Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.   Click the link to view the other participants.

In last week’s excerpt from Defining Moments, a watchful neighbor, David Thornton, has rescued Jillian from the stalker.  Now, in the aftermath, she mulls over many disturbing questions about herself.

***

A few days had gone by, but I heard nothing further from the police.
 

Frustrated, I plodded through each day, returning home at night, still nervous, but gradually feeling a return of my former ease.  I did pay more attention when I pulled into the driveway, glancing around from side to side, clicking on the automatic garage door opener, and when the door slid into place behind me, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
 

On Friday night, I entered through my kitchen door and glanced around slowly.
 

Despite my renovations, I always felt as though something was missing.  I loved how the kitchen greeted me warmly, with the golden hues on the walls and the gloss of the stainless steel appliances.  On my counter, I had lovingly placed decorative cookie jars—the ones I’d ordered from the Engelbreit online store.
 

And in the dining room, the table and chairs, with the burgundy jelly cupboard hugging the corner, beckoned.  Almost as if I were a guest appearing nightly here.
 

But I was the only guest at the party.  This fact inserted itself into my awareness at the end of each day.
 

These melancholy thoughts propelled me down a mental pathway on which I examined clues and signs I might have missed along the way.  What was it about me that had captured such a strange man’s attention?  Did I give off a “victim vibe” or did I actually look like someone desperate enough for his attention?
 

And what was it about him that had turned him into this person who preyed on lonely women?  Yes, that was the question of the day.  Perhaps it was something David would understand, since he was in the social work biz—understanding people’s motivations.  Yeah, I should ask him sometime….if I ever see him again.
 

Yet David Thornton, despite his White Knight routine, hadn’t even bothered to check on me lately.  And where were Sheila and Marianne?  After I’d told them all about what Jerry had done, they’d seemed properly sympathetic.  Followed by nothing.
 

Maybe they were blaming me.  Yeah, I could imagine how they would choose to do so.
 

The grim cloak of despair slowly descended, and for the umpteenth time in recent years, I felt all alone.

***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link to check out the other participants.

For a few weeks, we’ve been following Jillian’s journey in her newly reinvented life (from Defining Moments).  She landed in a precarious position…and we’re waiting for someone to save her.  In last week’s cliffhanger, we met a neighbor who might be just the ticket.

***

A loud rat-a-tat sounded on the door just when I’d almost given up.
 

Jerry jumped a little, piercing me with his gaze.  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
 

But I waited, hoping that whoever was at the door wouldn’t go away.  “Jillian,” someone called.  “I’m your neighbor…we’ve never met, but is everything okay in there?”
 

Before Jerry could clap his hand over my mouth, I yelled out:  “No, it’s not!”
 

And the door burst open to admit the neighbor.
 

I ran toward him, not even knowing if this person was a “friend” or another foe, but something about his face…now I recalled seeing him here and there and how kind he’d looked.
 

“Thank you!” I whispered, while glancing behind me to see what Jerry would do next.
 

“I think you’d better leave,” the neighbor spoke firmly, while pulling his cell phone from his pocket.  “I’m just about to call the police.  So you’d better hustle!”
 

Jerry had gone before David’s 9-1-1 call connected.
 

Sinking onto the couch, I breathed very slowly, in and out, while David spoke to the operator.  I heard him describe the situation, and without further ado, he returned the phone to his pocket and sat beside me.
 

“I’m David Thornton.  I live over there,” he gestured toward the home two doors down.  “I’m not really a snoop, but I couldn’t help noticing that something seemed…well, wrong over here.  I’m a social worker,” he added, “so I kind of notice things.  And so does our other neighbor, Mrs. Creighton.”  He looked apologetic.
 

“Oh, I am grateful that you did!  I’ve been so isolated and thought there was no chance anybody would come to my rescue.  I had just vowed to rectify that situation when I heard you knocking.  Thank you!”
 

