Life Stories: The Enran Chronicles Book Two

Such a tremendous thrill, blessing, and accomplishment to announce Life Stories: The Enran Chronicles Book Two! This FREE tale is the result of much heartache, many deep breaths, a LOT of rewrites, and the passion for telling a good story.

In Life Stories, alternate timelines have wreaked havoc on those dwelling in Tia Sorenson Zanetti's home base on California's North Coast: Who is actually dying of cancer? Where are Bobby and Tris? Is Marcus truly a coward, and can Wynn and Shirl find their youngest sons? Most importantly, who is the young woman claiming Tia and Nathan are her parents....

Hah! Heaps of intrigue mesh with differing realities, also aliens, don't forget them. Lucy and Dana can't figure out why the brandy isn't potent while trying to reckon immense personal devastation. And what about the jerk living with Shirl and Marcus? Tama calls Tennyson Dorvuun a creepfest, but is he more than just a sleazeball?

Part women's fiction, part sci-fi, with loads of drama and laughter, Life Stories is about What if? What if a dearly beloved isn't dying of cancer? What if a child thought lost is actually alive? What if the worst possible scenario could be changed? And what if God and aliens both exist, hehehe. Dana's not sure about that, but Tris believes otherwise.

Twenty years have passed since A Love Story: Book One, the island mostly unchanged. Yet those now dwelling in the Sorenson house have aged, sometimes with grace, at other times poorly. And as Tia and Nathan grapple with their declines, might those forgotten Enran reappear?

Sometimes we get the chance to erase mistakes, alter the biggest regrets. I dedicated this novel to my husband; his continued support makes all the words possible. It's also in memory of D.J., Ruthie, and Don, who lost their battles against cancer last year. It's wholly fiction, but directly inspired by what I experienced as my brother-in-law died last January. And it's a love letter to his wife, as if I could alter timelines and return to her those most cherished.

Below is the first chapter. Currently this free novel is only available on Smashwords, but will be released in wide distribution to Apple Books, Barnes & Noble and other retailers soon. In the meantime, thanks for reading the blog of this author, fifteen years in the indie publishing trade!

Chapter 1

 

Being a Sunday, Lucy Sorenson had already made cocktails. Condensation had collected in the outer crevices of a large glass pitcher’s fluted edges, ice melting rapidly on a sultry August afternoon. Lucy didn’t mind the brandy and lemonade sluicing together, although if Dana didn’t arrive soon, another glass of ice would be necessary.

Squinting westward, Lucy saw no sign of Dana Noth. Grumbling softly, Lucy refilled her tumbler. A sudden gust of wind cooled her neck, making her shiver. She closed her eyes, quickly permitting sounds from inside the house as a diversion; murmured conversations collided with twittering birds, crickets chirping, frogs croaking. Lucy opened her eyes, then sighed; Dana was exiting her house at the end of their shared street, waving as she took her porch steps, her full cotton skirt rising with another gust of wind, revealing old bike shorts snug on her legs.

Neither spoke, but Lucy waved back, hoisting her glass in the air. Dana nodded, approaching Lucy’s house, which overlooked the narrow bay separating their small hamlet from what most villagers still considered as the mainland, although what had once been deemed an island hadn’t been so isolated since Lucy was a toddler. Did Dana remember the flooding, Lucy mused, sipping her drink as Dana sauntered through the open front gate, gathering her skirt in front of her as another strong breeze threatened to again swirl the fabric aloft. “Damned wind,” Dana muttered as she reached the front steps. “Thank goodness it’s supposed to die down soon.”

Lucy didn’t flinch from Dana’s observation. “Pour yourself a drink before it needs more ice.”

“That I shall.” Dana filled a large tumbler, then sat next to Lucy. The wide porch accommodated several chairs, but theirs were set to the right of the front door, proffering a view not merely of the bay. If Lucy wore her glasses, she could make out Dana’s shop two blocks away on the corner of Main Street. But Lucy had left her specs inside, and until the pitcher required topping up, she wouldn’t go back in.

Instead she peered at the bay. “Low tide,” she said as Dana tucked her skirt under her legs. “Does that affect business?”

“Not really. I shouldn’t have bothered opening today, it’s been so slow lately.”

