Life in Death Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  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

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Memories and scars are the signs of a life well lived, and more often than not our milestones are similar: love, a first home, marriage, and a child. The same goes for Marty and Suzanne Dempsey, but happy memories and years of a life built together weren’t enough to help their relationship survive the terminal diagnosis of their only child, Abigail. Coping in their own ways, Marty and Suzanne drift apart and eventually divorce after one finds comfort in the arms of a stranger. The expected and devastating death of their daughter had seemingly severed any ties that remained between them, but an insightful letter from Abigail gives Marty the one thing that seemed so elusive before: Hope.

  Life in Death

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

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  Life in Death

  © 2016 By M. Ullrich. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-774-3

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: October 2016

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

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

  Credits

  Editor: Jerry L. Wheeler

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Jeanine Henning

  By the Author

  Fortunate Sum

  Life in Death

  Acknowledgments

  “Acknowledgments” is one of those words that starts to look funny when you stare at it for too long. Same thing goes for words like “magical” and “surreal.” Speaking of, I would describe the experience of having a second book as both magical and surreal. I’ve been left quite speechless by the warm reception Fortunate Sum received, and I’d like my first acknowledgment to go out to everyone who took the time to read it. I’m grateful that readers were willing to take a chance on a new author, and I’m thankful for those of you who have jumped on board for my second venture.

  The Bold Strokes team, once again, has been nothing but outstanding to work with: Sandy Lowe, who has the patience to answer my many, many questions; Jerry Wheeler, my stellar editor who helps turn my stories into the best books they could possibly be; and my fellow authors whom I’ve commiserated with over time—you all are invaluable.

  This book, and most of my accomplishments through life, wouldn’t have been possible without knowing the truest definition of motherly love. My mother is a selfless woman, one who put her children first, no matter what sacrifices had to be made. Mom, even though we’re both rather bashful about you reading my books, you helped inspire the love between mother and daughter I wrote about in this one. Maybe I’ll put together an edited version just for you one day—it’ll be a quick twenty-five-page read.

  Heather, I still haven’t come up with the right words to describe how much I love you or how thankful and lucky I am to have you by my side. I’m still having a hard time coming up with an adequate thanks for those amazing koozies, never mind everything else you do for me! You are a continuous source of strength and support, and I know that without you none of this would be possible. Thank you for helping make so many wonderful things possible.

  Finally, to the person holding this book—thank you.

  For Heather:

  My past, present, and epilogue.

  Chapter One

  Everything seemed so heavy: the air, her jacket, and the way her limbs swung listlessly. The walk from her car to the front door had always seemed so short up until that day. Martha Dempsey paused for a moment and looked toward the sun. Its descent to the horizon had painted the sky a deep raspberry pink and mandarin. Almost dinnertime, she noted to herself before going into the house. It seemed too large at times and suffocating at others.

  “Mom?” she called out, wincing as she heard her hollow voice echo through the still home. The hurt in her chest intensified, creating a dull thud of a heartbeat in the empty space. “I’m home.”

  “We’re in the back, Marty.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her thin lips at hearing the nickname her mother loathed using, only assenting to it when Martha was sick or, as in this case, had a bad day.

  Without a single thought accompanying her actions, Marty made her way through the house, stopping to deposit her messenger bag on the couch and hang her suit jacket loosely on the back of a wooden kitchen chair. In less than forty steps, she made her way from the front door, through the living room, and across the open kitchen to the back door.

  “Mama!” A young girl wearing a hot-pink bandana wrapped around her head jumped up from her place on a cushioned Adirondack chair and wrapped her arms around her.

  “Hey, Abs.” Marty held her daughter close and allowed herself to get lost in the feel of tiny arms wrapped tightly around her slim waist. For just a split second, she believed everything was right in the world. And then Denise Dempsey’s voice shattered the comforting silence.

  “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.” Marty saw Denise’s sharp, aged eyes judging her appearance, making her feel as small as her own child in that moment. She swallowed audibly, hoping her matching green eyes didn’t hold as much scrutiny. “You should go wash up.” Marty’s mother turned on her heels and made her way back through the open screen door.

  Marty looked down and tried to see herself through her mother’s eyes. Her starched white blouse was far from wrinkle-free, and her black suit pants were deeply creased from hours of sitting. The only detail of her dress outfit that seemed unblemished were the loafers, ones that had stayed in their box since she had received them last spring for her thirty-fifth birthday.

  “I guess I do look pretty terrible, huh?” Marty looked into her daughter’s sparkling brown eyes and laughed as the little girl shrugged in response.

  “I’ve seen you look worse.” Her arms were still around Marty’s waist, a serious expression twisting her tiny features. Marty laughed in response.

