2009

Introduction from upcoming

book publication:

Silent Fifty-Two

Zandra W. Bosie

5/16/2009

Coming Soon

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Introduction

Lorin Brennal braced herself for the

dropping temperature as she listened to the

metal hum of her rolling garage door

disappearing overhead. Swiftly, she tucked her

head down a bit and steadied herself as the

tips of her two-and-a-half inch heels greeted

the concrete driveway. Strands of her hair

whipped about her face as biting winds lifted

the sleek sides of her bobbed haircut. She

blinked furiously. Had it not been for the

package she had been waiting for, Lorin would

have opted for sunnier skies to check the mail.

Already feeling the drag of her weight slowing

her down, she wished she’d changed into tennis

shoes.

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Approaching the metal curbside boxes she

turned her body slightly, positioning her key

to open box number fourteen. Struggling to

focus through blurry eyes, she fumbled with the

lock.

After a quick wiggle, Lorin was finally

able to open the box, exposing what she’d

already guessed would be there...an over-

abundance of envelopes that nearly overflowed

the small space. Surely the package had

arrived, she thought. Quickly, she reached

inside and began collecting the box’s contents.

On any other day, Lorin would have

casually shuffled through sales papers,

advertisements, and letters as she strolled

down her quiet street, across her driveway, and

up through her front yard. She would have

stopped dead in her tracks in front of her

pitiful dying cypress tree to shoot it a

disappointed look. She may have even waved at

her neighbor, Miss Quinn...or ignored the

disgustingly hormonal gestures of woman

predator Byron Kennett down the street.

But Miss Quinn wasn’t outside today.

Lady violator, Byron Kennett, was nowhere to be

seen. With that kind of chill in the air, no

one in their right mind would be. The sudden

winter snap proved to be too much for the

inhabitants of the neo-bustling city, turning

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what would have been a leisurely stroll into a

forge straight ahead; to get inside to warmth

as quickly as possible.

Hastening her steps, Lorin walked back

through the garage into her home. In the

kitchen she hurriedly dropped the mail on the

counter. She didn’t have to check the

thermostat to know that it was only slightly

less cold inside the house than outside. She

felt the icy coolness on the surface of her

copper sunset quartz counter. It occurred to

Lorin that she hadn’t adjusted the thermostat

earlier that morning.

Slightly irritated at her own lack of

preparation, she filled the teapot with water

and placed it on the stove, abruptly turning

her attention towards the task of opening the

mail.

Arranging each envelope in order or

importance, Lorin impatiently flipped items

from the front of the stack to the back of it.

Doing so, Lorin uncovered a larger

envelope with her name and address neatly

written across the front. Could this have been

what she waiting for? But the envelope was too

thin...from the outside it looked as if there

was nothing inside it at all. And the

handwriting...well it certainly did not belong

to her soon to be ex-husband, Mauree. Quickly

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she turned it over to check for any signs of a

sender, but found nothing.

Sliding her thumb between the sealed

flap, she opened it to reveal a single piece of

folded white paper. Opening it, Lorin

discovered that the page was completely blank

except for a single number written in the

center. Fifty-Two.

“Fifty-Two?” Lorin mumbled, glaring at

the number on the paper as if it would reveal

itself. For a moment, she stood in

place...perplexed. She didn’t know whether to

be relieved or worried. Not knowing what to

make of it she folded the paper and slid it

back into the envelope, dropping it into her

shred-it pile with swift ease.

Maybe he changed his mind and decided not

to go through with it after all....she thought.

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Almost four weeks had passed since she’d

stood in the doorway of the home that she and

Mauree once shared. Moments felt like hours to

Lorin that day when she stood, stone stiff,

watching Mauree as he’d prepared to back out of

the driveway and out of their marriage for

good....pretending with all her might to appear

unaffected. Lorin had watched him closely

while he paused after shifting gears, placing

his Yukon in reverse. He wasn’t drunk...to her

surprise, and neither was he angry which also

came as a shock.

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Lorin observed Mauree’s full lips pressed

together tightly, looking in every direction

except hers; something he did subconsciously

when he wanted to say something more but

couldn’t find the words. Finally his tinted

driver’s side window hummed quietly, slowly

exposing his face as he leaned out.