“It’s a good distraction,” Lucy said, then finished what sat in her glass.

“I guess. Any news?”

“I’m so sick of listening to birds I could puke.”

Dana laughed abruptly, then placed her drink carefully in her lap. Removing a scrunchie from her wrist, she twirled wavy gray hair atop her head, then wrapped the scrunchie around it. She sighed, collecting her glass, swirling the contents. Then she chugged the beverage, handing it to Lucy, who sat closest to the pitcher. Lucy needed no direction; she refreshed Dana’s drink, and the women said nothing as Dana ingested what seemed so necessary, not merely that it was a lazy afternoon. Lucy was forty-seven, Dana fifty. How many Sundays have we boozed away, Lucy wondered as noisy wildlife continued to leak from the living room windows.

“Who’s with her now?” Dana asked.

Lucy furrowed her brow. “Everybody I think.”

“Shit, that’s a crowd. Surprised all we can hear are the damned birds.”

“She gave everyone a scare earlier,” Lucy sighed. “I almost called you but I figured she was faking.”

“Don’t call unless she’s….” Dana untucked the left edge of her skirt, then tucked it back in again. “Unless you want the company.”

Lucy patted Dana’s leg. “Got more company than brains right now.”

Sipping her drink, Dana nodded. “Any idea how much time’s left?”

“Nope.”

Dana grasped Lucy’s hand. “That okay?”

“I don’t know. Well, it’s fine with me but….”

Someone stepped from the house and both women glanced at the front door. Nathan was dressed in shorts, an old t-shirt, and sneakers. “I’m going running,” he said, walking behind them. He first kissed Dana’s head, then Lucy’s. Then he chuckled softly. “Leave me some for when I get back.”

“She okay?” Lucy asked as he took the steps.

“Just faking,” he said, reaching the front gate.

“What I thought,” Lucy replied. “You have your phone?”

“Nope. If I miss it, sue me.”

“Go on,” Lucy said. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Nathan nodded, gesturing to the bay. He stretched briefly, then began to jog slowly along the slope where a concrete path encircled the hamlet. Within seconds he was past where Lucy could have observed him even with her glasses.

Dana swigged her drink, then again nestled it in her lap. “Lord, he’s a beautiful man.”

“He is,” Lucy smiled, “and barely knows it.”

“Oh he knows, but doesn’t give a damn. I wonder if he ever did.”

“Maybe back east, but not here.”

Dana nodded, retrieved her tumbler, but didn’t do more than grasp it. “He doesn’t look any older than when I first met him, shit that’s been twenty years.”

“I’ve been thinking the very same.”

“Is that all you’ve been thinking?”

“Sometimes,” Lucy sighed. “Life’s a funny thing, but maybe that goes without saying.”

“Funny isn’t how I’d describe it right now.”

“Have another drink, then it won’t seem so depressing.”

“If I do that I’ll need help walking home.”

“Nathan can escort you,” Lucy grinned.

“I’m surprised he didn’t take his phone.”

“Where would he have put it?”

“Maybe in his shoe,” Dana giggled.

“Maybe.” Lucy briefly closed her eyes, allowing sounds from the house back into her head. If Nathan felt comfortable in leaving, the rest would soon start filtering outside. Or maybe the little boys would go upstairs. Glancing at the depleted pitcher, Lucy stretched her legs. “Should I make another?”

“Not on my account.” Dana finished her drink, then set the glass under her chair. “You want more?”

“I want one, but….” Gripping the armrests, Lucy sat forward, gazing at the nearly empty bay. Glancing past it, she studied houses on the other side of the water, boats tethered to small docks, long piers with iron benches affixed. Mainlanders, she sniffed, then smiled at the outdated term. “You hanging out the rest of the afternoon?”

“I can. You tell me what to do.”

“Shirl’s in charge of dinner, not much to do but gossip.”

“If I don’t have to think about cooking, you have me the rest of the day.”

Lucy gripped Dana’s hand. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Scooting back in her chair, Lucy didn’t release Dana, but she did take a deep breath. As she exhaled, a wave of helplessness flowed from her chest, clearing a slight blockage. Upon inhaling, she immediately noticed the scents of despair mingling with the sweetness of lemonade-tinted brandy, hedged by sodden mud. The fragrance of my adult life, she permitted, squeezing Dana’s hand and not letting go.

