parents.
Spying a woman pushing a stroller up the steep hill a block ahead of where I was, I began jogging to catch up to her. When I got within hearing distance, I yelled out to her, “Ma’am? Excuse me, Ma’am?”
I made it almost all the way up to her before she turned back. Recognition immediately dawned in her eyes as they widened with surprise before she took an involuntary step back, trying to ease away from me, without being openly rude.
She looked vaguely familiar to me––as the faces of people who live in the same small town often do––but I couldn’t recall a time when we had directly interacted with each other. It was obvious by her frightened expression that she recognized me from the news, which wasn’t anything unusual. There wasn’t a person in mid-coastal Maine, or quite possibly in the entire state, who didn’t recognize me.
Although I hid my true identity behind a top-secret pen name for my writing, I had always assumed that any notoriety I received would be as an author––not as a potential killer.
The jog up the hill had my out-of-shape, butt-in-a-chair-all-day body panting, but I gave her my best non-predator smile. I held the shoe out towards her and said, “Here, I think your little one dropped this.”
She bugged her eyes out at me, frozen in place, and I began to wonder if she might refuse to take her child’s missing shoe from me. She must recognize it, but she seemed too frightened to even reach her hand out in my direction to accept it.
The thought entered my mind that I could slowly reach forward to place it on the stroller, but I feared coming any closer to her baby would make her mother’s instinct kick in. I wasn’t up for getting kicked in the nuts while trying to do a good deed, so I merely stood there, smiling like a dope, and holding the tiny shoe out towards her.
When the silence dragged on, I finally offered sadly, “I’ll set it down on the sidewalk and walk away, so you can feel safe enough to retrieve it.”
The young mother’s chin lifted stubbornly. Obviously making a decision to be polite, she held out her hand and said, “No, that won’t be necessary.”
She looked me directly in the eyes as she accepted the shoe from my hand. Her gaze was still wary, but steady when she said crisply, “Thank you, Mr. Biggs.”
“You’re welcome.” I turned quickly and headed back towards the diner, not wanting to make her regret her decision to be polite to me.
For me, it had been a great interaction. With a sad sigh, I realized it was one of the best conversations I’d had with anyone outside of Mimi or my family in months.
My isolated existence couldn’t continue forever, but I didn’t know what to do to fix it. Moving away would rip Hannah away from all of her family and friends at a time when she’s already dealing with her mother being missing.
Besides, I needed to believe that Claire was still alive and would someday find her way home. When she did, her daughter and I would be there, waiting for her with open arms.
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About the Author, Ann Omasta
Ann Omasta is a USA Today Bestselling author.
Ann’s Top Ten list of likes, dislikes, and oddities:
1. I despise whipped cream. There, I admitted it in writing. Let the ridiculing begin.
2. Even though I have lived as far south as Key Largo, Florida, and as far north as Maine, I landed in the middle.
3. If I don't make a conscious effort not to, I will drink nothing but tea morning, noon and night. Hot tea, sweet tea, green tea––I love it all.
4. There doesn't seem to be much in life that is better than coming home to a couple of big dogs who are overjoyed to see me. My other family members usually show significantly less enthusiasm about my return.
5. Singing in my bestest, loudest voice does not make my family put on their happy faces. This includes the big, loving dogs referenced above.
6. Yes, I am aware that bestest is not a word.
7. Dorothy was right. There's no place like home.
8. All of the numerous bottles in my shower must be lined up with their labels facing out. It makes me feel a little like Julia Roberts' mean husband from the movie Sleeping with the Enemy, but I can't seem to control this particular quirk.
9. I love, love, love finding a great bargain.
10. Did I mention that I hate whipped cream? It makes my stomach churn to look at it, touch it, smell it, or even think about it. Great––now I'm thinking about it. Ick!
On a serious note, I hope that you enjoyed reading this book as much as I loved writing it! If you liked this story, please consider leaving a positive review. Even if it's just a few words, your input makes a difference and will be received with much gratitude.
A HUGE thank you to:
- Penelope Ward and Vi Keeland for creating the fabulous Cocky Hero Club World and allowing other authors to join in the fun.
- Fionn Warner, Milktee Studios (Cover artist)
- Dana Lee, Lee Clarity Consulting (Editing/Proofreading)
- The wonderful members of Ann’s Clan, Ann’s Amazing Aces, and Ann Omasta’s Reader Group. I wouldn’t be able to do what I love without you!