Day 49/366

Gen began pacing, moving from the kitchen to the living room, then back.  She had to be missing something, some way to end this nightmare and still learn what her dad had saved in that storage unit.

Because something had been in there.

And now it was missing.

Something important, so much so that some anonymous person was able to use the information as leverage. Leverage used to force her to do unspeakable things.

Her legs folded and she went down hard on the carpet. Regardless of the outcome, her life would never be the same.

Why had she picked up that phone?  Finding the key hadn't cost her anything.  Searching for the storage site was no threat to anyone.  But once inside, she could have just walked away.

She should have walked away.

Her life was good.  It had meaning, had purpose and was fulfilling.  Gen loved her work at the non-profit her parents had started, a ministry designed to free women and children from slavery and trafficking.

More and More had been in operation for just over seven years, and had many success stories in its history.  Working with missionaries in some of the poorest countries, MOM had been instrumental in providing housing, counselling and employment to over a thousand women and children.

After her mother passed away, Gen had moved into the role of liaison, connecting churches and businesses with needs on foreign soil.  Recently she'd been working on a few fundraising ideas.

The loss of her father had impacted her life in more than one way.  She'd lost her dad, her pastor, her ministry leader, and the only man in her life.

Maybe that's the reason she'd picked up the phone that day.  Discovering the reason he'd wanted to talk to her that night would help fill that empty space she carried with her every day.

In order to find the answers, she had to connect with the person on the other end of the call.

If only Genevieve had known what kind of person she would be dealing with...too late now.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 48 /366

The phone vibrated in her hand, bringing her back to the present.  As much as she didn't want to, Gen knew she had to answer.  She had no choice.  Flipping it open, she relaxed a bit.  It was another text message.  She scrolled down to the first one, thought a moment, then decided to focus on the latest message.

"I saw you.  No talking.  To anyone.  Or you'll pay a hefty price."

How did he know?  She was away from her home, phone in the drawer, and out in the open.  No one nearby.  Was he watching her?  And if so, how much did he know?

She flipped the phone shut and threw it down on the counter.  This was getting to be too much.  Much more than she could handle.  There had to be someone she could trust, but if he was watching her...

"God, tell me what to do here.  I'm so scared, and so out of control.  I can't do this anymore.  But I don't know how to turn back the clock."  A single tear rolled down her cheek, quickly followed by another and another.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 47/366

"Sheriff, any idea why someone would do this to your little girl?"

Shelly peered through bloodshot eyes at the deputy standing over her.  She had no memory of leaving her kitchen and going outside.  The concrete ledge that ran the length of the driveway was cold and gritty.
"Please stop calling me that," she whispered.

"Pardon, ma'am?"  The deputy used the end of his pen to move the brim of his hat a little higher.  "I didn't quite catch what you said."

"So you moved your stupid hat to hear me better?" she snapped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.  "Oh, Deputy Fisher, I'm so sorry...I"

He smiled slightly, bending down to one knee.  "Shel, I get it.  No apology, okay?"  He waited for her to calm down, then asked again, "Any idea why, or who?"

Shelly shook her head.  "I know everyone says it, but everyone really did love Carly."

The deputy made a notation in his book, then continued.  "Any sign of drug abuse?"  He watched the flush build in Shelly's cheeks and put his hand on her arm.  "Shel, I have to ask."

"No, you didn't!" She pulled away and tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn't hold her.  Back on the ground, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"You've seen the reports coming in, Sher--Shelly.  Huffing is on the rise here, and there's evidence in the plastic over--" Fisher had to pause.  Carly was family.  "Coroner talked about a chemical smell when he removed it."

Shelly didn't want to be here, like this, doing this, by herself.  "Where's my husband, Fish?"

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 46/366

Gen took in a deep breath and whispered a quick prayer, "Father, no matter what, help me deal."  She pushed up and the heavy metal door rolled up and out of the way.

The unit had no inner illumination, and the darkness of the interior combined with the brightness of the late morning sun blinded her.  She blinked a few times, then entered the unit.

Gen didn't know what to expect when she found her dad's storage unit.  But there was no way she could have anticipated the actual discovery.  The metal container was empty...

...except for the wooden stool resting in the center of the cement floor.  Hesitant steps brought her close enough to see something perched on the seat.

A black cellphone.  And a handwritten note that read "call me."

The same phone she now held in her trembling hand.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 45/366

Gen was blessed with no traffic, and she was on the outskirts of Marysville in less than twenty minutes.  Her head was pounding, so she made a stop at a gas station/mini mart with a drive through coffee bar.  She ordered a mocha latte with an extra shot, and threw in a muffin since she'd missed breakfast as well.

The cashier was chatty and friendly, obviously trying to be helpful.  Gen asked her if a mini-storage was still located down the road, and received an affirmative answer.  She took her change and stuck a five dollar bill in the tip jar, then drove off with a wave and a thank you.

Sure enough, the first mini-storage she checked out was in the address listed and the office was open.  Unfortunately this one used combination locks and not keys.  Back in her car, she marked off the listing and checked her gps for the location of the next place.  Again, disappointment: this one used numeric pads.

Frustrated and tired, Gen took a chance and asked the attendant if he knew of any that used keys for their storage units.  He thought for a moment, then replied, "Sure!  It's a bit of a drive, but there's one like that over on Garden Highway in Yuba City.  Just over the bridge, and a few miles past that."

"Thank you so much," she smiled, and headed back to her car.  She programmed the address into her phone and followed the directions to the business.  Sure enough, when she showed the key to the attendant, he nodded that it went to one of their storage units.  Turns out, the writing on the paper was the locker number and the original name of the place.

Her father had rented a storage unit not long after she was born, and he'd kept up with yearly payments ever since.  Home Storage Service was the original name of the business.  She followed the man down two aisles of units, turned toward the right and five more down.  "The unit you're looking for is midway down this row.  Can I help you with anything else?'

"No, but thanks.  You were a big help."  Gen waited until the man started moving toward the front office before she made her way to 347-B.  Several steps, and she found herself standing in front of the unit, key in hand.  Finally, some answers awaited her.  "Help me out here, Lord," she whispered, then inserted the key and turned.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 44/366

Gen wilted with relief--she finally had a direction to follow!  First things first, though.  She went back inside and dumped her now cold coffee down the drain and placed the mug in the sink.  Grabbing her cell phone from the kitchen charger, she dialed the number for the non-profit she currently worked for to notify them that she was taking one of her last few personal days.

That task complete, she pulled a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from her dressed and made her way into the bathroom.  Pajamas replaced with clothing, she ran a quick brush through her curls, cool water on her face to chase away any sleepiness that remained, and an even quicker brushing of her teeth.

Then she made her way back to the kitchen counter and found a phone book in the junk drawer.  At first she'd thought of looking up storage facilities on her phone, but needed the momentary slow down to get her racing heartbeat more manageable.  Gen flipped through the yellow pages of the directory, stopping on the listings for storage facilities.

She found only two located in the area, but had five more down the hill she might have to check out.  Gen ripped the page from the phone book, grabbed her keys and her wallet and rushed out the door.  The first location was easy to find, a mere mile from her house.  Fortunately the office was open--she hadn't bothered to look at the time when she started driving.

Gen showed the key to the attendant, only to find out that this facility was high tech and used a key pad to secure your belongings.  No, he didn't know who would have a key similar to the one she showed him, but he advised her to try the storage units down the hill.  Seemed that the people living nearby preferred to secure their belongings rather...securely.

She found the second storage site, but again found no such locker.  Frustrated and running low on stable energy, Gen turned her car toward the nearby town and prayed for Got to guide her to the right facility.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 43/366

#mylifeinpages Day 43/366

Sitting and staring at the key and the note attached accomplished a pounding headache, but nothing productive.  Genevieve went to bed early and, knowing sleep would be all but impossible, she took one of the sleep aids her doctor had prescribed for her after her father's funeral.

Her dreams were fragments of her worries and of real events.  Her dad was still trapped, but she couldn't get to him.  The dream would shift, and she was back digging through the bookshelves, desperate to find the key.  She slept, but she didn't rest.

Up with the sun painted sky, Gen took her coffee out on the terrace, curling up on the patio chair and covered with her favorite robe.  Cotton fabric that was whisper soft in a pale lavender shade, the robe had been around for decades.

It belonged to her mom, making it more precious than cashmere.  The sleeves had begun to fray, and three of the fabric covered buttons were missing, but she loved the softness of the fabric.  At times she thought she smelled her mom's perfume, but it was just a memory.

She stared into the distance, clearing her mind as she listened to the sound of her town waking up.  The neighborhood roosters had their usual cockadoodle-off, and a dog howled in the distance.  A light ground fog created a soothing ocean of white, with patches of green bursting through as the sun rose higher.

