Fresh Beginnings

  Fresh Beginnings

  by Iris Blobel

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  FRESH BEGINNINGS

  Copyright © 2014 IRIS BLOBEL

  ISBN 978-1-62135-320-1

  Cover Art Designed by BOOK BEAUTIFUL

  The location of the story is based on our holiday in the USA in 2013 and is a thanks to all the wonderful people we met during our travel.

  It wouldn’t have been as fabulous if it hadn’t been for you.

  A special thank you goes to Laura for her hospitality in Boise,

  Stephanie for taking her time to have little chat with me

  even though the phone connection was lousy,

  my MG Girls, Dani, Lissa & Sylv for a very memorable evening and

  Marisa for her continued friendship over these many years.

  Chapter One

  Jared's gaze wandered around as he took in the people attending the wedding. The small chapel was packed to the very last seat. Surprising, he thought, as he'd been told it'd be a small ceremony, with only close friends attending. More surprising was that he had received an invite as well.

  Zach and Natasha weren't even on his phone speed dial and there were ten speed dial buttons. Or even twelve? He wasn't really sure.

  Natasha had come to see him a few months earlier and asked him whether he would be able to help out with the floral arrangements. He'd told her he was a landscaper and not a florist, but in the end gave up when she ignored the explanation of the difference and simply said yes.

  Jared stretched his neck and hooked his finger inside his shirt collar, trying to get more comfortable. He'd never liked wearing a suit so he'd never owned one. Sophie had helped him choose a nice outfit for the day from a local shop. He'd laughed when she said the suit needed to be right. It needed to go along with his brown eyes and dark blonde hair, but it also needed to emphasise his physique. Nonsense! When she'd insisted he get a haircut as well, he plain refused. He couldn't believe the amount of time and effort he had spent on buying a suit for one day.

  Smoothing the lapels of his jacket, he took in the flowers in the chapel. He felt a touch of pride at how well it'd come up after all. Natasha had been so determined to use roses, but the way he'd arranged the November Lilies, including the bouquet, it looked stunning yet humble. Exactly what she'd wanted.

  "You did well with the flowers," Mia whispered into his ear.

  "Thanks. I thought so, too," he replied. "Had to dig deep to remember how to do all of it."

  "Isn't that your job?" Josh asked.

  Josh was Mia's boyfriend. They'd been going out for the last three years and were still going strong, considering their teenage years.

  Jared was tempted to explain the difference between florist and landscaping to Josh as well, but decided to leave it be.

  He didn't have to, after all.

  "He's a landscaper," Sophie added to the conversation. "There's a big difference."

  Jared cocked an eyebrow towards Sophie, who was desperately trying to get her three-year-old daughter, Hope, to drink her milk before her afternoon nap. He knew very well she never understood the difference either.

  Josh chuckled. "Yeah, mate, but green is green, and plants are plants. Right?"

  Mia let out a loud laugh, which earned her a glare from Mark, who stood at the front next to Zach. It had surprised everyone that Zach had asked him to be his best man. Although what could one expect from a family which was pulled together in so many odd circumstances. Mark O'Connor was Sophie's husband, Mia Levesque's brother-in-law, and little Hope's dad. Oh yes, and Jared's good buddy.

  "For what it's worth, there's a huge difference," Jared said, but he was instantly shushed by Mark's parents who sat one row behind them.

  He rolled his eyes and went back to admiring his floral arrangements.

  "The bride is late," he heard someone say behind him. He had a guess it was Olivia, Mia's best friend. She was always straightforward.

  However, the bride entered the church a few minutes later.

  Natasha looked beautiful in her lace-up, white chiffon dress. It was ruched at the back and emphasised her slim figure. She'd let her black hair grow and wore it in a French twist with pearls breaded into it. A delicate tiara graced her hairstyle.

  Of course, he wouldn't have known all the details if she hadn't told him. She'd shown him pictures and sketches so he would have had an idea for the flowers. Now that he saw her walking down the aisle, he had to admit she looked stunning, and it gave him goose bumps. He still believed the Lilly-bouquet looked much better than any roses would have.

  Zach, who lived across the road from the Levesque/O'Connor clan in Chestnut Avenue, had met Natasha a few years earlier when he took Mia to her sports day. Natasha used to be Mia, Olivia and Josh's teacher until she moved on to a different school. One lucky duck that Zach was, because Natasha was not only beautiful with her now-long, black hair and dark blue eyes, but also intelligent and very kind.

  Jared's gaze moved to Sophie, who smiled at her little girl. Then he caught Mark with a big smile plastered on his face watching his wife and daughter. Blowing out a little sigh, he noticed out of the corner of his eye how Josh took Mia's hand into his own.

  And that was it. He'd had enough. It was kind of the last drop in a full bucket. He was sick of everybody else around him being happy except him. No doubt, he was pleased for them, but it was about time that he took matters into his own hands and got out of his daily routine.

  ****

  A few weeks later, Jared sat across the table from Mark, chugging down a bottle of water. As usual, he'd easily beat his friend at another game of squash.

