Someone Else’s Life: Book One - Discovery
Jennifer Zwaniga
Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Zwaniga
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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
CHAPTER 1
With her arms folded tightly across her chest, Keri Lawrence stared out the car window as her father pulled up the lengthy, gravel driveway of her grandmother’s South Carolina plantation home. To say the drive from the Charleston International airport had been tense would be an understatement. Keri glared at her father. How can he do this to me?
As the house came into view, Keri realized it was not the decrepit building she had imagined, but a grand home on a huge, tree-studded property. The white house, with its four twenty-foot pillar columns, was symmetrically proportioned. If you divided it down the middle, one side was the mirror image of the other. Eight identical windows at the front of the house were framed with dark green wooden shutters. The front stairs led to a cozy porch with a white wicker rocking chair with a green plaid cushion, and to the double front doors. Above the porch, off the upper level, were a balcony of equal size and another set of double doors. The house even had two chimneys.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” her father asked.
Realizing she'd been staring wide-eyed with her mouth slightly open, Keri caught herself and snapped into form. She shrugged, still determined not to speak to him.
Laughing, her father shook his head. “That house is over two-hundred years old. You can’t tell me you aren’t impressed with it, at least a little.”
Breaking, Keri said, “It’s a house, Dad. It’s not like I’ve never seen one before. Besides, I’ve seen bigger and better.”
“Did your mother ever tell you this house has been in her family since it was built in the late 1700s?”
“No, she didn’t tell me.” Keri rolled her eyes. “Since when does Mom tell me anything about anything?”
“Let’s not get started on that again. Stop blaming your mother for everything.”
Why not blame Mom? If she wasn’t in that dumb hospital, suffering from yet another major depression, I wouldn’t be forced to spend the summer with some old women I’ve never even met.
Dad parked the car, turned off the ignition and pointed in the direction of the house. “Look, there’s your grandmother.”
Keri glanced over and saw a white-haired lady waving enthusiastically from the front porch. She did a quick calculation and figured her grandmother had to be damn near seventy years old. How could her parents honestly believe she was better off staying with an old relic—who could drop dead at any moment—than being at home alone?
Her father hurried out of the car and sprinted to the passenger side, waving and calling out his hellos. He opened Keri’s door and motioned her out. “Come on. Your grandmother is waiting to meet you.”
Keri didn’t budge. She sighed deeply and snapped her head in the other direction.
Her father’s voice became dangerously low. He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “Okay, Keri Abigail Lawrence. I have had absolutely enough of your attitude. I’m going to go say hello to your grandmother, and I expect you at my side within the next thirty seconds.”
She knew he meant it, too. It took a lot to push him to the point where he cursed at her and used her full name. She thought better of continuing her defiance, at least for the moment. She watched as her father and grandmother hugged. Reluctantly, Keri stepped out of the car and, with leaden feet, forced herself to take the first steps toward them.
As she studied the house, Keri was struck with a queer feeling something about it wasn’t right. A shiver ran up and down her spine. She reached deep into her memory searching for the nagging piece of lost information that might explain the strange sensation. The excited, shrill voice of the old fossil interrupted her thoughts.
“My goodness. Just look at you.” She approached Keri, arms outstretched, surprisingly spry for a woman of her age. “You’ve gone ahead and grown right up on me.” She pulled Keri into her for a hug.
Stiffening, Keri kept her arms glued at her side. She didn’t know this woman and she was acting like they were long lost friends. As soon as her grandmother loosened her hold, Keri pulled away and took a step backward, putting some much-needed space between them.
“I’m so excited to have you here.”
Keri questioned how excited she could be. In the nearly sixteen years of Keri’s life, this grandmother—who was so excited to see her—had never once come for a visit. And her parents had brought her to visit all of—oh let’s see—zero times.
“Keri. This is your grandmother, Martha Jefferson.” Keri’s father placed his hand gently on Martha’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. It’s been far too long. You look wonderful.”
Wonderful? How does he figure? She’s old. She has white hair, wrinkles, age spots and glasses. What’s so wonderful about that? Unless not being dead is the only qualification one needs for looking wonderful.
Her grandmother chuckled with appreciation and waved her hand at him. “Ah, Donald. You always were full of the compliments. It’s no wonder Julie fell in love with you.”