“Well,” David murmured.  “Maybe now is not the time, but I would love to get to know you better.  I’m divorced, as I gather you are, too…from our neighbor, Mrs. Creighton,” he added, grinning sheepishly.
 

“Thank God for Mrs. Creighton,” I whispered.  Thinking about the social niceties for a minute, I added:  “Would you like some coffee?  Or maybe a drink?”
 

“Oh, no, I don’t need anything.  But I’ll bet you do.”  He was already headed for my bar cart, set up with various liquor and mixers.
 

I shook my head slowly.  “Actually, drinking too much tonight was my downfall, I’m afraid.  If I hadn’t, maybe I would have been more observant…”
 

“Okay,” David smiled gently.  “What can I do?  Maybe we could just talk for a bit?”
 

Nodding, I gazed into his eyes, and for a moment, I almost forgot all about the events of the evening.  “That would be wonderful.”

***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link to find other samples.

Jillian’s situation had become increasingly intense in last week’s snippet.  She is captive, with no sign of help (From WIP Defining Moments).

***

David Thornton had watched his neighbor pulling into her driveway a little earlier.  Not that he was a snoop, but his profession as a social worker had created habits of observation.  And he’d noticed this somewhat unusual neighbor ever since she’d moved in.
 

He had bought this house right after his divorce, which had been a couple of years ago.  Would he ever become accustomed to this strange new life?  His children—Jennifer, 10, and Jason, 8—visited on the weekends, which was not enough.  But that’s how things had played out in the divorce.  His ex-wife Denise had won that battle because she’d been the stay-at-home mom and he’d been the very busy social worker, sometimes working late at night.
 

By the time his new neighbor moved in, David had gradually begun noticing life around him.  Not that it took that much for him to return to his habit of observing people.  His coworkers laughingly referred to his tendency to notice everyone and their behavior as a side-effect of his profession.
 

So he’d been studying her—he had learned from the elderly woman across the street that her name was Jillian, and that she, too, was divorced—and had noticed the recent comings and goings as she apparently was doing some redecorating.  Large trucks had pulled up regularly, depositing appliances and furniture.  Sometimes he’d seen her emerge, wearing a kerchief and splattered with paint.  Amused, he awaited each day’s new chapter, almost as if he were following her progress in a book or magazine article.
 

Then he’d noticed the younger woman’s presence in the guest cottage—her daughter, Megan, according to Mrs. Creighton across-the-way—and soon Megan had left again.  Probably a college student, back to school, he’d decided.  He wondered now if any of his guesses were correct.
 

For weeks after Megan had left, he’d rarely seen Jillian, and he almost missed her.  So why had he chosen to focus on this unusual character, anyway?  Later, Mrs. Creighton had told him that Jillian was a teacher, but that she was also writing a book.  Now this detail really piqued his interest, because a part of him had always thought writing a book would be a wonderful way to express some of the situations he’d observed over the years.
 

His mind had been wandering, he decided, and he almost got up to retire for the night.  It was late, after all.  But something caught his attention in Jillian’s house.  He saw a shadowy presence moving about, and not that this was a crime, or anything, but he had never seen Jillian “entertaining” anyone, especially this late.  He peered through the window, focusing on the movements.  Was there something wrong over there?
 

He didn’t want to overreact, but then again, it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.

***

Welcome to another tasty event:  Sweet Saturday Samples.  Click on over to see who else is sharing tidbits today.

We’ve been peeking into Jillian’s world, via my WIP Defining Moments.  Last week left her in a very precarious position.

***

How much time had gone by?  I was lying on my couch and my head felt…ouch!  It hurt, I decided, slowly opening my eyes.  Circling the room with my gaze, I gradually noticed the familiar objects.  But something was wrong.  What was it?

 
Oh my God!  I realized immediately what had happened.  Someone had tackled me at the front door, and now, with increasing dismay, I realized the person was still here.

 
“Well, hi there, sleeping beauty!”  The boisterous voice filled the room as he approached.  He sat beside me confidently, as if the two of us had just had a pleasant social exchange.

