Throwing caution, p.1
Throwing Caution, page 1
Table of Contents
Throwing Caution
Throwing Caution
Kelli Jae Baeli
Lesbian Literati Press
Eureka Springs, AR
Throwing Caution
Minocqua Trilogy #1
© 2015 Kelli Jae Baeli
Typography, Editing, Cover Design & Creation
© 2015 Kelli Jae Baeli
The Biggest Room and Too Far(lyrics) ©Kelli Jae Baeli
AuthorKJB@gmail.com
Twitter @KelliJaeBaeli
https://www.facebook.com/kellijaebaeli
http://kellijaebaeli.com
Publisher: Lesbian Literati Press
Digital ISBN: 9781310505034
ISBN-13: 978-1516995127
ISBN-10: 1516995120
Digital Publication: 17Aug2015
Print Publication: 27Aug2015
License Notes
The right of Kelli Jae Baeli to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced (no cloning either) or transmitted in any form or by any means, to include satellite transmission, Binary Coding, Immaculate Conception, or Vulcan Mind-Meld, without the permission in writing from the publisher, Lesbian Literati Press. Reviewers may, however, quote short passages as long as they are saying something nice.
This is a work of both fiction and non-fiction. We will leave it up to the reader to discern which is which. All events, locations, institutions, themes, persons, characters and plot are completely fictional, except when they are not. Any resemblance to places, persons, Humanoids, Zombies, Aliens, Primordial Ooze or other versions of Right-Wing Conservatives or religious zealots, living or deceased, means the author has accomplished her goal. Please have pop-up wipes nearby so you won't make the pages stick together.
Summary:
Phobic writer Jade Winslow flew across an ocean and most of the US just to be with the woman of her dreams, Psychologist and novelist, Petra Davis. But their first encounter is threatened by the bitterness of a vengeful heart. As a snowfront moves in to strand them in a cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin, Jade and Petra will use all their literary plotting abilities to outsmart a stranger with a plan.
Classification:
1. Fiction-Lesbian 2. Erotica-Lesbian. 3. Mystery-Fiction. 4. Women Authors-Fiction
Created and Printed in the United States of America
Where we can freely create and print things.
Real connection (and if it's LOVE, then real love) goes beyond those not-so-perfect and superficial and idiosyncratic things that simply make us individuals. The trust and longevity of a relationship between two individuals is established through time and learning each other, and discovering a harmony at the core of their connection. And it becomes powerful because of where it resides—at the center of who we are—the very essence of our being.
~Kelli Jae Baeli
Baelihoo
To the love of my life, the joy in my heart, the hope in my future, my darling Little Buddha, Melissa. Thank you for throwing caution to the wind.
You Can't Take it With You
1
It had been three months of limbo existence in an apartment that was little more than a storage room. So much had changed. Originally, she had rented it thinking she would save the extra money from the cheaper rent to repair her credit woes, left by the disastrous relationship the year before, so that she could find a condo to buy and live out the rest of her days in inevitable loneliness. Accepting the cards she had been dealt in this life. She was too much the anomaly, apparently, to enjoy a normal, healthy relationship.
Her journey through the lesbian dating scene had left Jade Winslow with little hope of finding a compatible partner to share her life with. Even though she suspected that the issue was the proliferation of damaged women, she had still been unsuccessful in finding those who were not damaged, but also compatible with her, an introvert, and more specifically, an HSP with the obligatory Sensory Processing Sensitivity. Perhaps it was a blessing to be this way when it came to writing heartfelt novels, but it was a bitch to live with in your personal life.
Added to that, were her high standards, and unique needs. And now, with the loss of her best friend of 11 years as well, Jade had resigned to her fate, even while knowing on some level that she would never be happy alone, no matter how many vision boards she made, or affirmations she chanted, nor how many times she told herself that writing all night and sleeping all day with interruptions of incessant television, would be enough of a life to sustain her. She could only live vicariously through television characters and the characters she created in her novels so long, before the abject sadness took over.
Jade had hoped the new apartment in a new place, would provide peace and quiet, and more expendable income, but found that it was not at all to be that way. That place had turned out to be a dump, with an outdated swamp cooler on the roof that did little more than blow less-hot air into the apartment to stave off the blistering hotness of the summer air inside. She'd only enjoyed two months of milder weather before fate stepped in to remind her that things could always change again, and in ways you could never anticipate.
The most recent change had led her to this place of extremes. A place where she would have to see everything differently; where she would learn to let go. This life had to be over. It just had to be.
So she ferreted through all the things she had carried around with her, throwing most of it away. All the old love notes, cards, scrapbooks, papers, stories she had started back when she still wrote things out longhand or on a typewriter, but had never transferred to digital media. These things didn't matter. They were just weighing her down, and she didn't want to leave anything behind. She had already packed and donated so many things. Sold a few for the money she'd need to make this last journey. Jade wanted to walk out of this place when it was empty. She knew she would not be coming back.
Riding in the back of the taxi, she watched the Hawaiian scenery whiz by. The banana and Banyan trees, the traffic, the city lights. Though it had become her nemesis, there was still beauty to be had. She wanted to burn the images in her brain. She would not be seeing it again.
Vaguely, she sensed an insect of anxiety in her consciousness. Not the stress of what was to come, this was something else. Something cloying, and perhaps previously insignificant, but somehow present in her mind, niggling at her brain.