If she could just shut her brain down and reboot her memories, she was certain she could find the lock that fit that key.  Head tilted back and eyes toward the sky, she sighed--a deep soul sigh, one that dredged up the bits and baubles that clutter us up inside.

"Father God," she began, "I know You know this, but I've been ignoring You.  Even when I have prayed, it's been with my fingers in my ears.  I think I'm a little bit angry with You.  No, I'm a lot angry."

A tear traced a shimmering path down her cheek and splashed onto her hand.  "You've got my mom, and now You've got my dad.  And I have nothing," she sobbed.  "What do You have to say about that?"

Her hand cramped, and she realized she had wrapped her cup tightly, with enough pressure to snap the handle.  A deep breath in, and back out.  Again.  And again.  "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do now.  I don't feel anything, like my heart is numb.  But I'm afraid to feel, so afraid and tired of hurting.

"Are You still there, Father?  Have You left me, too?"  She paused, another tear rolling down her flushed cheek.  Gen sat so still, offering no more words; she'd said enough.  A soft breeze whispered by, lightly moving her long, blonde curls.

A touch on her cheek, as if God Himself dried her tears.  Another feather-light touch, this time on her brow, as if Someone placed a tender kiss on her face. She gasped in surprise, then the tears flowed freely.  Yes, God was with her.  And He understood her fear and her anger.

He responded to her prayer with a sense of His presence, and reminded her that she hadn't lost her parents, but instead they were now where her treasure was stored.  Stored.  Gen sat up, her now lukewarm coffee spilling into the floor.  "That's it!" she cried.  She knew exactly what the key was for.

Her dad had a storage container somewhere, and now she had to find it.  "Thank You, Father.  Thank You."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 42/366

 

 

Genevieve took the key, the book and her father's Bible back into the living room. She placed everything out on the coffee table, then sat down, studying the pieces to the puzzle her father had left behind.

So, a physical key...hidden in a book...and not just any book, but an obscure title that was never read. That alone proved just how important this key was, and she had a feeling this key was tied to the meeting that never took place that night.

Problem was, it could be a key for a lock box at his home, or could be to a journal. The key could unlock the cryptic words her father had shared with her just before his life ended. And Gen was curious, but not enough to be running wild, trying to unlock anything and everything with the small key.

She had to know someone who might be able to tell her what kind of key she'd found. Now that she'd discovered it, sleep would be a memory. Gen had to find out what her father felt was so important that he would hide it from her.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 41/366

#mylifeinpages Day 41/366

She reached for the book, certain she'd find her answer within its pages.  A worn copy of The Golden Key rested in her hands.  A coat of dust indicated its permanent place on the bookshelf.  The book itself was a rare copy of a tale penned by George MacDonald, a favorite author for her dad.  Gen never saw him read the book, but remembered how important it was to him.

In fact, Pastor Ernie owned a copy of every book written by MacDonald. He claimed that reading The Princess and the Goblin had a profound impact on his life, and as a result was always on the look out for any and all titles written by the obscure author.  Gen remembered the book because for some strange reason it was a topic of conversation just days before his death.

A slim volume, barely a hundred pages, the book felt too heavy to Gen. She rose and hobbled over to the oak desk, wincing as the circulation was restored to her feet.  Desk lamp on to illuminate the late afternoon dusk, she started turning the yellowed pages, hoping her time would not be wasted.

She was in luck.  Between page twenty-eight and twenty-nine she found a half sheet of paper.  Setting the book aside, she focused on the paper in hand.  A small silver key was taped in the middle of the page.  Above that were the initials H.S.S., and underneath the key was 347-D.

She'd found the key.  Now what?

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 40/366

Gen closed the Bible and returned to the bookshelves, running her fingers over each spine, whispering the titles out loud to herself.  "I know it's here," she muttered, a hint of weary frustration in her voice.  "Honestly, Dad, could you have made this any harder?"

Immediately her eyes welled up.  She was just so tired and confused and...alone.  She blinked the tears away and started examining the second shelf, but still didn't see the book she wanted.  Was she going to have to pull every title from the shelf?  Her father had hundreds of books!

He had some shelves doubled up, with books in front of books to have enough space.   "That's it!" she cried, hunting for just such a shelf.  The bottom two, so the wood wouldn't bow under the weight.  Sure enough, Gen found what she was looking for.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 39/366

Genevieve pulled the drawer open and picked up the prepaid cell phone.  She couldn't read the text without flipping it open, so for this one moment she wasn't tied to whatever was on the phone.  She carried it with her to the table and sat down, staring down at the device and allowing her mind to drift.

After her father had passed away, Gen felt lost.  Getting up and getting dressed was all she could manage for the first week.  When her bereavement leave was up, the new fight was to get to her work at the non-profit she had once loved.  After a few weeks the fog of grief began to lift, and Gen was able to move forward.

Gen gathered some boxes from work and began packing away her father's things. It was then that she remembered what her father's final words were to her.  Being a pastor's daughter, she was familiar with the Bible.  But that particular passage didn't trigger a memory, so she'd had to look it up. 

Her dad's 'preachin' Bible was the one he used at church, but he had a leather-bound Bible he used for his personal daily reading.  That was the Bible she pulled down from the bookshelf.  Gen found the Book of John and paged over to the eighth chapter.  Running her finger down the page, she located the verse he'd referenced.

"You will know the truth and the truth will set you free," she read out loud.  "What did you want me to know, Dad?"  She sat back on her feet and pondered the verse.  "Know the truth..."  Then she noticed a handwritten note in the margin.  "Provide the key."

Gen thought for another moment and tried to put the two pieces together to unlock her father's cryptic final words.  "Key," she whispered. "I wonder..."

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 38/366

Shelly Davis arrived home from her late shift, exhausted and desperate for a cold drink.  The death of the sheriff had left the department short handed, which normally wouldn't have mattered in a town the size of Rocky Point.  Unfortunately, a string of vandalism had evolved into assaults, and she feared things would only get worse.

The front door was open and the screen was ajar, and she could hear music playing somewhere in the house as she approached the porch.  Carly!  She'd warned her about leaving the screen unlatched.  Insects and all manner of four legged creatures made their way inside the house when entrance was easy.

A month ago the Davis's arrived home to find a cat in their living room.  A cat that heavily resembled a skunk.  Undersheriff Davis had laid down the law in the house after that, emphasizing the necessity of securing the screen when the door was open.

She didn't blame her daughter for wanting some fresh air.  It had been a dark and gloomy winter, and Carly thrived on vitamin D sunshine.  But not securing the screen?  Yeah, that she could get her for.  Shelly entered the mostly quiet home and called out as she unstrapped her utility belt and carried it down the hall.

"Carly?"  she yelled.  "Come talk with me?"  Shelly unpinned her hair, then shook out her auburn curls and let out a sigh of relief.  Taking her hair down rivaled crawling in her pajamas for stress relief and relaxation.  She moved to the closet where her husband had installed her gun safe and quickly punched in her code, then placed her gun and extra cartridges inside, slamming it shut.

If there was one thing she despised, it was being ignored.  Carly was an expert at irritating her lately, and she'd just about reached her limit of patience.  "Carly Ann Davis, get over here right now!"  Still, nothing.  No footsteps, no snarky reply...just that muted music playing somewhere near the kitchen.

"That's it!"  Shelly announced as she made her way to the kitchen.  "You are so grounded, my d--"  She froze.  Time stopped.  Her breath choked in her throat.  Shelly blinked once, twice, then on the third blink a keening sound erupted from her heart.

"Nooooooooo!  Oh, no, no, no..."  Falling to her knees, she slid forward to her daughter, prone on the floor, a plastic bag encasing her face and head, wisps of hair sticking to her daughter's cheek.  "Baby, come on, talk to me.  Talk to Momma, please, baby, talk to me."  She reached to remove the bag, then caught herself.

Evidence.  This was all evidence of--what?  A suicide?  A homicide?  Her grief translated into a whimper as she reached for her cell phone in her back pocket.  She reflexively dialed 911, wanting to hold her daughter's hand, but knowing forensic evidence could be under her nails or on her skin.  Shelly fought for control, slipping into her law enforcement frame of reference and setting aside grieving mom.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"This is Undersheriff Shelly Davis.  I have a 187 at 2356 Appleblossom Court.  Please send...everything you've got.  It's my daughter.  She's been murdered."  With that, her phone hit the floor and her agony erupted uncontrolled.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 37/366

Carly secured the latch on the screen door, then returned to the kitchen, inserting her headphones as she walked.  Dirty dishes overflowed from both sides of the dual kitchen sink.  She grabbed a pair of sturdy purple gloves and slipped them on, then began to clear out one side of the basin.

Things between Carly and her mom had been extremely tense.  They spent more time arguing than anything else, and Carly was tired of it.  She didn't feel like her mom was the enemy, but she couldn't seem to find the best way to express herself without it escalating into conflict.