 

 

At almost forty years of age Nathan Zanetti still possessed a graceful body, his thick black hair tinged with gray around his ears. The wind provided a tousled effect that from afar made him look more like Lucy’s son than her brother-in-law, yet Nathan possessed wrinkles which if viewed up close aged him severely. He could feel those phantom years as he ran, trying not to consider why he was there, then he chided himself, no longer any way to separate himself from this place and its purpose.

Yet in running without a phone a small deceit laced his steps and he smiled despite a throbbing ache in his chest. Dana was the point of contact for those not dwelling here, which basically meant his family, then he wondered how the locals would be informed. Not that she would text any of them; they would learn the news by witnessing grief-stricken family members tearing through usually quiet streets, bringing their cars to screeching stops in front and around the corner of Lucy, Wynn, and Shirl’s place. Well, Shirl’s EV made little noise, but the rest drove regular cars. The remainder of Ian and Tamara’s clan lived where the Sorensons had called home for generations, not scattered from hell to breakfast like Nathan’s family. Only Nathan represented his side, the rest dead or not emotionally involved enough to care.

No one here held that against him, for these people had been what he considered his kin for over two decades. The Sorenson house had been teeming with visitors since Nathan’s arrival a month ago, in the thick of the summer season. Maybe Dana’s fabric shop wasn’t busy, but tourists packed other stores and the few restaurants. Main Street proffered two coffee shops, a deli that doubled as a micro-convenience store, and some private offices, one from which Lucy still worked as a realtor and property manager. Those professional buildings gave sightseers the impression the village was prosperous, also self-sustaining, although it was neither. To Nathan, it was a calm within the storm of his professional life as though New York City didn’t exist.

He ran like nothing bothered him, not the unusually sultry temperatures or his acute heartache. He ran as though he actually lived here, perhaps on the other side of Main Street or around the corner from Dana or on the western edge where a channel separated the hamlet from a two-lane highway, dividing what had at times been an island from the Pacific Ocean. Long before Lucy and Dana were born, this area had been cut off from the mainland when exceedingly high tides met up with violent storm surges or the occasional tsunami, although tsunami was a relatively new term for most of the islanders. Nathan knew this history and despite being a famous dancer, he was treated as though a native, yet at a time like this even the longest tenured villager would have found someplace to stash their phone.

But nowhere on him was room for even the smallest device; a t-shirt clung to his sweat-covered chest, his shorts tight along his buttocks, his shoes barely more than enough to cover his feet. He did wear socks and the compression shorts held in place the family jewels, their output negligible. Nathan’s many siblings had produced abundant offspring, but Broadway was his legacy.

Taking another lap past the Sorenson house, he pondered that perhaps not having children had exacerbated the distance between himself and his blood relatives, initially fractured by his choice of an artistic career as well as marrying far beyond the Zanettis’ East Coast nucleus. None of his family had joined him, but then not a single Zanetti had ever stepped foot on the island. It rarely bothered Nathan; he still wore Ian’s wedding ring and he gazed at his left hand, then winced, clearly recalling how Tamara had given it to him. Despite their brief time spent together, she had loved him like her own.

And if the tables were turned, with Nathan lying in the house on his deathbed, Tamara would be equally heartbroken, her daughter Tia dying of cancer at the tender age of thirty-nine. Some Sorensons didn’t live long, Nathan sighed, blinking away tears, another wretched loss for all of them to bear.

 

 

It was Wynn who had insisted Tia come home, Wynn to arrange for hospice care. Wynn was usually the last to kiss Tia’s cheek at night and the first or second to wish her a good morning as another day dawned. On that Sunday afternoon, Wynn sat on Tia’s left, Marcus on Tia’s right. Nathan was still running, or maybe he was cooling down, Wynn pondered, checking her phone, the stopwatch having reached forty minutes.

“He’ll be back soon,” Marcus said, also glancing at his phone. “But I’m sure he’ll wanna shower afterwards.”

Wynn smiled, Shirl’s green eyes vibrant in their son’s face. “Go ask Mom when dinner will be ready. I wanna be able to tell him when he returns.”

