Representative Snippets

This page contains a representative collection of snippets from all of my universes and something non-universe.

On this page:

Not Quite a Mountaintop Experience

Notes: Set in The Long Way Home. During Mart’s first solo world travel he visited New Zealand. This incident could perhaps be considered an outtake from what was a rather more serious story overall. (753 words. Added 14 April 2023)

January 1994
Mount Cook, New Zealand

Mart took a deep breath of fresh mountain air as he stepped out of the car. He had travelled to the base of New Zealand’s highest mountain with a friend of a relative of some people he had met in Australia and wasn’t at all sure it had been the best idea. It was generous of Jerry to take him, and he was certainly grateful, but they really had very little in common, it turned out.

The drive had been a long one and the whole way Jerry played loud music that Mart didn’t like. All attempts at conversation had fallen flat, partly because they couldn’t hear each other, but mostly because none of the topics Mart had tried interested the other man. The spectacular scenery only did so much to make up for this.

“Are you coming?” Jerry asked, with impatience, as Mart continued to stand by the car and admire the surrounding mountains.

Mart nodded and followed along. They entered the office of the place where they had booked their accommodation and soon checked in. Jerry led the way out of the office and a little further along to their room at the end of a long, low building. Once inside, Mart dropped his bag by the door and crossed to a sliding glass door. He opened it to check out the view: a wide expanse of fairly flat land covered in sparse, brownish grass and edged by snow-capped mountains that reached up into the sky. Even in the middle of the southern summer, their lower slopes showed streaks of snow.

“Shut the door, will you?” Jerry directed. “We don’t want those kea getting in here.”

“We don’t want what?” Mart asked, frowning at the unfamiliar word. It sounded like ‘key-uh’.

“Mountain parrots,” the other man explained, then left the living area to go and claim a bed.

Mart watched him go and shrugged. The sliding door also had a fly screen. He carefully closed it, leaving the glass door open to let in the breeze, and retrieved his bag from by the door. When he returned to the living area a few minutes later, however, the screen door stood a few inches open, in spite of the fact that neither he nor Jerry had been in the room.

“What–” he began, breaking off as he noticed the culprit – a medium-sized parrot with olive green plumage, currently strutting across the floor. “No! Out you go!”

kea

Jerry stepped into the doorway and snorted. “I told you to close the door.”

“Yes, well, now you can tell me how to get it back out again,” Mart answered, while eyeing the bird’s hooked beak.

Instead, Jerry pointed to the sliding door. “Look out, here’s another one.”

Mart lunged in the direction of the door, startling the second kea enough that it jumped back. While his back was turned, the first one flew up to the kitchen counter. The sound of its wings made him spin on his heels.

“No! Off!”

He waved his arms and it flew across to sit on the back of the sofa, while two more kea came in through the door. Jerry roared with laughter.

“Don’t just laugh; help me,” Mart pleaded, waving the first kea away from the sofa and trying to herd the other two back towards the sliding door.

But Jerry helplessly held his sides and continued to laugh as Mart chased the trio around the room. They happily flitted from floor to counter to tiny dining table to sofa, knocking things over and generally making a nuisance of themselves. In desperation, Mart picked up a chair and tried to use it to push them out.

At last, Jerry got his laughter under control and stepped forward to help, but not before closing the bedroom and bathroom doors.

“You stand on that side and I’ll stand on this side,” he suggested. “Don’t let them get behind us.”

This was easier said than done, but in a few minutes more the birds were all outside. Jerry firmly closed the glass door and flicked the lock.

“Just keep the door locked, okay?” he directed. “And maybe clean up this mess.”

As Jerry headed off to the bedroom, Mart cast an eye across the messy room with its streaks of bird droppings and stray feathers. He was pretty sure he would be keeping that door locked from now on. He’d just have to enjoy his mountain air outside.

End note: This one might be just a little influenced by personal experience, except that someone noticed the kea opening the screen door with its beak before it got inside. The image is from Pixabay.

 

By the Book

Notes: Set in A Time and A Season. Near the beginning of the story, Trixie was left in charge of the Sleepyside second-hand bookshop where she worked after her boss had an accident. Which would be fine, if it wasn’t for the customers. (1,332 words. Added 14 April 2023)

Saturday June 19, 2004
Bridgeman’s Books, Sleepyside

Trixie looked up and smiled as the tinkling bell indicated a new customer. The door swung open, revealing an elderly person struggling with a large box of books. Trixie dodged between the bookcases to help.

