“Dad,” I finally said.
He turned around and his expression was a study in wonder. He gestured to the world outside. “You know, life is really beautiful.”
I went over to the window, stood next to him. More light flooded the room, us, the yard.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“I’d forgotten how really wonderful life is.”
“Most mornings I come out here and take a few minutes to enjoy it.”
“You’re a smart girl.” He stared at me for a moment. “I was just thinking how much I’ve missed. I was always working.” He sighs. “Trying to make buildings perfect.” He glances out to the yard again. “But life doesn’t have to be perfect, does it?”
“Maybe our flaws are beautiful, too.” I think about this, hope it’s true, feel good that we’re talking. We both stare at the yard and, suddenly, it turns bright with sunlight.
Mary Schramski
Mary Schramski began writing when she was about ten. The first story she wrote took place at a junior high school. Her mother told her it was good, so she immediately threw it away. She read F. Scott Fitzgerald at eleven, fell in love with storytelling and decided to teach English. She holds a Ph.D in creative writing and enjoys teaching and encouraging other writers. She lives in Nevada with her husband, and her daughter who lives close by. Visit Mary’s Web site at www.maryschramski.com.
Falling Out of Bed
Mary Schramski
MILLS & BOON
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From the Author
Dear Reader,
The idea for Falling Out of Bed came to me through a conversation with a dear friend. Over cups of tea we talked about what we thought to be important in our lives, and how those ideals guide us. After our conversation, I began imagining a character struggling with what she believed in and how her family might help her evolve. Melinda is the brave protagonist in Falling Out of Bed, the one who learns about love, hope and believing in things she cannot explain.
Sincerely,
Mary Schramski
www.maryschramski.com
To you, the reader
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
Even the seasons form a great circle in their
changing, and always come back again to where
they were. The life of a man [woman] is a circle
from childhood to childhood and so it is in
everything where power moves.
—Black Elk
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PROLOGUE
Second Week in October
I’ m on my knees by the oak tree. For my forty-second birthday my father sent me fifteen daffodil bulbs from a mail-order catalog. I don’t garden, so after I opened his gift I walked down to Elizabeth’s house and asked her how to plant them.
She smiled, patted my shoulder. “Dig really deep, Melinda. Then wait for miracles to appear in the spring.”
I looked at the bulbs. “All that from daffodils?”
“Oh, they’re more than that. They prove there’s always hope.” Then she reached inside the box, touched one of the rough woodlike seeds and looked at me. “We all need hope.”
I shook my head, laughed. “I guess you’re right, but my life’s pretty wonderful right now. I’m not sure why my father sent me these. Maybe I’ll find out someday.” I closed the box, gave her a hug and walked home.
The telling autumn breeze washes over me and I stare at the daffodil bulb in my palm. The tiny orb looks so dark against my skin. How can something so hard and ugly produce a delicate flower?
CHAPTER ONE
First Week in January
“D ad’s back still hurts,” I say as I walk into our family room. My husband is sitting in his recliner watching TV and canned laughter