Maybe it was the stress of her mom's job as the small town's temporary undersheriff that contributed to the drama.  Rocky Point had been shaken by the unexpected death of Sheriff Rusty Briggs last fall, and the entire department went through a personnel shake up.  Then Undersheriff Bob Brody was moved to the position of sheriff, leaving her mom, the most experienced on the force, to take his spot.

It was just until a special election could be held.  Carly knew her mom was reluctant to run for the position; she just didn't know if she wanted all of that responsibility with three of her five children still living at home.  Her dad was Mom's biggest supporter, encouraging her to go for it just to see what might happen.

Carly was concerned about the kids at school.  Being a sophomore was hard enough, then add to it that one of your parents was in law enforcement and everyone looked at you as a narc or a snitch.  Out of all of her classmates--a whopping 51 in their small high school--Carly had one friend she could be herself with.

Why couldn't her mom understand that?  It wasn't so much that Carly didn't believe in her ability to lead as it was Carly didn't believe in her own ability to distance herself from her mom.  All she wanted was a normal life.  Then again, who defined what was normal these days.

Sink cleared, she used the spray nozzle to clean out any nasties before she used the stopper to plug the drain.  The Collins family had a dishwasher, but she knew her mother preferred the dishes handwashed.  Carly hoped that taking care of this chore would show her mother that she was trying to make life easier for her.

Two squirts of dish soap and running hot water created a mountain of suds detergent her mom favored.  She waited until the sink was a quarter filled and then began putting the silverware and plates in to soak for a few moments.  Last night's dinner of homemade mac and cheese was adhered to the dinner plates and wouldn't begin to come off without a good soak.

Swaying to the music in her headphones, Carly felt good about...everything.  The stresses of spring midterms and the teasing she endured at school seemed to just float away with the routine of washing dishes.  Once the sink was half full, she turned off the faucet and found her scrubbing sponge.

A slight touch on her right shoulder startled her and she dropped the plate and sponge into the hot water with a splash.  Carly yanked out one earbud and whirled around, her gloved and soapy hand at her throat.  "What in the....oh, it's you!  Man, you scared the buggers out of me!"  She removed the other earbud and laid them on the counter next to her iPhone.

"What are you doing here?  And how did you get in here anyway?" she asked, one corner of her mouth curving up into a grin.  "Hey, is something wrong?  Is that why you're here?"  Puzzled by her visitor's lack of response, she turned back to the sink to remove her gloves.  If someone needed to talk, she wanted to be totally present and in the moment.

A plastic bag was thrust over her head and pulled tight around her neck.  The air in the bag had a bitter, chemical odor that made Carly want to cough, but she couldn't pull in enough of a breath to expel the tainted air.  She panicked and clawed at the bag, trying to rip it open, but it was made of a heavy plastic.

She reached back for the hands that held the bag closed, trying to pry one loose so she could yank that bag off.  But the grip was too strong, and the lack of oxygen was taking affect.  She could feel her lungs burning, screaming for air.  Black dots appeared in her field of vision.  She sensed a face drawing close to her head, and thrashed around, trying to knock her head into the chin, nose, or forehead.

A quiet voice gently whispered, "I'm so sorry, Carly.  This is just how it has to be.  But I really am sorry."  The fight dissipated, her muscles growing lax, her vision clouding over.  She felt herself begin to slump to the tile floor and had no way to stop herself.

Unable to express her final thought, Carly shook her head one last time.  "No, you're not," she wanted to say, but now there was no reason to say it.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 36/366

She deposited her belongings on the end table by the sofa and wandered down the hall to the bedroom.  Decorated in the soothing tones of the ocean, a soft blue and seafoam green, her room was her sanctuary.  She sat on the end of the bed and slipped out of her shoes, then fluffed one of the pillows and leaned back against the headboard.

Drawing in a deep breath, she held it for a few seconds, then let it out, feeling a bit of the tension in her neck and shoulders release.  If she could catch just fifteen minutes of rest maybe dinner would sound good.  Right now, though, the thought of food was not at all appealing.

Gen closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind.  She was on the edge of sleep when her cell went off.  Fighting the urge to get the phone, she tried to relax back into napping.  Just a few minutes...

Her phone chimed, notifying her of a missed call.  A moment after, a tone signaled a text had come through.  She groaned, "Well, this isn't going to work," and sat up.

Rubbing her eyes, she padded back down the hall and into the living room.  She dug through her purse, hunting for her phone.  "That's odd.  I know I heard you ring."  No missed calls or texts appeared on the display."

A tone sounded again and Gen froze.  This phone hadn't gone off.  It was the other phone, the one she had thrown into the junk drawer in the kitchen.  The phone she had found that night, the night this nightmare began.

The phone with only one caller.

It was him.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 35/366

"I'm so sorry," Gen began,"I'm not normally like this."  She tugged her hand back from his, flustered and embarrassed.  She hunted around inside her purse for a tissue.

"No worries, Gen.  You're entitled to cry after the last few months.  It's a lot for anybody to work through," Jeremy assured her.  He gave her a moment to gather her thoughts and to dry her eyes, then offered, "I've been told I'm a good listener."

Gen glanced at Him, then looked away, fixing her gaze on the water spraying into the air.  "I really appreciate that.  I do.  It's just...", she cleared her throat, "I have some things I need to work through."

"I get that.  We don't have to talk about whatever you're dealing with.  We can just shoot the breeze as they say."  That got her full attention, a spark of amusement in her gaze.  "Or we can just chew the fat."

"Really?"

"We could flap our gums, jibber jabber to our heart's content."  He finally got that smile he was working for, the one with the dimple in right cheek.  For a brief moment he had the strongest desire to kiss that tiny dimple.

"Who are you?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"I'm the word guy.  The walking talking--"

"Cliche?" she teased.

"Be nice, or I won't let you filibuster," he chided her, wagging his finger at her.  She laughed again, this time without dissolving into tears.  "Seriously, it might be good to just decompress a little."

She stared at him for a moment, seeing only honesty in his expression.  She couldn't tell him about the envelope and all that came with it, but a distraction would be nice.  "I'll think about it, "she finally said, then gathered her things and stood up.  "And thank you."

Jeremy stood as well and they began walking back toward the office.  "For what?“

"For...I don't know.  I guess for just allowing me to be...me.“

He grinned.  "I must admit, I don't want you to be anything else but you."

The man, hidden in the shadows, shook his head as he lowered his camera.  "This won't do.  No, this won't do at all."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 34/366

"So, this is where you wandered off to," teased a familiar male voice.

Gen startled and whirled around, wincing as her ankle scraped against the bench.  "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to sneak up on someone?" she snapped, her cheeks flushing with surprised anger.

Jeremy raised his hands, palms out in self defense.  "First of all, I didn't sneak.  I have it on good authority that I sound like a herd of baby elephants wherever I go."

She hesitated, then gave him a tentative smile, recognizing his attempt to lighten the mood.  "Just baby elephants?"

He grinned and nodded, adding, "I think my mom was trying to spare my feelings."

Gen forced her shoulders to relax.  "And second of all?"  Jeremy just looked at her, puzzled.  "Oh, come on.  You can't start a sentence with 'first' if you don't have a second," she teased.

Another half grin flashed.  "I have more than a second to spend with you, Gen," he volleyed back.

She threw her head back and erupted in soul deep laughter.  It felt so good to laugh again, and the stress rolled away for that brief moment.  Her nerves were so fragile she quickly went from tears of laughter to just plain tears.

Jeremy's Sun bleached brows creased, concern shadowing his features.  "Oh, hey, now," he stumbled, "the last thing I wanted was to make you cry."  Instinctively he reached for her hand and held it firmly between his much larger grip.

Gen wiped at her tears with her free hand, surprising herself with how good his touch felt.  For the first time since everything began unraveling, she felt safe.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 33/366

Gen ran to the incident commander and a dear family friend, Captain Morrison.  One look at his expression and her stomach went into freefall.  "It's bad, isn't it, Morrie?"

His head dipped for a moment, then he looked into her eyes and told her the truth.  "Gen, there's nothing we can do for him except keep him from suffering."

Disbelief clouded what she could see for herself.  "No, no, I don't accept that.  Move the car and get in there and save my dad!"  When he didn't move, she pounded on him with her fists, screaming for him to move the car.

"Genevieve, baby, if we move the car, he'll bleed out in minutes.  His lower torso is completely crushed under the full weight of the vehicle.  If we move it, we lose him.  If we don't move it, we lose him.  But leaving it there minimizes the pain he's in."  Morrie's blue eyes grew watery, and one solitary tear trailed down his weathered cheek.  "I'm sorry, sweetie.  You know I'd give my life for your dad if I could."