Marcus tucked his phone in a pocket of his shorts, then went to his feet. He kissed Tia’s forehead, then walked to where Wynn sat, also kissing her brow. She grasped his hand, larger than hers, and he stroked her shoulder. “I love you Ma,” he whispered in Wynn’s ear. She nodded, tears tumbling down her face as he released her. Then he headed toward the kitchen, allowing Wynn to wipe her cheeks privately.

As Marcus questioned his mother about supper, Wynn clasped her sister’s hand, wondering if Tia was aware of this action. It had been two days since any physical response had been observed from a woman clearly near the end of her life. All were amazed at how little pain medication Tia required; a fentanyl patch adorned her left shoulder, liquid morphine used when Tia was turned from one side to the other. Tamara’s sudden death twenty years ago hadn’t prepared any of her daughters for this catastrophe and now Wynn was keenly aware of too many elements she dearly hoped to never again consider. Yet this information was essential, sparing Nathan from having to deal with it. Wynn, Lucy, and Shirl had agreed their brother-in-law should be freed from as much of Tia’s care as they could facilitate. All Nathan needed to contemplate was accepting this asinine reality to the best of his abilities.

Wynn caressed Tia’s hand, then stroked her sister’s face. “He’s okay,” she murmured. “Still running or walking. He’ll be back soon, so will Bobby. To be honest, I don’t know which of them’s having a harder time with this. Women deal better with death, maybe it’s the caregiver’s aspect of….” Wynn choked back a sob, then chuckled. “Bobby’s just like his father, but don’t tell Lucy I said that. I wanna say he’s like Daddy, but who the hell knows. He’s also a lot like you, maybe someday I can tell him and he won’t lose his shit. Shit Tia,” Wynn huffed, still tenderly grasping her sister’s cool hand. “When you’re gone, I’m gonna tie one on to last the ages. Or maybe I’ll see if Lucy and Dana finished the pitcher.” Carefully Wynn placed Tia’s hand on the mattress. Stroking Tia’s forehead, Wynn then stood, glancing at the far corner of the large living room. The hospice nurse on duty, whose name Wynn had forgotten, looked up, then nodded, going to her feet.

“I’ll be right back,” Wynn said as the woman approached. “Forgive me, but what’s your name again?”

“Caroline,” the woman smiled, joining Wynn at the hospital bed.

“Nice to meet you Caroline, if I haven’t already said that today.”

“No worries. I’ll be here all week.”

But will my sister, Wynn didn’t say as she stepped from Tia’s side, then headed to the front door. Before exiting the house, Wynn took a deep breath, Lucy and Dana’s soft laughter an invitation. Wynn accepted it, joining them on the porch, the breeze like gentle kisses along her sweaty temple. “Anything left to drink?” she asked.

“Just the dregs. You want a proper cocktail?” Dana stood, offering a quick embrace.

Wynn hugged her hard, shaking her head. “Just told Tia I’d hold out till….” Wynn cleared her throat as Dana released her. “The dregs are fine for now.”

“Barely gonna wet your whistle,” Lucy said as Dana poured what remained of the pitcher into a glass.

“Maybe I’ll have something stronger after dinner.” Wynn took the tumbler from Dana, then chugged her drink. “Any sign of Nathan?”

“Nope,” Lucy said. “But he’ll be back soon. When’s supper?”

“Marcus was just checking for me.” Wynn glanced at the front door, then stared at the bay. “Is the nurse new?”

“Caroline?” Lucy said.

Wynn nodded, then finished her drink. “She said she’ll be here all week.”

“Jeannie will be here later. They work twelve-hour shifts.”

“I knew that,” Wynn sighed. “Christ, can’t keep a damned thing in my head.”

Dana took the empty glass from Wynn, placing it on the side table. Then she hugged Wynn. “You’re allowed a senior moment,” Dana smiled. “Be grateful they’re far and few between.”

“Not that far or few,” Wynn muttered.

“It’ll get better till it doesn’t.” Lucy stood, then joined them, grasping Wynn’s hand. “I’ll sit with her, you take my chair.”

“You sure?” Wynn asked.