GAG!
“Well, come on,” Martha said, clapping her hands together. “Come inside. Let’s not stand out here all day.” She led the way up the stairs and into the house, all the while muttering to herself about how grand it was to have them here after all these years.
Keri huffed and followed Dad and Martha into the house. She stepped through the front door and, without thought, started toward the winding, ornately carved, dark oak stairway to her right. She had taken the first few steps onto the burgundy carpet runner when her dad interrupted.
“Keri? Where are you going?”
“To my room.” Grasping the railing, she stopped in her tracks, all at once realizing how ridiculous she sounded. What made her think she knew where her room was? And why was she interested in going to it anyway—other than escaping Dad and Martha, of course?
“You might want to wait until it’s offered.” His disapproval was evident in his tone. “Perhaps you might even want to visit with your grandmother for a while first.”
Keri stepped off the stairs, properly reprimanded, and properly pissed at her father for embarrassing her. She hated when he treated her like a child, like she didn’t have any manners. “Maybe I don’t feel like visiting right now,” she snapped. “Maybe I don’t even want to be here at all.”
She saw the hurt look on Martha’s face, but she didn’t care.
“Keri!” Dad said, sharply. “That’s enough.”
“Oh dear.” Martha sighed, placing her wrinkled hand on Donald’s arm. “It’s okay, Don. If Keri wants to go to her room, that’s fine. Maybe she needs to get settled. Why don’t you go have a seat in the living room and I’ll show her to her room.”
“You don’t have to do that. Just tell me where to go and I’ll find it myself.”
Dad scowled at her, but didn’t say another word.
“Well, sure. Of course,” Martha stammered. “It’s up the stairs, second door on the right.”
As Keri made her way up the stairs, Martha called up behind her, “I bought a computer for you. It’s in your room. There’s a TV and DVD player in there too. I want you to feel at home here....” Her uncertain voice trailed off as Keri rounded the corner at the top of the stairs.
The last thing she heard was her father’s voice, once again apologizing for his daughter’s rude behavior. Keri’s face heated up as she entered her room, slamming the door behind her. It’s not fair. She thought about her best friend, Rachel, wishing she were spending the summer with her instead. But they wouldn’t be back from their European vacation for a month. At least Rachel was going to come for a visit for a couple weeks at the end of the summer.
Keri checked out what would be her prison for the next two months. The room was spacious enough, but the decorating was too grandmotherly for her taste. It had a double bed covered with a floral quilt, two dressers, a desk, a cushioned chair next to the window, and a small bathroom. And as promised, there was a computer, TV and DVD player. At least Martha had enough brains to realize a teenage girl couldn’t be expected to survive an entire summer without that stuff.
Keri looked out the window beyond the lush gardens of the property, half expecting to see a cotton field. The trees were so big—almost too big it seemed—to see much of anything beyond the property boundaries, but she could see enough to know there was no cotton field. Of course there isn’t. Just because this was a cotton plantation two hundred years ago, doesn’t mean it still is. What a stupid thing to think. They probably sold off most of the land ages ago.
Flopping down on the bed, Keri stared at the ceiling. It felt weird to be here, to be in the house where her mother grew up. Though the home, for the most part, seemed completely foreign to her, an unexplainable feeling of familiarity nagged at her. It didn’t make any sense.
She thought, not for the first time, how strange it was she’d never even seen a picture of the house. Mom had lived here right up until the time she married Keri’s father. And yet, Keri couldn’t recall having ever seen a picture of it. Nor had she seen many pictures of her mom from before the time Keri was born. It was almost as if that time in Mom’s life hadn’t existed.
Keri suddenly had a strong urge to write in her journal. “Damn,” she muttered when she realized it was packed away in her suitcase and still out in the car.
She had been journal writing regularly since she was ten years old. Rachel often teased her about it, saying it was so old fashioned to write in a diary nowadays. Rachel simply couldn’t get it through her head that there were some things she just didn’t want to plaster on her My Space site for the whole Internet world to read. It didn’t matter that she could control who was allowed to read it—she didn’t trust her deepest thoughts wouldn’t end up out there in cyberspace. Besides, there was something comforting in writing in a journal, something she felt deeply compelled to do.
