Time of Gifting Read online

  Times of Gifting

  By Taki Drake

  A Shield and Shelter Story

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal Stuff

  Dedications

  Chapter 1 – Echoes of Grief

  Chapter 2 – Sharpness of Anger

  Chapter 3 – Stitching Life Together

  Chapter 4 – Confronting Pain

  Chapter 5 – Bargaining and Spices

  Chapter 6 – Scenery for Miles

  Chapter 7 – Proof of Senses

  Chapter 8 – Dyeing to Learn

  Chapter 9 – Dragon Games

  Chapter 10 – Master Trader

  Chapter 11 – Spice of Life

  Chapter 12 – A Meal Before You Go

  Chapter 13 – Riding the Bus

  Chapter 14 – Scavenging

  Chapter 15 – Scouting

  Chapter 16 – Encountered

  Chapter 17 – Situation Summary

  Chapter 18 – No Simple Out

  Chapter 19 – Christmas Eve

  Chapter 20 – Christmas

  Chapter 21 – Family of Many Sorts

  Chapter 22 – Remembrance Group

  Author’s Notes

  Author - Taki Drake

  Keep Connected

  Legal Stuff

  Copyright © 2021 Taki Drake, All Rights Reserved.

  Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission granted by the author.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events 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.

  Published by All Chaos Press

  Dedications

  First and foremost, this book is dedicated to my husband. His support and devotion have created an environment in which I have been able to dare to extend myself into new areas with the absolute certainty that someone will always have my back. Thank you, John. Thank you for your love and support, and being there in my life.

  This book is also dedicated to the great group of crazy writers at Phoenix Prime. Those supportive, encouraging, and crazy indie authors have provided guidance, encouragement, and participation in my growth as writer of fiction.

  None of this would be possible without the incomparable Ds, Dorene and Diane. Editors, beta readers, cheerleaders, and a bright spot in my life.

  Getting the story to publish is the result of a ton of work from the All Chaos Press team. Thank you Ann and Sha for putting in the effort to get me going!

  My loving thanks to you all!

  Chapter 1 – Echoes of Grief

  Mary paused in front of the big double-door entrance, dread rising in her throat and cramping her stomach. Stiffening her determination, the woman put her hand forward, noticing how much it shook. I promised myself I would do this, she said to herself. I know with every fiber of my being that I have to get past this stuck place in my life, and the watchfulness and sympathy drenched interaction from my relatives and friends is more than I can bear.

  A voice directly behind her startled her into jumping. “I came since you made me promise. Do not dare to weasel out now yourself!” It was her oldest friend, Jean, speaking in the deadened voice that had replaced her typically melodic tone. Knowing what she would see, Mary turned around.

  A stranger looking at Jean would have seen a perfectly groomed woman with blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes. What her friend saw was something else.

  This person was a faint shadow of the dynamic perfectionist that kept an immaculate home and served gourmet meals for snacks. It certainly was not the sharp-eyed local club champion with the sharpshooter rating in both pistol and long gun. Instead, it was a woman with soul-deep pain peeking out of her bloodshot eyes and shoulders slumped after a lifetime of standing tall and proud.

  Forcing a smile on her face, Mary said in a deliberately cheerful tone, “Well, now that you are here, we can go in together. You know we always do better as a team!” Side-by-side, the two women pushed open the double doors and walked through.

  Jean and Mary came to an abrupt halt as the hallway’s filtered light was instantly transformed by the bright sunlight coming in through the many windows of a large chamber. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a circle of chairs spaced roughly six feet apart.

  Several tables were set up around the perimeter of the room, and Mary could see where coats and bags had been piled on one while a coffee maker and cups had been placed on another one. Mary thought to herself, Do all support groups have to look the same? Identical seating arrangements and so-called refreshments just remind those of us here that we have been in similar places, and none of those helped with the pain. Why should this one be any different?

  Mary let no sign of her burgeoning despair show on her face, instead allowing the strangers in the room to see her small, restrained smile. The woman was very conscious of her friend standing next to her, panting in fear and valiantly fighting a panic attack.

  Before either of the women could say anything, a gangly, very young woman dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans and a loose shirt bounced to her feet and came toward them, exclaiming in pleasure, “Hi! You must be Mary and Jean! I am Susanna, the therapist assigned to this group, and I am pleased that you made it.”

  However young she looked, Susanna was quite good at getting the group organized. Ensuring that Jean and Mary were settled in their chairs, the young therapist called the session to order. First, she explained that each of them was recovering from a catastrophic loss. Mentioning that only those that had experienced such a brutal wound to their lives could empathize with each other and have a chance of providing joint support, Susanna then asked them to introduce themselves.

  The young therapist started off the round of introductions, saying in her energetic way, “As I said, my name is Susanna. I am a licensed and qualified grief counselor and hold a Master’s degree in psychology. This is my fourth year of working as a professional, so do not let my youthful appearance deceive you.”

