Just a quick note to let you

all know, I was able to secure

a computer, so it doesn't look

like I will have to be MIA afterall.

Yay!

Have an awesome week, everyone!

Sneak Peek ~ Coming May 20th!

They rode without helmets around the cluster of trees and brush. The wind whirled around them, and she secretly wished they’d keep going, not wanting the euphoric sensation to end. Shane followed a path in the grass left by the caravan’s tires. Her eyes widened upon seeing the camp. A small group of men sat to one side while women in a swirl of sheer fabric danced for them.

On their fingers, they wore metal plates of some kind, keeping rhythm with the swing of their hips. Scarves fringed with tiny bells added to the enchanted melody. The rumble of Belle stilled their dance.

Her hold on him tightened as he maneuvered his way to park alongside their panel truck—the same truck she saw each fall when her family sold their wares at the fair in Langley. Not exactly the type of people her family would be happy to see her associating with.

Her breath hitched. A large man, who reminded her of Raven, approached them. She stood at Shane’s side and held on to his arm as if it were a lifeline. Any resemblance to Raven dissipated with his wide-toothed smile. She loosened her grip.

“Welcome,” said the stranger, shaking Shane’s hand, “and who is this lovely lady?”

“This is Tia. Tia this is Tito.”

She squeezed his hand and kept her gaze down.

“Well, come on and meet the family, little lady.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her toward the fire.

Tia looked back at Shane, who wore a stupid smirk on his face, despite how she pleaded for help with her eyes. He’s not even going to help. How can he let a perfect stranger lead me off like this and not say a word?

“I’d like you all to welcome our new friends, Tia and Shane.” Tito passed her around like a peace pipe. By the time he finished with the introductions, she couldn’t remember any of their names.

An older woman stood up by the fire. Her regal stature commanded respect. “Unhand the poor girl,” she scolded and smacked his arm. “You’ll crush her, you big oaf!”

The big man dropped his arm and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

The men had coerced Shane over to the bike where they bombarded him with a million questions he seemed all too happy to answer. She should have known. You’d think he’d tire of the same questions over and over. Nothing could be further from the truth. He stroked Belle, beaming with pride.

“Tia is a lovely name. My name is Sylvia.”

Tia smiled. The woman’s presence intimidated her. A bright yellow outfit clung to her frame. The top looked more like a fancy bra, showing off ample cleavage and a bare midriff. In her belly button, a stunning green stone sparkled. A long skirt adorned with sequins and panels of sheer fabric fluttered in the breeze. Never had she been this close to a woman so confident in her sexuality; Tia couldn’t have been more uncomfortable.

“What are you and your husband doing out here on that motorcycle? Where do you keep all of your things?”

Laughter spilled out of her in spite of how awkward she felt. “We pack everything we need in the saddlebags and strap our beds to the front,” Tia replied. “Shane is not my husband.” Heat rushed to her face; she didn’t really understand why saying this would make her blush.

“I can’t imagine. You’d never get me on one of those machines for all the rubies in the world.” Sylvia straightened her stance. “Marko!”

A dark and decidedly attractive man answered. “What?”

“You can drool over the motorcycle another time. Come get our guests something to drink.”

His gaze scanned the length of Tia with open appreciation. The corner of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. His chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and he winked. She quickly diverted her gaze, feeling like he’d been undressing her with his eyes. Never would any of the men in her tribe be so bold.

The men made their way back to the fire. Sylvia’s words seemed to hold great credence in this family, reminding Tia of her own mother. The back of her eyelids prickled. She breathed deeply, willing the tears away.

Before long, everyone sat around the fire. Two of the women were sent after Marko to help fetch the wine. Shane’s attempt to decline the offer of wine fell on deaf ears. Despite the fact neither of them really drank, they accepted the dark red substance rather than offend their gracious hosts.

Tia brought her cup to her lips. The pungent aroma caused a shiver to run down her spine. It smelled nothing like the Sarsaparilla from home. The bitter liquid left a trail of warmth down the back of her throat, exploding in her belly. She set the cup on her lap and feigned a smile.

On cue, the women started to dance again. Their jiggling breasts kept perfect time with the small cymbals tied to their fingers. The men clapped, cheering them on, openly appreciating their dance. Shane smiled and clapped his hands along with the rest of the men.