The lawyer says the paperwork is done,

he’d casually announced. I’ll stop by his

office & pick it up later. I’m on my way out

of town on business, but I’ll mail it

tomorrow...that way you’ll have a chance to

look it over. We can work out the rest when I

get back. Mauree took a deep breath, preparing

himself for what to say next, but decided

against it.

As he’d backed out into the street, Lorin

felt a stabbing pain in her back, between her

shoulder blades. She’d almost flagged him

down, but didn’t want to make their not-so-

happy ending more dramatic than it had to be.

Instead, she’d let him drive off in

peace, thinking that the pain would go away on

its own with rest. By midnight that same night

she could barely stand upright, and had driven

herself to Cedar View’s emergency room where

she was admitted to the hospital.

Lorin had been more than prepared to deal

with the divorce since it had come as no

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surprise. She was not, however, prepared to

deal with what she’d learned from doctors that

day.

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Leaning against the bar, Lorin peered out

into her living room.

Her favorite zamiocalcus, otherwise known

as her jungle palm, sat in the corner. Dusted

and shiny, its leaves exhibited the perfect

variation of glossy green richness. To the

right, Lorin’s black bambusa table presented a

neat display of perfectly placed pillar candles

next to the remote control holder. Her precise

placement of the pomegranate, tangerine, and

wheat colored soy candles provided the illusion

of a perfectly relaxed environment.

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Every art piece, poignantly but

purposefully abstract and brilliantly colored

in sparkly earth tones, the indigo and violet

glass piece commanding attention on the

mantelpiece, the strategically placed Bimini

Island weaved throw pillows on the sofa...all

were added to give her home contrast...to make

it interesting and alive. Everything she gazed

upon was just that...textured, interesting,

alive, and perfect. More important...in

perfect order.

Everything that is, except for Lorin.

Soon, she found herself listening to the

silence of her home; trying to pin-point

exactly when it was that she lost her

texture...when she went from being Lorin full

of life to Lorin full of silence.

She looked down at the smiley face

painted in black on her cherished yellow mug.

Two black dots for eyes looked straight at her.

A wide letter U drawn in for a smile gleamed

happiness. She stifled the urge to ask it

why...why it would still smile at her when

after all these years she refused to smile

back. After all, her reason for smiling left a

long time ago...along with the bearer of her

cherished mug.

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By now her teapot whistled impatiently,

indicating that her water was boiled to

perfection. Pouring steaming water over her

teabag, she leaned over slowly as the aroma of

sweet ginger and peach danced above her cup.

Instinctively, she inhaled slowly and deeply.

Regrettably, she thought, enjoying a cup of hot

tea seemed to be the only part of the old Lorin

that she still carried with her.

With tea in hand, she tipped upstairs to

her bedroom where she found her robe and

favorite warm pajamas and prepared for her

bath.

Swishing her fingers around in the tub to

stir up more bubbles, Lorin began to think

about the number fifty-two written on the

paper.

Maybe, she thought, someone had intended

to write a letter, but just forgot to do the

most important thing...which would be to

actually write.

She pondered the ridiculous idea, wincing

as she eased into the almost too-hot-to-bear

soapy water. Relaxing into it, she slid down a

bit to let her head rest on her bath pillow.

As she did, the number fifty-two slowly

eased its way back to the forefront of her

mind, this time bringing with it an

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announcement of tragic proportions. The

recollection of memories she thought had long

ago died.

Lorin sat in the bathtub still and quiet,

allowing ghosts from the past to materialize.

Fifty-Two...she whispered, declaring yet

questioning the number at the same time.

Scooping up a handful of suds, she squeezed

lightly, letting them fall back in the water,

watching the light ripple of the tub’s floating

surface as her thigh interrupted the water’s

flow. Fifty-Two...she said aloud, this time

with a greater sense of clarity.

Indeed, the number fifty-two held a

specific placeholder in her past history. But

that was a lifetime ago of pain.

Disturbed, she sat up too quickly,

causing a cascade of frothy bubbly water to

slide over the side and splash to the floor.

After all this time, she wondered, the

number fifty-two shouldn’t mean anything to

anybody anymore, should it?

No, she thought and slid back down. The

past is just the past she concluded, letting

the bubbles tickle her chin as she reached over

to grab her cup.

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In bed, Lorin fidgeted and stared at the

clock. The glowing green display read 9:48

p.m. Reluctantly, she grabbed the phone and

began dialing Mauree's cell number. This she

could put off no longer.

