Moments in Time: The Complete Novella Collection

  Moments in Time

  The Complete Novella Collection

  By Dori Lavelle

  Copyright © 2014 by Dori Lavelle All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Art: Najla Qamber

  Editors: Leah Wohl-Pollack and Samantha Gordon Formatting: IndieMobi (indiemobi.wordpress.com)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are 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.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Book 1: Entangled Moments

  Book 2: Rekindled Moments

  Book 3: Bittersweet Moments

  For My Wonderful Readers

  Book Description

  Entangled Moments

  Four years ago, Carlene Adams made a deadly mistake. A tragic accident derailed the future she’d hoped for, taking the life of the man she’d planned to spend forever with.

  As a self-imposed penance for her solitary sin, she has given up on every dream she ever had.

  When she meets Nick Johnson, the single kiss they share awakens desires she shoved aside for so long. But just as she begins to believe in a fresh start, she’s forced to realize a horrible truth—one with the power to send her second chance crashing before it even takes off.

  Rekindled Moments

  After Nick discovers that Carlene is responsible for someone’s death, he disappears from her life.

  Soon, rumors about Carlene’s past cause her life to spin out of control, and she finds herself even further from her dreams.

  Even though Carlene is good at hiding from the past, she can’t move on without telling Nick the truth about the life he thinks she took.

  Bittersweet Moments

  Six years ago, Melisa Bergfeld’s husband died.

  Left with a life she no longer wants, she seeks salvation in a homeless shelter. For a while, that’s more than enough.

  But when a fire breaks out, in walks the man who will try to save her life.

  Florian “Heat” Dane has left behind a trail of broken hearts in his wake. For all the girls he’s used to fill the hole in his heart, there has been just one he could never forget—Melisa, his dead best friend’s wife. Now that she’s back in his life, he will do anything to recapture her heart.

  Melisa still has feelings for Heat, but when he confesses his love for her, she fears her secrets from the past will destroy any hopes of a future together.

  Entangled Moments (Moments in Time #1)

  By Dori Lavelle

  Chapter One

  Lids heavy with sleep, I pulled myself to a sitting position. My toes curled as my feet made contact with the cool, tiled floor. Start of summer, and yet the sleeping hall never warmed up.

  I shivered as I ran the palms of my hands over my bed sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles of the night.

  Time to wake Melisa, whose bed was positioned to the right of mine. We both relied on my cell phone alarm, but Melisa didn’t respond to the ringing.

  “Melisa, wake up,” I said, approaching her bed.

  “Go to hell.” She pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around her petite body.

  “Come on, we’re on breakfast duty.”

  She sighed, and shoved the blanket from her body. Her sluggish movements roused suspicion inside me. “You had a drink last night, didn’t you?”

  “Do I look drunk to you?” Her heavy lashes flew up to reveal bloodshot eyes.

  “Yes, you do.” I hated to think what alcohol would do to her beauty. Even after all she’d gone through, at thirty-four, Melisa Bergfeld’s beauty hadn’t faded. Her amber eyes, fiery hair, and curves in all the right places made most everyone look twice. I, on the other hand, was tall and slim with minimal curves and full auburn hair that lacked luster. But I wouldn’t trade my baby blue eyes for anything. They reminded me of the mother I’d never known. All memories of my biological parents were photographs.

  My parents died in a car crash when I was two, and I grew up in The Serendipity Sunshine Orphanage and later with several foster parents. My last foster family cared for me as if I were their own. They moved to Germany—my foster mother’s home country—when I moved out at eighteen.

  “One beer, that’s all,” Melisa admitted as she folded her blanket carefully. It was one of the Oasis Shelter rules for neatness. All beds should be well-made, and sleeping areas tidy at all times.

  On our way to the bathroom, we walked down the aisle created by thirty beds, fifteen on each side.

  The female staff bathroom had two shower cubicles, a sink, and a toilet with a broken cover. Nothing fancy, but at least it was clean. Unlike the two residents’ bathrooms. No matter how much they were scrubbed down, the mildew, grime, and dried globs of toothpaste never disappeared from the walls and sinks.

  “Morning, Suzie. Hi, Jade.” The two women, both in their early thirties, stood at the sink, brushing their teeth. They nodded at my greeting.

  “I need a strong coffee. My head is about to explode.” Melisa’s back slumped against the wall, as we waited for our turn at the sink.

  “What you need is to stop drinking.” I extracted her toothbrush from her hand and squeezed toothpaste on it.

  “I’ll stop tomorrow.” She wrapped one of her red pigtails around her hand.

  “Isn’t that what you always say?” Lauren finger-combed her short, spiky black hair.

  “And I mean it every time,” Melisa retorted. “What’s it to you, anyway? At least I’m not a crack addict.”

  “You know very well I kicked the habit years ago.”

  “Once a drug addict, always a drug addict.” When Melisa was drunk or hungover, her fuse was as short as a matchstick.