Tia wanted to cover his eyes and take him away. Her jeans and long sleeved t-shirt paled in comparison to all the glitz and glitter that swirled past them. The women of the camp all had long luxurious hair, so black it was almost blue. Jeweled headbands glittered with the slightest tilt of their heads. She ran a hand down the length of her hair that she’d put back in a quick braid before getting on the bike. No way in hell could she compete for his affection against such women. She could only hope when they left this camp tonight that she’d never have to deal with the likes of them again.

The younger girl, Gracie, swooped close to Shane and trailed the sheer fabric strapped to her wrists along his jaw line. She arched her back and shook her belly; her breasts jiggled seductively just inches from his face.

Never had Tia been so appalled. How could she? Did Sylvia tell Gracie that Shane isn’t my husband? I should have lied. Her nails dug into the fabric of her jeans. For the first time in her life, she wanted to scratch another woman’s eyes out.

The second she moved away, Tia tugged at Shane’s shirtsleeve and whispered in his ear, “Can we go, please?”

He frowned. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

She shook her head. “It’s the wine. I think it’s making me sick.” Concern replaced his annoyance, and guilt enveloped her for the lie. Maybe she’d confess later. Right now, all she wanted to do was to get as far away from these women who looked at Shane with hungry expressions. The sooner the better.

1-

2-

3-

4-

5-

6-

7-

8-

9-

10-

11-

12-

13-

A woman with a great sense of humor used to say that when she died she wanted a parking meter on her grave that says 'Expired'. So her nephew got her one on eBay! Her grave is right by the road so everyone can see it and many people have stopped to get a chuckle. We could all learn something from her...

Please check out my trailer in the previous post.

Tell me what you think!

Please leave a comment and tell me what you think of my very first trailer. Didn't Brett do a fabulous job? For those of you who have read Iron Horse Rider, does it capture the book? I hope you enjoy it!

I wanted to take a few minutes to tell you all I will be offline

for awhile. As of this Saturday, May 3rd, I will be unavailable.

I am hoping this will only be for a short amount of time, but

it's a very real possibility it could be longer than I hope.

Please mark your calendar, May 2oth the sequel to Iron Horse Rider

Iron Horse Rider 2- Coming Home will be released through

Wild Child Publishing.

I will check in whenever I can. I'm praying the library in our tiny town

will have computer time available to me.

Good wishes, positive vibes and prayers are welcome at this time

in my life and the lives of my children.

Until next time,

Wishing you Miles of Smiles :)

I'm honored today to have an most incredible woman here on my blog. WyzWmn is the epitome of 'the real deal'. I've admired her for a few years now and decided to share her with all of you. I hope you find her as fascinating as I do. Thank you for agreeing to this interview, WyzWmn... Can you tell us how you got your nickname? I started out being called Baby…it happened when I was about 13 or 14 because all of my friends at the time were at least 10 years older than I….as time went on and my life evolved through many incantations people began to tell me that I was wise.

For years I suffered from the worst PMS known to humanity and during some periods of time I was known as “PMS365”. Mostly cos friends had it airbrushed on my leather jacket at one point and because truthfully – they were the people that suffered my wrath. LoL.

Eventually, it came to pass that I became the older and more mature member of the people I was associating with...as I am a story teller, and oft times told I am “painfully” honest people began to call me Wise Woman. When I was living in Northern ON friends purchased a personalized plate for me…and a friend “anagrammed” the nickname to WyzWmn….that was more than 25 years ago…and it’s stuck…now people just call me Wyz ….as in Wise – but there has been the occasional person that likes to pronounce it Wyz as in Wizard - I must confess I don’t get that…but hey…they could be calling me worse things!

I love your ‘Pickle’. Can you tell my readers who/what your Pickle is and how did the name come to be?

The Pickle is a 34 yr old lime green metal flake VW trike made by a company in White Bear Lake MN called the Trike Shop – a V Cycle. She belonged to a lady in the US who sold her back to the Trike Shop and she was then purchased by a BC Ferries officer who imported her to Vancouver Island.

When I moved to BC I was too sick to ride…and was a couple of years without any ride at all. Apparently, (unbeknownst to me…I hum under my breath) I’d been humming Arlo Guthrie’s “Motorcycle Song” all the time. When my next ride turned out to be a 74 lime green trike she somehow just got called a “motorpickle” all the time…and that got shortened to the Pickle.

She is a legend in her own mind!

Have you always ridden a Trike?