 
Cold fear gripped me as I took in his features and recognized him.

 
“What, no happy greeting for me?  I’ve been watching you for awhile, hoping to get your attention, but you just keep plowing ahead, with no thought to your surroundings.”  His voice sounded so critical.

 
“Where were you watching me?”

 
“Oh, here and there.  I saw you tonight, you know.   At the restaurant with your buddies.  I recognized them from the party…you know, the one where we met.  We have some unfinished business from that night.”

 
“I’m sorry, Jerry.  I just wasn’t up to partying that night.  But you could have just phoned, you know.  Maybe that’s what you should do.  We should say good night, and you could call some time, when I’m not feeling so under the weather.”  I smiled, trying to hide my fear.

 
He shook his head.  “No,” he said, almost sadly.  “I don’t think that will work.  You were pretty firm that night, so I decided you needed some persuasion.  I’m very good at that.  Here…I brought you some nice hot coffee.  You could probably use it right about now.”

 
“How…When did you make the coffee?”

 
“Oh, while you were taking your little nap,” he replied briskly, as if taking charge here was his normal routine.

 
But of course he was in charge, at least for the moment.  I was literally a captive in my own home, and I couldn’t imagine how this could turn into anything but disaster.  Who would even come to save me?  Nobody, that’s who, I decided forlornly.  Sometimes it was a good thing to get to know the neighbors!

 
As I searched my mind for anyone who might have noticed something tonight, I realized that my closest neighbor was the elderly woman across the street.  We had barely exchanged greetings in the time I had lived here.  And for the first time since I’d bought this house over a year ago, I experienced, at a gut level, how my isolation now impacted my situation.  On this quiet cul-de-sac, which had seemed like a positive thing when I’d moved in, there were only six other houses.  Mine stood near the middle.  Maybe my location was a positive thing.  My mind raced, but I couldn’t remember seeing anyone else as I drove up.  If only I’d pulled the car into the garage and closed the door.  Then I could have entered my kitchen, with the door safely shut behind me.  But I’d worried about maneuvering my way into the space.

 
Recalling my condition, I knew I’d been lucky just to arrive here in one piece.

 
Ironic, I thought, as I scrambled around in my mind for anything that might save me.  “Jerry, do you think that you could excuse me for a minute?”  I was thinking of getting to a phone, or just to a room I could lock.

 
He chuckled.  “Not a chance, my lady,” he grinned widely.  “I know you…you are so driven, you’d probably try to go into your office and work!”  He shook his finger.  “You’ve done entirely too much working lately, you know.  Not very nice to avoid a social life.”

 
How did he know I’d been in my office working?

 
As the reality hit me smack in the face, I shivered.  Had he really been watching me all this time?  He must have followed me the first night…the cab!  He’d followed the cab.  And from there, it would have been simple to discover my patterns by parking his car anywhere near the house and just observing.  I had felt so safe here, which was why I hadn’t always closed the drapes or the shutters.

 
Trying to picture the rest of the cul-de-sac, I thought:  There’s that man who lives two houses down.  He could probably see my comings and goings.  But I sadly realized…it was late.  Probably around midnight.  Now why had I stayed at the restaurant so long?  Oh, yeah…the drinks.

 
I promised myself that I would change things in the future.  If I lived through this one, I would befriend the neighbors and be more aware of my surroundings.  All of those self-defense things one heard, but didn’t think about until it was too late, now invaded my mind.  But surely Jerry wasn’t a killer.  He was just weird.  Yeah, that was all.

 
Trying another tack, I slowly stood up.  “Okay, now, Jerry, I am really grateful that you helped me in.  I had too much to drink, but now, thanks to your coffee, I’m much better.  Maybe we could continue this another night?  We could even make a date to get together.  When I’m feeling better,” I added, smiling flirtatiously.

 
Jerry looked puzzled.  Probably wondering if he could believe me.