“Yup, happy hour’s over.” Lucy squeezed Wynn’s shoulder, then went inside. Wynn glanced at the empty pitcher, then sat in her sister’s chair, leaning over her legs, breathing deeply.

Dana returned to her seat, randomly drumming her fingers on the armrest, her breaths matching Wynn’s. The women then gazed at each other, breaking into giggles. “I find myself breathing like that all the time now,” Wynn said.

“Tris noticed me doing it last night,” Dana smiled. “Some weird involuntary reaction I guess.”

“Where is he?”

“At work, someone called in sick.” Dana pulled out her phone, tapping the screen. “Should take this off silent, he wrote ten minutes ago, wondering if we were eating here.”

“Tell him to come out, Shirl’s fixing plenty.”

Dana nodded, writing the text. Then she pocketed her phone. “Bobby still inside? I didn’t see him leave.”

“He took Jon and Luiz upstairs, I think they mentioned Legos.”

“They doing okay with all this?”

Wynn nodded. “Maybe for kids to see this is better than we think. It’s shitty, but it’s real too.”

“Do you remember your dad’s passing?”

Wynn shook her head. “Was talking about that with Shirl last night. But I was much younger than Luiz. Mom probably kept us outta the house.”

“She did,” Dana said. “You and Tia were at our place most of the time.”

Wynn nodded to be polite, not that she recalled anything related to her father’s death. Then she grimaced. “Where was Lucy?”

“She was here till Tamara…. Hey Nathan, how was the run?” Dana stood from her chair as Nathan entered the expansive front yard.

Wynn also went to her feet, but remained on the porch as Dana joined Nathan on the concrete path that intersected the mostly dead grass. Dana spoke softly to Nathan, grasping his hand. He nodded, then sighed, then stared at Wynn. She trembled, her brother-in-law’s disheveled face a rare sight despite their circumstances. But she didn’t move to join them, allowing Dana to proffer the necessary embrace. Wynn cleared her throat, then spoke. “I’ll check about dinner, but I’m sure there’s time for you to shower.”

Wrapped against Dana, Nathan gestured toward Wynn. She didn’t respond but walked into the house, the familiar sound of chirping birds and tender sentiments like invisible daggers piercing her skin.

 

 

According to the medical community, those approaching death retained their hearing until nearly the end of life. Nathan and the rest had been briefed on that detail, as well as others pertaining to Tia’s situation. Tia knew this too, having wished to be as fully informed as possible to her final days. Now those days had arrived and while she couldn’t communicate with her beloveds, Tia Sorenson Zanetti remained audibly cognizant of what occurred around her.

She knew none of Nathan’s family had traveled west, but all of her relatives flitted in and out of the living room, though initially her hospital bed had been installed on the second floor in her childhood bedroom, a small space with ocean views. Lucy thought that would have been best, but immediately it was deemed too constricted for those who wanted to visit. Dana’s son Tris had carried Tia into the guest room, then he, Bobby, and Marcus had dismantled the bedframe, toting the pieces downstairs. Within half an hour Tia had been ferried to where she now lay unconscious but not oblivious, unless she was asleep. Her family could tell when she was napping, her shallow pants changed to steady, deep breathing.

But no longer was Tia aware of the difference; she merely knew the presence of familiar voices and the comforting sound of nature. Before losing the awareness of life experienced in a normal manner, she had verbally expressed how much she liked the birds and crickets and frogs. So dissimilar to living in a big city, she had smiled, gripping Nathan’s hand, tears rolling down his cheeks. His immense sorrow was the worst of her sufferings, she had confided to her sisters and Dana. Make sure he runs daily, she’d admonished them. And that he doesn’t witness me in any pain.

Shirl had taken notes while Lucy nodded and Wynn shook her head, Dana standing behind them. Tia had then closed her eyes, wishing she’d had the strength to grasp Wynnie’s hand, not wanting to be parted from this group of women, nor from her husband, or the collection of young and not so young males that made up her family. One of the few things Tia actively recalled was how amid the older generation, Nathan was the only man and that someone was missing from her sisters’ children, a feminine influence to balance all that testosterone. Had Bobby or Marcus recently broken up with a girlfriend? Tia didn’t include Dana’s older daughters; Collette and Laura lived on the mainland with their partners and offspring. But Tris, who still lived at home, was single, so were Tia’s oldest nephews. Maybe she had imagined a young woman among them or maybe….

