Counting down to January 1 and the release of Next Time I'm Gonna Dance. Here is an excerpt to whet your appetite and pique your interest.
Next Time I'm Gonna Dance
Just breathe. Breathe. You don’t have a final diagnosis—yet. Emmie turned the key and the engine purred. Maybe she would head west and keep driving. Perhaps if she kept moving, this wouldn’t be real. Lurching to a stop at the garage attendant’s booth, she paid and eased into traffic.
Other drivers whizzed past her as if she were standing still. The drive that normally lasted ten minutes, took her twenty-five. She parked in her driveway and sat for a moment, staring at the fence. I need to paint the fence this summer. A laugh escaped at the incongruity of that thought, as if painting the fence would set her world right.
When she opened the back door of her house, a fly buzzed past her and made a beeline for the window above the sink. She didn’t have the heart to chase it down and kill it. Tossing the car keys onto the kitchen table, she dropped her purse in a chair. The red light on the answering machine blinked, but she ignored it. She wandered through the house, trying to decide what to do first. Tears threatened when she thought of telling her daughter, Lisa, this news.
Tension crawled up her spine, across her shoulders, and into the base of her skull where everything knotted together. She walked to the kitchen and parted the mini-blinds, looking beyond her car to the next driveway, hoping to see her sister-in-law’s SUV parked there. She must have stayed after school, probably monitoring detention.
Her eyes filled and the need for comfort chilled her. Emmie wrapped her arms across her chest, her fingers grasping just above each elbow. The empty embrace made her feel even more alone.
Panic gripped her. She swallowed hard and ran to the bathroom, heaving, but nothing came. Rising, she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair that had grown back curly and a darker shade of brown. She sank her fingers into the thick curls as tears spilled down her cheeks. Why?
She closed her eyes, taking in deep breaths to hold back the terror that threatened to suffocate her.
Next Time I'm Gonna Dance
Just breathe. Breathe. You don’t have a final diagnosis—yet. Emmie turned the key and the engine purred. Maybe she would head west and keep driving. Perhaps if she kept moving, this wouldn’t be real. Lurching to a stop at the garage attendant’s booth, she paid and eased into traffic.
Other drivers whizzed past her as if she were standing still. The drive that normally lasted ten minutes, took her twenty-five. She parked in her driveway and sat for a moment, staring at the fence. I need to paint the fence this summer. A laugh escaped at the incongruity of that thought, as if painting the fence would set her world right.
When she opened the back door of her house, a fly buzzed past her and made a beeline for the window above the sink. She didn’t have the heart to chase it down and kill it. Tossing the car keys onto the kitchen table, she dropped her purse in a chair. The red light on the answering machine blinked, but she ignored it. She wandered through the house, trying to decide what to do first. Tears threatened when she thought of telling her daughter, Lisa, this news.
Tension crawled up her spine, across her shoulders, and into the base of her skull where everything knotted together. She walked to the kitchen and parted the mini-blinds, looking beyond her car to the next driveway, hoping to see her sister-in-law’s SUV parked there. She must have stayed after school, probably monitoring detention.
Her eyes filled and the need for comfort chilled her. Emmie wrapped her arms across her chest, her fingers grasping just above each elbow. The empty embrace made her feel even more alone.
Panic gripped her. She swallowed hard and ran to the bathroom, heaving, but nothing came. Rising, she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair that had grown back curly and a darker shade of brown. She sank her fingers into the thick curls as tears spilled down her cheeks. Why?
She closed her eyes, taking in deep breaths to hold back the terror that threatened to suffocate her.
* * *
If you're one of those lucky folks to whom Santa is delivering a new e-book reader, be sure to order Next Time I'm Gonna Dance, available in a variety of e-book formats.
Happy Reading -
Linda
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