I didn’t actually get my license until I was 40… I took MSC and that was mostly because I could get an insurance discount….but I found out that I’d been doing things wrong for years! (I can not stress enough what a good idea it is to take a safety course!)

Over the years there’s been a few bikes, an old triumph chopper, a sporty, a road king and even a servicar…then I got sick and moved to BC…I didn’t think I’d ever be able to ride again…so when I moved to BC I worked as a volunteer for the Ride for Sight in order to meet people that rode when I moved here (I’d done it for years in NW ON) So I was out here a couple of years before I found the Pickle by accident, and was well enough to ride again.

Riding a VW trike is different than riding a triked MC in that your brake and clutch still require the use of leg muscles on a large scale, and cornering is a whole different ball game than riding on 2 wheels….but in the end…riding a trike is better than not riding at all!

I’m a faithful reader of the ongoing story you post on your blog. Please tell us about it.

It’s hard to put the story into a synopsis.

It’s a true story of a time in my life where I experienced some really really good and really really not so good times. I’ve distorted the names (to keep myself out of court) and I’ve distorted the time line to make it more readable….and truthfully there are some things that are just too impossible to share….I don’t know if I ever will because I vacillate between readability vs. truth vs. PTSD.

It’s a story about life, and death and the good, the bad, and the ugly of the MC lifestyle. I hope it gives insight to people about why I am the person that I am, how I ended up being me so to speak. I was young, made some decisions, learned a whole bunch.

I only post it on my blog because I’m a junkie for that “instant gratification” thing. I like responses to what I’ve written…but the blog does come with a disclaimer. I write the way I speak…and I cuss lots…and I’m not a Christian….some people can’t handle that so I figure for warned is fore armed.

I am first and foremost a storyteller.

How long have you been shaving your head? What made you decide to do it?

I am bald.

I have androgenic idiopathic alopecia (who you calling an idiot?)...which means that the men on both sides of my family have male pattern baldness and the women on both sides of my family have female pattern baldness...and by the luck of the draw I inherited all those lovely genes. :-}When I was young I had a huge head of thick, straight waist long hair. It didn't start to fall out till I was in my 30's but when it did it was devestating. We, as humans, tie way too much of ourselves up in how we look. In spite of what some may say, humans are vain by nature.Round about the same time my hair started to leave, (just like Elvis)

I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. Crohn’s in itself ain't a bunch o fun...but one of the myriad side effects of Crohn's is hair loss and low and behold guess what a side effect of the Crohn's medication is??? (sure as hell you can bet it isn't indiscriminate hair growth!!!)When the first significant amount of hair loss happened (I was getting more than my fair share in the brush by then) I was sitting at my desk at my then job trying to puzzle out a problem in one of the departments and was getting frustrated. I put my pen down as I leaned on my elbows and scrubbed my palms over my face and forehead. When I looked up all of the hair that would have been my bangs (if I’d worn bangs but it was waist long all the way around) was gone. Well not exactly gone…it was lying on that frustrating document on my desk. Just like that. Talk about freak out! In time it would be that I had some bangs but not enough for confidence…and then it all came out in two fist sized spots on either side of my head over my ears.Over the years I became the queen of the comb over trying to hide the naked spots. I tried every product known to man…and got more and more insecure…for years I checked my hair (most specifically the bald spot on my forehead) at least every 20-min if not every 30 seconds. I used barrels and gallons of hair spray. It now makes me laugh that I could chastise people for making me breath 2nd hand smoke but I thought nothin of standing in that toxic cloud of hair glue several times a day. I always wore a beanie or a bandana under my helmet…cos if it looked so bad to me when it was fixed, can you imagine how I perceived it to look when I took my bucket off?Women my mother’s age cried for me. Men just ignored me in general. To make a long story a little shorter…I became a shadow of who I was…always concerned about what I looked like (not that it ever made or helped me loose weight) I was self conscious cubed. For several years I talked about shaving my head…but was always afraid. I was afraid it would be uglier.I made an appt Sept 12/01 after watching the news about the disaster in New York. It just seemed to me that the time for piddlin around had passed and I needed to take some big steps in getting my life back to what it once was. The horror of September 11th was a wake up call for me all the way out here on the left coast of Canada. I took my mother with me and we had a little ritual with the lady that cuts my hair…sorta a comin out party…HA! we had a hair cotillion!!!

