EXCERPTS | By Michael Robert Dyet » PART 1, CHAPTER 1: The Thin Line  » The screen door opened and Jayce came in as Katherine shut off her cell.

“Who were you talking to?”

“The Star. They left me a message at home. I’ve got an assignment for Wednesday night. There's a Press Conference for that Drug-Free Rave series we saw on the news."

"And you accepted it?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

"Well, yeah. Grace and Bryan. Did you not stop to think how they might feel?”

"To be honest, no. But I think Bryan is going to be there. He called me this afternoon."

"I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“He sees it as a good thing. But I gather Grace doesn’t agree.”

“But he’s going to go anyway? I don’t get that. How do you ignore someone’s feelings like that?”

“You’d have to ask him. For me it’s just a job – plain and simple.”

“I don’t see it that way. I’d rather you didn’t do it.”

“I’ve already said yes. I can’t back out now.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I need this, Jayce. I need to shake off the rust. If I nail something solid it could open doors for me to get back in.”

“Back to work, you mean. At The Star.”

“Yes.”

Jayce sat down on the sofa and turned his face away from her.

“We made a deal, Kat. You wanted to stay home with the kids. That’s why I took the Ops job. It wasn’t something I wanted. But we agreed we’d go that way until the kids were in school.”

“I know. At the time I thought that was what I wanted. But things change.”

“What things change, Kat? Explain it to me.”

full circle back to that thin line again. the fine edge between the spoken and literal truth. the naked truth is this. the day may come. when it’s necessary to leave him. financial self-sufficiency is a bridge for that day. but he must not know. so how to diffuse his suspicion?

“People change. Circumstances change. Anyway, it’s not like we pricked our fingers and made a blood pact.”

“I gave up driving, Kat. You know that was a big sacrifice.”

“I know. But now you can go back to it. If I’m working we don’t need the bigger salary anymore.”

Jayce turned his gaze to the floor. She saw the tight line of his brow which meant he was digging his heels in.

“It’s not that simple. They invested time and money training me for the Ops job. They’re not going to take kindly to me wanting out of it. I don’t think it’s an option anymore.”

“So what are you saying, Jayce?”

“Just that we made a deal. And I’ve kept my part. I think it’s reasonable to expect you to keep yours.”

“You and I have very different definitions of reasonable.”

Katherine crossed to the window turning her back to Jayce. A quilt of frayed clouds had drifted across the sky above the tree line. The sun climbed the edges of the clouds and shot through a gap sending rays of lights outward that became the spokes of a great celestial wheel. Katherine imagined her destiny spinning on that wheel at the whim of a God whose mercy she longed for now.

She heard Jayce coming toward her across the room. He wound his arms around her and rested his chin on her head in a pose that recalled sweeter days.

“Katherine, I love you. You know that, right? I love you so damn much.”

Jayce hardly ever used her full name. When he did it quickened an emotion in her.

“I know. I love you too. So much it hurts sometimes. Love isn’t supposed to hurt, is it?”

careful. too close to the line. too close. remember, build a bridge. don’t burn one.

“It’s not supposed to do but it does. One day you wake up and realize that all the rules have changed. And that you have to fight for what you need.”

This solemn turn to his thoughts frightened Katherine. There was a quality of possessiveness in it that sent a cold shiver down her spine. Did he know?  Did he have a premonition of her thoughts?

“I didn’t mean to get us into this kind of discussion. We’re still on vacation. Let’s not talk about it anymore today.”

Katherine leaned into his embrace and pushed aside the fear. She felt safe in the shelter of his arms and the hollow of his body. This fierce and passionate intimacy that still bloomed now and then, so rare and exquisite, surpassed even making love with him. Strange that it should, she thought, but it did. It was uniquely theirs and always had been. The place where their love sunk its roots the deepest.

Visit http://mdyetmetaphor.com/blog to read and view Katherine’s Photo Journal Entry 'REFLECTIONS'

Part 1, Chapter 3: Stone Walls - An Excerpt

BRYAN drove north of the city toward Orangeville remembering the first time he passed this way. In those first dark and desperate days after Sarah was gone when Grace first pulled away from him and he lived within a torment that drove him mad. He remembered simply pointing the car north and driving blindly trying to outrace the pain. Turning right, then left, then right again as if the pain was a wild animal he had to shake himself loose from.

