Timeless

  Synopsis

  What would you change about your past if you had the chance? What if you didn't have a choice?

  Stevie Geller doesn't do conflict. She likes her job as a successful novelist and playwright because it allows her to peacefully ensconce herself in her New York City loft, avoid human interactions, and leave personal drama for the page and stage. When her agent asks her to return to her hometown of Darlington, Illinois, to accept an award, she agrees only because he promises the process will be quick and easy. One panic attack and concussion later, Stevie is forced to confront her past in ways that seem to defy reality. As if befriending a social outcast and confronting high school bullies weren't enough, she also finds herself falling for a closeted teacher. Along the way, Stevie must decide if some things are worth fighting for. In her rush to escape the past, will she leave behind a better future, or are some conflicts really timeless?

  Timeless

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  Timeless

  © 2014 By Rachel Spangler. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-095-9

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: April 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Lynda Sandoval and Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

  By the Author

  Learning Curve

  Trails Merge

  The Long Way Home

  LoveLife

  Spanish Heart

  Does She Love You?

  Timeless

  Acknowledgments

  When I initially conceived of the idea for this book, I thought it would be fun, a little tongue in cheek mixed with some campy fantasy. I still think there are places where that playfulness shines through, but as my main characters developed, they demanded more thought, depth, and emotional fortitude than I’d expected. Suddenly, a fun story about getting a do-over turned into an examination of what we owe ourselves and those who cross our paths. The issue of bullying is one that cannot be ignored when facing a high school setting, and unfortunately, it touches us all in some way. Those conflicts can shape a young existence, and the ways in which we make sense of them can have a defining effect on the people we become. While likely few of us have ever had to confront our past in the dramatic fashion these characters do, I firmly believe none of us can ever fully leave the past behind until we’ve learned the lessons those experiences are meant to teach us. It’s that process of confronting, growing, and reinventing oneself that ultimately drives this book.

  I’m deeply indebted to several very creative people who inspired me to push beyond the boundaries I previously set for my writing. My friend and neighbor, Sarah Gerkensmeyer, is a brilliant writer of magical realism who’s taught me so much about finding the magic in the mundane. She’s demonstrated wonderful courage in embracing the unknown, and her example permeated my decision-making process throughout this novel. In moments when I feared I might be straying too far from the genre I’ve come to consider home, I turned to friends and fellow romance writers Georgia Beers and Melissa Brayden. I probably would have caved several times without their reassurances, but my sexy self-esteem queen and my sparkly ninja princess expressed only excitement and genuine encouragement. I have my neighbor and man twin, Andrew Cullison, to thank (once again) for the title of this novel, even though I know he was really pulling for it to be spelled “Timelez.” Finally, I firmly believe this was my smoothest writing/editing experience ever because Lynda Sandoval was involved from start to finish. She was enthusiastic, open, available, and easygoing. Her ability to pinpoint and communicate what the story needed kept me confident, and her sense of humor held my insecurities at bay. Our front porch chats and comments in the margins kept me laughing even on the hard days. I cannot overemphasize how much her easygoing professionalism has improved my entire creative process.

  As usual, Barb Dallinger and Toni Whitaker served as my sounding board, focus group, and first readers. Their feedback was especially important because they’ve been with me virtually from the beginning of my career. They eased the fear that I’d stretched too far outside my comfort zone. Much thanks to Shelley Thrasher, who once again served as my copy editor and literary laser beam. Sheri, as usual, captured so many of the emotions in this book with her stellar cover. The Bold Strokes team of proofreaders, production managers, Web designers, eBook formatters, and social media gurus do so much behind the scenes to make me look good, and I appreciate each one of them greatly.

  Thank you to the readers. Every time I feel alone or lazy or consider cutting a corner, I think about your comments, e-mails, and encouragement. You’ve elevated my writing from a hobby to a true labor of love.

  Saving the best for last, I have my family to thank for everything good in my life. Jackie is pure joy. His youthful idealism weighed heavily on my mind while writing this book. He forced me to consider the world he will someday inhabit and contemplate my own responsibility in making sure that world is worthy of him. Susie continues to be my inspiration in all matters of the heart. That combined with her knowledge of the challenges faced by student teachers and gay teachers in small towns contributed a great deal to the development of these characters. She’s my best friend, my partner, my wife, my everything.

  As I look back over my expansive list of people to thank, I’m reminded once again I am richly blessed not through merit, but through the abundant grace of God. Soli Deo Gloria.

  Dedication

  This book is for all the teachers who have ever given a piece of themselves to help shape a life, especially Susie, who continues to teach me so much about what truly matters. Of course, it’s still all her fault.

