Sharon Sala's Missing Will Keep You Reading All Night!

 

Ally was already up and setting out the sausages and bacon she’d cooked for breakfast when her father and both brothers came into the kitchen. 

“Something smells good,” Porter said, and stole a piece of bacon. “Are we having biscuits?” Danny asked. “Isn’t this Sunday?” Ally teased. Danny grinned. “Yes, it’s Sunday, and yes, I know, we always have biscuits on Sunday. Just thought I’d ask.” 

“Scrambled or fried?” Ally asked, referring to the eggs she had yet to cook. “Scrambled works for me,” her father said. Ally gave him a cool glance, then nodded. They had yet to smooth over the rough patch they’d had when she’d gone to Granny Devon’s, and she wasn’t going to be the first one to say “I’m sorry,” because she’d done nothing for which she needed to apologize. She began breaking eggs in the bowl as the men poured coffee, got butter and jelly from the refrigerator, as well as the salt and pepper shakers out of the cabinet, and set them on the table. Within minutes, they were seated with plates of fluffy yellow eggs, scrambled to perfection, at each place. 

Gideon looked at each of his children until he had their complete attention; then he bowed his head and blessed the food. He was on the verge of saying amen when he paused and added the words, “Bless the cook that prepared it, amen.” 

Ally looked up to find her father’s gaze upon her. She sighed. It was all the apology she was going to get. “Porter, pass Daddy the meat,” she said, then took a biscuit and passed them on. 

Gideon worried all through the meal, hoping he hadn’t left his little bit of news too late. It would be horribly embarrassing to have company over after church and not have a meal to offer. He poured himself a second cup of coffee from the pot on the table, then took a third biscuit and buttered it up. “Good bread, daughter,” he said quietly. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Ally said, then glanced at the clock and got up from the table. “I’m going to get a roast out of the freezer and put it on low heat in the oven so it can cook while we’re at church.”

Gideon nodded approvingly, then slapped his knee as if he just remembered something. “Did I tell you we’re having company at noon?” Ally turned. “No, and please tell me it’s not the preacher because I don’t have anything special baked for dessert.” “No, no, nothing like that,” he said. “It’s just Freddie Joe.” She frowned. “Detweiller?” “Yes.” “Is he bringing his children?” “No, I think they’re at their granny’s for the weekend. He mentioned wanting one of my bull calves to raise for a new breeding bull. I told him he’d better come pick it out before I cut ’em all.” 

“I’ll put extra vegetables in the roast. It will be fine.” Gideon breathed a quick sigh of relief. It was a lie, but it had served its purpose. The only stock on the Monroe property that Freddie Joe was interested in was his daughter. 

Gideon had almost gotten over his guilt at deceiving his daughter when they pulled into the church parking lot. As soon as they got out of the truck, they joined other members of the congregation who were moving toward the doorway. The preacher was standing on the steps, greeting his parishioners, as well as paying special attention to the children who were accompanying their parents. Ally’s focus was on one of her old classmates, who was coming to church with a new baby. While she was happy for her friend’s little family, it only enforced the lack of her own. 

She was halfway up the steps when someone suddenly grabbed her by the forearm. “Ally Monroe, is this you?” “Good morning, Granny Devon,” she said. There was a smile on the old woman’s face as she started to answer, then her sightless eyes suddenly rolled back in her head. She moaned, then she spoke. 

“There’s a man who’s done evil. There’s a man who’s done bad. There’s a man who comes walkin’. There’s a man who’s so sad.”

The prediction gave Ally the chills. She remembered the previous warning that had come to her the night she’d had supper with Granny Devon. Now it seemed that evil still threatened her family. Before she could move, Gideon wrenched the old woman’s hand from his daughter’s arm and pushed Ally up the steps. When he got even with the preacher, he turned and pointed. “You tell that old woman’s family if she won’t stop witchin’, to keep her at home.” The preacher was taken aback by Gideon’s anger, which embarrassed Ally to no end. 

As they moved into the church, Ally pulled away and whispered angrily, “You had no right to talk to Preacher John like that. Granny Devon doesn’t mean any harm, and you know it. Besides, nobody else is bothered by her predictions. I don’t know why you’re always so hateful about her. She’s a sweet old lady.” 

“She’s not right,” Gideon muttered. “And I’m not discussing this with you again. Take your seat by your brothers.” Ally sat, but only because to do otherwise would have caused a bigger scene than what her father had done. She was in the house of God and knew how to behave, but she stayed angry with her father, just the same. 

When the services were over, she got up and walked out on her own, and was already seated in the truck with the motor running and the air conditioner on high when her father and brothers got in. Gideon took one look at her face and resisted the urge to issue his normal set of orders about wasting fuel just to make cold air. He had bigger fish to fry than saving a few pennies and wisely drove them all home in silence...

 Freddie Joe Detweiller was sitting on the front porch when they pulled up the driveway. Ally’s mind was already on the things that needed to be done before dinner would be served, but to her surprise, Freddie Joe jumped up, took off his hat and opened the front door for her as she came up the steps. 

“Good day, Ally. Something is sure smellin’ fine inside this house,” he said. “Just roast,” Ally said. “I thank you highly for allowing me to your table.” Ally shrugged. “Thank Daddy. He invited you.” Freddie Joe had an odd expression on his face as he looked at Gideon. Gideon nodded formally, then quickly looked away. 

Freddie Joe came to himself in time to jump in front of Ally. He opened the door, then stepped aside, bowing slightly as she passed. As she stepped over the threshold and into the living room, she couldn’t help but notice that his hair was thinning at the crown. Then he smiled at her, and it was all she could do not to recoil from his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. Still oblivious to the true reason for his presence, she paused to speak to Gideon...

Sala has presented us with a country setting in which  activities are mostly about the community, family and the church... I enjoyed reminiscing about my earlier years in this same environment, especially when she used one of my earlier colloquials of "crick" for creek. Yes, I, too, lived near a crick and had to work hard to change to the correct pronunciation... LOL

Ally's was a woman of 28 and had a birth defect of a crooked leg. She could walk, but it was normally with a drag for one foot.  She lived with her father and two brothers and had essentially taken over housekeeping duties when her mother died. But her father was a kind man and even though he wasn't quite sure how to do it, he wanted to keep his promise to his beloved wife and mother that he would help ensure Ally had a fulfilling life. Problem was, that most men were put off by her disability, fearing that her children would also be lame and they didn't want to risk that...

But when a neighbor proposed that he be allowed to call on Ally, her father, Gideon, thought this might be the answer, since he'd lost his wife and had three children already to take care of. Needless to say, Ally was not happy, especially when she learned her father had acted on her behalf and without talking, first, with her.