  “Same as a drunk.” Jade intervened to defend her friend, but then sighed. “We’re just trying to help.”

  “You can help a lot by butting out of my business.”

  Jade and Lauren both shook their heads and left the bathroom.

  “Melisa, we’re all in Oasis to heal. Putting each other down only worsens things.” I handed her back the toothbrush.

  “I know. That Lauren just drives me mad sometimes. Come on, let’s finish up here.”

  ***

  Two other women were on duty with us in the kitchen—Rory, a resident, and Lynnette Magill, a frail woman with grey hair who founded the shelter.

  By quarter to six, two large pots of coffee and two of tea stood on the scarred wooden table next to the kitchen entrance. Melisa sliced the bread, and I smeared the slices with peanut butter and strawberry jam. Halfway through, my knife scraped the bottom of the jam jar. At Oasis, that spelled disaster. Some residents would throw a tantrum if they didn’t have their bread with both jam and peanut butter, as they were used to. It had happened before—some disgruntled resident got aggressive and threw a punch at one of the helpers.

  Working at Oasis could be dangerous sometimes, and exhausting, what with the long hours. But nothing could compare to the feeling of being there for people in need. In my case, it was also an opportunity to hide from the past and atone for my sins. By helping others get by, I helped myself. The more strenuous the work, the better. It gave me less time to think, to remember.

  “I guess you’ll have
to run to Shop ‘n’ Carry,” Lynnette said in her deep voice, unexpected for such a small woman. “Three jars should be enough. I’m sending out some orders on Wednesday.”

  The Serendipity Shop ‘n’ Carry chain of grocery stores had once belonged to Matthew Magill, Lynnette’s father. Though he had sold the chain at a nice profit, it still occasionally donated food to Oasis.

  Getting out sounded perfect. I’d already planned to go out for my monthly prayer at Grace Chapel.

  ***

  I descended the front steps two at a time, and hurried down the street, past The Rising Dough. The door to the bakery was half open, and the aroma of cinnamon bread wafted out. My mouth watered, so I increased my pace to avoid being lured in by the smell. As I neared the chapel, I considered going in but then decided to stop by on my way back. When I spotted a queue that started at the door of Patty’s Petals, cut across the pavement, and stretched all the way into the street, I slowed down. Cars honked, and people laughed and talked, excitement dripping from their voices.

  Patty, her breasts spilling out of a too-small dress, handed out bouquets of flowers and single roses. Today was her favorite day. The Rose Petal Festival occurred every year on the first day of summer, drawing people from not only Serendipity and other towns in Door County, but from the rest of Wisconsin. A yearly tradition, attended by lovers and seekers of love. People brought food, drink, music, and of course, rose petals from loved ones and admirers to sprinkle into Lake Serendipity at midnight—a wish for good fortune in love. It wasn’t my favorite day, though. The Festival reminded me only of the day Chris died. But I had to find a way to get through it.

  “Excuse me.” I pushed my way through the queue, breaking it into two.

  Twenty minutes later, I was headed back to Oasis. With every step, the jars of jam chinked against each other inside my carrier bag as I quickened my step.

  But I stopped abruptly in front of the chapel, my stomach clenched with tension.

  A black Porsche was parked near the entrance. Expensive cars were a rarity in this part of Serendipity.

  Brushing aside my surprise, I lugged the jam jars—and my heart—up the cracked steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The cool interior smelled of burning candles and comfort.

  I parted my lips and slowly breathed out.

  For years, I’d lived life holding my breath, except when I came here once a month to exhale. I wouldn’t call myself a religious person, even if I did believe in God and had attended a church service every Sunday as a child with Aunt Deena from the orphanage. But today, as always, I longed for the soothing power of prayer.

  I slipped into the last pew to the right and placed my bag on the burnished wooden seat, next to a leather-bound hymnbook. The chink of glass against glass rang out and echoed in the silent chapel. I looked up, ready to apologize if I’d disturbed someone’s quiet moment.

  Apart from a tall, suited man lighting a candle at a stand near the altar, the church was isolated. He didn’t turn from the dancing flame of the candle. But his broad shoulders slumped forward, and he shook his head as if unwilling to come to terms with something.

  Relieved not to have disturbed him, I clasped my hands and closed my eyes to see the darkness in my soul. All I remembered were the events of that fateful day.

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes and then spilled out, unhindered, warming my cheeks and dripping onto my hands. With every drop that fell, guilt and regret shredded my insides.

  I opened my mouth to pray, but the words froze inside my throat. After all this time, I still found it difficult to put into words what I’d done. Every time I came here, words failed me, and I ended up praying without them, asking silently for the forgiveness I could never give myself.

  A lot could happen in four years. People forget and move on, start over. Yet I found it hard to unglue myself from the past. How could I move on with the guilt weighing me down?

  Did I even deserve a new start?

