Foolish Aspirations; April May Snow Psychic Mystery Novel #1

  Foolish Aspirations

  An April May Snow Psychic Adventure Novel

  By

  M. Scott Swanson

  April May Snow Titles

  Throw the Bouquet(Prequel #1)

  Throw the Cap (Prequel #2)

  Throw the Dice (Prequel #3)

  Throw the Elbow(Prequel #4)

  Throw the Fastball (Prequel #5)

  Throw the Gauntlet(Prequel #6)

  Throw the Hissy (Prequel #7)

  Foolish Aspirations (Novel #1)

  Letdowns will get you,

  And the critics will test you

  But the strong will survive,

  Another scar may bless you.

  Sia – “The Greatest”

  Chapter 1

  I stand next to the old orange pickup truck and look out over the dock for what I feel will be the last time. It seems like only yesterday, John Michael and I sat on the weathered boards looking out over the now calm water of the channel. We would count the ski and bass boats of the vacationers while he chomped on his unlit cigar, and I pondered the meaning of my life.

  He's gone now. The small dock had offered a safe haven for me as I healed my wounded pride and constructed a plan for my future. Now, despite my nostalgia for the old boathouse, I know it's time to venture out and start my journey anew.

  The garage door closes, and my eyes are drawn to Shane. I can't look at him without smiling.

  "I almost forgot," he raises a small cooler shoulder high. "I packed you a lunch so you wouldn't have to stop unless you wanted to stretch your legs."

  I'm not sure if it's the recent loss of John Michael, Shane's paternal grandfather, or his kind gesture, but my throat tightens as my eyes mist with tears, "thank you." I croak.

  "Nothing special. Just some chicken salad and pasta."

  "It's special to me." I look away from him as I take the cooler. I'm struggling not to get emotional.

  "You'll call me when you make it to your mama's?"

  "Yes. Your truck?"

  "No hurry. I'll drive your car to Guntersville this weekend and swap out with you."

  I force myself to look him in the eye. When I do, I know more than anything I want to stay. I've grown accustomed to his easy smile and perpetually needing a trim thick chestnut hair. His golden hazel eyes seem to always seek out the secrets of my heart.

  "Are you sure you'll be all right? I mean, it's not like I've got something waiting on me. I can stay a few more days if you'd like."

  He favors me a crooked grin that has no humor in it, "Nah, I'll be fine. Besides, you do have something waiting on you."

  "No, I don't," I wrinkle my face.

  "You've got a big successful life waiting on you."

  "Now you're being silly."

  He steps closer, now inches from me. "I'm not being silly at all. April May Snow is going to take the world by storm. They'll never know what hit them."

  I grunt an unladylike laugh that nearly turns into a sob, "you're full of it, Shane White."

  "Don’t doubt me. I’m psychic and can see into the future." He jokes.

  "For your sake, I hope not."

  We continue with an awkward stare. My feet feel as if there sunk in the concrete, and I know I'll never get in the truck on my own volition.

  Shane gestures toward the pickup, "time to fly, April."

  It was a major fail the other night, but maybe we had it all wrong. It's stupid, but I must know, and if I don't risk it now, when will I? I close the distance between us and kiss Shane.

  When I was ten, my brothers explained to me how a car battery works. Curious, I promptly found a nine-volt battery and put it to my lips. Kissing Shane gives my brain the jolt my lips felt that day. But this sensation is a flood of emotion that spikes my core temperature and loosens my knees.

  No twin circular welts on my lips today.

  I realize he never embraced me as he pulls back and our lips part. "If you leave now, you'll miss the rush hour traffic in Chattanooga."

  I don't take it personally. Mama always told me I can be a bit much for some people. But I also know I grow on people. Shane's going to be in love with me, he just doesn't know it yet.

  Hopping up into the truck, I say, "you're going to be able to hang out this weekend, right?"

  "Saturday."

  "I'm going to hold you to it."

  "All right then," he laughs. "Be safe, and don't forget, call me to let me know you arrived home."