 
He shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so.  You’ve been avoiding me, remember?  Why should I believe you when you say we’ll ‘get together’?”

 
Desperately, I glanced toward the door, trying to calculate my chances of making a run for it.

 
But he was too quick.  He grabbed my arm and pushed me down.

 
Sighing, I closed my eyes, leaned back into the cushions, and awaited my fate.
***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link to join the other contributors for today.

We’ve been following the adventures of Jillian McAvoy, in Defining Moments, a WIP.  We’ve seen her through her divorce; her single-mother adventures; and now, in her writing adventures:  we are catching a glimpse of Jillian as she slowly isolates herself from others.  In an effort to reach out, Jillian reluctantly joins Sheila and Marianne for drinks and dinner.

***

I walked into The Elbow Room slowly, my gaze circling and searching.
 

Across the room, Sheila and Marianne waved, and relieved that I hadn’t been stood up—I deserved that, didn’t I?—I slowly approached the table, glancing down nervously at my outfit.  Unaccustomed to socializing lately, I’d realized when I got ready tonight how my wardrobe was a bit lacking.  But this simple black dress with a scarf at the neck would be acceptable, I’d decided.  Now I wasn’t so sure.
 

But Sheila and Marianne greeted me without that critical look they sometimes wore.  And I noticed that their outfits weren’t all that special.
 

Seated, I picked up the menu almost automatically.  Sheila and Marianne were already sipping their martinis.
 

As the server approached, I paused and said, with confidence:  “A dirty martini.”
 

“Wow!  Since when?”  Sheila and Marianne exchanged amused glances.
 

“Well, I think I deserve it!”  Realizing I sounded defensive, I changed the subject.

 

“You’ll be pleased to note I’m almost finished with my first draft.  After some tweaking, I should be ready to start shopping it around.  And then…well, that’s when I’ll rejoin the human race.”
 

“Well, congratulations!”  They spoke in unison, and as if suddenly uncomfortable, they paused.
 

“What?  That’s all I get?”  But even though the feelings of resentment surged up almost immediately, I knew I was wrong to feel this way.  I hadn’t been such a good friend lately, after all.
 

So I quickly sipped my water, smiled, and waited for my drink.  I really need this drink now.
***

Several hours later, I sat in my car, waiting for it to warm up.  Shaking my head, as if to dispel cobwebs, I frowned, wondering why I’d ordered that third, and then the fourth drink.  Had I needed them?  Or was I trying too hard with my friends, who were certainly having no trouble ordering lots of drinks.  Maybe I should call someone to drive me home.  But who?  Suddenly I realized I had nobody who could fill this role.  And for the first time in a very long while, I felt frightened at my aloneness.  Up until now, I had relished it, even craved the solitude I needed in order to create.
 

But maybe this short time of connecting with others had brought the point home to me.
 

Putting the car in gear, I drove very slowly, as if I could somehow ward off any untoward events.  Knowing I shouldn’t be driving right now, I waited for the inevitable siren that would shrill through the air.  And wouldn’t that be the perfect cap for my day!
 

But nothing happened and I made it home safely.  Sighing with relief as I began unlocking my door, I fumbled and dropped my keys.  As I stooped to reclaim them, I felt the presence.  Someone was pushing up close behind me, crowding in.  Alarmed, I grabbed the keys and aimed them like a weapon.  But the man overpowered me.  I caught a glimpse of his face, just before everything turned black.

***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Check out the other participants by clicking the link.

In our journey through my WIP Defining Moments, we’ve seen how Jillian’s life is changing, sometimes dramatically, after her divorce.  Last week, she entered the New Millennium, full of hope, but realized how unprepared she is when she encountered a strange man.  She buries herself in her writing, but then realizes how much she needs a distraction.  So she redecorates.