When he had come to see her in the

hospital, he was visibly different, she noted.

The same man who had nonchalantly backed out of

the driveway that day, as if it were just

another day, was not the same man who’d

appeared in her hospital room a week later.

Mauree had lost weight; his face showed hard

lines where there they were once smooth.

Hollow spaces replaced his once full cheeks and

she could see them sunken in. Normally defiant

in his stance, he'd shifted uncomfortably from

one leg to the other as he stood next to her

hospital bed. Lorin remembered how he reached

out for her hand nervously, as if he'd never

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touched her before. No indeed, Mauree was not

the same.

Mamma told me ummm...about the

ummm...well you know. He’d told her.

...And I know we've got this thing going

on between us, but for something like

this....you could have still called me.

Even then she'd managed to lie. Telling

him she didn't want him to worry was a more

comfortable response than saying what they both

knew to be true. They both knew the lie was

born from something much bigger.

But what could she possibly say to him

now? Too much time had passed with too much

water under the bridge. A conversation with him

now would most certainly turn into a finger-

pointing match about who should bear fault in

their bitter-ended marriage. Just the thought

of having that discussion was exhausting.

Taking the low road, she positioned her thumb

over the end call button. As much as she

wanted to put the whole thing to rest, she

would have to talk to Mauree another time.

Seconds later the phone rang, startling

Lorin so badly she almost jumped out of her

skin. When she brought the phone closer, she

was able to read the caller ID display. It was

definitely not Mauree.

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Unknown number Unknown name flashed

across the display.

Lorin recognized the same mysterious

unknown caller that had appeared in her call

history several times a week, who never left a

message. Aggravated, Lorin returned the phone

to its cradle.

An hour passed and Lorin found it

impossible to sleep. The long soak in the tub

should’ve helped, but didn't. Sipping on hot

tea didn’t do the trick either.

To add to her frustration, she had other

needs that required attention. The empty space

next to her on the bed was cold...the comforter

pulled tightly and tucked with no sign of life.

If there was any doubt before, those

doubts could now be dispelled. Worst had come

to worst.

Then the thought crossed Lorin’s mind

that maybe she should call Mauree....only not

to talk about the divorce. At the very least,

with Mauree there she would have a warm body to

cuddle next to.

Maybe he felt the same way too, she

considered...and just for one night we

could...she began to reason.

Lorin reached out to grab the phone, but

something on the nightstand caught her eye.

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She pushed the base over to reveal her

bible sitting right where she’d left it;

bookmark still partially revealed...holding her

spot on Mark 1:40-45. Placing it beside her,

she opened it and slowly began to read.

Now, mentally sobered and thinking more

clearly, Lorin realized that she had allowed

her thoughts to take her to places she wasn’t

ready to go to yet.

Now is not the time to confuse things,

she concluded, and slid out of bed, positioning

herself on her knees. With bowed head, she

prayed then got back into bed.

Sleep did come for Lorin finally, but

dreams filled the rest of her night.

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At precisely 5:00 a.m. the next morning

her phone rang, jolting Lorin out of her sleep.

“Hello?” she answered groggily, her

voice low.

From the other end of the line all she

heard was dead air.

“Hello?” she asked again, but received

no reply.

At the very moment she moved the phone

away from her ear, Lorin heard what sounded

like a fingernail scratch across a microphone.

She glanced at the caller ID display.

Unknown number Unknown name.

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Lorin spoke again, this time hurling her

words at the caller.

“Ahhh...hello!?” she demanded, pressing

the mouthpiece directly against her lips.

Enough was enough. “Who is this?”

Anxiously, Lorin waited for a response.

She was certain that this was no bill

collector, sales call, survey, or telemarketer.

After a brief moment, Lorin heard static

interference and another fingernail scratch.

Then...Lorin wasn’t sure if her

imagination was running away with her in the

haze of early morning sleepiness, but she was

almost certain someone chuckled. A menacing,

distorted chuckle.

This was no recording of any kind. Lorin

was now positive that there was someone on the

other end of the line.

Lorin raised the volume of her voice by a

whole decibel.

“Look! Whoever you are...STOP calling

my phone!”

Without hesitation and with great

irritation Lorin hung up quickly and flipped

over in bed, determined to go back to sleep for

another hour.

Little did she know as she nestled back

underneath the warmth and security of her

covers, that she would wake up later to forces

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that would change her life forever.