Ally, of course, wanted a different life, plus she had a dream early in her life that, one day, a tall dark man would come walking out from the woods surrounding their place and come to her and ask for a drink...

Still, even when it happened just as she had dreamed, she couldn't quite believe it... But, even Grannie Devon had given her hints over the years through her "sight" but lately, it was more about danger as well.

“Look to the family. Look to the heart. Danger around you. Trouble will start.” 

Ally frowned. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear, and yet it wasn’t enough to tell her how to prevent it, or save herself and her family from ruin. “How, Granny? How will the trouble start?”

Wes Holden was the man who walked out of the woods... And, indeed, he asked for a drink of water!

But Wes may have been a dream for Ally--maybe even a God Incident. However, he was totally confused and had earlier been in a hospital when he went through a trauma nightmare from which he couldn't wake up. Wes had been doing fairly well upon his return from Afghanistan, but he was still having constant flashbacks that placed him right back into the middle of battle. It was his wife and son who were slowly bringing him back...

Until they were both killed in a domestic terrorist attack at the commissary at which they were shopping. Sometimes, when evil wins a battle, God intervenes and takes what is left of His chosen and helps them to find the way to where someone is now needed... It's not easy to understand, yet, it does show that God cares and loves His people and will provide strength to continue on in a new life.

For surely, there was a new battle to fight for Wes Holden. In the West Virginia Hills where he had wandered into one day. He had been in shock and had no memory of what had happened to his family...

Until he did... 

Colonel Wes Holden had been through a lot, but what he now needed was to get out of the hospital--without anybody knowing that he had regained some of his memory. They had found a step-brother who was willing to take him (and his government check!) Wes knew only one thing, this was the way to get him out of the hospital, under medical discharge. He would deal later to get away from the one individual with whom he would never be safe, and planned his escape!

Even from the beginning, Ally could not escape how Wes, in essence, had fulfilled the dream that she'd had all her life. With her mobility problem, she was shy and hesitant to deal with a stranger, but when Wes came knocking, she not only gave him water, a meal...but also a place to stay! She had inherited a small cabin nearby and had Wes moving in that very day. Without ever mentioning it to her family!

While the relationship began between Ally and Wes, there was evil underway by a man who was out to make big money selling drugs... And Ally's two brothers were caught up in what would become a major disaster. 

The story builds up from a drama to a point when what is happening is so tense that I, for one, wound up reading through the night to see how the story ended. With more than a touch of horror, Sala shares still another way just how one evil man can turn against anything or anybody that does not fulfill his needs. The villain, a science professional, who is also a sociopath, caring not what he was doing to harm others, was soon confronted by Wes, Ally, and, finally, her brothers, although it came too late for the two men who had hired on to make some quick money, only to begin to understand what was happening.

Of course, the ending was exactly what we wanted to have happen. But just how close disaster had come had included having to call in the DEA, the FBI and even the CDC... 

Sala's stories are realistic, yet allow for the goodness of humanity to come through as winning that seemingly constant fight. Thriller Suspense fans will love this one! Highly recommended...

GABixlerReviews 

Sharon Sala Speaks to Women in her Novel - Broke-Ass Women's Club

It was nearing the end of May. David had been working the St. Louis area for almost a week, and it was time for him to head southeast. He was packing, getting ready to leave, and Janie was fussing with his suits and clean shirts, always making sure he had everything he needed for the time he would be gone. “David, darling, I'm putting in a few extra shirts… just in case,” she said. David smiled, poked a finger through one of the red curls above her forehead, then ran a finger down the side of her face. “You, my love, are the best. I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm going to miss you so much. I'll text every night. Oh… and don't forget, the plumber is coming tomorrow to see about that garbage disposal, so be watching for his text.” Janie hugged him. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me.” “It's what I do,” David said, then closed his suitcase and picked it up off the bed. “Come walk me to the door.” And so she did, falling into his embrace and goodbye kiss, then standing in the doorway and waving until his car was out of sight. Only then did she go down the hall to her office to begin her workday.  

Within moments of getting on the interstate, David Logan shifted to his David Lowry alias and was on the phone with his third wife, Gretchen, in Springfield. She answered breathlessly. “David! Darling. What a perfect way to begin my day.” He chuckled. “You are such a sweetheart. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m headed your way today.” “Wonderful! Will you be here tonight?” “Yes. I think I have about a week's worth of work in the area, so we have some special time ahead of us.” “I'm so excited! Have a great day. I can't wait to get you home!” “I can't wait to get there,” David said. “See you soon.” After that, he put his phone on Bluetooth and headed south. Less than an hour out of St. Louis, he drove straight into a thunderstorm, turned his wipers on high, and found an oldies station on Sirius XM. The traffic was steady, and David was driving seventy. He was singing Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain with Willie Nelson and keeping up with the traffic when his cellphone rang. When he saw it was his second wife, Bettina Lee, who knew him as her husband, David Lee, from Kansas City, he let it go to voicemail. A few seconds later, it rang again, and he rolled his eyes. It was his fourth wife, Pauline Lord, in Columbia. He loved his women, but he often wondered what the hell had he been thinking? All of a sudden, a semi came flying past him in the fast lane, and he was abruptly awash in water. It hit the driver's side window so hard and fast, it startled him into thinking he was about to get side swiped. He swerved, and when he did, his car hydroplaned and spun him to the left, right into the fast lane of traffic, into the path of another fully loaded semi. It took a rescue squad two hours to get his car out from under the truck, and then peel what was left of him out of it. He was identified by the driver's license in his wallet, which happened to still be David Logan, and the tag number on his car, which was registered to the company he worked for. Then they found a briefcase wedged partially beneath the seat with three more driver’s licenses, all with his photo, but with different names: David Lee, David Lowry, and David Lord. At that point, it became the responsibility of the Missouri Highway Patrol to find his next of kin and to notify the local police to see if any of his aliases turned up in open crimes. A detective named Fairfield got the file dumped on his desk, shuffled through it, and began a search on David Logan, David Lee, David Lowry, and David Lord. What he discovered was shocking. The man had different Social Security numbers for each name, which led him to believe it was a case of stolen identities. But further investigation revealed that while the man had been using Social Security numbers of deceased men, he'd been paying taxes on all four identities. He also discovered David Logan had a rented mailbox in a post office in St. Louis, where the mail for his aliases was being sent. The detective was floored. 