“Here, let me hold the door,” she offered. “Do you need a hand with that?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Bridgeman,” the person announced, in a husky voice. “Only Mr. Bridgeman. Kindly fetch him. And keep your hands off my books.”

“I’m very sorry,” Trixie answered. “Mr. Bridgeman had an accident a couple of days ago. He won’t be coming in for the next few weeks.”

“Well!” The person scowled. “Well! I suppose I could deal with you.”

“How about if you put the box down on the counter?” Trixie offered, while searching for a polite form of address when she could not quite pick whether ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ was more applicable.

With a grunt, the person heaved the box and stumped across the room, dumping it on the counter with an audible thump.

“These are some very valuable first editions,” the visitor explained. “I was going to sell them to the book store in Croton, but since I’ve always lived here in Sleepyside and my family as well, for six generations, I thought I might allow Mr. Bridgeman to have them instead, for the same price.”

Hiding her scepticism, Trixie pulled out a pair of white gloves and started putting them on. “May I please take a look? I’ll need to let Mr. Bridgeman know what you’re offering, and if you can leave some contact details, he’ll get back to you very soon.”

“No, that won’t do. I’m taking them right now to the other store. You’ll have to make up your own mind.”

Trixie wriggled her fingers into the gloves and picked up the first book. After two years of working part time in the store, she had picked up quite a few tricks of the trade. While no expert, she saw no warning signs in that first title but held onto her scepticism. If the dust jacket was not the original one, she knew, the book would be worth a great deal less.

The first few books at the top of the box yielded similar results, though some of the titles were ones they would not stock. Around half-way down the pile, the nature of the volumes changed. Not only were they in poorer condition, but they were popular titles from well-known authors, whose initial printings would be large.

“That’s enough now,” the old person snapped. “You’ve seen the quality of what I have to offer and you can make up your mind now that these books are all worth at least fifty dollars each, and some of them much more. But I’m willing to sell the lot for a thousand dollars.”

Trixie began repacking the box. “I’m sorry, but no. We won’t be buying for that price. Can I help you carry them back to your car?”

The person hesitated. “I might consider nine-fifty.”

Trixie shook her head. “We won’t be buying for any price.”

“Fine. I’ll see myself out,” the person answered, scowling. “Take your hands off my books.”

Trixie allowed them to finish the repacking themselves, then held the door for them to exit. From just inside, she watched until the visitor had driven away then got on with her other work.

The next time the bell jingled about fifteen minutes later, Trixie breathed a noisy sigh of relief.

“Nearly ready to close up?” Jim asked.

She nodded. “Flick the sign to closed and lock the door. I’ll just do a quick check around and add up the takings.”

She returned to the counter a short time later to do the second of those tasks and found Jim looking at an old book, a curious expression on his face. As she watched, he turned the book sideways and then back upright.

“What have you got there?” she asked.

In response, he turned it to show her. “A bit risqué for Bridgeman’s, isn’t it?”

Trixie smote her brow. “The old person! They must have left it behind.”

Jim’s eyebrows drew together. “Old person?”

She nodded. “They were here not long ago and I couldn’t figure out if they were a man or a woman, but they wanted me to pay a thousand dollars for a box of old books that probably weren’t worth a tenth of that.”

“Does that happen often?” he wondered.

Trixie shook her head. “Most times, those kind of sellers ask how much Mr. Bridgeman will pay and when he gives them a figure they get offended.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

She took the book from his hand, tucked it into a paper bag and placed it under the counter. “They may come back and get it. But not until Tuesday, because we’re closed until then.”

Jim wandered off to browse the shelves while she emptied the register and tidied up. She had just picked up her bag to leave when someone began to pound on the door. A muffled voice urged the one pounding to stop.

“What now?” Trixie asked, torn between going to see and with sneaking out the back way.

With a sigh, she went to the door and there found both the old person and Spider Webster, who had recently returned to Sleepyside. She unlocked the door.

“That’s the thief, officer!” the old person accused. “Arrest her!”

“Calm down, please, Mr. Larson,” Spider directed. “Let me handle this.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Belden, I understand that you examined some books belonging to this gentleman a short time ago.”

Trixie nodded. “That’s right. And he left one behind. I’ve got it under the counter, in case he came back to get it.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Jim, could you please bring the book?”

He did so and she handed it over to the still-irate old person. “Here you are. I hope you have success at the book store at Croton.”

Mr. Larson snatched the book from her, scowling. “How can I tell that you haven’t substituted an inferior copy?”