  Chapter One

  “You’ve got to put yourself out there more, Stevie.” Edmond’s voice came through clearly on the speaker of my iPhone.

  I lay on my bed and stared at the line where my high ceiling met the rising brick wall. Holding the phone against my cheek, I thought of how I’d describe the intersection of two such unique textures. Of course there was the aesthetic, the rich colors, the materials, the symmetry, but in this moment I felt more drawn to what the structure represented. The very building blocks of my loft symbolized stability, strength, and most of all, safety. They offered a symbolic balance to my current phone conversation with my publicist.

  “Make yourself vulnerable, available, transparent. It’s what writers do.”

  “Thanks for the explanation. All this time I thought writers wrote.”

  “Unpublished writers, maybe. But you’re a successful novelist, and you want to be a produced playwright, which means you have to network.”

  “I’m not good at networking. It’s all fake small talk and sweaty palms. I don’t want to waste an evening being socially awkward with people I’ve never met and will probably never see again.”

  “It doesn’t have to be strangers. I got a call from Rory St. James yesterday. She wanted your phone number.”

/>   I sat up at the mention of Rory’s name. The small-town gay activist who’d confronted her demons head-on had been in the news a lot lately after remaking herself and finding love in the town she’d once fled. The same hometown I’d left in my rearview mirror. Everyone we’d grown up with was a bit in awe of Rory, myself included. I was also impressed she even knew I existed. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

  “She’s on some arts committee in Darlington.” Edmond sounded like he found the idea amusing. “They want to give you an award.”

  That wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t so great either. I probably should’ve been flattered but felt only a mix of relief and disappointment Rory had called on a formality. “Just have her mail the certificate to your office, will ya?”

  “They want you to go there to accept it.”

  “Pass.”

  “What do you mean ‘pass’? It’s free publicity.”

  “It’s fluff, I’m busy, I don’t want to.” I flopped back onto the bed, unwilling to give the idea of a return to Darlington another thought. “Whatever. Just pass. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Edmond acquiesced, but the flippancy of his tone made me suspect the topic wasn’t fully closed.

  “Have you had any bites on the play?” I asked, ready for a change of subject.

  “Not yet, but you’ll have another shot at the Theater of Youth fund-raiser next week. Especially if you agree to say a few words.”

  “Not going to happen.” The tension in my neck ratcheted up a notch at the prospect of spending a night in a room full of politically charged actors and activists. “I’m not going to the actual dinner, but I’ll send a check.”

  Edmond blew out an exasperated breath directly into the phone. “This is your charity of choice. You’re the one who mentioned the event to me. You said you loved youth theater.”

  “I do. That’s why I’ll send a check, but I don’t want to get into politics.”

  “Even politics you agree with? You won’t lift your voice for something you claim to love?”

  I threw off the covers and put my bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. I didn’t have to defend myself to him. He worked for me, not the other way around. Not that I’d ever have the guts or the inclination to tell him that. Still, I wouldn’t be pushed into a political minefield. I’d lived almost thirty years by staying above the fray and had no intention of slipping now.

  “Stevie, these kids need this program, and they need people in a position of power to speak for them. You’ve got the time, the money, and the talent. What do you have to lose?”

  “Why do you care? If youth theater matters so much to you, then why don’t you give the speech or direct a play?” Why couldn’t anything be easy? I just wanted to give money to a good cause without fighting with anyone.

  “I’m not the one shopping a new play. I’m not the one selling books. You are, and you hired me to help.”

  “Right, I hired you so I could focus on my writing and you could handle all the publicity.” Actually I’d hired him because he was the only publicist I’d ever heard of. And he only took my call because I went to school with Rory, but still I paid him a nice cut of my royalties so I wouldn’t have to exert any energy on anything but the actual writing.

  “You have to give me something to publicize first.”

  “I gave you the script for the play.”

  “Yes, you’ve got a great play, but so does half of Manhattan.”

  “Fine.” I threw up my free hand in defeat. “If their plays are better than mine, I can live with that. I just want to be judged on my merits.”

  “You’re adorable.” Edmond laughed. “But you clearly don’t understand how this business works. Without a solid hook you won’t get judged at all. The big names won’t even read the synopsis of an unknown.”

  “I’m not an unknown. I have three high-selling novels.”

  “They could be best-selling novels if you’d publicize them.” Edmond’s voice rose in volume and pitch as his frustration built. “And I could sell a best-selling author, but I can’t sell someone who refuses to put herself out there.”

  I wandered across my apartment to my one big window. Ignoring the reflection of my black hair standing out at odd angles, I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and stared down into the gray streets of New York. I sighed, unwilling to be swept into an argument. I hated confrontation, and this one had already drained me enough for one day. “What do you want from me?”