***

Fall leaves dropped slowly and artistically onto the back lawn, while I continued typing away.  I’d been holed up in this room almost every day—when I wasn’t working in the classroom—since I’d finished my redecorating project.  Now I paused and glanced through the open French doors to the little terrace outside.  Standing, I stretched and moved slowly and purposefully toward the outdoor space.  As I glanced downward, I sighed.  I loved the way the big trees offered shade and even shielded me with their privacy curtains of leaves in the spring and summer.  Underneath the biggest tree, I’d had a bench built to curve around it.

 

My favorite additions had been this little terrace and the one across the hall, off of my bedroom.  Each little retreat led from the room through French doors.  My favorite thing!

 

Had my recent decorating obsession been nothing but a distraction?  A way to succeed without taking a risk?
 

I had to ask myself these hard questions, because time was slipping away, and if I didn’t pursue my dreams with all the fervor they deserved, I only had myself to blame if I failed.  Failure was not an option!
 

I sat down at the little bistro table and reflected on the past few weeks.  Sheila and Marianne had just about given up on me—I’d been so totally focused on my work.  First, with my decorating project, and then resuming my compulsive goal to complete my novel…But I also knew that within a couple of days, if I kept working the way I had been, I could actually finish!  The first draft, anyway.
 

At the end of the summer—the very end, actually—Megan had come home for a short visit.  A smile relaxed my face as I recalled those very special days we’d spent together.  Megan had loved the guesthouse and had holed up there when she wasn’t in the main house hanging out with me.
 

Even though we hadn’t spent a lot of time together, the time had been special.  Quality time.
 

I’m so glad she came, I mused now.  If she hadn’t, I’m afraid I would never have left the house at all.  Yes, my obsession with my writing had become problematic at times.  But I now vowed to take official breaks.
 

Like now.  Glancing at my watch, I moved slowly back inside and grabbed the telephone.  As I punched in the number, I studied the curves of the beautiful French phone I had set up in this room.  It transported me to Paris, even though I’d never actually been there; my imagination whisked me to streets and buildings made familiar through movies and books.
 

“Hi,” Sheila’s voice greeted me.
 

“Hi yourself,” I enthused, hoping my friend would forgive me if I offered just the right amount of fervor.
 

But Sheila’s voice turned cool, suddenly.  “Oh, so you’ve finally come out of your cave.”  Flat and factual, her tone conveyed so much.
 

“Oh, I know I’ve been remiss,” I began, attempting to somehow reach her with just the right words.
 

Thawing a bit, Sheila tossed out a rejoinder.  “Well, I guess I’ll forgive you…this time!”
 

“I was hoping to make it up to you…with dinner and perhaps a movie?”
 

“Hmm,” Sheila paused, as if considering the invitation, or perhaps consulting a datebook.  “What did you have in mind?”
 

We bandied the possibilities back and forth and ironed out the details.  Finally, I said:  “Okay, then.  Tomorrow it is.  Shall we meet there?”
 

When I hung up the phone, I felt exhausted.  Who knew social interactions could be so tiring?

***

Good morning!  Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link to visit other participants.

In my WIP Defining Moments, we have been peeking into the world of Jillian McAvoy, watching her as she attempts to rebuild her life after her divorce.  Her struggles with her daughter seem to be over…and she has just taken a leap of faith on the cusp of the New Millennium.

***

Through the downtown club doors I sauntered, studying the mingling crowds and gazing through the assorted guests in my search for Sheila or Marianne.
 

“Hey, there!”  The voice penetrated my concentration, just as my gaze settled upon my two friends.
 

I glanced up.  A jovial, blandly handsome face stared at me, his eyes bright and possibly glazed over with substances.  “Oh, hi.”  I didn’t even try to sound welcoming.
 

“I’m Jerry,” he announced, as if he were at a podium.
 

“Hello,” I responded, almost grudgingly.  “I’m Jillian.  And I see my friends over there, so please excuse me.”  And I furtively slid towards Sheila and Marianne, as if breaking out of prison.
 