  The only vehicle in the lake house's driveway when I arrive is Dusty's huge black sixty-seven Impala. That's a good thing. I'll have time to get my nerves together before I pitch the new circumstances of my life to Mama.

  I know I should have listened Shane's advice and called her first.

  I ring the doorbell three times and begin to call Dusty's phone before he opens the door. His quizzical expression morphs into joy.

  "April!" I brace for impact as Dusty picks me off the porch in a bear hug. "What a surprise."

  "I wasn't sure you were going to answer the door."

  "If you hadn't lost your house key again, you could have let yourself in."

  "How did you know…" I shake my head. "Never mind."

  He cocks his head to the side and squints. "Why aren't you in Atlanta?" His eyes dart to the strange pickup truck with a full bed and trailer in tow. "Uh-oh, Wee, Cheatham, and Howe was a wipeout?"

  Dusty's brain works like that. The warp speed his mind can process facts into a complete and accurate tapestry of events makes bolts of lightning seem slow. If a perfect IQ score is two hundred, Dusty's would be two hundred and ten.

  "For the thousandth time, it's Master, Lloyd, and Johnson, and I'm on furlough."

  He steps to the side and lets me in, "For how long."

  "I don't know. The FBI sort of has their office locked up right now."

  Dusty burst into laughter then holds a fist to his mouth, "Snap. Are you serious?"

  I give him my best 'Death Stare.' "I don't find it humorous."

  "Sorry. I sort of find it funny after what Uncle Howard told you about those folks."

  "I'm sorry, I thought my parent's lived in Guntersville, Alabama, not 'I told you so.'"

  "Oh, don't get your dander up. You have to give me the opportunity to get use to the news. It's it a bit of a shocker."

  "I know. Right?"

  He starts laughing again. "No. There were like thousands of warning signs leading up to that cliff, and you did the Thelma and Louise right over the edge anyway."

  "Stop it! Don't laugh at me."

  He sobers and leans against the kitchen counter. "I am sorry. I know you had a lot of hope pinned on that position. I wish they had been what you hoped they were."

  I let out a long breath, "Thanks. Hindsight always being perfect, I wish I had listened to all the warning signs. I was caught up with their high-profile client list, but after seeing how they operated, the only thing I think I'll miss is the guaranteed salary."

  "Money's easy, April. Integrity and a passion for what you do is much more valuable."

  Spoken like a true independently wealthy thirty-two-year-old.

  I've met a lot of brilliant people. Most of them are unable to monetize their superior intelligence. Dusty earned a doctorate in Physics, like our father from Auburn University, which puts him into the near-genius category. Unlike most of the other super-smart folks I know, Dusty's parlayed his interests into a business that's made him a multi-millionaire before the age of thirty.

  You'd never believe it by looking at him. His tightly curled red hair is tied back and reaches the middle
of his shoulders. He has gauges the size of quarters in his ears and full ink sleeves on both arms giving him the appearance of a heavy metal roadie. I'm sure he'd love to be a roadie as a side gig if his busy schedule ever permitted it. His "Work" clothes consist of holey cargo shorts, frayed canvas flip-flops, and concert T-shirts from obscure bands. Presently he's allowed his full beard to get out of control.

  I reach up and tug at the whiskers. "You need me to get Daddy's hedge clippers?"

  He grins and pulls at the tip of his beard. "I'm going for the ZZ Top look."

  "I'd say you're there. Another week you'll be a double for Rip Van Winkle."

  "Ha-ha, you're too funny." He sighs, "What gives with the loaded truck?"

  "Like you said, the position didn't work out."

  "You're moving home? Just like that?"

  My face tightens, "Not just like that, Dusty. It's sort of a traumatic event."

  He raises his hands, "I'm not making light of it. It bites. But you wanted to be in Atlanta. Why not just find a different job?"

  It's a good question. One that would take too long to explain if I even could. "It's just temporary."