“Officer Webster is welcome to look for any similar books,” she answered. “I know that he won’t find one, because that’s not the kind of thing that we sell.” To Spider she explained, “It’s a nineteenth century book, with explicit drawings.”

“It’s a valuable first edition,” Mr. Larson corrected. “And since we only have her word for any of this, I insist on a search.”

He made to push the door open further, but Trixie put her foot against it. “I said, Officer Webster could look. I didn’t say that you could.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spider decided. “You have your book back, Mr. Larson, and that’s the main thing.”

“I’m not satisfied,” he argued. “She wouldn’t have given it back if you hadn’t been here.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Larson,” Spider suggested. “There’s nothing further to be done about this.”

“I’ll be complaining to your superior,” the old person threatened, even as he shuffled off to his car.

Trixie took the opportunity to lock up.

“Sorry about that, Spider,” Trixie told him, as they all walked back to their cars. “I should have noticed the book was there and got him to take it when he left the first time. I hope you’re not going to get into any trouble.”

He waved the matter away. “No, Mr. Larson is a well-known trouble-maker. We know how to deal with people like him.” He smiled. “You have a good day.”

Jim and Trixie bade him goodbye and he drove off.

“Another eventful day in the used book business,” Jim noted, as they got into his car. “With this much excitement, you probably want to stay at work instead of leaving with me.”

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. “No, I think this is better.”

 

Indira Incognito

Notes: Set in Summer Secrets during story 7, Summer of Broken Dreams. Brian’s roommate Indira has a suspicion. (632 words, added 16 June 2023)

Indira set the phone down, a thoughtful look on her face. Something about the conversation had twigged an idea, which she was not sure whether to explore.

“It would be better if no one recognised me,” she mused, aloud. “But how could I pull that off?”

She wandered into her room and started looking through the wardrobe, knowing that nothing nondescript was going to be found there. She fetched a chair and started poking around on the very highest shelf. Right in the corner at the back was a box. A slight frown creased her brow and then she remembered what was inside.

“Yes!” she cried, pulling it out.

The drab brown wig had been part of a costume for a party some years before and she had forgotten that she owned it. Pushing back her bright pink hair, she settled it on her head and smiled at the transformation she saw in the mirror.

“Now I just need some clothes,” she decided, with a slightly puzzled frown.

Her eyes widened. She headed for Brian’s room.

No one answered when she tapped on the door, so she eased it open. As expected, he was not there. She slipped inside and began inspecting his clothes. True to her idea of him, they were uniformly conservative. She selected a shirt of plain, respectable blue and tried it on. Picking up her own shirt, she returned to her room and began to look for items to complete the outfit.

She put on a pair of patterned leggings turned inside-out to reveal their black interior, a belt and the smallest hoop earrings she possessed. She removed her eyeliner and most of her eyeshadow, replacing it with a soft, neutral brown. Then, poking around among her shoes, she found a pair of black boots of not too eye-catching a design. She took a moment to consider the effect in the mirror, then undid the top button of the shirt.

“No one will know me,” she declared, then sailed outside intent on her errand.

A short time later, she approached her destination. This was the trickiest part of the operation and she did consider for a moment whether to go through with it. There was a certain irony in spying on Brian while wearing his own shirt. Setting her qualms aside, she moved closer and found an observation point. No one paid her the slightest bit of attention, which was exactly what she was aiming for.

She began her wait. For a little while, it seemed that the effort had been wasted. Brian did not seem to be working today. Then she saw him. His gaze passed over her without the slightest indication of recognition. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

But then her eyes narrowed. He seemed weary. Distracted. Not himself, somehow.

Brian’s boss came into view, looking rather annoyed. Indira eased back, hoping that he would not notice her presence.

“Is there a problem?” Brian asked, a look of alarm springing up on his face.

“You tell me.”

Indira could not see what happened next, but she heard the mortification in her friend’s voice.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this happened.”

“I’m not going to warn you again,” the man snapped. “I know you can do better. If you don’t care enough to get things right–”

“I do care,” Brian interrupted. “And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” his boss replied.

Her suspicions confirmed, Indira slipped away. Dan had been right to worry. There definitely was something wrong with Brian. She determined to start dropping stronger hints whenever she spoke to any of Brian’s friends. As for what she had overheard, she vowed not to reveal it. This escapade would be her little secret.

