CHAPTER 1
The wind whistled outside my window and rattled the old shutters attached. I shivered lightly and pulled my sweater tighter to my body and noted that the lights hadn't gone out while the stormed raged outside. I sat at my worn kitchen table and pulled out my Kindle that I had received from my divorced parents at Christmas a few months back. Amazed that they had been amiable enough to have agreed on the joint gift, my parents, my dad, I was sure, had even downloaded a few classics for me. Jane Austen, Anne of Green Gables and Little House of the Prairie. I smiled to myself as I thought of my some-what technology impaired parents doing research, peppering lots and lots of questions to a patience wearing thin salesperson to get the perfect gift for me. I pulled my knees up on the chair and wrapped my hand around my cup of tea, sank in and got lost in Anne of Green Gables. I absently fingered my brown hair imagining it a luscious red with hints of rich mahogany brown and strands of gold on the arm of handsome dark haired Gilbert.
The lights flickered sometime later and brought me back to my reality. I looked around and saw that I was in my well loved and used yellow kitchen wearing faded red flannel pajamas, Christmas pajamas from several year past and my favorite afghan sweater not the pale blue corseted dress with delicate puffed sleeves I had been dreaming of. The time on my microwave read 9:15pm and I realized that I had read for over 2 hours and had missed dinner. My stomach grumbled as I slid the Kindle into the accompanying sleeve and stretched my legs out under the table, my arms reached high over my head as if I was trying to touch the ceiling and then the sky through the ceiling. I yawned, sat up and walked quickly over the bare wood floor to the refrigerator and pulled it open to survey the contents, my feet padding on the floor, the only sound. The bright light took my eyes a few minutes to adjust as I pulled out a bottle of water and the ingredients to make a quick chicken salad sandwich. Along with the rest of the town, I had stocked my fridge before the Nor- Easter hit. I had left my office early yesterday in preparation for the "storm of the century" as the local weatherman had dubbed it. Even early, the grocery store shelves of the local A&P were beginning to thin. I managed to get enough staples should the storm last several days. Canned goods, brown breads, toiletries and of course plenty of water intermixed with my already well-stocked cupboards. I smiled to myself remembering a scene at check out, an irate customer berating another customer for having 14 items in the quick checkout that cut off at 12. I suppose the storm was wearing on some nerves before a single drop of rain or possible snow had fallen. I shook my head and chuckled low and thought of dinner prep for tomorrow's meal. I had planned to make a larger meal tonight to carry me through the next few days but the charm of Prince Edward Island had quickly captured me and I all but forgot my dinner plans. "Oh well," I sighed. Chicken Salad sandwich will have to do for tonight. "Tomorrow, I will make Angela's famous Lemon Chicken Noodle soup." I murmured to no one. It was delicious, easy to prepare and tasted yummy even the second day. My mouth watered thinking about it. Chicken salad will have to do for tonight, tomorrow something tasty. I sat and ate thinking about nothing but everything. I absent mindedly chewed my food but tasted nothing. Little light shown in through my windows and I gazed out trying to see out into the darkness, the moon covered by clouds. It was quiet inside but I listened to the sound of the gushing rain and howling wind. I loved a good thunderstorm. As a child, my dad and I would stand bravely in the doorway and watch the wind whipping around the trees, violently swaying. He would hug me closer, whispering "amazing". I remembered once watching as lightening hit an old tree adjacent to our neighbors and ripped the side off to cover the road and take down a power line. Scared as I was, Mother Nature had me in awe. It was breathtaking. Too this day, I often stood in the doorway watching. I cleaned the table and the remnants of my scant meal and made my way up the stairs to my bedroom. I pulled the shades up and fell asleep watching the rain.
Over the course of the next day, I patiently waited for the sun to shine and made my way through my pre-loaded Kindle library, the sound of the storm raging. "Thanks mom and dad." I thought as I finally put it down stretching my shoulders and rolling my neck to ease the stiffness. The day had past without much commotion. It had consisted of phone conversations to my parent, mostly to let them know that I was fine, my house hadn't blown over and I had enough supplies. Long talks with my friends Angela and Alice and getting lost in the occasional made for TV sob story. My power had flickered often but happily never faltered. I was ready nevertheless, candles, flashlights and my trusty cell phone. I had managed in between day dreams of Anne and Gilbert, daily chit chats to tidy my lived-in but clean house and to squeeze in a little bit of creative writing. It was for fun only. I didn't consider myself a creative enough person to churn out an entire book let alone several. I enjoyed writing short stories and excerpts, not fully developed plots and characters but good enough to re-read from time to time. I often got lost in books, replacing my life with the heroine of the moment. I dreamt of dark haired dashing men, more beautiful than I. Men that swept me off my feet, holding me close and swearing to be always faithful.
I sat for a moment and considered my love life, "non-existent." I muttered to myself. I was not a bad looking woman, wide expressive brown eyes. So brown, they had been commented on in the past as the color of chocolate. Youthful figure yet curves enough in the right places to show my womanliness. I dated few men, they made me nervous and I was too nervous, perhaps picky, to take any of them beyond casual dating to a higher level of commitment that someone at 28 years should. My parents' weekly conversations over the past few years had slowly started to include bits about men and future husbands. Mostly my mother, Renee asked. My dad, Charlie, tried but I could usually end that topic of conversation with a disgruntled sigh. My father was luckily unwilling to embarrass himself by taking the topic further. My mother was not so easily suppressed. She made sure to mention "I was getting older, lucky for me I didn't look old and had gotten her looks from her side of the family". According to my well meaning mother, this gave me great bone structure, a youthful look and a bit of mystery and intrigue.
Men were not something that I was worried about in this stage of my life. I lived fairly simply and with hard work, college education and perseverance, I had everything that I wanted. I had purchased my first home at the age of 25 after moving from Washington State to Massachusetts. It was a small Cape Cod fixer upper, 1700 square feet 2 baths, 3 bedrooms. I loved it and was proud of it. I had lovingly repainted each room in the house. Pale yellows, creams, green and blues, colors of the sea on a sunny day. It was furnished simply with hand me downs, some antiques that my dad had found and unique yard sale finds. My mother loved a good yard sale and once given the notion of what was needed, would search until the perfect piece was found. I had purchased a few additional classic pieces for the bedroom, living room and kitchen.
In the background, a television tuned to the weather channel hummed quietly in the background. Lost in my thoughts, I stood from the couch, picked up the remote and switched to a local news channel. A concerned newscaster came on solemnly stating that the current storm system was coming to an end. He drummed on and on about road closures, businesses that weren't open and homes that had seen some destruction along the shores. He rallied on with the beautifully manicured anchorwoman about staying warm, dry and not driving anywhere if absolutely possible, possibly till Monday. Shots of waves crashing against rocks, boats rocking precariously while tied to moorings and an absence of fowl flashed cross the TV set. The perfectly matched co-anchors bantered on about small pockets of calm thrown in every few hours of storm. The anchorman also warned that there was a second major storm system on the way, hopefully less destructive but there nevertheless and expected at the end of the coming week.