So now I shave it daily. I use no shampoo, conditioner, hair spray, hair color, dryer, brush, comb, scissors…the upside is that I do not check my head in the mirror a bazillion times a day. I got my sense of humour back and I could care less what other people do or say around me. I no longer feel like people are talking about me…but to me.The down side is almost an up side as well. As a woman…who the hell knew you had to change your razor blades more than 2 times a year!!! :-} This is something that all men know… how many of you have heard the man in your household (partner, friend, son or lover) yell “who the hell has been cutting carpets with my razor???”My helmet was a challenge at first, floppin around like it belonged to my big brother…till I went for a ride and discovered how cold the wind is on virgin skin…so I wear a medium weight stocking cap…and it fits better than it did before.In general, people seem to see me differently now. Women as a whole start out not being able to look me in the eye…the natural assumption being that I am undergoing chemo. And bringing the subject up is another one of those perceived societal taboos. On the other hand, men want to touch it, to rub my head. (If I’d have know that I’d have likely shaved my head 17 years ago…who knows…I mighta got a date!)But mostly I have changed. I have now had a couple of years hair free. I still have the regular ups and downs of day to day life, but I have stopped worrying about how I look. It is truly liberating…and I love it!

Have you ever been discriminated against because of your lifestyle choice?

Too many times to tell….but here’s an instance that happened in 2003 when I was BC’s Ride for Sight Chair.

I’d attended the Vancouver International Motorcycle show that January. I’d worked like a loon all weekend in the booth and then met with some friends to go out for dinner.

At this point I must say that I am an administrative manager by trade. I’ve owned my own businesses, I’ve worked for the government on more than one occasion and I’m educated (besides being a smart cookie) I have a basic belief in the premise that people will treat you well if you treat them well. Courtesy begets courtesy etc.

I was with 4 people that evening. One couple was comprised of a Manager for the Vancouver Transit system and a Nurse Manager of a health complex and the other couple was comprised of a Chef and a glass plant supervisor.

So we all go to a place in for dinner. I was wearing my riding jacket with vest including a rather large RFS patch on the back (Canada’s largest and longest running mc charity the patch is part of a red maple leaf with an eyeball superimposed over it). One couple was wearing brown leather leisure jackets and one couple was wearing oilskin dusters as it was pouring rain. (que’elle surprise in the rainy valley of the lower mainland)

So we went in for dinner…we had a relatively quiet meal... (the noise coming from the pub sound system...not us) a few laughs and my friends all had a couple of drinks each...several times during the course of our 2 and a half hours in the pub the other ladies at our table donned their coats and went outside for a cigarette as smoking is not allowed in the pub. The pub was slow at the time and over the course of our time there we actually talked with and joked with 3 of the wait staff. The food was good, and we enjoyed ourselves to this point.

About the time we were getting ready to leave there appears a bunch of bouncers in matching t-shirts sorta hovering around the table talking to each other on walkie talkies.

Once we paid our bill and started out the door we were informed that "our kind" are not welcome in their establishment....that they don't serve bikers and we should have "checked our f**King leathers at the door" as they don't allow leather in the pub.

Notice they didn't tell us before we spent our money? Just as they didn't ask us to check anything upon entering the establishment...nor did they say anything to either of the ladies when they left and returned from their trips out doors for a cigarette.

As we left that night I spotted a huge sign (the size of a full sheet of plywood painted white with black lettering) now posted in the lobby of the pub stipulating their rules about “leather”. (I know without question that it wasn’t there when we arrived nor while we ate) I suggested rather unkindly that the bouncers should take off their boots as they were leather too, and we left. I know without question that I was incensed.

I came home and wrote the story up and posted it and the name of the pub and the phone number of same on every forum I belong to. As a result the owner of the pub received phone calls to complain about his particular type of discrimination from all over the world.

A lawyer took up the cause and went to see the pub owner to set crystal clear expectations of his rights. Yes he has the right to refuse service, but he does not have the right to discriminate after the fact, nor does he have the right to verbally abuse patrons after accepting their money in exchange for products.

My friends that live there say there is no sign in the lobby anymore, nor is there any problem with them wearing their riding jackets into the pub when the stop by to eat.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

I would live in a greyhound bus with a matching pull trailer for the Pickle, and I’d travel North America…it would take me years to see every little town and village and burg…. I’d get somewhere, park the bus as a home base and then Pickle it to explore…. It could take me years!

If you had the power to change one thing in the world, what would it be and why?

I’d call on Peace. Just that….I’d like peace so that the “have’s” would stop killing the “have nots”….I’d like people to stop killing each other over religious stances. I’d like people to stop hurting each other….sounds simple enough…but apparently it isn’t.