But since she didn’t have her journal to write in, she opted for the next best thing—an email to Rachel. She needed to blow off some steam anyway. She started up her computer and logged onto her Hotmail account, started a new message and began to type.
Hey R,
How’s the vacation going? Meet any hot European guys yet? I can’t believe I have to spend an entire summer in hell, all alone. I arrived at Martha’s (my grandmother) a while ago. It so sucks. She did buy me a computer, though. Thank goodness. If I can’t see you, at least I’ll be able to write. Hope you get a chance to check your email soon.
So, my dad is all pissed at me. But I don’t care. I’m not exactly thrilled with him right now, either. We fought the entire way here. And my mom—don’t even go there. I’m so sick and tired of all her stupid breakdowns and mental problems. Every time she pulls this crap, I’m the one who pays for it. What the heck does she have to be so depressed and miserable about anyway? She has a family, a husband (who sticks around and supports her through all her shit). She doesn’t even have to work.
I’m tired of her acting like she doesn’t even have a daughter; going about her life ignoring me and then throwing in a big ‘poor me’ breakdown for good measure every few years. If anyone deserves a mental breakdown, it’s me. Not that I’m looking for one.
Anyhow, the house is big—really old. I had the strangest feeling when I first saw it. I can’t explain it. It creeped me out enough for me to rethink my opinion about ghosts. If any place could make me a believer, I think this is it. Ooh, I don’t even want to think about that.
Gotta go. My dad’s knocking at the door.
Hope you’re having a better time than I am.
K.
Her dad knocked on the door again. “Keri, can I come in? I have your suitcases.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. She hit send on her email and logged off.
Dad entered the room and set her suitcases down next to her bed. He rubbed his chin, eyebrows furrowed. He sighed heavily, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin. Whatever it was, Keri was sure she didn’t want to hear it. She remained silent, still angry.
“I wish you would be more understanding about things,” he started softly. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you, for any of us. But behaving like this isn’t going to make things any easier. You need to accept the situation and you need to get yourself downstairs and visit with your grandmother.”
Keri glared.
Dad shook his head. “Why do you have to be like this? I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I have to get back to Mom. It would be nice if you came down and spent a bit of time with us before I go.”
Keri threw her arms in the air in frustration, blood flushing her cheeks. “Just once I wish somebody would think about me for a change! Everything is always about Mom. It’s all her fault I’m stuck here. And you, you’re going to dump me here too, abandon me with some old lady I don’t know and then try to make me feel bad that I’m not thinking about you. It’s not fair. How can you do this to me?”
“Keri, be reasonable.”
“I am reasonable!” She took a step toward him, her voice rising in pitch. “If you’re going to leave, why don’t you just go? Who needs you anyway?”
“Ker—”
“Leave me alone. Go away.”
“Keri.”
“I mean it. Get out!”
“Okay. If that’s the way you want to be, I’ll leave.”
“Good.” She followed him toward the door. A lump filled her throat, and she swallowed hard.
Dad paused and looked at her, a combination of anger and sorrow in his green eyes. “I hate for things to be like this between us.” When he realized she wasn’t going to respond, he sighed and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. “I’ll be downstairs with your grandmother, if you change your mind.”
She wasn’t going to change her mind. She wanted to be left alone. Keri slipped out into the hallway behind her dad and stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at him as he disappeared into the living room. She could hear the muffled voices of her father and Martha, suspecting her father was making some excuse for her unusually rude behavior. A tear escaped her eye, which she quickly wiped away.
Spinning around, Keri shuffled toward her room. A closed door at the end of the hallway caught her eye, and she continued past her room, past four more rooms—two on either side—to the end of the hallway. She looked on with curiosity at the only door on the upper level with a deadbolt lock on it. For some reason she didn’t understand, her heart thumped as she reached her hand slowly toward the brass doorknob and grasped it. A tingling sensation prickled her fingers and inviting warmth crept through her fingertips, spreading through her hand and up her arm. Her heart quickened. What’s happening? She paused, counted to three, took a deep breath and turned her hand.
The door was locked.
Keri woke with a start, her breathing quick and labored, and her skin clammy. She sat up, rubbed her aching neck, and cursed the dull, persistent headache. The neck problem was old news; she couldn’t remember a time it hadn’t pained her. The frequent headaches, however, were new. Over the past few years they’d been worsening, and lately, becoming more the norm in her life. The worst ones occurred after particularly troubling dreams, like the nightmare she’d just woken from.