Gen took a deep breath and felt her legs go out from under her.  Zach came up behind and kept her from hitting the asphalt, and Morrie waved someone over to check her vital signs.  "No, I'm all right."  She put a hand to her head, ignoring the trembling in her fingers.  "Really," she protested.  "I'm okay."

Zach helped her back to her feet.  "I want to see him."  The two men exchanged concerned glances, then Morrie made the call.  "If you're sure you can handle what you see."

Gen nodded firmly, "I'm his daughter.  I can handle it."  He shifted and allowed the tall dark-haired paramedic to escort her to the crash site.  A whimper escaped her when she caught sight of her father, his head bathed in blood and illuminated by flashing red and blue lights.  She felt Zach's grip tighten, and she squeezed his hand in appreciation.

She slowly made her way to an angle where they could see each other, and she was surprised to see her father's eyes were open and his gaze was bright.  "I thought I heard my girl pitching a hissy over there," he whispered, his voice strained.  His right hand was free and he used his fingers to crawl it over toward his child.

Gen saw his effort, and that began the tears falling, silent and filled with anguish.  "Oh, Daddy."

"Now, none of that.  Sometimes life takes a turn we don't expect, but God is still on His throne and He knows what He's doing," Ernie reassured her.  The corner of his mouth attempted a smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain.

"Do you need more pain meds, Pastor?" Zach asked, ready to head to the truck to grab his medical bag.  Ernie hesitated and then gave a slight nod.  That gave him a moment of privacy with his daughter.  "Genevieve Marcella, I am not long for this world, my daughter."

"Dad, don't talk like that," she started, then stopped at his clear and focused gaze. 

"The Nunoz family does not hide from the truth," he admonished, a shadow crossing his features briefly.  "I'm going to be with my star again, and with my Savior.  And you know we will be waiting for you to join us some day."  He coughed and blood sprayed her t-shirt.

"Oh, Daddy, maybe you shouldn't try to talk now.  Just rest and breath, okay?"  The tears dripped off the tip of her nose and joined the red spatter on her clothing.  She tightened her grip on his hand, willing her strength into him.  'God, please, please work a miracle here!' she pleaded silently.

But Gen already knew the answer.  She could see the light beginning to fade from his eyes.  He drew in a deep breath, causing a moan to escape his lips.  His mouth tinged blue, and his grip weakened.  "Gen, I have to tell you one thing."

"Okay, Daddy.  I love you, you know that, don't you?  You've been the best dad a girl could ask for, and I'm so thankful God put me outside that firehouse that day."  She sobbed, her chest aching with pain and restrained grief.

Ernie tried to speak, but his breath was failing him.  He tried once more, but was only able to groan.  Gen shifted her position and bent low, close to his face.  She saw her reflection in her father's eyes, and she tucked that away to treasure later on.  "What do you need to tell me, Daddy?"

He lifted his head a millimeter from the pavement and whispered, "John 8:32, my girl".  One more deep inhale, and that was all.  The quiet was suddenly deafening.  His grip went limp, and his eyes focused on something he could see over Gen's shoulder.

Daddy?"  Gen's heart began to race erratically.  "Daddy!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the night.  Zach appeared, bag in hand.  He knelt down and placed two fingers on the side of Ernie's throat, his eyes tearing up.  "Zach?" she asked, looking at him with her last shred of hope.

"I'm sorry, Gen.  He's gone."  Zach dropped his bag and caught Gen as she fell sobbing into his arms, the lights continuing to flash and the rescue workers joining her in mourning the loss of a great, great man.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 32/366

Genevieve had waited at the restaurant for nearly twenty minutes, growing more concerned as the time passed.  Her dad was a stickler for being prompt, but he was also a pastor.  Something could have come up last minute, and if he didn't need to cancel he'd just be a little late.  Then she heard the ambulance as it went by, lights flashing and siren screaming--and she knew.

Rushing out to her car, she struggled to unlock the door with shaky hands, but she made it inside and tore out of the gravel parking lot.  The accident site was just around the first bend in the road, and the sight of her father's car, upside down in a water filled ditch, caused her stomach to lurch and her eyes to fill.

Gen slammed the car door, not caring that it caught on her seatbelt buckle and bounced open again.  She ran to the car, only to have two strong arms grab her around the middle and hold on tight.  "No, Gen, you can't go over there."

She struggled.  "Let me go, Zach!  That's my dad over there!"  She clawed at his arms, but his hold remained tight.  "Please, let me go to him.  He's all I have left."

The paramedic released a deep sigh that became a groan.  "Gen, you don't need to see him like this.  Trust me, please?"

Gen stilled, then whispered, "What if he needs me?"  She felt Zach' s arms release and took advantage, rushing to the overturned vehicle.  Her frantic gaze searched for her father's jet black curly hair, then spotted him, his head angled toward the murky water...

And his body underneath the car.  "Oh, God...please..."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 31/366

Pastor Ernie and Estrella lived in a small rural community in the foothills of California.  Silver Falls was large enough to have its own fire station and postal service, but small enough that if you didn't know what you were doing, someone in town always did.  So it was no secret that the beloved pastor and his wife struggled with infertility.

The small community also had a grocery store, a gas station and convenience store, a pizza parlor, a café and a handful of other local businesses.  Silver Falls wasn't far from the larger towns of Marysville and Yuba City, all in northern California.  If people needed something that couldn't be obtained locally, then would go "down the hill" to one of the larger towns.

The call came in on a night fraught with thunder and a heavy downpour.  All the captain of the firehouse said was it was urgent and Ernie needed to bring his wife.  They traveled the few minutes to the fire station, both silently praying for whatever was to come.

It seemed someone had taken advantage of the safe haven statute and abandoned a baby girl at the station.  One of the men on duty had noticed a bundle of clothing just outside the firehouse door and went to investigate.  He was startled when the bundle made noise, and found the baby wrapped snuggly with a note fastened to the blanket.

The couple took one look at the baby girl and fell in love, and since they'd been approved for foster care several years ago, it was not a stretch to place the infant in their home.  Before long, adoption papers were filed, and after a lifetime, Genevieve Nunoz became a part of their little family.

At least, that was the story she'd been told all her life.  Ernie and Estrella didn't keep the fact that Gen was adopted a secret.  Instead, they told the story often, praising God for his blessing of their little girl.  When Gen would ask why she didn't have any brothers or sisters, she was told that God filled their hearts with a little girl and they were content.

Gen never had a desire to find her birth mother.  She'd received ample love and support from the Nunoz family, and felt like she'd always belonged with them.  When her mother passed away, a huge hole was left in her heart, and life changed dramatically for her father.  Until recently.

Just over two months ago, Ernie had sparked back to life.  Something had taken hold of him, and he was working day and night on a secret project that he kept from Gen.  She didn't mind.  As long as her dad was back to his optimistic and active self, he could have his privacy.  It seemed a bit odd, but life had been odd for some time.

One night, after work, Ernie called Gen and told her he needed to share something with her, but he wanted to do it in person.  By this time she'd settled in her own apartment down the hill and was saving money for a return to college.  They agreed on a time and place to meet, and it was at the local pizza parlor near Ernie's house.

Unfortunately, someone didn't want that meeting to take place

All words are property of Deena Peterson and are not to be used without permission.

Day 30/366

"Oh, I wish I'd never found that stupid key!" She was so angry and so overwhelmed.  Angry with God for taking her dad, her rock and her sounding board.  Angry with her parents for keeping secrets that impacted her life.

And angry with herself for not walking away when she had the chance.  "I wish I could talk to you, Dad.  But, if I could talk to you, none of this would be happening.  I'm so scared, Daddy," she whispered.

Her mind dredged up the last day she'd had with her father.  He had never returned to his usual optimism after his wife died.  Gen remembered thinking he was slowly fading away, just biding his time.

But the two months prior to his death he'd seemed much more focused and intentional.  Her dad insisted on dinner together at least once a week.  He shared stories about her mom: how they had met, when he knew he loved her, their early years together.

Pastor Ernesto Nunez was such a faithful man of God, and a loving husband to his wife, Estrella.  Her name meant star, and he called her the most beautiful in all the galaxy.  They were passionate about the Lord and about each other.

Unfortunately, a rare cancer robbed Estrella of the chance for a baby.  While both Ernie and his wife wanted a child, they were content with life and poured themselves out for their congregation.  Life was good.

And it was about to get even better.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 29/366

How did she end up here?  An intense investigation and desperate need for closure collided with opportunity and manipulation to create a perfect storm of chaos and danger.

Funny how something as innocent as a key to a discovered storage locker could lead to multiple felonies.  One wrong step and losing her position as a law clerk would be the least of her worries.

Genevieve seated herself on a relatively clean park bench near the fountain.  Spray cooled her heated skin, and the movement of the water calmed her racing thoughts.

