Written in the Sand Read online

  Written in the Sand

  D.B. James

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  1. Tenley

  2. Tenley

  3. Tenley

  4. Tenley

  5. Tenley

  6. Tenley

  7. Tenley

  8. Tenley

  9. Tenley

  10. Tenley

  11. Tenley

  12. Tenley

  13. Tenley

  14. Case

  15. Tenley

  16. Tenley

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements & Shit

  About the Author

  About Blooming Books

  Written in the Sand

  Copyright © 2018 by D.B. James

  Editor: Stephanie Atienza at Uplifting Designs

  Formatter: AB Formatting

  Cover Design: Mischievous Designs

  Photographer: Lindee Robinson

  Proofreader: Julie Denton, Denton Author Services

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo or iBooks and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Synopsis

  Writing your wishes in the sand and believing in the magic of them coming true is for children. Tenley Grace stopped believing in the enchantment of them the day she lost her husband of twelve years. Left with an obliterated heart, she struggles to find the woman she once was.

  Stumbling upon sexy tattoo artist, Case Ballantyne, could be the perfect distraction she needs to help her pick up the pieces again. His time in town is temporary which is exactly what Tenley is looking for.

  Fate keeps bringing them together even when life should keep them apart.

  Can a wish Written in the Sand by Case withstand the storms life throws at them or will it forever be washed away with the tide?

  To my daddy, the steady man in my life. You’ve shown me what a real man is. You’ve overcome every obstacle life throws at you. Thank you for always standing by my side.

  Happy 65th Birthday.

  “You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”

  C.S. Lewis

  Standing with my feet covered by the white sugar sands near the water's edge, I stare out aimlessly at the endless ocean. The sound of the waves as they rush up toward me, eventually crashing over my feet, feels oddly comforting.

  Today is my thirty-fifth birthday and while I should be celebrating, I'm nowhere near where I planned to be. Nearly two years ago my life imploded before my eyes, sweeping the proverbial rug right out from under my feet.

  My husband, Michael, of nearly twelve years, died in a plane crash off the Gulf of Mexico. This beach where I stand and stare at the ocean’s unforgiving depths is the same gulf where he perished. His remains never to be found. After eighteen days of never-ending searches, he was officially declared dead.

  Dead.

  At thirty-four years old.

  My beautiful vibrant full-of-life husband was...dead.

  He was never again going to walk through our front door, grab me around the waist, and pull me in close to kiss me senseless.

  Never again will he gaze into my eyes with his, full-of-all-the-love he held for me in his heart.

  His death made me a widow at the tender age of thirty-three. My life up until then hadn’t always been easy, but before Michael’s death I didn’t know what it felt like to truly feel alone. The house where we lived together as a couple became my silent solitary tomb.

  Today as I find myself standing on the beach, sand between my toes, overlooking the violent ocean that took my Michael from this world, I vow to use today, my birthday, as a beginning of a new chapter in my life. After venomously denying it for the past two years, I’m finally admitting out loud I can’t handle life on my own.

  Today, I move back into my parents’ house and seek their help in getting my life back on track.

  It was either move in with them or check myself into a mental hospital.

  Yes, my life is that awful.

  I’m that depressed.

  That lost.

  That broken.

  Honestly, I’ve never known how to truly live without Michael. He was the other half of my heart. When he died, it didn’t only feel like my soul was split in two, I felt a part of myself die with him. Its effects have caused me to spiral into the deepest depression I’ve ever known.

  It’s time to save myself.

  It’s time to find Tenley.

  It’s time to find me.

  “Tenley Michelle Grace, get your lazy bum out of bed this instant. It’s a new day, already mid-afternoon and you’re wasting it away. Again,” my mother, Maria, says as she tosses open the heavy-light concealing drapes I’d had installed when moving back in. Up until two seconds ago, said drapes were doing their job, helping to keep the sun at bay. The most enjoyable thing about them? They shroud my bedroom into complete and utter darkness.

  “Mama…” I let out on a long-overdrawn sigh. “I was sleeping. To me that’s considered being productive. Some of my best plot lines come from my dreams. Besides, I wasn’t ready to wake up yet. It’s barely noon and I haven’t been asleep for long. The sun was rising as I was finally, blissfully, drifting into sleep. Please, let me have a few minutes longer,” I beg. Trust me, I know begging is not becoming. Especially coming from a fully grown adult woman. But I’m depressed and if begging wins me some more sleeping hours, I’ll beg.

  “Baby girl, it’s not ‘barely noon’, as you’ve said. It’s nearly three. Which means your father will be on his way home in a few minutes from playing a round of golf with the guys. We wouldn’t want him to find out you’ve slept the whole day away again. Would we?”

  She does have a valid point.