The nightmares, as the headaches, had been occurring more often. So much so, that Keri had taken to keeping a second journal—a dream journal—to keep track of the strange dreams she’d been having. She grabbed the book from the nightstand next to her bed, flipped it open to the first blank page and began to write.
July 6, 2008,
This morning I woke from a dream that seemed so real, it pretty much scared the ever-living crap out of me. It was a new one, not like some of the other reoccurring ones. And it seemed even more real than the others. I was at a party, and I was very upset. Upset with a guy; upset with my life and myself. I felt desolate and was overcome with a feeling of desperateness. Everything was hazy and the noise around me was distorted. The laughter itself seemed painful, like it was cutting right to my heart, like the laughter was meant for me.
I staggered through the throng of teenagers, my vision blurred from my tears and my drunkenness. I was looking for something, looking for someone. Someone who had something I wanted—something I needed to end my misery. That’s when I woke up. As miserable as my own existence seems to be some days, I’ve never experienced the kind of anguish, the feeling of total despair I felt when I first awoke from that dream.
Closing the book, Keri was surprised to find her eyes were tearing. The lingering effect of the dream made her feel sad and messed up inside. She wondered, not for the first time, why she was plagued with these nightmares. What did they mean?
A knock at her bedroom door made her jump.
“Keri?”
It was her dad.
“I have to leave shortly. Will you come down for a bit of breakfast with me and your grandmother before I have to go?”
Keri doubted she would ever think of Martha as her grandmother. Dad’s mother had died years ago and she couldn’t remember what it felt like to have a real grandmother. But she was sure Martha could never fill that place in her life.
“Keri?”
She slipped out of bed and ambled to the door. As she pulled the door open, she made one last plea with her father. “Please take me with you. I don’t want to stay here. Why can’t I come home with you?” She hated the note of desperation in her voice as it cracked.
Her father opened his arms to her. Feeling like a small child, finally accepted, she entered his embrace, allowing him to hold her. Somehow, she knew he’d make things better, he’d take her home with him and everything would be all right.
He ran his fingers through her shoulder-length, dark hair, and sighed. “I wish I could, sweetheart. I do. It’s just not possible. I thought you’d understand that by now. It’s not personal. And it certainly isn’t because I wouldn’t rather have you home with me.”
Keri felt like he’d pierced her chest with a screwdriver. She shoved him away, the mere touch of him repulsing her. “Bullshit. If you wanted me with you, you’d take me home. I hate you!” Tears threatened, but she refused to allow them to take control of her. She would not let him see her cry.
The shocked expression on Dad’s face told her he clearly had neither been expecting, nor prepared for, her outburst. The look of pain in his eyes appeared genuine, but she refused to believe it. She wouldn’t fall for it. Deep down, she hoped his pain was real. Why should I be the only one hurting? She slammed the door in his face and leaned her back against it. “Go away.”
She waited for him to object, to plead with her not to be angry with him. She released her pent up tears and slid to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. And waited. She waited for him to tell her he would take her home with him, that he’d made a terrible mistake in bringing her here. She waited for him to tell her he loved her. Anything. Anything other than his soft footsteps walking away.
Keri took the final drag of her cigarette, inhaled, and blew the smoke out her bedroom window. Leaving it open to air out the room, she flushed the butt down the toilet in her bathroom.
It had been three hours since Dad had left, and she still wasn’t quite over the shock of it. He was really gone. And she was not. Since he’d left, she’d done little other than pop a couple of Tylenol for her headache, smoke a few cigarettes and mope around in her bed all morning watching TV. And that was fast losing what miniscule appeal she’d thought it had held earlier.
Her stomach grumbled from the hunger of not eating for nearly twenty hours. She’d missed two meals already, and would soon miss a third if she didn’t drag her sorry ass out of bed and accept her fate. She slid off the mattress, leaving the blankets in a rumpled heap on the floor and headed into the bathroom. She looked awful. She had a terrible case of bed head, mascara streamed down her blotchy cheeks like a river of ebony tears, and black eyeliner circled her chocolate brown eyes in an unsightly smear. She looked like the walking dead. Felt like it too.