 

Facing Her Fears

Notes: Set in Dark Places at the conclusion of State of Mind. Diana had asked Trixie to investigate some family belongings in the irrational belief that they held a terrible secret, but now Trixie has told her that they don’t. (784 words, added 16 June 2023)

Diana glared at the box for a few moments as she gathered her courage. She had asked Trixie to check through some of her mother’s family belongings which had turned up and Trixie had done so. Di had been certain that she would turn up something dreadful, but Trixie had declared the Wilson closet skeleton-free. A part of Di still did not believe her.

“Let’s get this over with,” Di decided, while squeezing her eyes shut.

She opened them to give the box a fresh glare, then pulled it towards herself and opened it. Inside lay a pile of old photos. With gentle hands, she lifted them out and began to look through them. The irrational feelings subsided somewhat as she considered the faces, hair and clothes of people long-dead.

The first photo depicted a dignified older gentleman with a moustache. He had kind eyes, she considered, and the crinkles at their corners showed that he smiled often. Turning it over she found that someone had written, “My mother’s father.”

A tiny line creased Diana’s brow. “I wonder whose mother’s father he was.”

She set that one down and looked at the next. This man did not capture her attention and nothing had been written on the back. The one underneath pictured an unidentified toddler of indeterminate gender. The following one showed two little girls, but again gave no clue to their identity.

Diana examined the photos one by one, smiling at happy babies and stopping to examine old wedding photos. She peered at family groups, trying to determine whether any of the people looked like her or her mother, but not really picking any resemblances. A scant few had names written on the back, but she knew so little about her mother’s family that they meant nothing to her.

At the bottom of the pile she found a photo which stirred a memory of something that Trixie had said. You’ve got at least one relative with a sour disposition. Had she been talking about this photo?

She leaned it up against the box and considered it carefully. It had been taken in a studio, with some kind of mottled background behind the woman. She wore a high-necked and long-sleeved black dress and she leaned her arms on the back of an ornate chair. Her cool gaze avoided the camera.

The more she looked, the more details Diana noticed: the pleats in the bodice of the dress, the rings on her hand, the smooth skin of her face. Dark, wavy hair piled up above a face shaped just like the one that Diana saw in the mirror each day. But the eyes held no warmth and the twist of those perfect lips suggested a certain cruelty.

Who had this woman been? Had she used her beauty to hurt people? Or was she just captured at the wrong moment? Was this impression of coldness real, or just imagination?

Di turned the photo over to look for an inscription, but did not find one. Then, as she flipped it back, a shiny fleck caught her eye. Holding the photo at an angle, she could just make out some words written in pencil. After a few minutes’ effort, she deciphered them.

My Aunt Ruby, when she was young.

“Ruby?” Di frowned a moment, then flipped back through the previous photos. “Here she is.”

The family group showed a tall man with a beard, an older version of the same woman, and a trio of children, the youngest held on its mother’s lap. This time, the photographer had captured the woman with a look of happiness and serenity. Her children also smiled.

So, not a cruel heart-breaker but a respectable married woman and a mother. That was a relief.

Diana poked in the box and found the rough family tree that her mother had written from the information she now had. The handwriting on the two photos looked quite similar. Maybe this would give her a clue to who had written the words on the first one. She found Ruby – her mother’s father’s aunt. If they really were labelled by the same person, that would make the man she looked at earlier her great-great-grandfather.

She turned back to that photo and looked into the kind eyes of her possible ancestor. Her first impression remained: this seemed like a pleasant man. It made her wish that she could have known her own grandfather so that she could have asked about him.

“I imagined the whole thing,” she declared aloud. “There really wasn’t anything to be afraid of.”

And then, with one last smile at her grandfather’s grandfather, she placed the photos back in the box.

 

Suspicion

Notes: Set in Reality Displaced sometime after Double Bind. The sense of something wrong wakes Dan in the night, but the source is not what he expects. (885 words, added 25 June 2023)

In the darkness, Dan’s eyes opened. He lay still in bed for several long moments, seeking the thing which had awakened him. No sounds disturbed the night; he saw no strange lights. Reaching out with his senses, he sought anything sinister. Here in the regular reality, he had the ability that they had dubbed bad-guy radar.

Ah, he thought to himself. That’s it.

He frowned, trying to get a firmer fix on the sensation. A moment later, he sat straight up. Wait. It’s Uncle Bill? This doesn’t make sense.

Silently, he slid out of bed, pulled on some shoes and tucked his keys into his pocket. Then he eased open the bedroom door. The room beyond – the tiny living area in his uncle’s apartment above the garage – lay still and silent, just like everything else. The doors to his uncle’s room and the bathroom stood open. A quick peek confirmed that he wasn’t here.