  Moving back into my parents’ house has been an adjustment for all of us. Proving way more difficult for my father than the rest of us. He enjoyed the lifestyle of an empty nester far more than my mother ever has. He went as far as getting falling down drunk the day he learned I was leaving my home empty to move back in with them. My homecoming was less than cordial.

  Since moving into my parents’ home, a mere month ago, I haven’t risen before noon once. On the other hand, I haven’t been able to fall asleep before dawn once either.

  It’s hard to sleep without Michael’s arms around me. In fact, it’s nearly unbearable. The nights I do find relief, I’m plagued by nightmares. The kind where I’m in the plane with Michael when he loses all control and plunges into the ocean’s unforgiving depths. On those nights, I wake wrapped up in sheets, covered in sweat, and crumbled into a ball—eventually crying my tear ducts dry. Ambien helps, but I hate taking a pill to sleep. I’m stubborn and I believe it makes me feel somehow, less. As if depending on a drug to sleep makes me less of a person. The nights I do take it, sleep comes for a few hours—six if I’m lucky—before it starts all over again the next day. The only positive thing about taking the pill? The nightmares happen less.

  My aversion to taking pills doesn’t
stop with my sleeping aide. No. Not me. Why be normal when you’re already slightly insane. My depressed state causes me to have to rely on several medications to get through a ‘normal’ day for me. Whatever normal is.

  Depression, to put it mildly, sucks major balls.

  And costs a mint. Yes, even with insurance co-pays I’m slowly depleting my bank account. My deadline for my newest novel has come and gone. It’s so overextended that I fear my publisher is going to drop me. Who wants a romance novelist that writes about a broken heart with no happy ending in sight?

  Sighing again, I utter the words I know will make mama happy.

  “Okay, Mama, I’ll get up. I’ll go take a shower before daddy’s home; he won’t have to know I was still sleeping. I know it upsets him to see me still depressed and not getting my life back together. Don’t worry, we won’t have another fight today. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to be better, I promise.”

  It seems like I’m making this promise more and more lately. Not only to myself but to everyone around me. Honestly, it’s a promise I vow to keep. I’m thirty-five, I don’t want to be this shell of a person forever. The Tenley I was once is still there. She’s hiding, I only have to find her. If the road is rocky, I’ll climb over the rocks. Filled with cracks, I’ll bring along some crack filler. The point is, I want to be the old Tenley, I need to be the old me.

  “He only has your best interests at heart, baby girl. We both do. Our intentions are only meant to help you, Tenley. We all miss Michael, but we miss you much more,” Mama says from where she stands staring wistfully out my bedroom window.

  Missing him is my favorite pastime. I miss him every single second of every single day. With every inhale and every exhale of every breath I take. With every lone solitary beat of my heart. Every day I wake without him feels like winter. My heart has completely frozen over. I'd hoped moving in here would help aide the thawing process, but thus far, no such luck. My veins still feel like they're filled with ice. Each breath I take, I feel the ice crackling but never fully breaking. My heart is enclosed in an ice case, waiting for someone to take a pickax to it. I’m ready for the thawing process to begin.

  “Have you given another second thought to seeing Dr. Beesley?” Mama asks.

  Only with every single waking moment, of every day. When I’m not thinking about Michael.

  My family physician has recommended I see a therapist for almost a year now. It's time for me to take the final step. One I should've taken months ago. Calling her office. Booking an actual appointment, one I’ll force myself to keep.

  “Yes...I have her information. I’ll go take a shower, but would you sit with me while I make the call? I could use your strength while placing the call to make the appointment. I’m tired of living this way, Mama. I’d like to find myself again.”

  Even if I say it tentatively, it’s the God’s honest truth. I need to find myself. The woman I know I can be again. If I have to crawl through hell to find who I was at the tender age of twenty-one, I will. My life when I met Michael was starting to blossom, all roses, irises, sunflowers, and lilies. His love made my garden grow. Now all that’s left are thorns and weeds. Not any decent weeds either, like a dandelion. At least if I had those, I could make some wishes.

  “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, dear. After your shower would you like to run to the store with me? Luellen called a bit ago to tell me my book order has arrived. I told her I’d be in a while later to pick them up. I’d also like to stop by the meat shop to get some ribeye steaks for dinner. Would going those two places be too much?” she asks.

  It’s the third time this week she’s asked me to run errands with her. It’s about to be the third time I turn her down. Snap out of it, Tenley!

  “Uh, okay, I guess. I’d like to see Luellen; it has been awhile. If I don’t feel like going inside the meat shop, I’ll stay in the car. Yes, I’ll go with you, Mama,” I reply.