I’ve made it no secret how I feel about your writing. You have a definite gift for the written word. Do you think you’ll ever take the plunge into the publishing pool?

I’m often told by friends that my writing is good enough…but I also often think they tell me that because they are my friends and they love me.

As a result though, I’ve thought about it often, I think I’m motivationally challenged but it could also be that I’m scared that taking the plunge and having to write to a deadline might just take the fun outta it for me. Writing is all about emotion for me…I can’t see that being “job worthy.”

Besides, I see the work that you do to promote yourself and I can’t imagine how I’d ever find the time to hold down a full time job and do the writing and promotional stuff that you do. Like I said before…I have Crohn’s Disease and anyone that lives with a life altering disease can tell you that you have to choose your battles….for me…I chose to ride when I can, sleep when I can, rest when I can and work when I can to support myself….and when I can’t do any of those things I wait.

I wait until I can again.

I see on your blog a button that reads, Pagan living. Can you tell us what all that entails?

Well that’s a story and a half. I’m a pagan.

The button on my blog is a link to a site that I belong to (one of many) that assists pagans in finding information about our walk of life or life’s path.

I was raised in a religiously confused household, my mother was ambiguous about religion but my father professed to be a devout Anglican. He’d made a deal with god when he was 14 (yet another long story) and he was determined to keep his word and not forsake god.

However, in those days, my father also perpetrated the cycle of abuse that I lived through in my formative years and he wasn’t a very good husband either. As a young adult I could not reconcile myself with (as Billie Holliday would sing) the concept of “go to church on Sunday, cabaret all day Monday”.

So as a young adult I started on a quest for information. I was of course romanced by the idea of being different…isn’t that part of what humanity strives for?

I felt that the spirituality I wanted could not be found in the kind of dogma and ritual of a Christian church and so I started exploring. Having been sick all my life, and having spent countless hours in hospital, in bed or just being assigned to the couch till further notice, being “taken away” by reading fantasy novels (I still do!) found me fascinated by the idea of majick. Little did I know that my idea of magic could in fact be called spirituality, and what a surprise it was to find that rituals actually became comforting and maybe even necessary?

Through studying I came to understand that the majick I want and believe in can be found in the earth, in the people around me and yes, even in myself. Through my studies I became a diviner (intuitive), and became grounded enough to be able to understand just how cyclical my physical being is.

Remember the PMS I mentioned earlier? I found out that I was lunar, and tidal, and that my mood swings mirrored those of the changes of the moon and the tides. Having any kind of explanation for the fact that I’d had screaming arguments with inanimate objects like the iron for not heating up fast enough was a balm to my soul. Understanding that was like a door opening for me.

As a middle aged adult I believe that majick can be found anywhere, we simply have to look…and that as long as I strive to be a “good” person, I’ll be open to seeing it.

Do you have any words of wisdom you’d like to leave with us today?

It always surprises me when people ask me to be wise. I don’t specifically have wisdom to pass on and I don’t see myself as profound.

I do see myself open to suggestion, and to be able to find humour in areas or perceptions that apparently most people don’t. I feel that I am a “work in progress” and believe that through sharing gratitudes I’ll continue to learn.

And that, in my not so humble opinion is what life is all about…continuing to learn.

Thank you so much for agreeing to let me interview you, WyzWmn. I've always admired your humorous outlook on life and wanted to share you with all of my readers. If you'd like to check out Wyz's online story, visit her BLOG or friend her on MYSPACE

I hope you enjoyed this interview. It is being posted as part of on online Biker Carnival. Visit Raven's Rides for a list of other participants. Have fun!

Thirteen Favorite Bumper Stickers

1-

2-

3-

4-

5-

6-

7-

8-

9-

10-

11-

12-

13-

Simply Romance Reviews gives Smiling Eyes an A (outstanding read) http://www.simplyromancereviews.com/srrreviews/smilingeyes.aspx

Lynda says:

I really enjoyed Smiling Eyes by Adelle Laudan. It was a very fast paced read with some surprise thrown into this sweet contemporary book. Lizzy’s stepfather is a horrible and almost ruthless character—just oozing evil. But Adam is definitely the knight in shining armor to Lizzy’s damsel in distress and you know that good has to win out over evil. I highly recommend this charming book. You won’t be disappointed.