  Dusty frowns at my deflection of his question. "You haven't discussed moving back home to Mom or Dad. Have you?"

  "Geez, Dusty. What's with the hostile cross-examination."

  "I don't have a dog in this hunt, April. I'm trying to give you a bit of brotherly advice. Things would go a lot smoother if you can at least come up with a decent story about 'A' what happened with the job and 'B' why you are moving home rather than staying in Atlanta."

  He's right. I hate it when he's right.

  Chapter 2

  Mama arrives home an hour later, and I still haven't put together an argument that I believe will carry my case. And I fancy myself a defense attorney.

  I know I'm in deep trouble. Mama acts as if she's genuinely pleased to see me and begins preparing chicken enchiladas for dinner almost immediately after she gives me a hug. Mama all but hung up the apron and potholders on the weekdays ten years earlier when she started her real estate company. Today is Monday. She also didn't mention the strange truck and trailer in her driveway piled high with my possessions.

  I get the impression she thinks if she doesn't bring it up, the truck will magically disappear.

  She slides the two enchilada trays, one chicken and one faux chicken, Mama is vegan, into the oven. She turns her attention to making fresh guacamole and salsa. Mama is like that. She can make the most challenging task seem simple.

  The deft slicing with her paring knife is so quick it's mesmerizing. I can't imagine how many nicks I would have on my fingers if I attempted to emulate her.

  I stare at her face in hopes she will look up and break the silence. I need to talk to her about my plans, whatever they may be. She's not ready. She's working through her aggravation.

  Despite the present rigid set of her full lips, Mama is one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. She's a tall woman at five-nine with a generous portion of her height being long legs. Her cheekbones are high, and her eyes a rich brown that reminds me of hot cocoa on a cold winter's day. Her most stunning feature by far is her luxurious head of hair. The few silver strands that have appeared in her otherwise chestnut brown mane only highlight and enhance her beauty. Mama, with her hair, combed out is an impressive sight.

  "Baby, can you set the table for five?"

  Every muscle in my body relaxes. The exile is over. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Thank you."

  Grateful for the break from the silent treatment and pleased to be given a task I decide now is my opening to broach the subject of the orange pickup truck in the driveway. "Mama, what would you say if I decided to move back home for a while?"

  "I'd say someone kidnapped my daughter and replaced her with an imposter. Why?"

  I feel my ears heat up with embarrassment and carry the silverware to the kitchen nook. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready to live by myself in a big city just yet. Maybe I should come home for a year and then try it out."

  "That's nonsense, April. You lived in Tuscaloosa for seven years by yourself."

  My family is so logical. It's aggravating when you need to float a little white lie to save face. "Right, but you have to admit Tuscaloosa is not on the same scale as Atlanta."

  "Poppycock. How is a year at home going to help you transition? Besides, what would you do for work?"

  The water stops in the sink, and I hear the paring knife click on the cutting board. I look up from setting the silverware, and the look of disbelief on Mama's face pierces my heart. "You lost your job." She declares.

  "I didn't exactly lose it, Mama," I try to explain. "The firm sort of got shut down the day I was supposed to start."

  Mama closes her eyes and whispers, "Oh my foolish girl. You're going to be the death of me."

  "Don't be mad, Mama. "

  "I'm not mad, April. I'm concerned about you. What are you planning on doing now?"

  "I don't know." As soon as I said it I knew it was the wrong thing to say. One thing about Snows, we're all planners. We make plans and we work our plans. Heck, I'm uncomfortable right now because I don't have a clearly delineated plan of action.

  "I'd suggest you figure it out, April. Your Uncle Howard warned you about those folks. Didn't he?"

  Here we go. I did end up in 'I told you so' Alabama, "Yes, ma'am."

  Mama's swinging her finger like an orchestra conductor now. "He warned you, and you laughed at him. You told him he was just one of the naysayers. Goodness! How are you going to pay back all that student loan debt we told you not to take out?"

  "I'll think of something, Mama." My voice sounds pathetic and whiny.