David Logan wasn't just a bigamist. He was a skilled conman who knew his way around the systems it took to hide what he was doing. Now he had to find out if he had next of kin under any of his other names. That's when he found the four wives and didn't know who to call first. In the end, it didn't matter. They all had to be notified. After that, it was up to David Logan's first wife to claim and bury him, although he was in so many pieces, there would have been enough to go around.

It was just after lunch when the doorbell rang. Janie was mopping up a spill on the kitchen floor, and when she heard it ring, was glad for the momentary reprieve. She leaned the mop against the cabinet, ran her fingers through her curls to get them off her forehead, and hurried through the hall to answer. What she didn't expect to see were the two Missouri Highway Patrolmen standing on her doorstep. And she still wasn't processing what she was seeing until they asked for her by name. “Janie Logan?” “Yes, I'm Janie,” she said. “Mrs. Logan, I'm Officer Danfield from the Missouri Highway Patrol, and this is my partner, Officer Kirby. May we come in?” “Yes, of course,” she said, and led them to the living room. As soon as she was seated, Danfield delivered the blow. “Mrs. Logan, I am sorry to tell you that your husband was in a car accident on I-44, and he did not survive.”

This book is for every woman who finds herself on the hard side of life through no actions of her own. 

I dedicate it to the strong ones who refused to quit. You are my sisters. And you are not alone.

~~~

This is a book for women--all women... Men are free to read it as well if they want to learn an important lesson... Still, given the numbers of books, movies and personal stories shared by one friend to another, most of us--women, that is--knows what it is like to be "screwed" by a man, or even...many men... Name one good man and most of us will match you to those that could be called, simply, Bad... And, in the case of David, it was pure Bad to the Bone!

Have to tell you, Sharon Sala knows how to tell a gripping story! Real, Honest, and in-your-face Truth! Some men are naturally working a con, no matter what they are doing... men--you know what I mean. Of course, we've lived with the biggest conman of all, haven't we...?

The thing is, though, that most women, are pretty open and involved with their emotions. When they fall for a guy, they're going to try to stick it out. Sure, there are some players out there (and I think I'll share next an article I wrote about them...) but their long game is almost always to find somebody to love and be loved by and move on into family life of some kind.

So, it was with all four women who had, in good faith, married a conman named David... He had been playing the game most of his life, but then figured it was time to think about the future... So he looked around for a job that would take him away from home to work... Then, he planned it meticulously, using the social security numbers of dead men and establishing different lives for each life... In his mind, he had it made, he could travel around his area and always have a woman in his bed no matter where his job led him...

But then in the midst of relocating from one home to another, he was killed in a horrible accident which left his body in pieces... By the time that each of his four wives discovered what had been happening, they all decided--burn him and throw away the ashes!

And, then, each woman had to look hard at where she was, realizing that the man she had loved had left her penniless and without a home! But she knew one thing, she would make it... All she had to do was figure out that first step...

Janie was David's first wife, thus, the only legal wife of the four. She also had owned a family home and had her own accounting business, so she was at least minimally able to continue without too much damage of her husband's theft via credit cards... After learning what had happened and especially that the other three would probably wind up homeless, it didn't take long for Janie to make a very important decision...of love and friendship...

She opened her home and her heart to who quickly became sister-wives--in the truest sense of the term!

From the very beginning, once everybody got settled, it was as if it was truly meant to be... With a home that was wonderfully available, each began to think about what they could do for the future--to help bring in money to maintain and build on what they were now sharing!

At first, gossip was tough and seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about... But, then, each of the women began to work or take on tasks at home to fulfill the day-to-day operations of running a househld. Soon, even a next-door neighbor, whose son had moved in and was, somewhat crowding her out of her past life, was spending time next door...

“It's so sweet of you to invite me to your picnic,” she said. “Our pleasure,” Janie said. “Take a seat, and what's your poison? Iced tea or lemonade? Oh… and the tea is unsweetened.” “I haven't had lemonade in ages, and it sounds so good. I'll have that,” Florence said. Pauline scooped ice into a glass from their ice chest, filled it with homemade lemonade, and set it at Florence’s place, and then they all sat down. Just before they started to eat, Janie tapped her fork against her glass, and then picked it up. “Ladies, a toast! We've gone from sad-ass to bad-ass. To friends and sisters of the heart!” 

“Sisters of the heart!” they said, and lifted their glasses in unison. After that, it was all about passing food and filling plates, with AC/DC blasting “Highway to Hell,” a song that could have been their anthem. “This is the best time this house and I have had in years,” Janie said, as she served herself another deviled egg. “True that for me,” Bettina said. “Just think of all the weeks and holidays we spent alone.” Florence frowned. “What do you mean?” Gretchen shrugged. “Think about it, honey. You're a man with four wives, strung out from one side of the state to the other. You can't be in four places at once, so you pick one location, and spin some big story to the wives in three other places as to why they're spending yet another holiday alone. Then you’re so charming to all of them when you do see them, they blindly accept the

bullshit.” 

Florence's eyes widened. “Oh my God! I never thought… I didn't realize the ramifications of…” And then she stopped and shook her head. “My hat's off to all of you, and my sincere sympathies for the tragedy and the travesty of your lives.” And in that moment, Janie knew Florence meant it. “Well, you can bet the last piece of fried chicken in the bucket that it'll never happen again,” Janie said...

 “Oh, my Lord… I am so full, I don't know if I can eat another bite,” Bettina said. Pauline came back with a plate piled high with the little buns, and Bettina was the first to take one. She ate it in three bites. “Yeah, that's how I diet, too,” Gretchen said, and snagged one for herself. They were sitting around the table, still telling stories from their childhood when Spotify shifted to a new song, and all of a sudden, the girls squealed and began a litany of comments. 

“Yes!” “My favorite!” “Oh my God! I can't sit still and just listen!” “Nobody like Queen!” Florence waved her hand. “I'm older than you girls. I don't recognize this song. What is it?” “It's Queen! The song is ‘Somebody to Love’!” Janie said, and bounced up from her chair, grabbed a spoon for a microphone, and started dancing and singing with the song as she moved up and down the length of the verandah. Bettina licked the potato salad off her spoon and joined her. Gretchen stood up, threw her arms up into the air and started belting out the chorus, with Pauline right beside her. 

Florence sat back in her chair, reveling in their abandon and the joy on their faces. In that moment, she knew if her hip wasn't so arthritic, and she knew the words to the song, she'd be dancing along with them. These women weren't bemoaning their fate. They were celebrating their own independence on Independence Day. But once they were up, they danced and sang from one song into the next until sweat was running down their backs and beaded across their foreheads. Still, it didn't matter. When one song ended, their neighbors on the other side of the fence started clapping and shouting, “More, more, more!”

Janie took the lead on Bon Jovi's, “Livin' On a Prayer.” Bettina did the same on a Green Day song.

And Pauline rocked out on Nine Inch Nails. It was all music from their youth. And then it shifted to Chris

 Stapleton's bluesy, country song called, “You Should Probably Leave.” By the time the Stapleton song was over, they were laughing. “That's something we should have told He Who's Name Shall Not Be Mentioned,” Bettina muttered, and they laughed even harder, because it was easier to laugh than it was

to let go of the tears they still held inside. “It's getting too hot for this, and I need to get the potato salad back in the refrigerator,” Janie said. Florence stood. “I ate my way from one end of this table to the other without having to cook a thing, but I'll sure help you clear the table,” she said, and together, they began carrying food into the house. While Janie put leftovers in the refrigerator, the others started clearing off the table. Before long, the only thing left as a reminder of the day were the two flags still flying from the porch. They sent Florence home with leftovers for her supper, and a round of hugs for her company. And all the way back to her house, Florence kept thinking of what amazing women they all were, and how horribly, terribly wrong she'd been. It had been a life-changing day for Florence Lane. And it had been a life-changing day for the residents of the Broke-Ass Women's Club, as well. They'd hosted a party. With guests. Well, one guest. And they'd danced themselves into a whole new mindset. It was a good day, and it wasn't over yet. As soon as the kitchen was clean and everything put back to rights, Bettina spoke up. “I have an announcement to make.” They all stopped and turned around, giving her their full attention. “I am full as a tick and going to take a nap so I'll be ready for fireworks tonight.” Gretchen grinned. “Fireworks as in the kind you and Johnny shoot off, or the kind that explode in the air?”