As I approached them, I grinned.  “Thanks!  You guys rescued me from what might have been a disaster.”
 

Glancing towards the spot I had just vacated, Sheila frowned.  “What are you talking about?”
 

“That guy…Jerry, he said his name was,” I gestured into a vacuum.
 

“I guess he disappeared,” Marianne interjected.  “You probably crushed him with your kiss-off!”
 

“Yeah, right.” I laughed, and glancing around, I wondered what had happened to him.  Had I imagined him?
 

Soon I forgot all about him, though, as my friends scooped me up and welcomed me into the midst of their festivities.
 

A few hours later, as the party started winding down—for me, at least—I saw him again.  Ready to depart, I had gathered my things together and said my good-byes to my friends.  “Well, hi again!”  His voice was still full of its earlier ebullience.  How could he still be so enthusiastic at this hour?
 

“Hey,” I replied, trying for casual and effortless.  As if social interaction was my specialty.
 

“Where were you all night?”
 

Was this a rhetorical question?  Uneasy again, I decided I should probably pay attention to this feeling.
 

Inexplicably, however, I felt my facial muscles relaxing as a smile curved upward.  “Oh, just the usual.”  Then, leaning in conspiratorially, I declared:  “My friends are trying to turn me into a party animal…for the New Millennium!”
 

As a frown creased his forehead, he suddenly reached out, clasping my hand with his.  “Have you been locked away somewhere?  Why are they so determined?”
 

Now I felt edgy and backed off slightly.  “That was supposed to be a joke,” I taunted.
 

He laughed, but his laugh sounded boisterous; way beyond the response required in this situation.
 

Now I knew that I really needed to steer clear of this guy.
 

“Oh,” I called out, gesturing.  “There’s my ride!”
 

Outside, I glanced around nervously, hoping he hadn’t followed me.  When I didn’t see him, I felt safe in hailing a cab.  The cab seemingly appeared from nowhere and I slid into it.  But just before the cabbie took off, he hesitated, and another passenger hopped in.  Oh, no!  It was him!
 

“Excuse me,” I protested.  “This one is mine.”  I glared at him.
 

“Well, can’t we share?”  He looked as if I had crushed him.
 

“No, I’m not comfortable with that.”  Turning to the cabbie for assistance, I clung to the side door.
 

And then the cabbie was telling him that yes, I’d had the cab first, and if I didn’t want to share, that was my prerogative.
 

Grumbling loudly, the man named “Jerry” exited the cab.
 

When we took off, I sighed heavily.  “Thanks!”
 

“No problem,” he replied.
 

By the time we reached my home, knots of stress clutched at my shoulders.  The evening had not gone the way I’d hoped, and if I had my “druthers,” I would just hole up in my room with my computer for the next year.

***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link to find more sweet treats.

In recent weeks, we’ve pulled back the curtain on the world of Defining Moments, one of my WIPs; we’ve met Jillian, Evan, and their teenaged daughter Megan.

Last week’s episode showed Megan having to face the consequences of some of her actions.  Today we glimpse a new era between Megan and Jillian, as the teenaged rebellion settles down and a new life seems close at hand.

***

1999:

In the fall of the year, with the big Millennium hoopla already buzzing around us, I felt as though my life had turned a significant corner. My forty-fourth birthday had passed, celebrated with my two best friends. Sheila and Marianne had been there for me through all these years, even when I hadn’t wanted them to be.

They had overlooked my hermit-like behavior during the early months and years after the divorce.

During Megan’s senior year in high school, when things seemed to be back on track, I even went out dancing and drinking with “the girls.” Sometimes we took in a movie on Sundays, after my traditional brunch with Megan.

Sadly, my parents had both died within a few months of each other. First, my father had gone, and then my mother. Sometimes I couldn’t help but believe that my mother’s departure had been a reaction to her loss. Like she had nothing else to live for. But they had lived long lives…George had been eighty-nine when he died, and Jocelyn had been eighty-five. Toward the end, they’d both enjoyed their assisted-living apartment, surrounded by other seniors. Despite all the years of devotion to me, they had seemingly turned away, cocooning in their own little world.