  “Something, anything personal to help me connect you to a producer. Give me an impassioned speech about theater education, or play up your small-town-girl-makes-it-big backstory. Hell, fuck a Rockette in the middle of Times Square to get your name in the tabloids. Do something I can spin.”

  Damn. He’d led me right back to the event in Darlington because he knew I’d never consider the other two options. Well, I was open to sleeping with a Rockette, but not the tabloids, and that’s the part he cared about. “I don’t want to go back to Darlington.”

  “Why not? Look what it did for Rory St. James’s career. Connecting yourself to her right now would move you way up the social food chain, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my client too,” Edmond said with a hint of pride in his voice. “Go back to your hometown for one night, talk to people you already know, accept an award without a speech, and then come home.”

  “It’s not simple.” My resolve wavered but didn’t crack. I had a bad feeling about this whole thing, though I couldn’t articulate why.

  “Sure it is. I get a human-interest story, and you get an award and your picture taken with a celebrity. Rory gets to mentor an up-and-coming artist. Everyone wins.”

  “She doesn’t want to mentor me, and it doesn’t matter because I’m not Rory St. James. I have no ax to grind. My writing isn’t about Darlington. It’s not even about being gay. My hometown means nothing to me. It’s just a place I used to live.”

  “Then why are you afraid to go back there?”

  “I’m not afraid.” I was protesting, but I wasn’t sure what I felt about Darlington. Maybe fear was part of it, but more than anything the idea exhausted me, much the same way this conversation did. I’d spent my youth trying to get by, trying to do just enough to stay solidly in the middle. I didn’t want to stand out as exceptional, but I didn’t want to be an outsider either. Maybe that’s what bothered me about this award. I’d stand out. I’d be acknowledged and therefore exposed.

  Still, at least I could leave after a day. Even if I did humiliate myself, I wouldn’t have to live with the consequences there like I would if I messed up in New York. Plus in Darlington no one whose opinion actually mattered would be around to see if I fell flat. I could slip in and slip out, then leave all the publicity spin to Edmond. I did want to see my play produced, and while I hated taking a chance, this one seemed the least risky of my current options.

  “Come on, Stevie. You’ll be in and out, and I’ll even drive down to hold your hand along the way.”

  I wasn’t sure if his presence would make me feel better or worse, but at least with Edmond around I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping up my end of the conversation since he rarely let anyone else get a word in. “Fine, I’ll do it. For one day.”

  “Yes, of course, just one day. How bad can one day be?”

  *

  “Hey, Stevie,” someone called.

  I scanned the crowd at St. Louis’s Lambert Airport until I saw a sign that read GELLER. Cringing at the blatant display of attention, I forced myself not to grab the sign out of Rory’s hands and toss it into the nearest trashcan. Instead I jammed my hands into the pockets of my olive-green cargo pants and said, “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “Of course I remember you.” Rory laughed easily. She was even more magnetic than she’d been in high school, and that was saying a lot. “Beth made the sign. She loves cutesy little things like that and I…well, I love her.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the silly grin
on Rory’s face. Who would’ve thought the mere mention of a plain Midwestern farmer’s daughter could turn such a formidable warrior into mush. A hint of longing tapped at my own heart, but I shrugged it off and grabbed my bag. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No worries. Beth and I enjoyed the chance to spend a morning in the Central West End. She’s in the car. We couldn’t find a place to park.” Rory nodded toward the luggage carousel. “Do you have any more bags?”

  “No, just the one. I’m only here overnight.”

  Rory nodded sympathetically as we headed toward the parking lot. “Are you silently thanking God for that now?”

  “What? No,” I lied. I’d been counting the hours until my return flight would touch down at JFK tomorrow night. I’d actually started counting before I left as I lay awake trying to calculate how many hours of sleep I could get if I fell asleep right that instant. Of course I didn’t fall asleep right then. With all the thoughts of my return to Darlington, the pressure to drum up good publicity, and the fear of a public appearance I didn’t sleep at all, so as the sun began to peek above the crowded New York skyline, I shifted my countdown to reflect the number of hours until I’d be back in my own bed once more. Only thirty-four to go.

  “It’s okay. I was in your shoes not long ago, which is why I appreciate your coming back. It’s important for the kids around here to see success stories like yours. It shows them there’s life out there, you know?”

  I didn’t know, really. I’d never considered myself a success story, and certainly not a role model. Sure, I’d published a few books, but I wasn’t what most people would call famous. I still had so much more to accomplish, which of course was the only reason I’d agreed to this trip in the first place.