And every single sister found herself in a situation where her personal ethics, her truth, her reality was tested...and she won!

She couldn't get over the randomness of leaving the office for lunch. She'd never done that. Not once since she began working there. But today, on the anniversary of the day David Lowry had sworn everlasting love to her and said “I do,” she’d broken her routine. 

Today, because she was sick to her stomach angry at a dead man, she’d saved a little boy's life. She saw the pattern—how one little rock thrown into the ocean can cause ripples forever. If David hadn't died. If he hadn't left her penniless. If Janie Logan had not invited them into her home. If she'd never gotten the job at the insurance agency. If this hadn't been her anniversary. If she hadn't been so angry, she would never have left the office. Or bought the cookies. Or gone to the park. They might never have found Billy Royal until it was too late. One rock… A million ripples… It was nothing short of a miracle...

Sharon Sala has presented all women with a sure knowledge that they are able...to be free...to be real...to be accepted just as they are... and never, never alone... Give yourself a Christmas Present! Get Broke-Ass Women's Club! You're Gonna Love It!

God Bless

Gabbi

Surely God Sent This Writer to Me, and YOU, at This Time in the World - Sweet Baby by Sharon Sala...

Dedication

I wrote this book for all the children

 who needed a Sweet Baby, but didn’t have one.

 I will say a prayer each night for the children

 who cry and no one hears.

 I will say a prayer each night for the children

 who wake up hungry and go to bed the same way.

 I will say a prayer each night for the children

 who are missing, and for those who are lost.

 I will say a prayer each night for the children

 who suffer alone because

 they have no one who cares.

 I will say a prayer each night for the children

 that no one loves. 

I will say a prayer for the children.

 I will say a prayer each night, 

because when no one else is listening, 

God still hears. 

Prologue 

Rural Arkansas, 1973 

A rooster tail of dust billowed behind the bright yellow school bus as it rumbled down the Arkansas back roads, returning the children of Calico Rock to their homes. It was dry for September. The narrow, two-lane road on which the bus was traveling was bordered on both sides with an abundance of dust-covered greens. Old trees, tall and angular, struggled for space among new growth in the constant act of taking root. On the ground beneath, bushes and scrub brush flourished, hanging on to their place in the mountains with fierce persistence. The sky was pale, a blue so light it almost seemed white, and the sun beaming down on the roof of the bus sweltered the children inside like so many beans in a can. 

Sweat ran out of their hair and down their faces as they chattered away. They didn’t care that it was hot, because it was Friday, and they were going home. But though the noise level inside the bus was high, there was the occasional child, like six-year-old Victoria Lancaster, who sat alone in her seat, quietly contemplating the day’s events and longing for the first sight of home. Last night had been a first for young Tory in more ways than one. She and seven other little girls had spent the night at Mary Ellen Wiggins’ slumber party. For Tory, it was the first time in her life that she’d slept somewhere other than beneath her mother’s roof—and without her dolly, Sweet Baby. And she hadn’t cried. Not even once. 

As the bus began to brake, she looked up. The Broyles brothers were getting off. That meant she would be next. Her mouth pursed as she thought back to last night. She couldn’t wait to tell her mommy about Mary Ellen’s party. Roasting wieners and marshmallows and then telling ghost stories after the house was dark had been scary—but so much fun. Mommy would be so proud of her for not asking to go home. The bus hit a bump, and Tory clutched at the brown paper sack in her lap. It held yesterday’s dirty school clothes, as well as her nightgown. There was a ketchup stain on her dress and marshmallow on the front of her gown, but she wasn’t too worried. Mommy never yelled at her for things like that. 

In fact, Mommy hardly ever yelled at all, and when she did, she was usually yelling at Ollie. She sighed, remembering a time in their life when Ollie hadn’t lived with them and wishing it could be that way again. Ollie was always teasing her about being a momma’s baby. When she got home, she would show him. She’d spent the whole night away from home. Babies couldn’t do that! Right in the middle of planning what she would say to Ollie, a voice suddenly shrieked in her ear. “Tory’s got a boyfriend. Tory’s got a boyfriend.” Tory turned in her seat and stuck out her tongue, glaring angrily at the boy behind her. It was that stupid old Arthur Beckham. After less than six weeks of first grade, she’d already figured out that the older boys got, the dumber they became. When he laughed in her face, she spun back in her seat, red-faced and a little bit shocked by her own temerity. When she got to be a fourth-grader, she wouldn’t pick on little kids like Arthur did, of that she was certain. Once more the bus began to slow. Tory glanced out the window as the brakes locked, then squeaked. When she saw the familiar rooftop of her home, she grabbed hold of the seat in front of her for balance, then stood. Arthur Beckham made a face at her as she passed down the aisle, but she was too anxious to get home to give him another thought. 

As she stepped off the bus, an errant wind lifted the hem of her dress, but she didn’t care. The moment her feet hit the dirt, she began to run. An orange-and-black butterfly fluttered just ahead of her, riding the wind current with delicate ease, and it almost seemed as if they were racing. The fantasy caught in her mind, and she shifted into an all-out stride. The afternoon sun caught and then held in the tangles of her long, blond hair. Had anyone been around to notice, they might have imagined they’d seen a halo above her head. But it was the end of the day, and had one been inclined to consider her an angel, she would have been a grubby one at best. There was a skinned spot on her knee, a smudge from lunch on the front of her dress, and her shoes and anklets wore a light coating of dust as her little legs churned, making short work of the distance to the house. The brown paper bag she held clutched in one fist was torn at the top and about to give way, but it didn’t matter now. She was almost there. Just as Tory’s feet hit the front steps, the butterfly darted off to the left. She laughed aloud, calling out to her mother as she grabbed the screen door and yanked. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I’m home! You should have seen me! I was racing a butterfly and—” She froze as the echo of her own voice moved from room to empty room, drifting like a bad memory that wouldn’t go away. A draft of hot air came from somewhere before her, shifting the hem of her dress and pushing the fabric against her bare legs. Tory took a step farther, then another, and another, unaware when the brown paper bag she’d been holding fell from her fingers and onto the floor. Everything was gone, from the faded blue curtains on the windows to the furniture that had been sitting on the floors. Her heart skipped a beat. Even though her eyes were seeing the truth, her heart would not accept it. 

“Mommy?” She cocked her head, listening for the familiar sound of her mother’s voice, but all she heard was the faint grinding of gears as the school bus climbed the hill on the road beyond. She called out again, her voice trembling. “Mommy? Mommy? I’m home.” The silence beyond the sound of her voice was insidious, amplifying the call of a bird in the tree outside the kitchen window. Somewhere within the house she heard a cricket chirp, and her heart leaped. Mommy hated crickets in the house. Any minute she would come racing into the room to get rid of it. She turned toward the doorway, her big blue eyes tear-filled and horror-stricken. But nothing moved, and no one came. She called again. 

“Mommy… where are you?” All she could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat, drowning out the sound of her own voice. She ran toward her bedroom, the only sanctuary she knew. If she crawled onto her bed and cuddled Sweet Baby, Mommy would surely come home. But it was as vacant as the rest of the house. And as she stood in the doorway, she started to shake. Sweat broke out across her forehead, beading on her upper lip. 

Her little bed—the one with the pale pink spread—was missing. Even worse, Sweet Baby was nowhere to be found. Near hysteria, she began turning in a circle, her fingers knotting into tiny fists as she began to chant, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” as if saying the word enough times would make her mother appear. Frantic, her gaze moved to the open closet door. Everything, including her new Sunday school shoes, was missing. Gone! Everything and everyone was gone! She began to circle the four small rooms in the clapboard house, racing in and then out again as her hysteria grew, shouting her mother’s name over and over until there was nothing left of Tory Lancaster but a scream. 

The sound of a car going by on the road beyond sent her running to the doorway, but when it went past without a sign of slowing down, she backed up in sudden fear. Alone! She was alone! It was only after she’d backed herself into a corner of the room that she stopped, her eyes wide and staring, her expression blank. Tears were drying on her cheeks as she slowly sank into a squatting position, her gaze fixed on the door. The afternoon turned into dusk, dusk into night, but Tory Lancaster never moved. She was waiting—waiting for Mommy to come home.