Trying not to feel hurt, I acknowledged my own tendencies to shut out the rest of the world.

They had left everything they had to me, which I had expected. What did surprise me was the significant sum of money they’d tucked away into CDs and annuities. I suddenly felt protected in a way that had escaped me in recent years.

One of the first things I’d done was to buy a house for me and for Megan.

It was not a home on the same scale as the Land Park home we’d once enjoyed, but it was a cute cottage surrounded by beautiful trees and landscaping, and behind the main house was a tiny little guesthouse. Something that might come in handy.

I had changed teaching assignments in recent years, and now taught in one of the suburban high schools. My new home in Citrus Heights offered up a shorter commute to work each day.

Megan was in her second year of college. After those difficult years, she started studying and eventually enrolled in University of California at Berkeley, a prestigious accomplishment. Since she was only a couple of hours away, she sometimes came home on the weekends. But not so much lately.

Once Megan had proven herself in this way, I let go of the need to fuss or hover. Instead, I began to devote my attention to my own life, which included a few social activities.

Spending a lot of time on my computer still took priority, since I had been working rather steadily on a novel. After several false starts with other creations, I had decided that this one would be it. I would actually submit this manuscript to publishers when the time was right.

In the meantime, I had published two short stories in women’s magazines and felt proud of myself.

Evan’s legal battles had ended. He had found another job, one with a company that believed in giving second chances, and he seemed to have settled into a routine. He seldom saw Megan, but she pretended that his “abandonment” didn’t hurt her. But I knew that it did.

I was looking forward to the New Millennium, with its promise of a whole new world.

***

Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.  Click the link for the other participants.

I’ve been sharing snippets from my WIP Defining Moments, beginning with how Jillian’s life changed dramatically one summer day.  We then took a peek into Evan’s world.  Subsequently, we’ve seen how Jillian has started over with her teenaged daughter, and what that relationship now looks like.

In today’s snippet, we pick up at a time after Megan’s rebellion has ratcheted up a notch, landing her in police custody.

***

At the police station, I checked in at the front desk, where I learned that Megan and several friends had been picked up for curfew violations and possession of marijuana.
 

The officer behind the desk explained the process, and that a juvenile court hearing would be scheduled.
 

Soon, a somewhat remorseful daughter appeared, looking nothing like the girl with whom I’d celebrated the New Year.
 

The ride home was heavy with silence.  I couldn’t find any words that didn’t sound angry.
 

We pulled into the driveway, and as I unlocked the front door, the weight of wordlessness hung over us like a heavy quilt.  At last, safe inside, I turned and met her reluctant stare.
 

“So, would you please explain this to me?”
 

“We were just trying to have some fun,” Megan replied in her now-familiar belligerent tone.  “Why do you always have to be such a joy-kill?”
 

“Oh, is that what you think this is?  How about the fact that you now face criminal charges?”  Explaining the W & I “602” charges filed felt like an unnecessary addendum to the evening’s events, but I couldn’t stop myself from punctuating the moment with the harsh details.  Maybe my daughter needed a reminder about the rules and the laws.
 

“Everybody does it,” Megan tossed out, as if this particular argument was likely to make a difference.
 

Shaking my head, I trundled toward my sanctuary, tossing another glance at her.  “You’re grounded, of course. And don’t even think about sneaking out.”
 

Safely ensconced in my room, I finally dialed Evan’s number.  When I heard his voice on the other end, I let him have it.
 

He didn’t even attempt to absolve himself of the blame.  In a way, this made me feel as though I was beating up a victim when he was down.  But Evan wasn’t the victim in this piece!  And neither was I, actually.  I had to accept my own part in it all.
 

At the hearing, Megan got probation and community service, plus a class on substance abuse.
 