  “Thanks, Abigail, I feel better already.” Marty lifted her daughter over her shoulder and let Abigail’s giggles improve her mood. She carried the small girl into the kitchen and sat her on the granite countertop. The deep indigo of Abigail’s jeans contrasted with the creamy ivory of the expensive stone. Marty looked at the light pink schoolgirl top and eyed her daughter suspiciously. “Did Grandma dress you this morning?” Abigail nodded. “Is this a new shirt?” Marty flicked at the rounded collar, a choice Abigail would never make on her own. Abigail nodded again and started playing with one of the many buttons that lined the front of her shirt.r />
  “Leave the girl be, Martha. She liked it this morning when I showed it to her.” Denise wiped her hands on her apron. Its sunflower print was almost too cheery but did little to obscure her matching pink top with rounded collar. She looked again at Marty, this time over the edge of reading glasses she used mostly to secure her chin-length red hair off her face. Worry lines started to crease her forehead. Marty excused herself before she could ask anything.

  “I’m going to go change.” She turned back to Abigail. “Abs, help your grandmother set the table.” She grabbed the little round face and planted a sloppy kiss on her warm forehead, lingering for a moment to inspect Abigail’s temperature before releasing her and heading for the stairs.

  Upstairs, Marty riffled through the drawer that held all her fluffiest attire. Every pair of sweatpants she owned, every thermal, Henley, and worn sweater was folded neatly beside the others. She ran her fingertips along each row, feeling the soft comfort of old materials tease her skin. Her awful day was worthy of her oldest, most comfortable sweats and a threadbare T-shirt with Princeton written proudly across the chest in crackled screen print.

  Marty avoided every mirror in her bedroom and kept her head down as she washed her hands and face in the bathroom. She knew she looked atrocious, tired, and drawn. She didn’t need a vivid reminder at that very moment. Her mother was downstairs waiting for an opportunity to do just that.

  Marty moved slowly down the stairs, fatigue draining the usual bounce from her steps as she joined her family in the kitchen once again. Her appetite had been lacking, but some familiar smells from childhood caused her stomach to growl tonight.

  “Chicken noodle soup and oatmeal cookies?” Marty quirked a dark eyebrow at her mother as she tied back her chestnut-brown hair in preparation for leaning over a steaming bowl. A few curls escaped and fell into her face, but Marty just didn’t have the energy to care. She sat in her usual seat. Abigail lifted herself slightly onto the chair beside her.

  “I figured you may want something gentle and comforting after the day you had.” Marty’s mother ladled the soup into large bowls.

  “Can we have cookies first?” Abigail asked with the sweetest, largest smile. That grin could get her anything she wanted from her mother, but not her grandmother.

  “I love you, but no.” Denise pushed a bowl closer to Abigail and handed her a large spoon.

  Marty looked down at her soup, moving the noodles and carrots around in search of a small piece of chicken. She brought it to her lips with a shaky hand and nibbled at it slightly. Her stomach wanted food badly, but her mouth revolted, wanting nothing to do with flavor. She knew she’d have to take it slow.

  “So, did Grandma help you get all packed for our trip tomorrow?” Talking helped distract her wanting to gag. If she spoke enough, she could manage another bite or two.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Abigail hummed and nodded with a mouthful of noodles before filling her spoon once more and blowing on its contents. Marty watched for a moment, wishing she could muster that kind of enthusiasm for the meal.

  “Did you pack her red blanket?” Marty asked her mother.

  “Of course.” Denise almost looked offended at the question.

  “And her games and ereader?”

  “You’re acting as if this were my first rodeo.” The eldest Dempsey woman pierced her daughter with a chastising glare for her line of questioning.

  Marty took a deep breath and looked back into her mother’s deep emerald eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You had a terrible day, I’m sure. I think it’s safe to assume you’re nervous about tomorrow as well?”

  “The hospital is so far away. I hate having her sit in the car after her treatments.” Memories of the last visit intruded in Marty’s mind without permission. Abigail was sick the entire ride.

  “The confrontation after today won’t be easy either,” Denise pointed out, even though it was far from necessary at the moment.

  Marty pushed her soup away with her left hand and waved her right in a dismissive gesture, not quite ready to talk about it. She looked over at Abigail, who was chasing the last noodle around the base of her bowl. “Not now. Let’s talk about anything else.”

  “Sweetheart, you need to talk about—”

  “Not now!”

  “Done!” Abigail pushed her bowl away. “Now can I have a cookie?”

  Denise stood and huffed at Marty before smiling at her granddaughter. “Of course you can.” She reached toward the counter and returned with a plate piled high with chewy oatmeal cookies, still warm from the oven. “Take two, one for each hand.”