  "You better, and quick." She shakes her head. "You know Dusty went to college for nine years and doesn't owe a single dime to anyone."

  "Now that's not fair, Mama. Dusty writes those stupid spook books, and that's what paid for his school."

  "No, he showed ingenuity and has always worked to provide what he wants for himself. You, on the other hand, expect everything to come to you because you are April."

  I flinch as if her words were fists, "Well, thank you for the understanding shoulder, Mama."

  She sets her jaw, and her eyes narrow. "Don't you pull that with me, Missy. I've been there for you when you needed a hug and a shoulder to cry on about some boy not liking you or some teacher giving you a bad grade. But I also know when someone needs a swift kick on her derriere too. I refuse to be the enabler of this bad habit you have developed over the years."

  "Bad habit?"

  "Yes! April you spend more time and money preparing to do something than anyone I know. The time for preparing to work is over. You're an adult. It is time to put your nose to the grindstone and get busy doing your life's work. Whatever it is."

  "I'm trying, Mama. It's not my fault the firm closed."

  "No. Well, I guess not." She's beginning to wind down. "But, you did decide to turn a deaf ear to your uncle's warning."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She sighs heavily, and she appears ten years older. "Child, you're killing me."

  I'm still sore from her uncharacteristic outburst but seek to lighten her mood. "Admit it. It'll be fun having me back at the house. We can catch up."

  "Baby, if I thought this is where you wanted to be, I'd be positively thrilled you're home."

  I give a quick shrug. "It's where I want to be for now."

  Mama nods. "Alright. But I'm not sure where we are going to put you."

  That makes me laugh. "I'll be able to squeeze everything into my old room. I promise it won't disrupt anything you have going on."

  Mama checks the timer on the enchiladas, then crooks a finger at me as she leaves the kitchen. I follow her up the stairs to my room, "April, I took you at your word," she opens my bedroom door, "We've made some changes."

  Chapter 3

  My room no longer exists. It's been turned into a functional real estate broker's office
with a massive L-shaped executive oak desk dominating the left side of the room. Multiple oak built-in bookshelves form the back and right walls. An old-school drafting table and stool stand next to the leather loveseat opposite the desk. There's enough electronic equipment and flat-screen monitors mounted on the walls to make the CIA envious.

  "Oh," I whisper. It comes to mind that I haven't been home since the day of Susan's wedding and that was four months ago.

  "Yeah. I don't think we're moving all that."

  "Downstairs?"

  "Dusty and all of his equipment. Don't even ask about the guest bedroom. Chase knocked out the separating wall between it and his room two months ago."

  "I wasn't expecting this."

  Mama’s eyes open wider, "Wait. I just thought about something."

  She turns and leaves her office, formerly known as April's room, and quick steps down the stairs. I follow her through the kitchen and out the sliding backdoor toward the boat dock.

  I understand as we reach the brick stairs, "Oh, Mama. I can't stay in the old party room."

  "Why not?" She asks.

  "Its spooky out here and that old party room has some of the largest kamikaze camel crickets known to mankind."

  "Nonsense. Crickets never hurt anyone." She opens the door and flips the light switch. The old fluorescent lights hiss and blink as they struggle to life. The harsh blue glow illuminates long discarded fishing poles, blow up rafts and life jackets. "This looks big enough for your furniture."

  "It smells like mildew." I crinkle my nose.

  "It's nothing some bleach and pine sol won't cure." She turns to me, and her smile is self-congratulatory. "This will be a nice bachelorette pad if I do say so myself."

  I sigh. There's no arguing with Mama once she feels she has a suitable solution to something.

  "We'll get the boys to help clear out the clutter after dinner. You and I'll bleach the floors and walls, and once it dries tomorrow night, get the boys to move your furniture inside. We'll pull your truck and trailer into the boat garage tonight in case we have some weather."

  My lungs are burning, and every muscle in my body is spent eight hours later when I step into the shower. I lean against the tile wall as the scalding water blast years of dust and unidentified grime off my body.