~~~

There has been so much happening, mostly caused by MAGA republicans that, sometimes, you can't find your place--trying to consider just what could happen next and when will it stop. For me and for millions across the nation, we were shocked when the Supreme Court ruled against the medical issue of allowing abortion.  Nobody wants to abort a child, but there is medical issues and, even, financial issues... Do you have a child as a single mother who already has three children and can't afford another? My Mom did, but what I remember most about my mother is that she was always working... 

My mother was carrying me when my father was killed in a mine accident. While I am here to tell my story, I also know that, in talking with many women who have found it necessary for parents, if there are two, to both work because of an inability to meet basic needs for the family. My Mom died when she was 72 and had worked her entire life, almost 24-7, to take care of us... 

Now, once again I faced someone close who was pro-life, (no matter what) while I was pro-choice. She again stated her opinion, while I, once again, was caught in the emotional flashbacks that comes with incest... I started to cry and said that, it wasn't about abortion for me--that I had always felt this way (since I was old enough to consider the issue). For me, it was about the failure of the church recognizing and working to deal with the sexual abuse of children from early age on through life! Adding, sometimes, a child should not be allowed to be where they are to live after birth... Pro-life decisions, once made, seem to be the only thing that counts...there is no further concern for the children, even for basic needs... And there is no further proactive concern to ensure that children are given a good home... free of exposure to many issues too adult for them to be listening to or, worse, experiencing...

Then once again, MAGA republicans bring it up purely to make it into a political issue...while, little girls and many others in this type of situation are forced to not only survive being sexually abused, but then are placed into the public eye as abortion issues are used, again, politically, rather than to allow such intimate medical issues to be handled within the family-doctor environment...ONLY!

Sala begins her book, Sweet Baby by establishing that something has happened in the life of 6-year-old Victoria Lancaster as she returns home from a sleep-over with girlfriends from school. There is no sign of her mother and all of the furniture and more--Sweet Baby--is gone... And that Tory was left alone, not knowing what had happened... We also learn that Tory was in an out of foster homes through to becoming an adult, which starts right at Chapter 1...

Victoria has become a photojournalist and travels to many areas, dependent upon the subject to be covered in her article. She has also become involved with Brett Hooker, a former cop who decided to get off the streets and now is an investigator for the DA Office. He is very much in love with Victoria... And, for now, is willing to take her exactly as she was... an very independent woman who has a job which requires that she leaves and comes based upon her job.

Or was she?

Tory still had flashes of the past that bothered her, such as storms. Readers will be privy to her dreams and will learn much about what actually happened to Tory... In many ways this is a mystery, quite suspenseful as we learn through her dreams more and more as we read. And yet, it is the solid loving partner she has found that has allowed her to begin to wonder...and, even, desire to discover what really happened in her past.

For most of the first part of the book, I was in tears--a cathartic time, perhaps, for me as well as for some other readers who have a Deep Awareness, perhaps, that they should not have experienced what they did at an early age, and yet have memories of that period of their life. Certainly the start of the "me-too" movement has revealed just how broadly this child corruption has spread across the world.

Concern for today's children and the realization that this is becoming worse rather than better, for many of our children... is, unfortunately, quite often headline topics to be used politically for, it appears, power and control over, especially, women...