  Looking around the room, which stayed totally quiet, the young woman asked, “Do any of you have questions for me?” Driven by a sense of stubbornness, Mary decided to go with her gut-level urges and raised her hand. Looking pleased, Susanna said, “Yes, Mary? What would you like to know?”

  Controlling her voice to keep it from becoming strident, Mary asked firmly, “Thank you for telling us your qualifications. However, that does not tell us about you. Who is Susanna, the person to whom we are supposed to bare our souls? Do we even have common experience points to form a connection? Telling us about your education does not let us know who you are as a person. If I am going to make myself vulnerable in front of you, I want to know something more about your likes and dislikes, goals and aspirations.”

  Unexpectedly, the pale, dark-haired woman sitting next to Mary chimed in, demanding in almost an angry tone, “She is right! Do you love cats, hate dogs? What do you do for a hobby, and do you have people you love more than life itself? How can we tell you the pain inside of us if we do not know if you have any inkling of what we are feeling?”

  Susanna appeared initially startled with Mary’s response, although she became more thoughtful as the other woman spoke. Slowly, Susanna responded, looking like she was rapidly reevaluating what she had planned on saying. “Naomi and Mary, you have made some valid points. Although I have never tried being that open in one of these groups, I am willing to do that if you will promise me that you will try to return the favor.”

  Glancing around the circle of chairs, Mary could see that the exchange and Susanna’s words had caught everyone’s attention. Before this, each woman was locked into her own
world, isolated from her neighbors. Many had been sitting with clasped hands and staring fixedly at them or the floor. Others stared off into an infinite distance. It was apparent that none of them wanted to be in the room and going through this exercise.

  Now the energy in the room had changed, and everyone was looking at Susanna. Taking a deep breath, the therapist started again, saying, “I became a psychologist and grief counselor because I endured my own catastrophic loss and needed help to get past it. The feeling of reconnecting with the people around me was so appreciated that I wanted to help other people find that same healing.

  “I lost both my parents when I was eleven years old. The car crash that killed them and my brother left me completely untouched. I remember the maelstrom of anger, denial, and fear that consumed me, and I lashed out at everyone around me and even attempted to commit suicide.

  “My father’s parents rescued me, nurturing and supporting me through angry, hurtful days where I screamed at God in a fury and drove away anyone trying to be a friend. Their love and care encouraged me as I slowly grew back to a healthier place. But that loving environment was also ripped away from me when they died in a house fire while I was away at college.”

  Mary’s eyes brimmed with tears as she heard the echoes of pain and loss that still existed in the young therapist. She could see that all the others in the circle were also feeling the pain, truly looking at the young woman and empathizing.

  The older woman opened her mouth without thinking and began to speak, “Fourteen months and three days ago, a Marine officer came to my front door and informed me that my only son had been killed in Afghanistan. My heart shattered, and I turned to my husband for comfort, only to see him collapse onto the floor.

  “The shock and the hurt of our loss killed him. It was a massive heart attack, and there was no hope of saving him. In just a few moments, my life went from the comfort of a loving family to an icy fog where no one remained who cared about me.”

  Almost whispering, the dark-haired woman sitting next to Mary began to speak even though tears ran nonstop down her face. “Nine months ago, my husband, Harold, died after fighting colon cancer for two years. Even though we knew it was coming, all of the preparations we had made and the talks we had about me continuing to live life after his death did not matter.

  “I was devastated and could not tolerate being around other people. I tried to do things that I loved to do but could not even look at my cameras because they reminded me of our photo shooting vacations. I could not even go back to working with the Girl Scouts. The girls’ happy laughter wounded me, and I knew my dark mood was not helping them.”

  Almost shouting, Jean spoke up, the tortured note in her voice snapping Susanna’s head around and bringing Mary to her feet, ready to run toward her friend. The young therapist made a sharp motion, demanding all but the agonized woman’s attention. A firm expression on her face, the young counselor assertively gestured Mary back to her chair before gazing back at where Jean was curved over her grief, tears pouring down her face. Responding to the young woman's professional posture and actions, Mary sat back down, even as her own tears trickled down.

  Blurting out the words of her pain, Jean snarled, “At least your loved ones did not make a choice to leave you! They did not kill themselves in a public place after pinning a note to their suit jacket explaining that they could not take the pressure of having to be perfect any longer.”

  Collapsing into a sobbing lump on the floor, Jean whispered in a pain-filled croak, “The people that you lost did not try to take your heart and dissect it. They did not do as much damage as they could to you when they left. They did not walk into a busy plaza at noon in a business area and shoot their brains out.”

  Chapter 2 – Sharpness of Anger

  Unable to hold back any longer, Mary stumbled across the floor to where Jean knelt and flung her arms around her friend. She was joined by Susanna and a motherly-looking woman with gray-streaked red hair and pale, freckled skin.

  Jean was surrounded by comforting arms and whispered words of care and love. The woman did not acknowledge the others around her, lost in her deep pain and agonized thoughts.