She longed for a free weekend, knowing how the sight and sound of the ocean always helped center her soul.  Something about the power and the majesty of the waves crashing combined with the rhythm of the tide gave Gen a true sense of peace.

The Creator and the creation: God was the first and she was the latter.  Observing the careful thought He'd put into that one aspect of creation assured her of the truth shared by her pastor/father.

"God's got this."  Dad's answer to any and every situation.  She had one question she longed to ask.  Even though He had this horrid situation in hand, was she capable of messing everything up.

But the one person she could trust with her question was the very reason for the blue envelope that demanded a decision.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 28/366

She tried to focus on the legal brief that was on her desk, but her mind kept wandering.  Finally, she slammed her hands down on the desk and pushed her chair back.  Gen grabbed her purse, then headed for the lobby of the office building.

"Hey, Julia, I need to clear my head for a bit.  Mark me out of office for the next 30 minutes or so," she announced to the receptionist as she breezed by.  Directionless, Gen stood outside the door and just looked around.

"I didn't realize we'd hired a doorperson," someone smarted off as they maneuvered past her.  That startled her into motion, and she made her way down the block, deciding to head to the park.  Maybe hanging out with the pigeons would give her something to think about...

...besides the blue envelope waiting for her back at her apartment.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 27/366

The lack of sleep was catching up with her.  Genevieve poured her third or fourth cup of coffee, loading it with sugar and five little cups of creamer.  Returning to her desk, she swirled the brew with the plastic straw she'd grabbed from the counter, allowing the blending swirl to mesmerize her for a moment.

"I'd ask if you're into tea leaves, but I can smell the difference," an amused voice whispered near her shoulder.  She startled and nearly knocked her very full cup over.  "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

Gen turned in her swivel desk chair and looked up into the ocean blue eyes of her coworker and office friend Jeremy.  "No worries.  Just kind of tired today."  She attempted a smile, but read the concern in his gaze.

"Late night?" he asked, propping himself on the corner of her clutter desk.  He casually glanced down at her case files, then back at her.

She shook her head, blonde curls swinging loosely.  "Just couldn't sleep."  She punctuated her statement with a jaw cracking yawn.

Jeremy chuckled.  "Guilty conscience keeping you up?" he teased.

Gen froze in place, her features a stone mask.  "Why would you say something like that?"  Wrong reaction, based on the shock in his gaze.  "Sorry.  Like I said, tired."

"Hey, wait a minute," he hooked the arm of her chair with his index finger and swiveled her back to face him.  "Somehow I accidentally touched a nerve.  Want to talk about it?"

She tucked a curl behind her ear and maneuvered an expression of innocence before she returned his look.  "Nothing to talk about.  Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."  She directed her gaze to his hand on her chair, then looked back up at him.

Jeremy frowned.  They hadn't worked together long, but he had always been able to read Gen before now.  Something was definitely troubling her, and he didn't like the stress he read in her body language.  She'd seemed like a very relaxed and easy going woman; this was not like her at all.

She sensed more questions coming, and stalled them with, "Seriously, just one of those kind of nights.  Now, I really need to get back to writing these briefs."  A half smile and a nudge with her foot to move the chair back around to face the desk was all it took.

"You know if you ever need anything---"

"You're just two cubicles away," she teased, trying to inflect a bit of humor.  Instead, her words came out with a bite to them.  "Jer, I know.  Okay?"

He sighed, then gave her his two finger salute and turned to go back to his desk.  Genevieve sighed as well, wishing she could take advantage of a friend's listening ears.  But no one would believe her story.  No one would see her as the victim any longer.  Especially after tonight.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 26/366

She parked her jade green Nissan in her designated parking spot, then trudged up the stairs to her second floor apartment.  Key inserted in the lock, Gen took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and flipped the entry lights on.

There, on her creamy tile entryway tile, was a powder blue envelope.  Standard in size, it weighed heavy in her hand.  Almost like the boulder that lodged in her chest after that solitary meeting.  She dropped her purse and keys on the beige sofa, then made her way into the kitchen.

Gen grabbed a diet cola from the fridge and placed it and the envelope on the granite counter.  She braced her hands on the counter's edge, her head hanging down.  "I can't do this...I cannot do this."  She whispered, but her words seemed to echo inside her head.

Her thoughts raced back through the events of the previous weeks, racing back to the very beginning of her waking nightmare.  When he'd swooped in and taken something that did not belong to him.  All to get her to do his bidding.

How he found her, Gen didn't know.  She was active on Facebook, but had her settings on private.  No Twitter presence, never used Craigslist.  She lived alone, but had a good security setup, and she changed her unique password on a regular basis.

Gen had even attempted to record one of the mystery man's calls to see if she could remember him by voice only.  Nothing.  She had no deep dark secrets in her past, only the most lame of skeletons in her closet.

Somehow, he'd known what was most important to her, and that was what he took.  Now, she had to do his bidding one last time--yeah, right!--and then she'd get it back.  She planned to leave and never look back.

Thinking was merely a stalling tactic at this point.  With a heavy sigh, she opened her utility drawer and withdrew a pair of scissors, then picked up the envelope.  Jaw stiff and a headache beginning behind her eyes, Gen slit the envelope open and tilted it.

Its contents slipped out onto the counter.  At first, Gen was clueless...but then the contents registered in her mind.

Her breath vanished.  "No way.  No, no, no...."

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 25/366

"Genevieve, do not look so discouraged, my pet," the voice admonished, echoing in the empty room.  Bare metal walls, cement floor, and absolutely empty...just like her heart.  "Simply one more task, and our terms will be met."

"That's what you said last time," she fired back, more strength in her voice and fire in her eyes.  "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Simple.  Fail and see what happens next."  The chill in the voice sent a shiver of fear down her spine.  Perspiration beaded along her hairline, even as her mouth went bone dry.  "You will find your directions in a blue envelope, tucked under the front door of your apartment.  Follow them to the letter, or..."

"I know, I know," she responded.  Maybe this time it would be simple.  Maybe this time the man who possessed the chilling voice would keep his word.  Maybe this time...no one would get hurt.

Gen pushed to her feet, wiping her palms on her denim pants.  "How do I get in touch with you when it's done?"

An unnerving chuckle bounced off the walls of the room, causing her to cover her ears and to tremble.  "Oh, you don't worry yourself about that.  The entire world will know when you've finished what we've started."

Genevieve glared at the tiny camera eye embedded in the far wall.  "Fine."  She turned to leave, grasping the steel door knob in her hand.

"Remember, Genevieve.  Tell no one."

She sighed as she opened the door.  "No one would believe me even if I tried."

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 24/366

She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To her horror, she saw…

An empty room.  "No!"  A deep, guttural scream erupted from her throat, ripping at the tender flesh and leaving her vocal chords battered and bruised.  "You liar!  How could you?"

She'd been so sure that this time she'd learned the truth.  That this time they were destined to be reunited at last.  But, once again, the tables were turned in his favor.

"Hello, Genevieve."  The male voice sounded hollow, disembodied.  It echoed through the emptiness, and resonated insider her heart.  "And here we are once again."

Gen fell to her knees and covered her face in her trembling hands.  "You promised me...just one more job and then--"

"And then I'd give you your treasure.  But the job isn't done just yet," the humor was laced with a sadistic thread, and it threatened her undoing.  "I have one.  Last.  Task."

She glared up at the speakers above her head, tears smearing her mascara and leaving black tracks down her cheeks.  "I am DONE working with you!"

His tone shifted quickly.  "You are done when I say you are done, my pet.  I'm the one holding all the cards in this hand.  Do not forget that."

She slumped against the stainless steel wall, the chill cutting through her feverish anger.  "Please, no more."  Defeated, Gen knew the Guardian had won her loyalty one last time.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 23/366

"Mom?  Mom, wake up!"  Leslie felt a gentle pat on her face, and she strained to open her eyes.  The blurry faces of her two daughters slowly came into focus.  "I think she's waking up!"

"Not so loud, Jess.  She's probably got a massive headache," Ellie advised.  She placed a cool cloth on her mother's forehead.  "Hey, Mom.  You scared us, you know."  Dimples flashed...just like her father.  That was her Ellie.

"What happened, Mommy?"  Jessica must have been really shaken.  She hadn't called Leslie mommy in a couple of years.  "We heard a loud crash, then Kyle said you were laying on the floor."

She grabbed the damp cloth and sat up against the sofa cushions.  "I...I think I slipped on the floor,"  Leslie gingerly touched the back of her head and felt a huge lump.  "The coatrack attacked me."

Ellie winced and pulled back a bit.  "That would be my fault.  I'm sorry for the mess on the floor, Mom."

Leslie grabbed her daughter's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "It was just an accident, baby.  I'm fine."