  "After all these years ya still playin' like a girl," he said.

  Mark flipped him the finger and didn't bother to reply.

  "Trouble at home?"

  "Nope, but having a house full of women is exhausting. Hope wakes up before dawn every morning and is cranky in the afternoon. Mia doesn't want to come out of bed at all. Not to mention the extra person I've got to feed."

  "Josh?" Jared asked with a grin.

  "Teenage love. I've begged Sophie to have the talk with Mia, but she merely laughed and replied I'm way too late."

  Jared nearly spilled his drink. "Too late?"

  Mark shrugged. "I'm too scared to ask."

  "Didn't Soph drive ya insane because she wanted to wait till after the wedding?"

  Nodding, Mark grabbed his gear and stood. "Don't remind me. It's my hope that she's instilled that attitude into Mia as well."

  Jared stood as well and followed his friend into the male changing rooms. They took their showers and left the squash centre half an hour later.

  Once they got to their cars, Jared said, "I'm heading over to the USA in two weeks." And, as he threw his bag into his old Jeep, he added, "Booked the trip a few weeks back."

  Mark turned and stared at him. "You did what?"

  "Booked a holiday. Time for this ol' man to forget about work and live some. Isn't that what ya always tell me?"

  His friend's astonishment was obvious from his moment of speechlessness.

  Laughing, Jared clapped Mark on the shoulder. "Close ya mouth or the flies will call it a home."


  Mark did, but then said, "The USA?"

  Jared nodded.

  "How long?"

  "A bit over four weeks."

  Mark's eyebrows shot up. "Four weeks. Who's looking after the business?"

  If Jared had known he'd be bombarded with all these questions, he'd have dropped the news a bit earlier in the comfort of the Sport Centre's Café. "Graham, and you'll help him with the books."

  His buddy raked his hand through his hair.

  "Ya owe me, O.C."

  He'd called Mark O.C. as long as he could remember. It was the initials of Mark’s surname O'Connor. Jared wasn't sure why he'd taken to O.C., but it had stuck since their childhood.

  Mark's eyes narrowed. "Owe you what?"

  "To help out."

  Shaking his head as if he wanted to get rid of a fly, Mark finally said, "No worries about the books. I'll help. I just don't understand why all of a sudden."

  He shrugged. "Do I need a reason? I've got the money. I've worked hard enough." And, after a moment's pause, he continued, "Are ya trying to make me feel guilty?"

  Heaving a big sigh, Mark shook his head. "Nope. Not at all. It's just a bit of a surprise." Grabbing his own car keys, he said, "Come on over for dinner on Saturday and we'll go through details."

  "No worries mate. I look forward to it."

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, Jared set foot onto American soil. Actually, he didn't set foot on soil, but on one of the buses that transported a whole airplane full of tired travellers to the terminal for immigration purposes. It was still early in the morning. In fact, it was two hours earlier than he had left Melbourne. The fourteen hours on the plane hadn't been as bad as he had expected. He'd asked for an aisle seat next to the exit and was able to throw in a snooze or two during the flight.

  Jared tried hard to breathe through his mouth to avoid the lingering smell of the passengers who, it seemed, hadn't had contact with water and soap in many hours. He couldn't wait to get out of this trap.

  Next on his journey was a long stop-and-go struggle through the immigration hall and customs before he was able to pick up his bag. Finally, after what seemed like an endless morning of shuffling through the Los Angeles airport, he exited the building only to be stuck again in yet another queue—waiting for a taxi.

  Mark had been to the USA a couple of times for business and had given him a few ideas. For some odd reason, Jared hadn't expected going through immigration to be memorable five minutes.

  "Sir, may I see your passport?"

  The lady behind the counter would've been probably in her thirties. Although overweight, she had a beautiful face and Jared thought he even saw a hint of a smile. She'd asked him a massive amount of questions, leaving him feeling like he was back at school, and he didn't want to fail and be sent back to Australia.

  "Bringing in any medication?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Any food."

  "No, ma'am" He hesitated. "Ah, ma'am. I've got a few leftover bikkies in my bag?"

  The customs officer looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "Bikkies?"

  Jared got nervous. "I suppose you'd call them cookies." He grabbed the package out of his backpack and showed her the item in question.

  She laughed, and it was a genuine and beautiful laugh. Shaking her head, she replied, "Only you Australians could come up with a word like bikkies." After a moment's pause, she said, "They're all yours, honey." And she proceeded with taking his photo and fingerprints.

  That hadn't been all that bad.

  It took half an hour or more to finally get a taxi, and Jared was on his way.

  So this was the big city of Los Angles, he thought. He had spent most of his life in the small city of Hobart in Tasmania. Not really having the urge to travel or the interest to explore other places, he'd only visited Melbourne and Sydney a couple of times for Landscaping Exhibitions. Well, he did visit someone in Sydney, but that'd been a while ago. Even then, he had booked the hotel as close as possible to the exhibition centre to avoid having to deal with the big city. He'd coped. He'd survived. And he'd relished returning home to Hobart. Mark had nearly freaked out at the idea of him not only leaving the country, but out of all places going to America—On. His. Own.