She turned on the hot water, and soaked a washcloth. The steaming cloth felt good against her skin. She let it sit there for a moment, savoring the radiating warmth before moving it around, doing her best to wipe away the mess on her face. When she was done, she pulled her brush from her travel bag and ripped it through her tangled hair, the discomfort somehow offering some kind of morbid satisfaction. She still looked like hell when she was through. Her dark brown hair, with its streaks of red, was in desperate need of a wash. What do I care? Who do I have to impress? She got dressed, pulling on a pair of black jeans and a baggy t-shirt and tried to prepare herself to face Martha.
As she exited her room, she glanced down the hallway toward the locked door, wondering what secrets the room held. She quickly shook the thought from her head and continued toward the stairs, drinking in her surroundings, studying every detail of the house with its two hundred years of history. She tried to imagine what it would have been like to live here back then, with servants and slaves. At the thought, a feeling of sadness swept through her, and without thinking she brought her hand to her neck and massaged it.
The stairs creaked under her footsteps. When she reached the bottom she turned to her right and followed the smell of freshly baked apple pie. Martha must be baking in the kitchen, no doubt trying to win her affections with grandmotherly treats. The closer she got, the more nervous she became. What would she say? How was she to act? She pushed open the swinging door that led to the kitchen and was surprised to see it was empty, and, strangely, the sweet smell that had only seconds ago filled her senses had disappeared, too.
As she pulled open the refrigerator, she couldn’t help but feel a bit intrusive, like she was rummaging through some stranger’s things. But, if she was expected to live here all summer, then she reasoned it was also her kitchen. There was no cause to feel like she was doing anything inappropriate. A girl had to eat. On cue, her stomach let off a long growl. She grabbed a shiny red apple out of the crisper and took a voracious bite into it.
A door behind her banged shut and she turned to see Martha, who had entered the kitchen through the screen door that led out to the garden patio.
“Well, good morning,” Martha said, all chipper and smiling like a burst of sunshine.
Keri, still chewing her apple, simply grunted her reply. She noticed Martha’s gaze settle briefly onto her eyebrow ring. Probably not quite the granddaughter she’d been hoping for.
“I was beginning to wonder when I would see you. You must be hungry. Let me make you a sandwich.”
Keri was about to protest, but then realized a sandwich sounded quite tempting. It would have been plain stupid to deny that fact simply to prove a point. If she’d been more familiar with the house and where everything was, she might have considered refusing to allow Martha to serve her and made her own sandwich. But, things being what they were, she sat down at the antique wood kitchen table, took another bite of her apple and waited.
“So what do you like?” Martha asked. “Ham? Peanut butter?”
“Do you have ham and cheese?”
“Oh.” Martha sighed, seeming a bit distressed. “I think I’m all out of cheese. I’ll have to pick some up when I go into town this afternoon.”
Keri kind of enjoyed watching Martha fuss over her and worry about not having cheese. “Ham is fine.”
Martha grabbed a frilly apron from a wall peg and put it on, tying a neat little bow at the back. As she made up sandwiches for both of them, she prattled nervously. “It’s so wonderful to have you here. I’ve asked your mother so many times to bring you for a visit, so I could get to know my only granddaughter, but it never seemed to work out. I can’t believe how grown up you are.”
When Keri didn’t respond, Martha continued talking, filling the dead air with more of her incessant chatter. She tried for a while to make conversation with Keri, but soon realized it was not going to develop into anything other than the monologue it was. She gave up trying and ate the rest of her sandwich in silence.
When they’d finished, Martha smiled awkwardly. She then rose and cleared the dishes from the table, announcing she was going to head into town for some cheese and a few other items. “Is there anything special you’d like me to get for you while I’m out?”
Keri shrugged.
“Oh,” Martha said. “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll buy my usual stuff. If you think of anything, let me know. And make yourself at home while I’m gone.”
Keri was glad to be alone to wander around the main level of the house and check out the rooms. She nosed around the living room with the Victorian style furniture and fancy decor, the formal dining room with its extravagant ten-person table and grandiose chandelier, the parlor with the expensive-looking piano. It was a beautiful home, but it didn’t feel right, and she was often struck out of nowhere that something seemed out of place or the wrong color or something. The furniture in the living room was too formal; not at all what she’d been expecting. And the yellow décor throughout the living room and dining room didn’t feel right either.
