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One day, hopefully very soon, he will be there, in hell, and that alone is enough to make me think twice about wishing that on anyone. If I’d been in a better mood, my psychoanalysis would have amused me, but if anything, it put me in an even darker place. I hadn’t thought it possible. At least I understood what I was feeling, not much consolation there. Of course, it was too much to hope that he would leave me alone.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Title Page
Quiet Quality
Turning Point
Jeremy McHarry
Quiet Quality / 6th of series: Turning Point / By Jeremy McHarry
Published 2023 by Bentockiz
e-book Imprint: Uniochlors
e-book Registration: Stockholm, Sweden
e-book ISBN: 9789198834222
e-book editing: Athens, Greece
Cover Images created via AI art generators
Table of Contents
Title Page
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Introduction
Through books we come into contact with everything important that has happened in the past, analyzing also current events and putting our thoughts together to predict the future. The book is a window to the world, acquiring valuable knowledge and sparking our vivid imagination. It is a means of entertainment and is generally seen as a best friend, or as a slave that carries together all valuable information for us. The book is a friend who stays together without demands, a friend you call upon at every moment and abandon when you want.
It accompanies us in the hours of boredom and loneliness, while at the same time it entertains us. In general, a book does not ask anything from us, while it waits patiently on a dusty shelf to give us its information, to get us out of dead ends and to travel us to magical worlds.
This may be the travel mission of our books. Abstract narration, weird or unconscious thoughts difficult to be understood, but always genuine and full of life experiences, these are stories of life that can’t be overlooked easily.
Chapter One
“I’ve got some mail here for you, Miss Forester.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fenton.”
I attempted to plaster a smile on my face as I took the mail, perused the envelopes swiftly to make sure all were addressed in my maiden name, and stuffed them into my purse, but knew I failed miserably.
“Can I help you find anything?”
“I’m fine,” I reassured him, stifling the first tentative stirrings of amusement I’d felt in a long time as I noted the five rows—six if you counted the shelving behind the check-out counter—of groceries and personal items.
I wondered idly if he’d ever had any takers on his superfluous offer.
In my mind, Gary stood right next to me elbowing me gently in the ribs saying, “Aw, c’mon Rachel...you know you need all the help you can get.”
“Not here,” I murmured as sobs threatened to erupt like they always did anytime I allowed Gary to invade my mind.
Determinedly, I turned towards row number one and began a silent running commentary in order to keep my brain occupied.
Freezer items first...? That can’t be good. They really should put the bread on the last isle, not in the middle...especially since the cans are one row over. I hate squashed bread. Not much choice of peanut butter here...never even heard of this brand...wonder if it tastes okay. Hot chocolate...that’s what I need to warm me up...or maybe tea...hot chocolate has too much sugar. I can drink more of it to stay toasty without the inevitable insulin rush. Or maybe I should buy both...my nose is always so cold. Gary used to let me bury it in the side of his neck and...stop that...not here...not now...oh, maybe I need some soup...that sounds promising...easy to fix...
I made it through my shopping...barely...and was loading the few sacks into my 4-wheel drive mid-size SUV when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I turned reluctantly to see Mrs. Stover pushing a stroller, complete with sleeping toddler, and heading straight for me.
“Rachel, it’s good to see you. How have you been?”
“Fine,” I lied as I finished with the groceries and shut the back door. “I just mailed you the rent check. Sorry, I didn’t know you were in town.”
“I don’t mind dropping by and picking it up...or sending one of the kids. There’s no need to waste a stamp.”
“It gives Mr. Fenton something to do,” I said with a shrug, making a weak attempt at humor.
“You mean something besides gossiping with all the ladies,” Mrs. Stover agreed with a laugh.
“Well, it was nice seeing you again. I should...”
“I know you’re in a hurry to get your cold stuff home and in the fridge, but I wanted to make sure you knew about the Christmas pageant the children are putting on at the church this Saturday. The proceeds will be going into a fund to help us repair the roof. It’s definitely seen better days.”
“Oh, well...” I began as I opened my purse, “let me donate some money...”
“Actually, Richard bought so many extra tickets that I was hoping you might consider using one of them. We could pick you up and that way you won’t have to go alone...”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you,” I hedged as I made a great show of taking my keys out of my purse and opening the driver’s side door, desperately hoping she’d take the hint.
“Oh...okay...”
I had to get out of there...fast...before I started bawling right there in the middle of town.
Images of Brian and Brianna dressed in their costumes...Brian grumbling because he had to be a wise man and was stuck wearing what he scornfully called a dress while Brianna got the cool sheep costume...Brianna crying because she wanted to be the angel...Gary grinning from ear to ear as I tried to deal with it all, just glad he’d made it home in time for the production...all of it flashed through my mind and the tide of emotion that rose up inside of me had me gasping for air as if I were drowning.
Slamming the vehicle into gear I spun out, leaving the surprised woman in a cloud of dirt.
By the time I returned home, I could barely see the road...or what passed for a road...through my tears.
Par for the course.
I carried the groceries into the house and dumped them on the table, promptly collapsing into one of the chairs in a fit of weeping. Once the storm passed, I lifted my head, pushed some recalcitrant strands of hair out of my face, shoving them behind my ears, and eyed the groceries balefully.
“I hope you’re worth it because that was painful and I’m not doing it again anytime soon.”
“And I hope you bought enough for two,” an amused British voice offered from behind me.
With a startled gasp, I stood up and turned so quickly I knocked the kitchen chair onto its side. Ignoring the overturned piece of furniture, I took in the extremely handsome, but aging, blonde-haired man standing in the middle of my living room eyeing me speculatively.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