The pages of his memory scrapbook opened now in chronological order beginning with the self-conscious child and evolving page by page through the adolescent years when her character was formed. The way she gained confidence almost overnight suddenly pushing boundaries and testing herself. He could see now, in the bitter clarity of hindsight, that going to the Rave was part of that quiet rebellion. As he passed through Grand Valley he arrived at the last moment he saw her when she walked out the door that night on false pretenses. Such an ordinary night it seemed but one that ended in such an extraordinary and terrible way. From that he learned, too late, the folly of taking his blessings for granted.

Bryan pulled off onto the shoulder at the dead-end corner where Concession Road 10-11 met County Road 14. He slid out of the car recalling the first time he had looked upon that broken gate. Again he wondered, with little hope of an answer, what had possessed him to stop here that day? Random chance? The hands of fate? Neither of those explanations could encompass the improbability.

He squeezed through the gate and started down the track. On his left was the swamp pond that he hardly noticed the first time. He imagined it looking precisely the same all those years. The skeleton trees and the hummocks of earth rising out of the sluggish water. He watched a muskrat glide along the surface, dive for a minute and then surface again. It moved in the same direction as he walked as if leading him on.

At the turn in the path he felt that catch in his heart that always preceded his first view of the place. The remnant of a stone house built by hand countless years ago on a plot of land hewn out of the woods but now overgrown and returning to nature. A labour of love by strong arms and skilled hands. The roof, doors and windows were gone. Taken by scavengers perhaps or, he preferred to think, by the hands that built it. Taking away what could be salvaged when circumstances forced the family that lived there to abandon it.

Inside the four walls was the detritus of the family that once called this place home. Rusted bed springs, chunks of wood, scrap metal, cans and rocks. But it was not these things that captured his wonder. It was the four stone walls which stood fully intact like a monument to pride and human endurance. Neither the passage of time nor the forces of nature weakened them. Not a single stone had crumbled. None of the mortar that bound one stone to another had cracked or fallen away. In the midst of decay and broken dreams the four walls stood defiant.

In his first experience of this place he found the personification of his grief reflecting back to him the shell of a man he had become. Flesh, blood and bones without the passion and the dreams that once made him human. That first time he sat on the steps to the door and poured out his grief in tears and vilifications of those who let Sarah die. The stone and mortar heard his anguish and echoed it back to him. In those echoes were intertwined the distant mournings of the family that inhabited this place and left it brokenhearted but not defeated. As he sounded the depths of his despair those cries from across the decades pierced the loneliness he felt. A bond was formed with hearts and souls he could not touch but entered into communion with. He found he was no longer alone in his grief. It did not hurt less but the burden of his pain and their pain was now shared.

Bryan rose from the stone steps and made his way across what once was the yard stepping over the stone foundation of another smaller building which had not survived the ravages of time. In the corner of the yard, beside the woods now encroaching upon it, he located the small wooden cross and the stone in front of it. He pulled away the weeds that covered it and read the inscription again.

Our Precious Sarah

1911 – 1915

Into God’s hands with

grieving hearts we give thee 

He closed his eyes and felt the presence of both children encircle him. Grief welled up like water rising around him. But then he heard Sarah’s laugh and saw her leading her namesake by the hand into that stone house which stood complete again. Voices drifted to him from within those walls which he knew would protect her.

He uttered a silent prayer of thanks for this improbable gift. Four stone walls that stood as his monument to hope. The hope that joy would come again and that the undecipherable something behind those simmering eyes was a lover’s moon rising at the solstice of grief. That renewal of hope gave him the strength to do what he felt called to do today.

Visit http://mdyetmetaphor.com/blog to read Bryan’s Blog Entry 'EYES'

Part 1 Chapter 4: Burying the Evidence - An Excerpt

JAYCE awoke with the fragile renewal of faith that comes with the first waking breath of morning. His arms were wound around Kat drawing her into the shadow of his body. She seemed small and vulnerable in this pose as if she depended upon him for shelter from the dream storms that come in the deep valleys of sleep. But then again, he recalled, her dreams were seldom threatening. He was the one whose dreams came like thunder in the night.

The telephone rang scattering his thoughts. Early morning calls were always bad news, he reasoned, as Kat pulled away from his embrace and reached for the phone.

“Who the bloody hell is calling at 6:30 in the morning?”