Deciding to take Martha’s advice to enjoy the day, she selected a gossip magazine, filled a glass with some ice water and headed through the kitchen door to the patio outside. The interlocking stone patio was partially sheltered by the balcony above, providing much-needed shade from the scorching southern sun. Keri pulled up a lounge chair and made herself comfortable. She gazed out onto the flourishing garden. The property was professionally landscaped and boasted dozens of impressive trees, lush gardens, a pond, and a gazebo.
She was deep into a story about Lindsey Lohan when the rustling sound of some nearby bushes startled her. The air was still, so she knew it couldn’t be the wind. She sat up straight and looked around. “Martha? Is that you?”
A dark haired boy of about seventeen, holding a pair of gardening shears, appeared from behind the bushes. He reached up and removed his sunglasses, flashing her a sexy smile, complete with a set of perfect white teeth. He pushed a strand of his long, slightly wavy, almost black hair away from his face, revealing a smoldering pair of dark brown eyes. His snug white t-shirt showed off his sweat-glistened, muscular arms and upper body. Keri suspected his dark skin was more than the results of living in the South Carolina climate. She guessed he might be Spanish. His strong jaw line and full lips blasted her with unexpected desire. He might very well have been the most gorgeous guy she had ever laid eyes on.
Keri looked away, ready to bolt. Her paralyzed body was not responding to her brain’s instruction to get the hell out of there. Before she could react, the mysterious stranger approached her. He held out his hand and said, “You must be Keri.”
Keri nodded, and awkwardly held out her trembling hand to shake his. She was at a loss for words. She always was around guys. She was useless, never knew what to say or how to act. She wanted to say something witty and provocative like you seem to have me at a slight disadvantage, knowing who I am, and then flash him a big sexy smile that would make him melt on the spot, like someone in one of her books might do. But she could never think of things like that until it was too late. And truth be told, even if she could come up with a smooth line to use, she’d never have the guts to. It would probably sound totally pathetic coming from her mouth anyway.
“I’m Adrian Benedict.”
Suddenly, she became all too aware of how she must look. The image of her reflection that morning and her thoughts of who do I have to impress? slammed her like a speeding subway train. Suddenly, her body seemed to receive the message her brain had been so desperately trying to deliver, and she bolted up from the chair.
Adrian grinned. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m here to do some gardening work for Martha. Keep reading your magazine and pretend like I’m not here.”
“I ... I ...”
“You what?” Adrian prompted in his deep, smooth as silk voice.
“I’ve gotta go.” She spun around and scurried into the house, shutting the door behind her, maddened with herself and her stupidity. She was such a loser. Why was it so hard for her when it came to guys? The tragic way she looked today had nothing to do with her awkwardness with Adrian; it was just the icing on the cake. Not only must he be thinking she was the biggest loser on the planet, he probably thought she was completely ugly and a total slob who didn’t care at all about her appearance.
She was useless with guys—didn’t have a clue how to act around them or talk to them. For once she wished someone decent would take a liking to her and she wouldn’t act like a complete jackass.
She rushed up to her room and threw herself onto her bed, burying her face into her pillow, and screamed. Once she had expelled all her curse words and frustrations, she took a deep breath and walked to the window. She couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to see if Adrian was still there. She wanted to see him, if only to admire him from afar. How pathetic.
She needed a smoke bad.
Carefully, she pulled the curtains open a crack and peered out. Martha was out in the garden talking and laughing quite comfortably with Adrian. Keri watched them intently for a few minutes, surprised when they unexpectedly turned and looked directly at her bedroom window. She was sure they couldn’t see her, but she ricocheted away from the window nonetheless, her blood boiling at the thought of them talking about her.
Keri logged off her email, rubbed her neck and sighed; a week had gone by and there was still no reply from Rachel to any of her emails. Frustrated, she pushed her chair away from the computer desk, grabbed the TV remote, hopped onto her bed and flicked on the television. She settled comfortably into the pillows she had propped up against the headboard of the antique sleigh bed, scanned through the channels, and quickly realized there was nothing worth watching. Soap operas, talk shows, game shows and cartoons. Maybe she could take a trip into town and try to find a video store or something. When she gave it more thought, she realized that didn’t sound very appealing either.