  "Mate, I'm closer to forty than I am to thirty. One would think I can look after myself."

  Sophie had laughed, but his friend hadn't been convinced at all. Jared had packed Mark's list with phone numbers, internet addresses and the lot, but wasn't really sure whether the list had been packed in the bag which had been left home, because, at the last minute, Jared had decided to travel light.

  Jared looked out the window towards the sky. But it wasn't the sky he knew from home. It looked a bit like Hobart's sky on a hot summer's day with a nasty front approaching. Like there had been a fire, and the smoke was still lingering.

  He'd asked the taxi driver to get him to the motorhome company in Hawthorne. He shook his head at the idea of having flown over the Melbourne suburb of Hawthorn twenty-four hours earlier, only to end up in a place called Hawthorne again. The drive was surprisingly short and pleasant. The traffic he had expected wasn't there, but nonetheless he stared in amazement at the amount of lanes on the freeway. There were four on each side. And they still had traffic jams! His tired eyes took in the surroundings, the suburbs, the houses, and the many things that were so similar to Australia… yet so different.

  Once he arrived at the rental place, he went through the procedure of checking the motorhome, filling out papers, getting acquainted with the steering wheel on the left side instead of the right and adding the first stop to the GPS.

  First stop… Las Vegas.

  Jared was able to follow the GPS and make it out of Los Angles alive and in one piece. Not that hard, he thought. Somewhere close to San Bernardino, he stopped to stock up for food and then made his way up through the San Bernardino National Forest towards Vegas. He knew it'd be a long drive on the first day, but he was sure he'd make it. He felt a bit weary, but the excitement of driving through America for four weeks in the little motorhome kept him wide-awake in anticipation.

  The library staff had provided him with piles of books and website addresses to find out where to go and what to see. Vegas hadn't been on many of those lists, but had always been mentioned as a You're there, you might as well go and have a look. And that was what he was going to do. He drove along, humming along to the American country music blaring from the radio. There wasn't much to see in this vast part of California, and Jared was pleased when he finally made it to Vegas later that afternoon, found an RV Park and checked in.

  Jared paid and was about to leave when he turned and asked, "Mate, what on earth is PedXing?"

  The guy chuckled. "Pedestrian crossing," he replied.

  Jared laughed. "Yeah, I don't think I would've guessed that one. I'm glad they told me to look for RV and not caravan park."

  He waved his hand as a thanks and left, still chuckling about the PedXings. A country speaking the same language and more or less having the same background yet being so different surprised him. But why? Why did it? After all, it'd been two hundred years that each country would've evolved in a different way.

  Jared got back into his motorhome, drove to his allocated spot, and got ready for the night. He'd explore Sin City the next day.

  ****

  Ivy Bennett stormed into the back of the trailer. She'd had enough. More than enough. For the last five years, she'd lived in this small, forsaken place outside Las Vegas, surviving on the edge of existence. Her job as a waitress at the local bar paid well, but it was hard-earned money, and she was sick of her boyfriend drinking away almost every penny.

  "What are you doing, Ivy?"

  Her eyes narrowed furiously. "I'm leaving Dylan. I need more than this." She waved her hand in a circle around the inside of the trailer. "I deserve more than this," she added with emphasis.

  "Honey," Dylan said gently as he reached out for her. "Let's talk about this
." With a hardly noticeable move, he chucked the can of beer in the bin. "I'm having a bit of a low, but I need you to get through this."

  Ivy shook her head vehemently. "Not this time, Dylan. There's always an excuse for your drinking. Your father's death. Your broken leg. The police taking your bike—"

  "Hey, that was truly unfair," he interrupted.

  "And now your job. I want more of this life other than this trailer and surviving from week to week."

  He nodded. "Okay, honey. We can do that."

  "No!" She reached for her bag and began throwing her few belongings into it. "I can do it."

  With heavy shoulders, she sat on the edge of the bed. "I need to do it," she whispered. "I owe it to myself to find out whether I was meant for bigger things."

  At some point in her life, things had gone bad. She'd been raised by her mom, who had worked hard to make ends meet every day. She'd left years earlier, when she was only twenty-two, to have more in her life than working for money and then wake up in the morning to go to work again—and not getting anywhere. Her mother had always said that much of life just happened and was out of their control. Well, she disagreed.

  Ivy looked up at him and saw him raise a brow. "Bigger things?"

  Letting out a big breath, she stood again and continued packing. "Yes, bigger things. A small house with a small backyard. With flowers of all colours. Planting my own vegetables. Children to love and hug." She turned and pointed at the small bathroom. "Something bigger than this little cubicle."

  He shrugged and said, "I’ll come with."

  "No, Dylan. This is going to be my journey."

  She felt his hand on her arm and slowly met his gaze. "Honey, we can work on this."

  But she shook her head. "We've been working on this for three years now, Dylan. It's time to concede defeat."

  Concede defeat. She shivered at the phrase. Defeat meant battle. Had her relationship with Dylan been a battle? Was there a winner or a loser?