“How would I know? Let me answer and find out.”

“Hello… Oh hi, Alexandra. No, it’s not too early… You’ve confirmed a date? Wonderful. Let me get a pen… September 9th. Okay. Now, what do you need from me?... A name and a theme. Okay, I’ll get working on it. Thanks so much for calling. Have a safe trip home.”

“What was that all about? A date for what?”

“It was Alexandra Hewson from the Macfarlane Gallery. She’s in England on a buying trip. It’s 11:30 in the morning there.”

“Wait, back up.  The Macfarlane Gallery? Am I missing something here?”

“It’s an art gallery, Jayce. They’re going to do an exhibition of my photography. My agent arranged it.”

“Your agent? You have an agent? Since when?”

“About six months now.”

“When exactly were you going to tell me about it? Or is it some big secret I’m not supposed to know?”

Jayce propped himself up on his elbow to look at her.

“I haven’t told anyone, Jayce.  I didn’t want to make it public knowledge until I saw if anything was going to come of it. Haven’t you ever done that? Kept a lid on something until you were sure?”

There was a defensive tone in her voice like someone caught with their fingers in the cookie jar.

“I suppose I have. But this is awesome news, Kat. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s just a one-day show. I’m not going to be famous overnight. It’s really just testing the waters to see if my work has any commercial appeal.”

“You mean they might actually sell some of your work?”

“You say that like it’s hard to believe.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. It just hadn’t occurred to me.”

So it was not just a show, Jayce realized. It was a stake in new ground. Was that why she had kept it a secret from him?

“So what kind of price tag are we talking about?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to even ask that question until the show was a sure thing. But while we’re on the subject of getting paid, you need to know that this is part of what we were talking about at the cottage. Being a stay-at-home mom is wearing thin on me. This just makes me want even more to go back to work.”

“Uh huh. So that’s how it is.” Jayce’s enthusiasm for the subject took a hard right turn. “I told you where I stand on that, Kat. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.”

“And I am?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

“How am I supposed to feel? I turned my life upside down for you. Now you’re changing the rules.”

“Jayce, I know I sprung this on you out of left field. But be honest. You must know that I haven’t been myself for awhile now. I need a change. I admit it’s not fair to you. But would it really be that bad if – ”

“I can’t talk about this now. I have to get ready for work.”

“Wait. Listen to me. There must be a way for us to – ”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Jayce swung himself out of bed and walked out of the bedroom leaving her unfinished question hanging in the air between them. There was nothing she could say at this moment that he wanted to hear, he decided. It had all the earmarks of an ambush. The early morning call. Springing the agent and the show on him. All designed to back him into a corner he could not get out of. Why? Why was she doing this?

As he turned toward the staircase, Jayce struck his shin on the corner of the wall.

“Goddamn it!”

The spike of pain short-circuited his brain. Before he could stop himself he slammed his fist into the wall. The wallboard crumpled leaving an impression twice the size of his hand.

“Jayce? What was that?”

“Nothing. I just stumbled.”

Kat emerged from the bedroom. The damage to the wall caught her eye immediately.

“What did you do?”

“I cracked my shin on the corner. It knocked me off balance and I stumbled into the wall. It’s no big deal. I can fix it.”

“Jayce, your hand is bleeding. Let me see.”

She reached out for his hand but he pulled it away.

“It’s nothing. Just… Just give me some space, alright? You dropped a couple of bombs on me this morning. I need time to sort things out. We’ll talk about it tonight.”

“But your hand – ”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Jayce waved her off and fled down the stairs. There was nothing more he could say that would make any sense to her. Anything else she might say would just be fuel on the fire and he could not let that happen. One hole in the wall was enough for today.

Visit http://mdyetmetaphor.com/blog to read and view Jayce’s Diary Entry 'SECRETS'

Part 1, Chapter 6: Peregrines and Mill Ruins - An Excerpt

FAITH followed the rock-strewn path through the pine and oak woods. Catching the scent of Sixteen Mile Creek even before the whispered rumble of Hilton Falls reached her on the breeze. Chickadees fluttered out from the branches angling for handouts. But she had nothing to give them. Submerged memories nudged the edges of her consciousness like the ancient coral reefs and sea creatures that lay buried beneath her feet in the layers of sedimentary rock. The sound of cascading water grew audible as she neared the falls coaxing the memories up through the layers of emotional shale.