"You didn't wake up for a long time, Mom.  Maybe we should call 911.  Remember the mom from Parent Trap?"  Jess started chewing on her thumbnail nervously.  "We don't want to lose you."

Leslie smiled and sat up more.  "No, girls, I'm fine.  Just a headache, that's all."  She moved her legs so the girls could sit closer to her.  "Where's your brother?"

"He's upstairs, want me to go and get him?"  Jessica barely waited for her mother to nod before she was up the stairs, shouting for her brother.  Before long, both came trampling down the stairs, a laptop in Kyle's hands.

"Hey, Mom," he called, "you look pretty good, all things considering."  He flashed a sheepish grin, then turned the computer screen toward her.  "What do you think, Dad?"

Leslie's eyes teared up at the sight of her handsome husband.  "You guys didn't have to call your dad.  I told you, I'm fine."  She couldn't help herself, and reached out to touch the screen.  "Hey, hon."

Patrick's dimples flashed and his eyes sparkled with relief and humor.  "Yes, indeedy, you are mighty fine, Lady Mine."

She blushed.  "You know what I mean," she admonished him, taking in the smiles on her children's faces.  They had always loved knowing their dad loved their mom, and it never seemed to embarrass them much.

"And you know what I mean,"  Patrick replied.  "You really all right, baby?"

Leslie nodded, then winced.  "Nothing that a couple of Advil and a glass of Diet Pepsi couldn't cure."  Ellie was off to the kitchen to fulfill her mother's request.  "Just took a tumble in the entryway, that's all."

"I never did like that coatrack much," Kyle said. placing the laptop on his mom's lap, then joining her on the sofa.  "And we got Ellie squeaky clean, Mom.  Bathroom's a mess, but we'll take care of it.  Don't worry."

"Sounds like you've had your hands full today, Leslie.  Everything going all right??"  She loved her husband's concern for her.  When had she last said thank you to him?  "Good think I'm going to stateside in just a few days."

"Really?"  Leslie hadn't realized his return was so close.  "I can't wait!"

"Wow, that's nice to hear.  Sometimes I'm not sure I'm all that needed there.  You run a tight ship, woman."  Leslie read the doubt in his gaze, and quickly reassured him, "Oh, no, baby!  I need you, we all need you."

"Yeah, Dad," Kyle chimed in.  "The girls can get a little squirrelly.  I could use some manpower back here, you know."  He nudged his mom playfully, then grinned when she shoved him back.  "Not that Mom doesn't do a great job, but..."

"...but a boy needs his dad, a girl needs her father, and a wife needs her husband," Leslie finished.  "Hurry home, Pat.  We've got a lot to share with you."  They wrapped up their conversation, then the call disconnected.

Ellie returned with a glass of soda and a bottle of pain medicine for her mom.  "Kids, I'm really sorry about today.  I didn't give any of you the chance to tell me what was going on before I shut you down." 

Jessica shrugged.  "I shouldn't have slammed the door." 

And Kyle added, "I know it looked kind of hinky, Mom, but I swear I wasn't..."

Leslie put up her hand.  "Let me take something for my head, call in pizza, and we can all sit down and talk it through.  How's that sound?"

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 22/366

"Why, you learning to lean," her mom replied with an impish grin.

"I don't understand.  You mean on God?"

Mom Fairy tilted her head, then gave her wand a swish.  And there was Patrick, in full dress uniform, somewhere in the Middle Eastern desert.

"You coming back for more, Rocky?"  Leslie knew that voice: Corporal Stewart Lewiston, her husband's best friend and a member of his platoon.

Patrick inspected the toe of his dress shoe, then shrugged.  "Haven't quite made up my mind."
Stewie grinned.  "Can't get enough of sand in your everything, is that it?"

"No, and if I want sand in everything, I can take the family to the beach."  Patrick, the man his men considered their solid leader, totally dependable and solid in his faith, looked concerned.  "I'm just thinking on a reason to go home instead of staying in."

"Seems to me," Stew advised, "you've got four very good reasons to get out while the getting out is good."  A single man, no kids, deceased father and distant mother was all Stewie had to look forward to.

But Patrick had a wife, kids, church family, and several in his extended family to be with.  "Here's the problem, Stew.  If I'm here, I know I'm needed and valuable to the operation.  But, back home..." he trailed off, not wanting to say too much.

Stewart shook his head.  "Now, you know that's not true.  If anything, that boy of yours needs you."

Patrick's gaze focused on something in the distance.  "I know Kyle would do better with me around more often.  But Leslie has everything pretty much in hand.  I doubt she needs me underfoot."

He disappeared in a shower of lavender sparks.  "No, wait!  Patrick, I DO need you!  I DO want you home!"  Leslie's eyes welled up with tears and two big fat drops ran down her cheeks.  "Bring him back, Mom, please!"

Mom Fairy shook her head sadly.  "I'm sorry Baby Girl.  That's just not possible."

Anger sparked in her eyes, and her cheeks flushed.  "You just had him here!  Of course you can bring him back!"

"Sweetie, I can't.  You know that.  Think, Leslie.  Look around you," she said, fading more with each word.  "Look and learn, Sweet Pea..."

And just like that, Mom Fairy was gone.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 21/366

#mylifeinpages Day 21/366

"Honey, the reasons I wanted Dad home were my reasons. You need to let that go," she urged, gently tucking a curl behind Leslie's ear. "Patrick isn't your father, and you aren't me."

"I know that, but I have to be strong. I have to be able to stand on my own two feet, you know?"

"Says who?" She aimed her sparkly wand at another empty space and gave it a wave. Jessica appeared, excitement sparkling in her beautiful blue eyes. "Are you SERIOUS? Really??" She turned, and the angle revealed she was on her cell phone.

"Okay, I guess the answer is yes." Jess chewed on her thumbnail nervously, but her grin was still there. "Ooh, I can't wait to tell my mom!" A quick goodbye, and she was on her way, presumably home.

A wave of the wand and she vanished.

"Wait! She wanted to tell me something!" Leslie protested, then her eyes widened in understanding. "And I was too upset and snapped at her about slamming the door for the umteenth time."

Mom Fairy smiled, a tiny dimple in her cheek giving an impish vibe. "I knew you were a smart cookie. This won't take nearly as long as thought."

"What won't take long?" she asked, hesitation in her expression.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 20/366

"I'm so confused," Leslie moaned, head in her hands.

"Allow me to clear things up for you, Buttercup."  Momma Fairy waved her lavender wand and a shower of purple sparks rained down.  Kyle appeared immediately.

"Kyle?"  Mouth hanging open, Leslie looked at her son, then her mom, then back at her son.
"No, angel, he's not really here.  This is what we call a hologram.  Now, hush up and listen."  Another wave of the wand and Hologram Kyle began speaking and moving.

Leslie watched as her son stripped down to his boxers and posed in front of his webcam.  "I don't want to see this again, Mom!"

"Hush!  You need to really see this."

Hologram Kyle flexed his arms, turned sideways, then put his back to the webcam.  Another turn, a bit more flexing, and then Kyle said, "So, Dad, what do you think?  Any difference?"

This time Leslie focused on the screen of her son's laptop instead of her nearly naked boy.  "Mom, that's Patrick!"

"I know, dear," Mom Fairy acknowledged, a finger to her lips.  They both grew quiet and watched.
"Looking good, Son!"  Patrick assured his boy, giving him a thumb's up.  "What a change...you must be working harder than you've told me you were."

Kyle nodded enthusiastically.  "I've been hitting the gym after school, and Coach said I could use the weightroom on my free period.  And Joe told me about a shake mix that helps move fat to muscle."
"You're doing great, but send me that product name so I can do some research on my down time."
Kyle flashed his lopsided grin.  "You'd do that for me?  While you're over there?"

Patrick nodded.  "Kyle, you're my son.  I might have to be away, but that doesn't mean I'm not there for you.  Some of those supplements can be risky."

Kyle nodded again, then ducked his head.  Leslie saw his eyes welling up.  He didn't want to let his dad see him cry.  Her hand covered her heart as her own eyes grew watery.  "He was just connecting with his dad."

"Exactly.  Which you would have learned on your own if you'd let him explain,"  Mom Fairy instructed, then another wand wave and the images vanished.

Leslie sank to the ground, one tear rolling down her cheek.  "I know it's hard for Kyle to have his dad away.  I've been trying to fill in the gap for him, but I don't feel like I know what I'm doing, or how to connect with him."

"I know Sweet Pea, but a boy needs his father.  It's natural, and I'm proud of Patrick.  And Kyle."
Leslie sniffed and wiped her cheek.  "Is that why you bugged Dad so much about retiring?"  She looked up at her mother, sincerely wanting to know the answer.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 19/366

"Are you--are you really here, Mom?"  Her throat constricted in anticipation of the mysterious lady's response.  "Wait--you can't be.  What am I thinking?"  A shaky hand touched the tender spot on the back of her head.  She winced.