She seemed to take her punishment like a trooper, but her sulky behavior was now replaced by what looked like a martyr’s demeanor.
 

Great!  She feels like everyone else is to blame and she’s paying for it all.
 

My mind now spun a fantasy in which Megan was finally on her own—and I mentally added up the years until that could happen.  And felt guilty for the thoughts.
***
 

SPRING, 1996:

 

In the dark days that followed, I focused on my job and my writing.
 

As soon as I walked in the door after work these days, I glanced around quickly and assessed the situation with Megan, barely exchanging a greeting, and literally escaped to my room.
 

Dinner was usually something we each took to our separate havens.
 

Megan had her computer and a TV in her room, so that turned into her hideout.  And, of course, I had the same in mine.  We morphed into our version of two soldiers in separate foxholes, fighting individual battles.
 

When I tried to change our patterns, though, Megan resisted…like tonight, for instance.
 

“How’s it going?”  I stood at Megan’s door, which oddly enough, was slightly ajar.
 

Megan shrugged, but turned around and met my gaze briefly, before turning back to the TV show playing on her set.  Something about vampires.
 

I waited until the palpable silence dominated the space between us.
 

“Okay, then.  Well, I’ll be in my room.  And I’m going to call for take-out in a little while.  Any preferences?”
 

Megan shook her head.
 

Well, I sighed, I did make an effort.  But I knew my heart wasn’t in it.  Not anymore.  What had happened to the wonderful mother-daughter relationship we had once shared?

***

Welcome to more Sweet Saturday Samples:  click the link to discover a variety of snippets today.

In my WIP Defining Moments, we took a peek at Jillian’s new life, complete with the positives as well as the negatives.

Will it be getting better for her soon?  Or will there be many struggles ahead?

***

Slowly resurfacing from that place where I went when I was creating, I heard the voices and cringed at the sounds.  They were like fingernails on a chalk board.
 

Glancing down at myself, I realized that I hadn’t actually gotten dressed today at all.
 

But then again, these others were the intruders and this was my home.  I could dress or not.  It was definitely my choice.
 

I had to plumb the depths, though, to find that somewhat elusive social façade, so by the time I reached the living room, where I could now see Megan and two Gothic-type creatures, I had my presentation down pat.
 

“Megan,” I purred.  “Would you and your friends like something to drink?  Or eat?”
 

“No, thanks,” Megan uttered sullenly, glancing back at her friends as if to send them a signal.  “We’re just getting ready to go out again.”
 

“Really.  I didn’t hear a ‘may I?’ in there anywhere.”  I beamed at her, as if to belie the criticism inherent in my words.
 

“Well, of course I was just about to ask…”
 

Now for the test.  In a way, I would just as soon have her anywhere but here.  Especially since her attitude lately had been annoying, as well as puzzling.  But reaching down to the motherly part of my persona, I shook my head.  “I would really like you to stay home tonight.  We’re going to your grandparents’ house tomorrow for brunch.  I think you should get a good night’s sleep.”
 

Megan’s frown darkened her face, even as she complied.  “Sorry, guys, maybe another time.”
 

And then the creatures were gone.
 

But Megan wasn’t ready to let this go.  “Why do you insist on embarrassing me in front of my friends?”  Her hostile tone turned the words into a challenge.
 

I studied her for a moment, and then sighed.  “I know that’s how you see it…but you must realize that you can’t just come and go as you please, leaving a note as if that’s some kind of ‘permission granted’ card.  Asking me directly would be preferable.”
 

“You were asleep!”
 

“Actually, I was just on the computer.  I know that I’ve told you not to interrupt me needlessly, but that doesn’t mean you can leave without talking to me.  I want you to think about that, and ask yourself this question:  is this how you want things to be between us?”
 

By tossing out this final prompt, I was hoping that somehow, the old Megan would arise from the ashes.
 

But Megan just glowered and shuffled off to her room.
 

The mood was lost.  Could I reclaim it, or should I just abandon the project for now?

 

***