  The expression of shock on her face gives her away. She didn’t think I’d say yes to going with her. It’s sad to think about her getting used to my saying no. I hate knowing my parents are used to my disappointing them. No child likes to think they’ve disappointed their parents. Sadly, it’s not a foreign feeling to me. I’ve been knowingly disappointing Maria and Stewart Cleary for my whole life. Well, maybe more when it comes to daddy. Mama is the more easy-going parent, the kind hearted one, with a gentle soul. Daddy? Not as much. He’s the stern one, the rule maker and most importantly, the enforcer.

  “While you get out of bed, I’ll find Dr. Beesley’s information for you. Where did you place it?” Mama asks while tidying up my bedroom, thus breaking me from my dark thoughts.

  With an audible huff I pull back the covers, sit up, toss my legs over the side, and attempt to greet what’s left of this day head-on, like every grown ass woman should. Why do I find myself wanting to close the drapes, crawl back into bed, burrow under the covers, and close out the world effectively for one more day? Oh, yeah, I know why...because I’m severely depressed. I want nothing more than to not exist. The heavy blinds will transport the bedroom back into complete darkness, thus bringing me comfort. At least for the next few hours.

  If I hadn’t moved back home with my parents, I would’ve crawled back into bed and wasted away another day by just being. In the month I’ve been staying here I’ve shut out any sort of help they’ve extended my way. Daddy seems to have washed his hands of the whole situation. He says I should be over the grief part of my downward spiral by now. Since when does coping with grief come with a deadline? Mama is stronger though. She’s been persistent in helping me. She misses her baby girl and would love for nothing more than to see me whole again. Accepting Michael’s death would be a hell of a lot easier if I knew something about what happened to him. Anything.

  After relieving myself in the bathroom, I brush my teeth with a speed an Olympian speed skater would be proud of. Walking back into my bedroom, I find my mother sitting on my unmade bed, her cell phone gripped tightly in her hand. Her golden eyes gaze up to meet my aqua blue ones, and the expression in them says so much. She’s proud of me for finally taking this step. Making this call is a huge step for me; it’s me admitting defeat. Again. Taking her offered phone from her hand, I grasp it firmly. I may be taking this step, but it doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of it.

  “Will you read me the number, please?” I ask, my voice shaky with nerves.

  “Of course, I will. Whenever you’re ready, baby girl,” she says, her voice at least is steady, calming.

  “I—I’m, uh, I’m ready,” I lie outright, but if I don’t make this step now, I never will. I’m a chickenshit, but if I don’t call this feeling of nothingness will end up eating me alive. It’s killing me. Literally. Everyone around me has been watching me slowly die for the last two years, myself included.

  Enough is enough.

  Dialing the number is one of the hardest decisions I’ve made in recent months. My fingers shake with every number pushed. Hitting send is the worst of all, my finger shakes above it for a solid minute. Maybe two.

  One ring.

  No answer.

  I inhale and start to hold my breath, afraid of whoever picks up the line.

  Second ring.

  Still no answer.

  “Tenley, honey, you have to breathe. Your face is turning red,” Mama says from her place next to me on my bed. Well, shit, I didn’t notice my holding my breath was obvious to anyone but myself.

  Third ring.

  “Good Afternoon, Dr. Miranda Beesley’s office, Gabby speaking. How may I help you today?” She has a pleasant voice. Friendly. Welcoming.

  “Yes, he—hello. Um…I’d like to make an appointment to be seen.” Okay, a stutter but it was easy enough.

  “Are you calling as a first-time patient? Doctor Beesley is booked up for the next few weeks but she does have a few openings set aside for new patients. When would you like to be seen?”

  Makes me thankful I’m a new patient.
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  When would I like to be seen? How about the day after never?

  “Well, yes, I’d be a new patient. Whenever is the earliest, I guess. Although now, it’s proving difficult to sleep; mornings are honestly not the best time. Afternoons would probably work out better.”

  If they would end up scheduling me for a morning appointment, it means I’d probably not have been to sleep from the night before. I’m stubborn, therefore I don’t like to take the pills to actually help me sleep until it’s already morning. My logic makes no sense, I know, but I always make myself believe I can fall asleep without the aide. It never works. Not once has it yet, but I have faith in the maybe someday of it. If worse comes to worst and it’s all that’s available to me, then it is what it is. I’ll cave and take a pill at a normal flipping time. Taking them at dawn certainly isn’t any different than taking them at eleven the night before. They don’t work, what difference does it make?

  “If you don’t mind coming in a half an hour early to fill out the new patient paperwork, the doctor could squeeze you in as early as tomorrow afternoon. Does tomorrow work for you? If it doesn’t we can make an appointment for next week. And I’ll send you the paperwork to fill out and bring back when you come in for your appointment,” Gabby informs me.

  “Um, tomorrow works. Thank you.” May as well start babbling to some head shrink sooner rather than later.

  “Okay, great. Your appointment is set for 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. May I have your name and phone number please?”