  Blinding grief ripped through my chest and stomach as I returned to that morning. The one that had shattered me in every way possible, erased any chance of me ever living a normal life again.

  “Are you all right?”

  I wiped the tears from my face and looked up into eyes that sparkled in the dim lighting. They belonged to someone who smelled of fresh linen and vanilla. The man who, a few minutes ago, had been lighting a candle.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” My cheeks flushed.

  I quickly picked up my things and headed for the opposite end of the pew, down the aisle, and back out the door into the morning sunshine. Pausing on the steps, I steadied myself.

  “You didn’t look okay back there.”

  I wheeled around and met the most vivid emerald eyes. I used to think my ex, Chris, had the most gorgeous eyes. They were the same shade of green. But this man’s were captivating, electric.

  My gaze slid to his full and well-shaped lips, the strong, square chin with a hint of a dimple in the center. A current raced through me, almost knocking me over.

  Attempting nonchalance, I leaned against the brick wall and sucked in a breath. “I’m fine. I appreciate your concern.”

  His lips stretched into a dimpled smile, and to my horror, he wiped a remnant tear from my cheek. “People who are fine don’t shed these.” He paused. “Unless they’re happy, of course. But I don’t think you are.”

  Goose pimples prickled my arms, and I looked away. “I have to go.” Unburdening my problems on a stranger wasn’t in my plans. Not even if the stranger was a handsome one. Why would I tell him what I preferred to keep hidden, forgotten?

  He gazed at his watch and then back up at me. “Look, you clearly need someone to talk to. So do I. I know I’m a stranger, but I’m a nice stranger. I promise. How about a quick coffee?”

  I tightened my grip on the strap of my grocery bag. I wanted to walk away from this man. I knew I had to return to the shelter with the jam, but…

  “Okay.” The word surprised both me and the stranger. Neither of us had expected me to accept his offer. But something about him made it impossible for me to walk away.

  Chapter Two

  The Coffee Dash was his café of choice.

  I breathed in the aroma of coffee and chocolate as we walked past the cash register, positioned next to a display case filled with brownies, cupcakes, and cookies on one side and sandwiches on the other. The handsome stranger caught the eye of just about every woman in the café. In a way, it made me feel special to be the woman by his side. Even if I had no idea who he was.

  “Table at the back, please,” he said to a bulbous-nosed waitress who wouldn’t stop gawking at him. How rude. If I were his girlfriend, I’d have been offended.

  The waitress ignored a couple beckoning for her at another table and led us to a booth in the back. She handed me a menu, but her gaze stayed fixed on my companion’s face. When she went to give him his own menu, she dropped it. Her hands were actually shaking.

  The man picked up the laminated menu and handed it back to her. “I don’t need this, thank you. Bring me a strong coffee with milk. No sugar.”

  “I’ll have the same.” I said. I had just about enough money in my purse for coffee.

  The waitress nodded at him. I’d be surprised if she remembered my order.

  As soon as the waitress left, he asked me, “So, why do you look so sad?”

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to remain calm. Normally, simple questions called for simple answers. Not in this case. I rarely talked about this to anyone, except Lynnette and Melisa, and of course the therapist who volunteered at the shelter once a week. “Who were you lighting a candle for?” I asked, to give myself time to think.

  “I asked you a question first. But okay, let’s start with me.” A trace of humor laced his voice, but his expression darkened. “I was lighting a candle for my brother. He died a few years ago. The memorial was held at Grace Chapel.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Your turn.”

  “Well.” I reached for a napkin and twisted it between my fingers. “It’s hard to…”

  “Confide in a stranger?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. It was hard confiding in anyone.

  He slid forward in his chair, and his knee brushed mine under the table. “I’m Nick, if that makes me seem less like a stranger.”

  “I’m Carlene.” An involuntary smile curled my lips. “And yes, it does help to know your name.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “A few years ago, my boyfriend passed away. The memorial was also held at Grace Chapel.”

  “Please accept my condolences.” Tenderness filled his green eyes.

  At that moment, the waitress appeared with two cups and placed them in front of us.

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t order tea,” I said. “I wanted a coffee.”

  “Really? I’m pretty sure you ordered—”

  “Excuse me,” Nick looked up at the waitress. “Sally, is it?”

  She glanced at the name tag on the lapel of her shirt, as though confirming her own name. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, Lauren. My friend did order coffee. Would you mind getting it for her, please?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  A moment later, she came back with the coffee. “I’m sorry about the confusion, ma’am.”

  “No problem,” I said, and she left.

  “Death is not an easy thing to come to terms with.” Nick said, picking up where we’d left off. “Especially if you lose someone close. It’s so final.” He lifted his coffee to his lips and drank, despite the steam curling up from the cup.

  Especially if you watch someone die before your eyes, I thought. “I’d never experienced anything so painful before.”

  Nick lowered his cup to the table and reached out, paused, then squeezed my hand. He released it almost immediately, but I wished he had lingered for just a moment longer.