Dan crossed the room and let himself out into the night. He could sense that the trouble was moving further away, off towards the clubhouse. He followed along, making sure to keep a distance.

Up ahead, his uncle veered away from the clubhouse and entered the Preserve by a tiny, straggling path that Dan knew would take them nowhere in particular. In the last patch of moonlight before the trees swallowed him, one of the items Regan carried came into view: a spade.

More puzzled than ever, Dan followed along until his uncle slowed to a stop and left the path. After a slight pause, he heard the sound of spade against earth. The digging continued for some minutes, punctuated by grunts and heavy breaths. As Dan heard the spade being dropped to the ground, he eased closer to see what was happening. Regan dropped something into the hole, dusted his hands in a final manner and stooped to pick up the spade.

“I didn’t know you were superstitious, Uncle Bill,” Dan commented, from just behind him.

Bill Regan jerked in surprise, then swore freely for a few moments.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dan added, leaning casually against a tree.

“Well, what did you expect, sneaking up on me like that?” his uncle demanded. He positioned himself between Dan and the hole. “And what are you even doing out here? Get back to bed!”

Dan laughed. “You can’t say that. We’re both adults.”

“Just go, okay?”

Dan shook his head. “Not happening.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Yeah, well there’s something off about this and I’m not leaving until I know what it is.”

Regan shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong going on here.”

“Then why do you feel so guilty about it?” Dan challenged.

“Guilty? I don’t feel guilty.”

Again, Dan laughed. “Sure, you do.”

“How can you even tell? It’s pitch dark.”

“Maybe I’ve got super-powers.”

Regan made a dismissive noise and snatched up the spade, pushing a pile of dirt into the hole in a single, smooth movement.

“Wait. What is that?” Dan asked. “I thought it was a horseshoe… I kind of remembered something about burying horseshoes, but I can’t remember what it’s supposed to do.”

“It makes them rust, mostly,” his uncle answered.

“Okay. Now we’re getting closer to the truth.” Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want that horseshoe to rust?”

“I said, I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“If you just tell me, I won’t ask any more.”

His uncle stopped and thought about that for a minute. A faint breath passed between his lips and he bent down and retrieved the item. Without a word, he handed it to Dan.

Just a horseshoe. But why is it so rough? Dan’s searching fingers tried to make sense of it until suddenly enlightenment dawned.

“It’s engraved? Badly?” He felt along the surface. “W-I-L-L-A-I-M. Then a thing that might be a heart. K-A-C-I-E. Who is Kacie? And why did she spell your name wrong?”

Regan just shrugged.

“Oh, there’s more on the other side.” Dan frowned some more. “Together 4eva.” He shook his head. “You’ve never said anything about anyone called Kacie.”

“The less said about Kacie, the better.”

“But you still feel guilty about getting rid of her gift.”

“Who says I’m guilty?” Regan muttered.

Dan cast him a look, even though he couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re out here, in the dead of night, and you wouldn’t tell me what it was about until I made you.”

His uncle let out a noisy sigh. “Fine. I feel guilty. Even though I did nothing to encourage her. Even though I let her down gently. Even though I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

“And you’re burying this because?”

He paused. “Because I didn’t want anyone to see it.”

Dan waited, sensing that there was more.

“And because she asked me to keep it, to remember her by, and I kind of agreed,” his uncle added, after an extended silence.

“You don’t want to remember her.”

Regan shook his head.

Dan flipped the horseshoe a couple of times, then tossed it back in the hole.

“Let me fill that in for you,” he offered, taking up the spade. “And we won’t speak of it again.”

His uncle nodded his thanks and Dan felt the suspicious feeling slip away.

 

Might Have Been

Notes: Set in Winds of Change somewhere during the first couple of stories. Honey wonders about how things might have been different. (669 words, added 25 June 2023)

“I’m so glad we met Jim and that we’re getting to help him to fix up the house, which it’s been so sad to see get so bad, but now it’s going to beautiful again, only I’m almost sorry that it’s happened this way,” Honey mused, as she picked her way through the Manor House attic.

“What do you mean?” Trixie wondered. She cast a look at a shrouded shape, shook her head and moved on.

Honey paused to lift a dust cover, pursed her lips at the piece of furniture underneath and let it drop again. “I mean, if your Dad hadn’t gone to check on Jim’s great-uncle when he did, Jim and his Dad might have needed to come to Sleepyside themselves and we would have met them so much sooner.”