Sala uses the strong tie of love to allow Tory to begin to face that part of her early life that had been forgotten. Tory had grown strong and independent to the world around her, while she suffered internally, believing that she was not worthy to be loved. Her adult solution was to accept life as it came to her, but leave it as she wished--striving to keep control of her emotions so that she could deal with anything and anyone that may cause her fear or pain...

So after empathic or sympathic tears are shed at first, readers are then allowed to watch and realize that love, indeed, can help to heal all wounds... It may be through other people, or, like me, it can be through a sure knowledge that God, indeed, loves all of us and wishes no harm to come to us, even though it may happen. 

“Ruthie… forgive… didn’t mean…  Tory froze. Ruthie? She tried to breathe and heard herself choking instead. Ruthie? Brett was talking to her now, telling her that she was going to be all right. Ruthie? An image flashed in her mind, an image of a woman with pretty brown hair and laughing eyes, a woman who smelled like roses and soap and who made up her own special songs to sing her little girl to sleep. "Hush little Tory, don’t say a word. Mommy’s gonna buy you a honeybird." A tear ran down the side of Tory’s nose. Honeybird. Hummingbird. Sometimes, when you’re only four, one word is as good as another. The room was beginning to spin. She grabbed Brett, desperately holding on...

Somehow, Sala brings sanity out of chaos, light out of darkness, love out of hate. God surely has given this writer a gift that has alreadt been awarded through awards and recognition... But, to the single reader, we are pulled into an embrace of safety and caring,  where she is able to show that, although there is pain, there is also a way to escape that memory and replace it with new ones that are full of joy, contentment, and a feeling of security that might have been missing for some of her readers. She gives us a gift of love...an awareness through her dedication, on through to the final word she writes, that this writer is here to grant us...the right to love ourselves...and others... Surely, God's love is shared through her words... And we thank you, Sharon...

We Never Remember days, only Moments*

God Bless,

Gabbie

*Quote

Personal Thoughts This Color

Sharon Sala Responds to School Mass Shooting in Novel, The Next Best Day - A Beautiful God Incident in Less Than 400 Pages...

 

"When in God's Name, will we do what we all know needs to be done!?" asks our President as he speaks to America after still another school mass shooting which occurred recently in Texas... 

And then the video above goes on to share that the governor, the past president and a congressman were heading for the national NRA convention where there would never be, if that group has its way, that the ban of military-style automatic guns and, more, a registration of guns in America, for instance, will never take place. All those things that republicans continue to refuse to even consider talking about and negotiating to bring about REAL responses to the horrendous reputation for America being the only country that "hosts" mass shootings!

And the video goes on to say that those suffering from so many deaths are tired of hearing "we will be thinking and praying for you..." THAT IS JUST NOT AN ACCEPTABLE RESPONSE ANYMORE... Yet those of us who want gun reform know that unless the republican party is zapped into a major change--perhaps one that is based upon God's Judgment of those who refuse to stop the flood of dead children down the river of republican stubborness and selfish concern for themselves and power... We have no words that can be given to those with unforgettable and unforgivable hate that has encircled those in power of the party... 

And, once again, a writer takes up her pen to spotlight the pain and suffering and the real inability to put such trauma aside and return to a former life that has been so drastically changed... Sala has done an excellent job of placing this last horror and many others school shootings into each reader's memory--a memory that will stand strong as the nation, and each of us, are fighting to force A STOP TO KILLING CHILDREN, just by being willing to acknowledge that the proliferation of so many guns, available anywhere and everywhere...MUST be accepted as the PROBLEM to be solved!

What the hell am I supposed
 to be learning from all this crap?

 

The silence within the walls was broken only by the sounds of weeping. Boyd French cleared his throat and continued, and so did the slide show, as he move on to the recognition of each of the twelve students who’d been wounded, and then the last picture was one of Katie. 

“All of you…those who were not wounded, and those who were…those who we lost, and those who were saved, are heroes because you did everything right. It was the stranger who did everything wrong. But in the midst of all the tragedy, first-grade teacher Katie McGrath shielded two of her students with her body, took the bullets meant for them, and saved their lives, and for that we come today to also honor Miss McGrath. Katie, would you please come forward?” 

Katie stood, her knees shaking. And as she began walking toward the podium, everyone in the gym began chanting her name. “Katie! Katie! Katie! Katie!” Boyd held up his hand, then pulled a plaque from a shelf beneath the sound system. “Katie, on behalf of the Albuquerque public school system and Saguaro Elementary, it is my honor to present this award. It reads: ‘To Katie McGrath, for courage, bravery, and sacrifice in the line of fire.’” He handed it to Katie, who was visibly overwhelmed as she clutched it to her. 

“Are you okay to say a few words?” he whispered. She nodded, then moved to the microphone and took a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you. This is unexpected, and such an honor. But it feels strange to accept an award for doing the same thing every other teacher here was doing that day. We were all putting ourselves between your children and the danger they were in. Every year, your children, who you entrust to our care, become ours for a little while each day. We work hard to make sure they are learning what matters. 

“Some days we want to wring their necks. Some days we are so proud of them for how hard they try. And every day we love them. Enough to die for them, which is what happened here. I don’t know why I’m still here, but all I can assume is that I am supposed to be. Again, thank you for this recognition, and thank you for the hundreds of letters and well-wishes that were sent to me.” 

The audience gave her a standing ovation as she walked back to her chair, wiping tears as she went. The principal ended the program with a final announcement. “Earlier this morning, we unveiled five wooden benches on the playground. Each bench has a name etched on it to commemorate a precious life that was lost here. Yes, the names will be reminders of our tragedy, but as time passes, the benches will also come to represent a place to rest from the innocence of play, and for teachers to sit while they watch over your children on the playgrounds. 

We will not forget. 

