Rebecca

Scott Miller

Description

Jesse Rayburn was the all-American kid that had his dreams within sight and in his grasp, only to see them all disappear with his girlfriend's pregnancy and the birth of his daughter. Forced to do the right thing and marry, he begins a long, downward spiral that leads to addiction, drug abuse, isolation, violence, and crime. Twenty-five years later, Jesse steps out of prison and begins the process of trying to start his life over. At first, he doesn't know what to do and again feels that the whole world is out to get him, but he slowly begins to realize that he wants to find the source of the anger that led him down this path, his daughter. With the help of a counselor that helps him realize the havoc he has caused is of his own doing and an alcoholic private investigator that can't stand him but needs the money, Jesse begins the process of finding his daughter in the hopes that it may help him find himself.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
• Date de parution: 08 janvier 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781645757863
• Langue: English

Extrait

R ebecca
Scott Miller
Austin Macauley Publishers
08-01-2021
Rebecca Rebecca Prologue BOISE, ID 1982 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 KUNA, ID 2018 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17
Scott Miller spent 22 years as a college wrestling coach at Eastern Washington University, Campbell University, Syracuse University, and Pacific University, 18 of those years as a head coach. After retiring from coaching, Scott went into mental health services and served as a CBRS, SUD case manager, and anger management specialist for 10 years. Currently, he is an emotional regulator and victim’s advocate in Wallace, Idaho, and continues to coach wrestling at the high school and middle school level. Scott is married to Amy and has one daughter and three stepsons.
To Ben
Copyright © Scott Miller (2021)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Miller, Scott
Rebecca
ISBN 9781645757856 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781645757849 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645757863 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020909904
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Thank you to my friends and loved ones that supported the book and urged me to get it published.
Prologue
I hate this car, it’s old and rusty, but that is not why. I hate it because it continually brings me closer to that which I fear. I’m not what I used to be but maybe that is for the best. I find myself craving to be the young man I once was when everything was simple and my life lay before me, but instead I am simply older and have wasted most of my gifts. Like many men my age, I seek something mysterious that will make me feel new and vibrant again but I fear that even if found it is out of my reach.
I drive through a typical neighborhood in an unfamiliar town. The houses are older and some, like me, no longer hide their age well. It is a brisk spring morning and the sunlight brings the fresh hope of a new day. Still, I find my anxiety remains and my hands quiver as I work the steering wheel of this blasted car that carries me closer to the one I have long searched for yet fear.
I see her house and I pull over. Invisible pins prick my back and neck and the cotton in my mouth makes it difficult to draw a breath. The structure is nothing special; in fact, it looks much like the other houses of this neighborhood. I can see that it has stood many more years than I have but still, it continues to project a certain dignity. It has gone through many reincarnations and now it is gray. In front is a small lawn that cries for a cutting. Leading to the weathered porch is a cracked sidewalk that somehow holds steady for those who walk over it each day.
In the yard are toys of a child, most likely a girl, but in today’s world who really knows. Maybe I’m an ‘old school guy’ but I remember when it was boys who played with boy toys and girls with girl toys. I’ve been away for a long time and things changed without asking for my input. It’s probably for the best but I can’t help hoping fervently that they are played with by a girl.
I turn off the engine and I stare at the house that is northwest of me just fifty yards away. I don’t see the house as it is but instead, I picture another one from forty years before. It is my house in another city in a more innocent era. I remember those mornings so long ago and it brings a smile to my lips. Now I am in another place, remembering boys playing football and girls playing dolls. The neighborhood was a community then. A brother resided in every house and the girls were necessary evils that dotted the landscape.
When one moved away it seemed like a death in the family but soon another would move in and assume the mantle of the recently lost. My smile disappears as I wonder why I no longer see such things. Have we changed that much? Are we really that afraid? And then I remember that it is me that they are afraid of and I feel the guilt of a life gone awry.
As the sun climbs in the sky, shadows from trees begin to shade the front of the houses. Doors open and children come out to begin their day at the school that is only blocks away. I sit low in my car, afraid of being spotted. It seems as though it has taken a lifetime to get to this place and I do not want it blown by the arrival of one who serves and protects. I am sure they would not view me as I am so I lie low, cursing myself because I am afraid though I do nothing wrong.
The door of the little gray house I have been staring at opens and an angel emerges. She has pigtails with yellow ribbons tied to them and she bounds with the joy of youth. Behind her is the young woman I should have adored so many years before. I have waited long for this moment and now that it has arrived, I am petrified. I shrink in my car as my heart races. I feel chest pains and wonder if I am having a heart attack. My hands grip the steering wheel and momentarily I think of starting the engine and fleeing.
Yet something strange happens. I do not start the car and my hands loosen their grip. I strain to get a better look at the one I abandoned so long ago. They walk away from me and for a moment I think of getting out of the car and calling to them, begging them to stop. The child suddenly stops and turns around and I swear she is looking at me but she is now a hundred yards away and I am so low in the seat I know she can’t see me. Her mother catches up to her and gently nudges her forward and they continue their walk toward the school that is just beyond the park.
As they fade into the distance, I open my door and slowly step out. I feel a hundred eyeballs on me though no one is around. After years of being where I have been paranoia dies slowly. I quietly close the door and walk toward the park. Distant shouts of children filter toward me from the school grounds and it relaxes me. I begin to feel that maybe it is all right that I am here and I continue toward the empty park.
I see a bench by the swing set and I approach it and sit. My heart continues to beat through my chest and I feel sweat forming on my forehead despite the coolness of the morning. It is peaceful here, something I admit to myself I know little about. As I fight the anxiety of rejection, I am thankful for a calmness that quietly begins to overtake me.
In the distance I see the woman walking back from the school. I try to be nonchalant as I watch her. As she comes closer, I get up and begin to walk to the other side of the park. I don’t want her to notice me because I am ashamed and scared of the child I left behind so many years before. As I reach the sidewalk on the other side, I steal a glance toward her and see that she has not noticed me. I feel relief but also a pang of regret. Now she is out of sight and I walk back to where I was sitting in the safety of the solitude of the park.
The air is warming as the sun continues its climb but I feel frozen, unable to move yet my mind continues to race. I glance for eyes that I know must be staring at me. I want to move, get up, and head toward the little gray house but instead, I sit paralyzed to this wretched bench. I know what it is that keeps me here instead of where I should be. It is fear, unadulterated, and all-encompassing. I am more scared than I have been in many years. I think of the irony of this for I have recently returned from a hell that I alone put myself in. I suddenly realize this is worse, for in hell I knew what the dangers were and how to protect myself from them. Here I feel as though I am a lost child and I realize it is the unknown that has me terrified.
I look at the cheap watch on my wrist. I have been sitting here for over an hour and somehow I find the will to stand up. I must follow through on what I have started. I have spent a lifetime blaming others for my undoing, but this time it is only me that I can blame if I choose not to finish.
My legs are heavy as I begin to walk slowly toward the gray house. I stare at the cracked sidewalk as I force myself forward. I am closing in on my target and I am petrified. Suddenly to my chagrin I am crossing the street, heading away from where I should be going. I try to stop myself but I can’t. My pace quickens and I silently curse myself. I don’t know how this has happened but I’m again in this hated car and I am feeling the rumble of the engine coming to life. I put it into drive and the car lurches forward and I feel a sense of relief, but it is only momentary. I turn right on the next block, and then take another right and another and I am back where I belong. I park in the same spot I just came from and I turn off the engine, angry at myself for being the coward I have become.
The house beckons me and I stare at the door. I