“You mean, his uncle would have died and Jim would have inherited earlier.” Trixie shook her head. “That doesn’t mean we would have met Jim. Maybe we wouldn’t have met him at all. He might have just sold the house and not moved into it.”

“I suppose so.” Honey let out a sigh. “But just imagine what fun we all would have had together if he had moved here. Not that we didn’t have fun anyway, but that it would have been nice for Jim to have fun, which I’m not sure he really did.”

“I guess so,” Trixie answered. “Hey! I think this is it.”

Honey grabbed her hand, just as her friend was about to yank the dust cover off of a rectangular shape.

“Slowly, remember?” she teased. “Not like the last time, when you nearly choked both of us.”

Trixie smiled ruefully and did as she was told. The subject dropped as they got to work on what they’d come here to do.

That night, as she tried to get to sleep, Honey’s mind returned to thoughts of what might have happened if Jim had come to Sleepyside earlier. Would it have changed everything? Or was Trixie right and they might not have known Jim at all?

She shook her head against the pillow. No, she would not contemplate that. She would assume that the three of them were meant to be friends, no matter when they first met.

Eyes closed, she tried to imagine the three of them together back then. If Jim had been there, in those days before Trixie’s brothers came home from camp, would the two of them have had that fight – the one that almost finished their fledgling friendship before it had really started? Would Jim have told them to calm down, before Trixie lost her temper and she herself ran home in tears? Or might he have encouraged them to talk afterwards, instead of their spending three miserable days alone?

Or how about the time that they rode their bikes to Croton-on-Hudson and got lost on the way home? Would Jim have been there to tell them they were going the wrong way? They wouldn’t have had to retrace their path and try again, arriving home far later than expected and both getting grounded for their trouble.

What about Trixie’s disastrous date with Tad Webster at the Spring Dance? If Jim had been in Sleepyside, she could have gone with him instead and wouldn’t that have been fun? Surely Jim would never have acted the way that Tad did, alternating between ignoring Trixie and trying to make her do things she didn’t want to do. And definitely, if he’d spilled his drink all over her, Jim wouldn’t refuse to let Trixie into his car.

With a soft sigh, Honey let go of the image. She couldn’t really imagine what things would have been like. Because if those things changed, everything else might change, too. It wouldn’t only be bad things that didn’t happen; good things that happened wouldn’t have, either.

She rolled over and settled down to sleep. Her years here in Sleepyside had been good years. She didn’t need to improve them.

 

Daydreams

Notes: Not set in any of my universes. Jim takes a moment to think and dream. (417 words, added 25 June 2023)

As he sat down to eat his lunch, Jim scrubbed a weary hand across his face, noting as he did so that he needed a shave. The last few weeks had been intense. His college room-mate had gone through a messy relationship break-up. While the insults still flew back and forth and the other party engaged in occasional hysterics, their hallway suffered a bad water leak that had them out of their room for over a week. He was still living out of a hastily-packed bag when in class one day, the professor lost control and began throwing things at the students. Jim had been called in to give a statement about what had happened on that occasion, which bit into his study schedule. On the same day they moved back into their room, he started coming down with a cold. And, to top it all off, there were finals.

But by the end of the day, that would all be over. Tonight, he would get a good night’s sleep and in the morning he would rise early and head for home. A contented sigh slipped out. Home. His family and friends. Jupiter, and the whole of the Preserve to ride him through. The lake and the clubhouse and all of those places he liked to go. He’d stop at Wimpy’s for a burger and see a movie at the Cameo. The Bob-Whites would have picnics by the lake and barbecues at the Beldens’. And he’d get to see a certain special girl, whom he had missed very much.

Jim’s eyes closed. Had Trixie missed him as much as he had missed her? If Honey was to be believed, she had. His heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing her again, of perhaps taking things one or two steps further. He might be able to take her on some dates. He started contemplating where they might go, what they might do…

“Are you eating that, Jim, or do you intend to absorb it by osmosis?”

Jim opened his eyes to see a classmate with whom he got on well.

“Osmosis would be convenient, right now, but I guess I’ll do things the regular way,” he answered, picking up his fork.

The other man smiled and went on his way, leaving Jim to his lunch and his thoughts. He finished eating and set off for that last final. In the morning, he’d be going home. And the reality would be better than the daydreams.

Back to 20 page.

Please note: Trixie Belden is a registered trademark of Random House Publishing. This site is in no way associated with Random House and no profit is being made from these pages.