.
Déjà vu all over again, she thought, then moved on to consider whether to act on the instinct overtaking her at the moment, and just go ahead and rush over the wooden deck, across the sand, and throw herself into the laughing ocean.
* * *
The sun had only begun to peek its big head out over the top of the pastel horizon, but the surf had called Danny's name early that day. He'd managed to step into the bottom of the wetsuit, letting the top of it hang down around his waist as he tucked Carmen—the name he'd given his surfboard—under one arm and trekked across the sand, barechested. The waves looked inviting, full of the come-hither allure only the morning swells of the blue Pacific could muster in him.
He pounded three times on the side panel of the battered Volkswagen bus parked at the edge of the sand before proceeding toward the beckoning surf. Danny spread out his Zuma Jay beach towel and dropped Carmen on it, face upward. Squatting down to inspect her, he tugged at the leash to make sure the connection to the plug felt secure. He ran his hand down the length of the leash to check for frays, knots, or tears. Reasonably confident, he flipped her over to scrutinize the fin box. The screws looked tight; nothing loose or broken.
He stood upright and slid his arms into the sleeves of the wetsuit and zipped it as he stepped out of blue flip-flops. He dropped to the sand and folded his legs into a sort of lotus position. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly.
Man, I love mornings out here.
Before he even had a chance to exhale, however, the clamor of Riggs's approach sent all thoughts of quiet meditation upward into a puff of steam.
"You're early, man," Riggs grumbled as he stalked across the sand. He dropped his bright orange board next to Danny and flopped down on it. "I haven't even had my coffee. What's with the crack of dawn?"
"Sorry. I just wanted to get an early jump."
"Well, what are you sitting here for, then?"
The corner of Danny's mouth quirked as he leaned back and looked at his disheveled friend. Short, curly dark hair, dusky light-brown skin, cropped black beard. Riggs wore his multiethnicity like a permanent tattoo.
"I was waiting on you," he said, pointing out the obvious.
"Well, here I am. We gonna get wet, or what?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, let's get wet."
Riggs trailed Danny into the water, letting out a shriek as his stomach hit the cold board. They paddled over fairly meager waves, typical to the Santa Monica area north of the pier at this time of year. Heavy winds the night before had at least pumped the swell a couple of feet, so the morning wasn't a complete bust. With an exchange of nods, they let the first wave pass them by.
"I heard Mavericks is prime right now," Riggs called out as they waited to catch the next one. "You wanna make a run up there this weekend?"
"Don't you have Allie this weekend?"
"She'll go with us."
He and Riggs hadn't made it to Mavericks all year. Truth told, the idea really appealed to Danny. It wasn't like he had any hot cases to keep him rooted in town. But the odds were mounted high against Riggs's twelve-year-old daughter's mother signing off on a six-hour drive to scout out better waves for the weekend.
"This one looks pretty good," Riggs called out, and Danny checked it out before giving him the nod.
"Let's try her out."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from On a Ring and a Prayer by Sandra D. Bricker. Copyright © 2015 Sandra D. Bricker. Excerpted by permission of Abingdon Press.
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