At last Hilton Falls came into view tumbling over stepping-stone rock ledges and plunging 10 metres into the cool, clear pool below. The memory haunted mill ruins bordering the falls circumnavigated time and opened her heart to the voices of her childhood. This was her secret and sacred place. Secret because she only came here alone and when she felt troubled. Sacred because of the memories it held of her father. He brought her here as a child to tell her the story that shaped her childhood and her adolescence. The story of the mother she had never known. How she had done what was unthinkable in that day and age. Leaving her husband and her one year old child for another man. Faith had never asked why although the question burned in her mind. The sadness in her father’s eyes when he spoke of it made her understand intuitively that he could speak of this once and once only.

He was in a nursing home now lost in the thick haze of Alzheimer’s. Drifting backwards and forwards through time but often dwelling in that single year of joy between Faith's birth and that day. She visited him often but not often enough. There was no such thing as enough for him.

Faith sat on the edge of the mill ruins and tried again to remember her mother. Scouring her memory for details of that one year of happiness. For her father’s sake she wanted to find it and own it so she could share in the experience with him. And for other reasons that had nothing to do with him. But her memory bank did not reach back that far. In her mind she had no mother. Only a father and a void where her mother should have been.

The ethereal, spiraling flute of a Thrush surrounded her. She shuddered at the loneliness that suddenly took hold of her.

“Is it possible? That I never fully committed to the relationship? That I just skated across the surface of it for seven years… Come on, Faith. You’re the therapist. What does that say about you?”

A Kingfisher dove into the pool below the falls, came up empty-handed and protested with its strident, rattling call. Sadness and hurt ebbed out of her a few tears at a time. Tracing the lines and curves of her face the way his fingers had once done but never would again. He had proposed, she told herself. Actually proposed. But she had not been able to love him enough to say yes or even no.

Reality settled in like a stone sinking to the bottom of the clear pool. She was alone again. The motherless child once more. She would have to learn how to go to sleep without the sound of breathing next to her. How to wake up in an empty bed. How to contain that bubble of fear that gathered in her chest in the dark of night. How to visit her father knowing that the only person intimately connected to her could no longer protect her.

She was alone.

Faith looked down to the creek where it emerged from the pool renewed and reborn. Sensing the current that throbbed beneath the surface like her own restless heart. She longed to release herself to it. To float like a fallen leaf content to be at the mercy of the water. Carried for miles and miles through city and country to a destination foreshadowed but not foretold. Perhaps then her destiny would finally reveal itself. The meaning and purpose of her life might become clear.

This was a sad and pleasant image that she dwelled within for a time. But in her heart she knew it was not within her to give up control in that way. Life called out to her laying its injustices at her feet and defied her to ignore them knowing full well that she could not.

Her thoughts returned now to the Raves. Of course Greg was right, she conceded. She was putting Youth Voice out on a limb. But risk was the price of courageous decisions. The Raves were an olive branch to that disenchanted generation of young people. A way to break down barriers and make a connection with them. They were also a turning point for Youth Voice.

“This is why you worked so hard to build this organization. So you could make a difference. So lives like Sarah James wouldn’t be wasted. You can’t let the pessimists stop you. There’s too much at stake here.”

Faith felt her strength returning now. She rose, picked up a stone and gave it a sidearm flick watching it skip it four times across the surface of the creek above the falls. A good omen. Her own version of a four leaf clover. Let them try and stop her, she vowed. Let them try. They had no idea what a bulldog she could be. Come hell or high water the Rave Series would go on. Her mother, wherever she was, would be proud.

Visit http://mdyetmetaphor.com/blog to read or listen to Faith’s “Letters to Her Mother” 'RUINS'

C&V RECOMMENDED READING

• Michael Robert Dyet, Honours B.A., summa cum laude, Creative Writing , York University, is an active member of the Canadian Authors Association and the Writers and Editors Network (WEN).  Michael’s debut, internet-enhanced novel Until the Deep Water Stills breaks new ground by combining a traditional print novel with an online companion featuring text, photography and audio recordings. 

Michael Robert Dyet’s Website: mdyetmetaphor.com

Novel Online Companion: mdyetmetaphor.com/blog

Michael’s Blog "Metaphors of Life aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm”: mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2  | Excerpts from an Internet-Enhanced Novel