“Now, this concludes our program. Students, unless your parents are here, you will return to your classes. Parents, if you wish to take your children home with you at this time, they will be excused. Just notify their teachers before you leave with them. And…Katie, I think your class is going back to their room with their parents and teacher in hope that you will stop by to visit with them before you leave...”

~~~

Sala's main character is a school teacher in a small town school and is beloved by her students. In fact, when the shooting started, you could tell, just as many brave souls are doing across the nation, that this school teacher was prepared and willing to strive to save all of her children, even to the point where she might be killed in acting to do so. 

Katie McGrath, the teacher and main character, was looking forward to being married in her near future. One of the important reasons she was so happy was that she was, in addition to gaining a husband, she was also gaining a family... Katie had been a foster kid and by 12 realized that there were few, if any, people who really cared about her...Her attitude started to reflect what was surely a defense mechanism against being hurt...again...

Once she graduated from high school in Chicago and left the foster care system, she knew exactly what she was going to do. She wanted to be a teacher, and with the help of a couple of grants and working two jobs for four years, she put herself through college. 

Coming to Albuquerque to teach, which was where she was now, was also where she met Mark Roman. He was a farm boy from Kansas who had a junior position in a CPA firm, while Katie taught at Saguaro Elementary. Now, three years later, here they were, ready to take that next step in their relationship, and she couldn’t be happier. She was just getting out of the shower when she got a text from Lila Reece, a fellow teacher who’d become her best friend, and today, her maid of honor. It was a “good morning, good luck, see you at the chapel” kind of message, but it brought reality to the day. 

It was time to get moving. After breakfast, Katie loaded up her things, made a quick trip to her hairdresser, then hurried off to the chapel to meet Lila. Lila was short, blond, and curvy—the opposite of Katie, who was tall with dark shoulder-length hair and the metabolism Lila longed for. When Katie pulled up in the parking lot, Lila helped carry in the dress and everything that went with it. “I love your hair!” Lila said, eyeing the smooth, silky strands as they headed inside. 

Katie smiled. “Thanks. This style works really well with the veil,” she said. They spent the next couple of hours getting ready in one of the dressing rooms, laughing and talking. Gordy Thurman, Mark’s best man, arrived early, too, and popped in to give her a thumbs-up. “Hey, Katie, you look beautiful. So do you, Lila,” he said. 

“Thanks,” Katie said. “Is Mark here yet?” “Not yet, but we both know Mark Roman is never going to be the early bird. He’ll be here soon,” Gordy said, then waved and went to find the men’s dressing room. The wedding chapel was a popular venue, even though the wedding wasn’t going to be a large one. Just Katie and Mark. A maid of honor and a best man…and fifty guests.

And that young woman, who once had a chip on her shoulder, and who had opened up her heart for love, finally...was left at the altar, or at least at the church...

Lila reached for Katie with both arms and pulled her up and then hugged her so hard. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I’m stunned. I can’t believe he just—” 

Katie pushed Lila away and took a deep breath. “I should have known. I should have known. I have never been enough,” she mumbled. “God give me strength.” Then she tore off the veil, tossed it aside, yanked up the front of her skirt with both hands so she wouldn’t trip, and strode out of the dressing room.

~~~

Her only salvation was to continue working, teaching her little children, knowing that they loved her, they never thought to lie, but openly expressed all that they wanted to share with their loved ones and that, included, their teacher... She would get over this latest rejection...

And then just as she was thinking that it couldn't get worse, she was still happily discussing whose turn it was to lead her class to the lunch room, and as they walked, she heard shooting. Quickly turning the children around, she moved toward the nearest classroom, which, thankfully, was her best friend's room, who immediately unlocked the door and let the children move through the door. It was then that Katie saw that two of her children were still in the hall. They were crying; one boy had fallen and the other was trying to help him. Another teacher came up beside her to help... Only to be shot. Katie did not think, concerned only for her two students, she fell on top of them and lay there as she began to feel the shots that entered the back of her body...

It was not hard for me to realize what would come next for Katie. Though the tragedy might be different for Katie and me, I knew that she would be going into PTSD... and it didn't take long before it began...right after she had been recognized as one of the heroes that day...

He offered her his elbow, and she slipped her hand beneath it. Together, they made their way through the exodus of guests. 

They were about halfway there when Katie realized where they were and immediately looked down. When she did, she stumbled and would have fallen if the principal hadn’t caught her. 

“I’m sorry,” Katie said. “I just realized where we were. It took me off guard.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Boyd said. Katie shuddered and started walking, almost at a run, as if to get away from the area, and Boyd hurried to catch up. 

“That’s where Coach Lincoln was shot. We were running,” Katie said. 

“Oh my,” Carl said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” 

Katie shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Everything in this building triggers a memory now. It is what it is.” 

And then they were at the door to her room. 

“I can take it from here,” she said. “What’s the substitute teacher’s name?” 

“Um…Abby King,” he said. “Thank you,” Katie said. She took a deep breath and knocked, then pushed the door ajar. There were parents lined up against the walls, and a short, thirty-something woman wearing a yellow smock and purple pants standing beside the desk. She had a turned-up nose, pink hair, and a pencil stuck behind her ear. She looked like a living, breathing fairy. How absolutely perfect, Katie thought, and then smiled. 

“May I come in?” Abby King turned and opened her arms wide like she was going to hug her. “Yes! Yes! Welcome back!” Abby said. 

Katie waved at the parents and barely got the door closed behind her before she was engulfed. Twenty familiar little faces were turned up to her. Hands were touching and petting, and all of them were talking at once. And then she saw Alejandro and Kieran pushing their way through the crowd, and they were crying. When they got to her, they just wrapped their arms around her legs and held on. 

Abby King immediately took control of the situation. “Children, let’s give Miss Katie a little room, okay? You will all get a chance to talk to her personally. Each of you find your spot on the floor in the reading circle, and Miss Katie can sit in the teacher chair, okay? Parents can listen in, but I think today is for Miss Katie and her class.” 

At that point, Katie put her purse and the award aside and dropped to her knees, hugging the boys to her. “We thought you died,” Alejandro said. “I’m sorry I fell down. You came back for us.” Kieran nodded. “You sure can run fast, Miss Katie. Thank you for coming back.” 

Katie knew if she cried now, everyone in the room would be in tears. “Of course I went back to get you both, and Alejandro…everyone falls down. It’s the getting back up that matters. And we all got up and ran, didn’t we? And we’re safe now. Okay?”

“Okay,” they echoed, and then hugged her again. 

“We heard you tell us not to talk and not to move, and we did just what you said,” Kieran whispered. 

“I’m so proud of you for following orders. It was important, wasn’t it?” she said. 

Alejandro nodded, then reached up and patted her cheek. “You said you loved us. Just like Mama says when she tucks me in at night.” 

Katie’s eyes welled. “And I do love you. All of you. You are so precious to me. Now. Let’s go find our place in the reading circle, okay?”

And then something wonderful happened. A wonderful writer, with both sympathy and empathy, brought the characters and readers all into one closed circle of sharing. Sharon Sala knew by page 36 of a novel that held 399 pages, that all of us were totally involved in a reality where little childrens and adults can be murdered by somebody who has been incited to hate... And to act on that hate...