Tia’s cognitive processes had then begun to fail, her life turning into wave of sounds buffered by the hum of nature. Then again returned the voices, those she still recognized; Nathan’s baritone was unimpeded by his East Coast accent. Lucy’s at times sharp tenor was now tamed by grief and copious amounts of alcohol. Wynnie’s teary voice was bolstered by Shirl’s relative serenity. When Tia could still reason, she first gave thanks for Nathan. Lucy, Wynn, and Shirl were always considered together, Tia couldn’t separate her love for them. Yet a pecking order remained; Dana followed, then Bobby and Marcus. Wynn and Shirl’s youngest sons Jon and Luiz were next, then Tris…. Tris had suggested that Tia should be moved downstairs. Later Tia thanked him, noting it was probably easier for Tris to have made the arrangements than two young men for whom she had cared since the days they entered the world.

Tia hadn’t known to what Tris was privy when thanking him for getting her out of a room that despite the beautiful view felt claustrophobic and not at all conducive to a peaceful death. The living room was far better, not merely for its size but it wasn’t near where everyone slept, what she told Tris, finding in his gray eyes Dana’s compassion and understanding.

These and other facts had swirled in Tia’s mind once Nathan brought her home to die. They had waited until the last possible moment to fly west, seated in first class with a nurse accompanying. Arriving in San Francisco, they were driven north by a private ambulance, the last time Tia would meander up the coast. She had been taken upstairs on a gurney, too frail to walk, but not so debilitated to seek a change in her location. She hadn’t cared about the ocean, more concerned with the comfort of those who would surround her. And now all that planning and moving about, even from one side of the country to the other, was fodder for her relatives to ponder. Tia merely noted their voices, the chirping birds, the hospice nurses. One was named Caroline. The other would arrive later for the night shift.

Those details were spoken to Tia directly, then discussed around her as family gathered with paper plates heaped with chicken parmesan, egg noodles, salad, and garlic bread. Tia recognized those scents, Shirl had probably cooked. The smells were as soothing as the happy banter; Tia wasn’t so close to death that all conversation was muted. But death wasn’t far away; Tia knew that from how previously her relatives’ mealtimes weren’t spent beside her. They usually ate at the table expanded to its full complement of seating. Yet with each passing day fewer had gathered there. Now chairs were staggered around the hospital bed so every person could see the woman for whom all these requirements had been necessary. The older nephews often sat in outer ring, allowing their mothers, Jon, and Luiz the inner chairs. Nathan alternated from his wife’s side to occasionally standing next to Bobby or Marcus, offering them not a paternal presence but that of another man attempting to fathom what the hell had happened.

What Tia now discerned was a delicious supper, innocuous chit-chat, plans for the week brewing; despite slow foot traffic, Dana’s fabric shop would remain open. Lucy’s minions might request her presence in the office, but they would have to come here, no way was she leaving the house. Wynn had illustrations in need of revising, maybe a Zoom call with her agent. Shirl would be teaching on Thursday, but her superiors knew the situation and substitutes were already lined up in case…. The chatter ceased, frogs and birds filling the awkward silence. Tia wanted to tell them thank you, she wished to let them know she could still hear them. But despite her open eyes, voluntary muscles no longer responded to her requests. Only involuntary organs worked, yet she tried, straining uselessly to smile. Someone grasped her hand, probably Nathan, for how soft was the person’s skin and how sensuous were the caresses. “You’re in charge Sorenson,” he murmured. “Whatever you want, we’ll do.”

If Tia could have smirked, grinned, flinched…. Inwardly she sighed: I’m so sorry Zanetti, but I’m grateful to be here, to be home, to be…. A few tears inadvertently leaked from her eyes, making those around her gasp, then break into sobs. Chairs were shuffled as relatives moved away, then some returned as Tia sensed hands upon her, kisses proffered, her husband still clutching her fingers.

Yet for all these familiar persons, someone was missing. Wracking what little cognitive thought remained, Tia pondered who it might be. Then as quickly as tears had emerged, sleep engulfed her. And in her dreams, Tia still wondered who was absent.