  A bright smile lit up the little girl’s face, and tears came to life in Marty’s eyes. She looked so happy, her Abigail. Despite everything, she smiled just as happily at the offered cookies as she would have if it were her first time trying them.

  Denise spoke to Abigail once again, sparing Marty an audience. “Abigail, why don’t you take those cookies upstairs to your room and pick out a movie to watch with your mother when I leave?”

  “Okay!” Her enthusiasm was contagious, and both grown women found themselves smiling as Abigail ran to the stairs and up to her room.

  “She shouldn’t be that happy, not with me.” Marty sniffled and tried to compose herself. She had been stoic all day, and the contained emotions had started make their way to the surface. She felt it in the warmth that tickled the tip of her nose and in every goose bump that pricked at her skin.

  “Parents get divorced.” Denise pointed out that truth as if it were the easiest fact to accept.

  “No.” Marty spoke the word like acid on her tongue. “It should’ve never happened to us.” She looked to the plate of cookies and suddenly all the scents in her home assaulted her, turning her stomach violently. “I need some fresh air.” She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair crying out loudly as they scraped against the hardwood floors. Marty rushed to the back patio, sucking in air as quickly as she could. She was light-headed and heavy-hearted. She jumped when her mother’s hand landed on her shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “No, it won’t.” Marty looked out across her large backyard. The sun had put itself to bed and a chill accompanied the spring evening. The flowering trees that lined the perimeter of the yard were still a vibrant green with colorful petals adorning each branch. Soon enough, however, the vibrancy would fall away and leave nothing more than deep green. “I failed,” she whispered. “I failed them both in the worst way.” Fresh tears lit up in the moonlight, and she hugged herself in an effort to ward off a shiver.

  “You could never fail Abigail.” Denise pressed her hand firmly into the center of her daughter’s back.

  “But I failed Suzanne.” She finished what she was sure her mother was thinking. She fell onto a deck chair gracelessly as the acceptance of her life from that day forward hit her square in the chest. She looked down at the hand that signed the papers. “I have an ex-wife.” The words were directed to no one in particular, but the crickets chirped loudly in response.

  Once Upon a Time…

  Marty grew anxious at the prospect of being stood up. She checked the oversized face of her watch for the fourth time. Her blind date should’ve arrived nearly fifteen minutes ago and yet she still sat in the crowded restaurant alone. Two full glasses of water sat on the tabletop, condensation rolling down the cool glass. Five more minutes, Marty promised herself. She looked at the last few sips of red wine left in her large wineglass, wondering why she had allowed her new coworkers to convince her a blind date would be a great way to introduce herself to her new hometown.

  *

  Marty could hear their conniving voices as clear as day. “Suzanne is wonderful!” Charlotte exclaimed as the plan unfolded.

  “Charming and beautiful too!” Annmarie chimed in with her thoughts, her large brown eyes never leaving her computer screen.

  “So why is she single?” Marty couldn’t contain her curiosity. She didn’t want to seem r
ude or offend her coworkers and new friends, but if the woman they were speaking of was so wonderful, surely she’d be paired up already.

  “We never said she was single.” Charlotte smiled deviously and tucked a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear.

  First impressions for Marty were a big deal. It could either make or break your future with her, but she had been wrong on both accounts with Charlotte Kingsley and Annmarie Ventuolo. At first they appeared uptight and far from approachable. Marty was the latest hire in the well-established real estate agency, and she expected to be treated like fresh meat. Charlotte was a few years older than Marty’s twenty-two years and intimidating with her Morticia Addams–esque pale skin, long black hair, red lips, and a wardrobe that rarely strayed from black.

  Annmarie was the complete opposite. She was bubbly and over the top from the first moment Marty walked through the door. She was closer to forty, short, and a bottled blonde. She lived by the beach, and it showed in the deep tan of her skin. Annmarie seemed like the type of woman who would encourage, help, and raise you up just to watch you fall.

  The fall never came; neither did the cutthroat atmosphere Marty expected. Both women eagerly took Marty under their guidance and showed her the ins and outs of real estate at the Jersey Shore.

  “Excuse me?” Marty looked back and forth between both amused women. Annmarie smiled at her screen while Charlotte moved closer to Marty’s desk.

  “Suzanne is sort of seeing someone,” Charlotte said.

  “But nobody likes her,” Annmarie added.

  “How do you know Suzanne?” Marty still wasn’t sure a setup was the best idea.

  “I was into rentals at the time, and I showed her the apartment she lives in now. After the papers were signed, we went for drinks to celebrate and we’ve been friends for years now,” Charlotte all but bragged.