  However, her sobs paused as the redheaded woman patting her back began to speak. “Both of my babies were killed when a tired trucker sideswiped my neighbor’s car. It was her turn to pick up all of our children, and I was home making their favorite chocolate chip cookies when the tanker smashed them into the side of the road and exploded into flames, killing all of them.

  “My husband and I clung to each other, but only a few days after the funeral, I woke up to find that he was gone. He disappeared without a trace, and I worried about where he was for months as I tried to keep going. Finally, I got an anonymous email informing me that he was never coming back. My heart broke again when I realized he had chosen to abandon me.”

  Susanna reached out her arm to circle the other woman’s shoulders, murmuring comfortingly, saying that other people in her life loved her. The redheaded woman raised her head and stared straight at the therapist, saying, “I know that even if everyone else is gone, my twin sister is there for me. But that does not change the rest of the agony.”

  Suddenly, almost shouting, the woman demanded, “Did the presence of others in your life help you when your grandparents died? Did you feel any less pain? Tell me how long it took until you did not feel this burning inside of you!”

  Susanna looked abashed, reluctantly admitting, “No, at the time, it did not help. It was a long period before the pain lessened enough for me to acknowledge the others in my life who loved me. My decision to focus on the good parts was a conscious one, but ultimately led to my healing.”

  Another woman came to stand next to the growing huddle on the ground. Mary’s startling recognition of what could only be the twin sister that had just been mentioned opened her eyes wide as the woman began to speak. “Pam, you know you have people that love you. Sister, you are the other half of my soul, and I would be devastated beyond belief without you.”

  The enraged woman responded to her sister, half-shouting, “My babies are gone! Patty, the man that I thought would love me forever, has decided I am too much trouble and that being with me will make him feel things that he does not want!”

  Looking both conflicted and exhausted, the standing woman said in a conversational tone, “I am not sure that you classify my loss as catastrophic. I run an upscale restaurant, and my partner and fiancé of ten years had been with me through the founding of the business and our expansion. Without any warning whatsoever, he chose to leave me for somebody else.”

  Susanna spoke up, saying nervously, “All losses can rip us. Just because someone did not die does not make any less of a need for mourning and grief.”

  Patty immediately responded in a dead-sounding voice, “Well, he did die. He was killed in a drive-by shooting, even though we were again talking about getting back together. It left me with no resolution, no closure. This has left me resenting my entire career. It feels like my job, my avocation, has stolen my life. It is gotten to the point that I cannot cook. Even the thought of being in the kitchen fills me with nausea and dread.”

  Catching her breath in a sob of empathy, the young therapist offered softly, “It was thoughtless of me to try to summarize your feelings with labels. I know better. I apologize to all of you for trying to minimize the agony that you are going through. All I can say is that I will try to do better and to please not give up on your healing just because my skills were less than you needed.”

  The oldest woman in the room, someone with ink-dark skin and tightly curled white hair, finally spoke for the first time. Tears pouring down her face, the woman let her words flow, “My Marine son was killed in Iraq multiple years ago. My husband had been dead for four long years, but I structured my life around my son. He was supposed to get married when he returned from his last tour, but he was killed several days before its end. My days are empty, and my mind refuses to work. Othe
rs have forgotten him, going on with their own lives.

  “Even his fiancée has moved on, marrying another man and carrying his child. I do not know how to let go, to move. I keep thinking of what I have lost and what he would be doing or saying today. The echoes of his voice haunt me, and I am not sleeping or remembering to eat because I am so lost in that shadowy world of lost possibilities.”

  Mary stood up, letting go of Jean. She turned and walked over toward the old woman. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, Mary said, “I do not know either. Perhaps, just perhaps, we can guide each other down the road to less pain. Not forgetting our loved ones, but regaining the ability to live our lives.”

  The final woman in their group had been crying and staring at them as they each had spoken. As the silence stretched out, Mary could see the woman gathering her courage to talk and waited patiently.

  At last, the nervous woman announced, “Sitting here, I realize that all of your losses are greater than mine. My name is Connie, and I have been part of a gaming group for more than fifteen years. I never married, and I have no children, so my friends were all I had. Returning one night from a game that was hosted at my house, the car carrying my friends was involved in an accident, and all three of them were killed.”

  Mary murmured in response, “Connie, my name is Mary, and it sounds like your loss was just as catastrophic in your life as ours were to us. We are not trying to find who has the most significant pain but instead look for a path that brings us all peace.”

  Now starting to sob inconsolably, the brown-haired woman explained, saying, “I was so happy being part of a solid group of friends. Then, instantly they have been wiped off the face of the earth. How do I go on from there? I have my work, but there is no joyful anticipation, no socialization, no plans. The other people that I am around do not care about things that are important to me. I tried going to gaming groups, but they are all made of young people who have their whole lives left and do not realize that there are dangers out there. They look at me with unbelieving eyes, incapable of seeing me as anything but old.”