And she then began to weave a story, recognizing the trauma experienced by both the characters and we readers who have experienced that reality on today's news--of one mass shooting after another. Sala wrote exactly what we readers needed to see. We saw, first, the aftermath of a school shooting, and the dreams that left her main character, waking, frightened, and running--running, trying to get away from the shooter. While at the same time, being afraid for her students... And like I did, finally, Katie realized that she could not stay in a place where so much had happened that she could just not, in any way, forget and...get over...

The 300+ pages of the  last part of the story is what I remembered after finishing the book. This author has a wonderful ability to create charactrs who we can easily think of as our neighbors, or our friends made while working... Her writing becomes smooth, a lovely flow of quietly moving forward from what cannot be forgotten, yet, in a most beautiful way allow a new life, far grander than could be imagined, to begin.

“Yes, they do, Billy, and thank you for letting me wander about in here. It was such a pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure was mine,” he said, and then took an object from beneath the counter and set it before her. “I would be honored if you would accept this little gift from me to you. The figurine sitting at her dresser reminded me a bit of you. While it is within a globe, it is not a snow globe. It is a music box. If you wind it up, it plays ‘Clair de Lune,’ which is one of my favorite music-box tunes. I don’t know who it belonged to, and you don’t know who you belonged to, and it’s quite charming, as are you. I wanted you to have your own antique. 

I have cleared it and blessed it, so there are no lingering entities attached…but who knows? It may be the trigger to an antiques addiction of your own.” Katie’s eyes welled. Tears rolled before she could stop them, and then she couldn’t get her emotions under control. “I don’t know… Nobody ever… Oh my God…thank you. You have no idea how treasured this will be.” 

Billy wrapped the music box in layer after layer of tissue, then boxed it up and slipped it into a gift bag. “Your joy is my joy,” Billy said. “Enjoy. And if the music box quits playing, bring it in. I know how to fix them.” 

“Yes…oh my…thank you,” Katie said, blinking back tears. She carried the bag clutched to her breasts as if it was a newborn as she left the store. Billy Arnold hadn’t just given her a gift. He had acknowledged her existence. Katie’s real identity was a mystery, as was the original owner of this music box. They’d both been lost by fate and time until Billy had become their intermediary. Billy had cared enough to give Katie her own antique, and the music box was no longer lost. She felt grounded by another woman’s history—a woman she would never know. 

She drove away, still blinking back tears. She was too full…spilling over from the love she’d been given. She’d been acknowledged. She felt seen. She drove until she found an empty parking lot, then pulled in and parked before she realized it was a church. She sat for a few minutes, trying to pull herself together and wondering at the irony of ending up here at this moment. Katie’d quit talking to God years ago because she didn’t think He was listening. She would pray for a family. She’d pray to be removed from one bad foster home to another. She’d prayed to be rescued…somehow…in any way He saw fit. But it never happened. And the broken broken child she was believed God could neither see nor hear her because she did not matter. 

Now, when the most wonderful thing had just happened to her, she found herself here. She laughed, but in it were the sounds of anger and disbelief. “What am I supposed to do here?” she cried. “Bow down at Your feet when You left mine bare? Join a church and listen to a man I don’t know start telling me how I’m supposed to live? If You’ve been following the shit show that has been my life, what about it do You expect me to thank You for?” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat, choking on sobs...

A lovely story by Sharon Sala will, if you allow it, grace your heart and home with a presence that, often, many of us feel will never come to us...and, yet, at the perfect time, it seems, brings us back into a very real awareness that God is indeed watching us and that he does have a plan, even though it may take years before the life unfolds before us, as if, it was always meant to be... That is a gift that Sala has given to me and, I hope, to you...

For when we see the hate right now in America, incited purely for a show of power as opposed to any real feeling except selfishness... We must find solace. For me, it was reading The Next Best Day. A truly memorable book of God's Love and His Plan...

God Bless,

Gabbie

spotlighting Memorable Quotes

Sharon Sala Shares Thoughts for America! With Responsive Music... An Important Reblog...

At first, you're certain you just misunderstood.

Then it happens again and the shock that goes through you is sharp and sudden.

When you realize it is their truth, then comes horror, followed by a seeping fear.

It doesn't make sense to you.

You don't understand... will NEVER understand...how your view and their view of the same world can be so different.

And then you remember, we are not cookie cutter people.

We are not cut from the same cloth....nor were we raised the same.

And there's where you stop.

We are not the same. We didn't have to think the same.

But we DO have to treat each other with dignity and respect.

And they didn't.

Before, celebrating differences was beautiful.

Now, some have made it a sin... a crime...to be different.

I have no dealings with people like that anymore.

They crossed a moral line with me that I can never unsee...or unhear.

And I am sad.

The world is uglier than I knew.

They kept it hidden... their hate and prejudice.

I let their smiles and laughter...and the familiarity of their faces delude me into believing they didn't mean what they'd just said.

But I was wrong.

They meant it.

And now it shows.

Like a festering sore that won't heal.

The pain of their discontent is unbearable.

I don't know how they walk in the world carrying this kind of hate.

I don't understand them.

I don't know them anymore.

I am a stranger in the place where I was born.

The ultimate irony.

I do not belong here... and yet, here I am. 

~~~

!!!

Sharon Sala is a long-time member of RWA, as well as a member of OKRWA. She has over 125 books and novellas in print, published in six different genres - Romance, Young Adult, Western, Fiction, and Women's Fiction and Non-Fiction. First published in 1991, she's an eight-time RITA finalist, winner of the Janet Dailey Award, five-time Career Achievement winner from RT Magazine, five time winner of the National Reader's Choice Award, and five time winner of the Colorado Romance Writer's Award of Excellence, winner of the Heart of Excellence Award, as well as winner of the Booksellers Best Award. In 2011 she was named RWA's recipient of the Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. In 2017 Romance Writers of America presented her with the Centennial Award for recognition of her 100th published novel.

Her books are New York Times , USA Today, Publisher's Weekly best-sellers. Writing changed her life, her world, and her fate.

I Love meeting authors I have not read via their posts on Facebook or elsewhere... So I took the opportunity to learn about Sharon Sala's writing by reading!

But it was the beautiful thought-provoking words that she posted yesterday on Facebook. I immediately asked if I could share it across the world with my blog...And She Agreed! Thank you so much, Sharon!

Election Day 2020 is, perhaps, the most memorable election that America will ever experience. In a Nation divided, each side wondering why... We, the People, have the momentous responsibility to choose who will be our next president.  As written by Sharon, many of us just don't understand WHY? Why is there such a divide...We may never know... All we can do is accept our responsibility and make that choice, on this the final day...Election Day 2020...

I pray that you follow your heart, mind, and God as you accept your responsibility and cast that vote... We are, indeed, fighting a war...God be with All of Us!

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