"Oh, baby girl, there you go again, rushing ahead of the conversation,"  the unbelievable fairy waved her wand to drive home her point, her crowned head tilted in sympathy.

Leslie struggled to her feet, wobbling for just a moment.  "What are you talking about?"

"You, sweetie.  We're here to talk about you."  The tender expression directed her way caused Leslie's eyes to tear up.

"About me?"

"Of course.  I'm here to help you, darling girl."

The pressure in her heart and on her shoulders evaporated, and for the first time in quite a long time, Leslie smiled.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 18/366

Running water pierced her consciousness. "Kyle...is the toilet running again?" Surprised at how weak her voice sounded, Leslie forced her eyes open, wincing at the pain from the piercing light reflecting off of...

"Mom?"

...

"Hi, my baby girl," a hand reached down to help her to a sitting position. "You took quite a knock on your noggin."

Leslie stared in awe at the...fairy standing before her? "Um, Mom? What in the world..."

The blonde stood and fluffed out the skirt of her sparkly lavender ball gown, then graciously tipped her crowned head. "Mother Dear, at your service." Then she giggled.

"I'm still unconscious...right?" She rubbed at one eye, then the other, but nothing changed. Her mother, in full Southern Plantation glory, stood in front of her. Twinkling wand in hand, glass slippers on her delicate feet.

She'd died and gone to...where??

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 17/366

"C'mon, Squirt. Let's get you cleaned up." Kyle reached out to hug his sister, then thought twice about getting the mysterious red blech on his clothes. He took her relatively clean hand instead.

All three children trudged up the stairs, shoulders slumped. Leslie flinched as she caught Ellie's stage whisper of, "What's the matter with Mom?"

...

"What's the matter?" Her jaw tightened enough to crack a tooth. "You want to know what's the matter?" Leslie's harsh words chased her kids up the staircase. "I'll tell you what's the matter," she grumbled, grabbing a handful of paper towels from the breakfast bar.

"It's finding your son doing God knows what on his computer. It's having a daughter with a memory so full of holes she can't remember what I've told her a thousand times." Leslie draped a few of the paper sheets over the growing pink puddle in the entryway.

Using her foot to maneuver the towels through the mess, she finished her solo diatribe with a verbal flourish. "And the icing on the cake of my day?" Her foot slid as she turned toward the stairs.

"Having to clean up your mystery mess while you feel free to criticize meeeee!"

Right foot flying wild, she grabbed at the oak coat rack but it shifted as she fell, coming down hard across the back of Leslie's head. Fade to black...

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 16/366

Pain, unseen by sight,
But just as real, grips
With all its might...
And drains dry
The well that is within.

Sadness, a melancholy cloud
That attempts to wrap up
Like a shroud
And whispers doubt
That no one else
Can hear.

Fear dries up every bit
Of courage and tempts
To stay put and sit
Out the risk of an
Open heart.

All creep in unannounced
Upon the soul and
Eagerly they pounce,
Their weight a heavy,
Lonely load.

But deep within you
Hear a Voice
That reminds to worship
Is a choice.
He offers strength
To lift a hand

In the sacrifice of praise
Trembling hands are raised
And victory has come
To those who love The Son

And trust...hope...cling
Despite the pain living brings.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 15/366

Quiet.
No noise save breath.
Peace, comfort, sanctuary....

Two apart, one together.

 Satisfied.
Side by side.
A word. Or two.

 In a nod, or a glance.
Connect. Remain.

Quiet that speaks.
Love.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 14/366

"So, I was sitting in Art class, minding my own business," Ellie began, when Kyle interrupted with a loud snort. "What, I was! Anyhoo, there I was, working on my fantastic art portfolio painting of a unicorn, you know the one, with the pastel rainbow tail--"...

Leslie twirled her hand. "Get to the point, Elle."

"Okay, okay. So, Jason Buttucks--"

"I've told you not to call him that, Ellie. It's Putocki," Leslie pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to allow Ellie to finish her rather long explanation.

"Yeah, okay. Anyhoo, he opens up his big, fat mouth--" Ellie paused, then quickly amended her story, "sorry, his rather large speaking orifice, and started teasing Rochelle."

"Is that the friend living with foster parents?" Jessica asked. Ellie nodded, and her sister sighed deeply. "This isn't going to be good, is it, El?"

Ellie's eyes welled with tears. "No, it's horrid. Horrid I tell you!"

"Save the dramatics, Ellinor, and cut to the chase," Kyle advised, noting his mother's stiff posture.
"Well...I can't really say what he said, but it was bad."

Leslie waited, then asked, "And that explains this mess all over you how?" She glared at the reddish puddle forming on the entryway tile, wondering if it was going to stain. "You know what, I don't care. It doesn't matter how you got this way. Get upstairs and into the shower now. Clothes and all."

"Mom, I have--"

"Yes, Ellinor, you HAVE to get that mess off of you and then come right back down here and scrub these tiles until they are spotless, do you hear me?" Leslie could feel her face flush and her head began to pound in rhythm with her heartbeat.

One lone tear fell down Ellie's pinkish red cheek, then she crossed her arms and her chin jutted out. "FINE! Just...FINE!"

 ********************************************************************
All Words property of Deena Peterson and are not to be used without permission.

Day 13/366

Deep sadness, to the marrow
Of the bone.
No hope for tomorrow....
Feeling lost and alone.
No understanding to be found.
Isolation pulls to the underground.
Wait.
Stop.
Take a breath, close eyes,
Whisper "do you see me?"
Surprise.
You are noticed, cared for
By the One always there for
You, the apple of His eye.
You, and don't even try
To understand why.
Just take it in,
In deep.
To the marrow.
Hang on for just one
More tomorrow.
Where He's the same.
The One who loves you.
The One who knows your name.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 12/366

Pure
White
Untouched promise...

Then black
Blue Red
Streaking across the
Clean and white
Force
Pressure pointed scribble
Criss cross, tossing
Out plan after idea after hope and
Dream and goal
Until nothing
Remains but to begin
Again
Pure
White
Untouched.
All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission

Day 11/366

Out of my abundance I give to You.
Out of my lack I cling to things....

Because of Your blessing I offer to You.
Because of my sinfulness I withhold from You.

When I see Your face I hold my hands open.
When I see my life I fist my hands tightly.

Although I fall short in giving back to You,
You never withhold Your goodness from me.

In spite of my hardship I still seek Your face.
In spite of my failure You still pour out Your grace.

I lack comprehension of just Who You are.
You lack not one thing and You know who I am.

And You love me.

 And I love You.

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 10/366

"Ellinor Mabel Picketts, what in the world--!" was all Leslie could get out before she ran out of breath.  Would this day never end?

Ellie put her hands up, trying to block her mother's comments.  "Mom, Mom, wait.  Just wait."  Assured of a chance to explain, she switched into her dramatic persona.

"As you can see, I'm covered head to toe in this," she announced, gesturing toward her shirt and once-blue jeans.  "I assure you there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for my appearance."

"Can it, Shrimp," Kyle advised, his thundering footsteps down the staircase announcing his arrival.  "Mom's had a day."

Which was code for 'keep quiet and invisible'.  "I understand that, brother dear, but I can't undo what has already been done, eh?"  Ellie waved him off and attempted to continue her tale, only to be interrupted once again.

Hand up again, she cut her sister off quickly.  "Not now, Jess.  Please, not now."

Jessica's grin stretched even wider.  "Oh, no, little sister, please do continue.  It's just beginning to hold my attention."  She leaned on the banister, eager to get the gory details.

Ellie cleared her throat.  "As I was saying, I have a story to tell you, Mom."  Seeing no reaction, she continued.

*****************************************************************************

What kind of story has Ellinor concocted?  Is it the truth, or can Leslie not handle the truth?

Dunno.

Creatively Yours,

Deena

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 9/366

And now she had to find that phone and uncover her middle child's misbehavior.  "Hey, kids?  Have either of you--" she shouted up the staircase, but the front door opened and her voice vanished.

Her middle child, her easy child, her precious child--there stood Ellie.

Covered in what appeared to be blood.

*****************************************************************************
So, what do you think happened?  I have a feeling you won't be able to guess!

Creatively Yours,

Deena

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission

Day 8/366

All Leslie wanted was one day of peace.
Just one twenty-four hour period with no drama.
...

Simply one thousand, four hundred and forty-four hours when her name wasn't "Hey, Mom", or her personal favorite, "But Mom".
Was it really too much to ask?

Day 7/366

What seemed so simple to start
Is tearing my brain apart
Write every day...
Let your muse play
All good lest I have a brain fart!

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be copied without permission (but really...who'd wanna steal this one!)