Smiling Eyes Contemporary

~Winner of P&E Best Romance of 2007

~Freya Bower Anniversary Winner

Available in Print and Ebook at Freyas Bower Publishing

Excerpt:

The front door slammed shut, silencing Lizzy’s eighteenth birthday celebration. She sat at the head of the table usually reserved for her stepfather, Ben. Her mother and stepbrother, Steven, sat on either side of Lizzy. She closed her eyes to make a wish before blowing out the candles.

“Where the hell is everybody?”

Her eyelids flew open; everyone’s gazes darted down the narrow hall to the front entrance. Ben leaned against the doorjamb, a twisted grin on his face. The smell of whiskey wafted into the kitchen and soured the sweet scent of the icing. The beautifully decorated cake slowly became a puddle of melted wax.

His presence quickly changed Lizzy’s happiness to fear. She inhaled deeply and braced herself for what she knew would come next. Mentally, she counted Ben’s footsteps as he made his way to the kitchen. Every few steps, he bounced off the hall walls and stopped to regain his balance.

Even his son, who could do no wrong in Ben’s eyes, gripped the tabletop so hard his knuckles turned white. Lizzy’s mother slowly rose to her feet and stood in front of them. She took a deep breath before she lifted her chin and pushed back a stray lock of her flaming red hair.

“You’re just in time, Ben. We were getting ready to have some birthday cake.” Delia’s chipper invitation belied the tremble of fear that ran through her words.

“Birthday cake?” He loomed over the table. Spit sprayed all over the cake as he spoke. His eyes filled with anger and loathing as his glare pierced through each one of them in turn. “You mean to tell me, while I’m out slaving at the mill to put food on this table, you’re throwing my hard-earned money away on such nonsense as a birthday cake?”

Delia’s hand covered the locket around her neck; she turned it over in her hand. “Lizzy, Steven, go up to your rooms, please.”

Their chairs scraped against the wood floor. Lizzy and Steven stood and slowly inched away from the table toward the doorway.

“I don’t think so!” Ben’s fist slammed on the tabletop, silverware bounced across the shiny wood finish. He rounded the table and stuck his hand in the center of the cake. Candles toppled over in the icing. He took a handful and plopped it down in front of each of them. “You all want cake? Eat it! I’ll be damned if you’ll throw it out after spending a small fortune of MY money on it.”

“Ben!” Delia motioned for Lizzy and Steven to hurry from the room. “Please...it’s Lizzy’s birthday.”

“Lizzy’s birthday.” He mimicked, his lips twisting into an angry snarl. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s the Queen of England’s birthday.” His icing-covered fist slid off the side of the table, and he crashed to the floor where he stayed, passed out cold.

“Quick, go!” Delia pleaded with Lizzy and her stepbrother and ran to Ben’s aid.

Lizzy grabbed her mother’s shirt sleeve. “I don’t want to leave you alone with him.”

“For God’s sake, Lizzy, go! I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, she did as her mother asked and ran to the stairway that led up to her room. Steven hadn’t wasted a second in following their mother’s orders, the bang of his door reverberating throughout the old farmhouse. Lizzy stumbled up the stairs, her vision blurred. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fumbled with the doorknob and flung open the door. She slammed it shut and slid the bolt. With her back against the door, she gave in to the torrent of tears and slid down until her bottom hit the cool hardwood floor.

A loud bang stopped her crying, and she pressed her ear to the door. Her mother grunted under her stepfather’s weight, pausing after each step to catch her breath. How many times had she heard this same sound since her mother had married Ben and they’d come to live in Acadia? She knew what would happen next. Delia would put him to bed, and all the while, he’d mumble incoherently. The sun would rise in the morning, and she’d get him up for work, making him coffee and a lunch befitting a king. Not one word would be spoken about the previous night, the kitchen magically cleaned up and back to its natural state as if nothing had ever happened.

Lizzy sighed wearily upon hearing her mother’s footsteps pad back down the stairs. Under any other circumstance, she’d offer to help clean up the mess, but anger and fear kept her exactly where she sat. Slomo stretched out luxuriously from atop her bed and meowed in her direction before she jumped down and stepped onto her lap. She ran her hand through the silky mass of orange fur, and the cat turned over, offering her belly.

Lizzy hiccupped and shook her head. “Happy Birthday to me.” Her fingers slid across the soft underbelly of her most trusted confidant.

If you haven't already, I'd love for you to add me as a friend on MySpace.