Day 6/366

A huge sigh built up in Leslie's chest, but she refused to give in.  Her mother was a 'sigh-er' when she was unhappy but wasn't free to express herself.  No, Leslie would use her words to get her point across.

Just as she finally felt motivated to head upstairs to check on her two kids, the house phone rang.  She was tempted to ignore it, but Peter only called the house number, and he was due to touch base.  "Only a few more weeks," she mumbled under her breath, hunting for the cordless receiver.

Not on the base.  Not on the sofa.  "Where is the phone?!" she exclaimed, not expecting a response in return.  Fourth ring, and the answering machine kicked on.  Leslie growled as she threw couch cushions on the carpeted floor.

Beep!  "Mrs. Majorski, this is the principal at Grace Elementary.  We have a situation with your daughter Regan, and I'd like to invite you to meet with me as soon as possible.  I'm sure we can resolve this without any repercussions, but we need to act quickly.  Please call me as soon as you receive this message."

Falling onto the sofa cushions, Leslie covered her eyes with her forearm and swallowed the emotion welling up inside.  She refused to be weak, and tears were a weakness.  Every time her mother broke down she heard her father berate the woman, until one day Mom just stopped crying.

And stopped pretty much everything else as well.

But Ellie was her dream child.  Never fussed as a baby, always happy.  Content to play by herself and very easy going.  In fact, Ellie was the reason Peter had been able to talk her into just one more baby.  Ellie had just turned 12 a few weeks ago, so she had awhile before the teen angst made its appearance...

...didn't she?

"You can do this, LJ," she whispered, an attempt to rally her tough spirit.  "Only a month before Peter can come home on leave, and you can hold it together for that long.  Don't be weak.  Hold strong."  Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up to continue her search for the phone, possible scenarios involving her middle child running in the background of her mind.

*******************************************************************************

What in the world had Ellie gotten involved in?  Why does the principal want to meet asap?  And act fast or...what??

Hmmmmm....have to wait and see!

Creatively Yours,
Deena

All words are property of Deena Peterson and may not be used without permission

Day 5/366

"What in the world?"  Leslie felt trapped in granite, unable to move or close her eyes to what she was witnessing.  "How dare you--"

"Mom!  It's not what you think!"  Her fifteen year old son scrambled to gather his belongings, dropping his tennis shoe on his foot and wincing, then reaching down and grabbing it again.

"I know what I'm seeing, and I don't want to see what I'm seeing!"  Her face flushed and her vision blurred around the edges.  Her hand grabbed at the doorknob and pulled the door shut.  "I--I don't even know what to say to you right now, Kyle!"

His muffled voice came through the closed door, and she winced at the panic she heard.  A small part of her heart ached for him, but the majority of her being was enraged at the disrespect.  If Peter was home--

--no, she wasn't going to go there.  She was more than capable of raising their three children while her husband made his contribution to the defense of their country.  This was his final tour before his current enlistment was up, and Leslie had promised herself that he would re-up or retire based on his desires, and not hers.

She refused to be like her own mom, always hearing about how they would have been better off if she'd only agreed to one more four year enlistment, to only one more try for promotion...if she had supported and not blocked Dad's opportunities because she 'just couldn't do it any longer.'

That was not going to be her.  Her back steel rod straight, Leslie headed down the stairs to the living room, determined to calm down and rationally discuss this transgression with her oldest son.  A level head does not speak unwisely--again her father's voice echoed in her head.

The back door slammed, rattling the windows and her nerves.  "Mom!  Hey, Mom?"  The enthusiasm of her ten year old daughter was normally infectious, but today, in this moment, was grating.  "Oh, there you are!"

"Jessica, how many times have I told you not to slam the doors?  We don't own this house, and we can't afford to replace any broken windows or damaged locks!"  Leslie cringed at the shrill tone in her voice, and felt horrible as she watched the light drain out of her baby girl's hazel eyes.

"Sorry," Jessica mumbled, standing motionless in the doorway.  "I just was....oh, nevermind."  A quick pivot and she was headed up to her room, ignoring her mother's inquiry. 

"Hey, Brat,"  was quickly followed by "Whatever, Genius," the usual meet and greet for her oldest and youngest.  "What's up with Mom?" came drifting down the stairs as the two paced down the hall to her room.

*****************************************************************************

So, what did Leslie see?  And what did Jessica want to tell her mom?  Can Leslie hold it together, or is she at her wit's end?

I have no idea.  Let's find out together tomorrow, shall we?

Creatively Yours,

Deena

All words property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 4/366

"Mom," Roger announced in his most obnoxious manner, "Aunt Millie broken the rule of the house and now she won't pay up!"  One more aggressive shake of the jar punctuated his lament.

Millie snorted and shook her head.  "Honestly, Josephine, can't you teach this boy any manners?"  Her tightly permed gray curls bobbed with indignation.  "I hardly think calling out his elders is proper behavior."

Mom sighed, a familiar crease in her forehead.  "No, it's not Aunt Millie.  And I do try my best, but--"

"It's true, Mom," I interrupted.  "Aunt Millie did break the house rule about inappropriate language."  I caught my aunt's gaze and gave her a sly wink.  "She said...she said..." I mused, feigning forgetfulness.  Directing my eyes toward Aunt Sophie, I asked "Auntie, do you recall the word Aunt Millie abused?"

Sophie caught on immediately, and she joined my ruse.  "Oh, it's on the tip of my tongue!  What was it..."

I could see Roger's frustration building.  "I know it, but for some reason..."

"Oh, good grief," he exclaimed.  "She said stupid!"

Mom's eyes widened and she fought off a grin.  "What did she say?"

Roger crowed with great satisfaction, "She said stupid!"  He shook his change jar for emphasis.

"No," I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling.  If I looked at my brother I'd lose it for sure.  "I don't think that's what she said, little brother."

"Yes, it is!  She said it three times!" he insisted.

Millie couldn't resist, and she glared at him as she asked, "I said what three times, young man?"

Roger met her steely eyed gaze and carefully enunciated, "You.  Said. Stupid.  Three. Times."

Aunt Millie cackled and her eyes snapped with glee.  "Why, yes I did say that word three times.  And I believe you've also just said it three times yourself, Mr. Man!"

His mouth fell open as he realized what the women in his life were up to, then fury crept over his usually good natured features.  "Hey!"

That was all he got out before Mom stepped in, her own brown eyes twinkling.  It was so good to see the light back in her eyes, and I owed it all to my aunts.  My crazy, wonderful aunts.  "I'd call that even and stop when I was ahead, Son."

Aunt Sophie ruffled my brother's hair affectionately, and amazingly, he didn't growl about it.  Instead, he grinned and told our mom, "Yeah, you got the best of me this time, Aunt Millie.  But I'm watching you," he added, two fingers toward his eyes then toward her.  "I'm always watching you," he left her with, disappearing upstairs with his jingle cash.

The four of us had a good laugh, and then it was time to work on dinner.  Thanks to the gracious gift of my extended family, we worked together seamlessly and it felt good once again to be together.

********************************************************************************

But, what about Dad?  How is he doing?  And will Roger get back at Aunt Millie?

That's a story for another time.

Creatively Yours,

Deena

All words property of Deena Peterson and may not be used with permission

Day 3/366

Laughter seemed intangible for the longest time.  My dad, the anchor of our home, was diagnosed with MS, and his deterioration was rapid.  Mom took excellent care of him, and I left college in my freshman year to come home and help.

Eventually, we reached our limit and felt we had no other choice but to find a place my dad could receive round the clock care.  Seeing him in that hospital bed and knowing he'd never leave it in this life did something to Mom.

Her bottle green eyes used to spark with life and energy, until Dad was moved out.  I guess we just didn't have enough left in our love tanks to pay the energy bill, and the dullness of my mom's gaze became a haze that coated our once happy home.

Actually, by then I'd started calling it a house because we had no warmth in our dwelling place.  My overly rambunctious brother was so quiet and calm I never knew when he was here or at a friend's place.  Quiet became our blanket, and it was suffocating.

Until the aunts arrived.

Aunt Sophie and Aunt Millie were my great-aunts, but we just called them the Aunts.  It was Roger who announced that calling Millie his Great-Aunt would go to her head, so we just called her plain old Aunt Millie.

After a couple of weeks with them in residence the light began to gleam again in my mom's steady gaze, and Roger was up to his old antics, with an added flare of torment courtesy of his nemesis Millie.  She gave his mischief the added boost he didn't need, but brought him great inspiration.

So, while confusion would reign quite often, I wouldn't trade it for anything.  Now, if I could just get Aunt Sophie to stop saying I was promoting the occult!

********************************************************************************

Will Aunt Sophie ever get with the program?  What kind of antics were Roger and Millie perfecting?  And how is Dad doing in his new living situation?

Dunno.

Creatively Yours,
Deena

All words are property of Deena Peterson and may not be used without permission.