This happened to Jade a lot. Quite like the sensation you have forgotten something, but can't retrieve an image in your mind, of what it is. It's dangling on that synaptic space between neurons, almost intact but just mysterious enough to distract attention on a continuous basis. Something was…missing.
As she paid the cabbie and got out, she stood on the sidewalk and considered this feeble minutia at the edge of her perception. She heard a grinding sound, and the clinking of something like metal chimes. Turning, she saw the man pushing the laden cart, his hands guiding it along as the wheels groused at the concrete. The jingle sound came from his hip, where he had attached a large ring of keys.
That's what was missing. Keys. My keys.
Everyday objects which had become so familiar; their absence reduced and diluted into a vague emotional response to a void, no matter how small. She was moving through another moment near the terminus of her life, and perhaps for the first time, that journey was being made without keys. She had no more locks to open.
It had begun with the removal of the two keys color coded with little plastic caps, so she'd know at a glance which was the door key, which the key to the mailbox…and the key to her car.
She would not be unlocking and entering that place again. She would not be checking the mail, because there would soon be no mail delivered. All remnants of postal communication would soon be stamped return to sender. Those keys gone, she had realized what was left on the ring. Not keys to friend's houses, or vacation houses, or other mechanical vehicles belonging to a spouse or a newly licensed teenager. No key to a safe deposit box, for she had nothing of value to sequester there. And since she had sold her beloved SUV, the key to that was gone as well.
There was nothing left of her passage in this life but the silver ring itself and the tiny utility tool attached. A device that helped her to feel powerful for its ability to solve unexpected problems; neatly folded in on itself in an unobtrusive manner. It was technically to be considered a weapon, as it had expandable portions with sharp blades. So she had removed it.
But then suddenly there was no tool, no keys, and so no key ring. She almost kept the carabiner that attached to the ring that held the keys…perhaps as a symbolic remnant of her life; a souvenir. But what would she need with a reminder of a life she was intent on leaving? The concept contained within the caveat, You can't take it with you was entirely appropriate.
So she had dropped the carabiner in the trash on top of all the other things she had thrown away; unnecessary items from a past and present rendered obsolete. It was unneeded, just like all the other things she had disposed of because she would not be needing them.
She was only a little frightened. The unkno wn is always daunting. But there would be no turning back. She knew that now. The primary emotion she felt as the automatic doors opened, was relief. Soon, her pain would trickle away. It would all be over.
Finally.
It's Just Water & Dirt
2
Fighting the paralysis of fear, Jade tried to focus on her own breath. In for the count of five, out, the count of five. Think about something else. Something good. The obvious selection being Petra. The release to be found in finality, and a decision made, against all advice to the contrary. This decision was based on facts. And on all the obvious signs of a solid relationship. The icing on the cake was that it also came with all those other gooey feelings.
But they had both discussed it. How neither of them wanted to begin a serious relationship based on brain chemicals and that giddy in-love feeling. They both wanted something more solid than the greeting card companies touted. Because when all was said and done, no amount of initial giddiness was going to serve them in the long-haul. Only compatibility and commonality and chemistry and commitment and communication were going to do that. The Five C's, Jade called them.
Each time she'd led with her heart, the results had been a disaster. This time, she was going with all the markers that made for a longterm relationship. If they also felt all those mushy sensations, then that would be icing on the cake. And, even now, they had their icing.
She wanted to send a text, tell Petra where she was, but she didn't have texting service in that part of Wisconsin. Nor phone service.
Honolulu International Airport was like a small city, but big enough to get lost in. And that's what Jade was: lost. She could not miss this flight. It was the flight of her life.
She hitched her backpack up higher on one shoulder, and tugged at the wheeled suitcase, cursing its missing wheel. That had happened only a few moments ago, while she was rushing in from the long term parking lot. Just what she needed. Another obstacle. Hadn't she had plenty of those to last a lifetime?
Studying the great signs of incoming and outbound flights, and various airlines, Jade noticed the sign was bigger than any house she had ever lived in.
Delta. Qantas. American.
NO.
United.
There.
There it is.
As she yanked her bag behind her again and half-sprinted down the corridor, she thought about the symbolism of boarding a plane run by United. That's exactly what was happening here. She was being united. Or, as they liked to call it Reunited. It felt as though they had known each other before. Jade wasn't big on the hooky spirituality crap, but she had to admit, this connection was unlike any other and seemed somehow cosmic. She had no other explanation except that Petra was the one she was supposed to be with. Even if it meant starting over with almost nothing.
So she resolutely lugged the carry-on bag with the broken wheel, and hugged the satchel to her side with its precious contents: her hard drives. The repository of her entire life, rendered in digital form. With her iPhone she had taken several thousand pictures of documents that had languished for years in her filing cabinets. She couldn't take it all with her, and photographing them and storing that data on her hard disk drives seemed the best option. The data sat secure next to all her writing files.
Her departure gate loomed just ahead, and an unexpected spark of joy leapt into her chest.
I don't do long distance relationships, she had said. Others had counseled, Never say never. What if Petra was the one? What if the one person meant for Jade just happened to live on the other side of the mainland? In a remote area? They would never have crossed paths without the modern-day connections offered by the Internet, so it seemed fated.
At least they weren't in other countries. But they may as well have been. Hawaii, while part of the fifty states, perched in the middle of the ocean. She had swallowed her fear once before, in moving there. She could swallow it again for a trip that might end in happiness. Finally.
So they were separated by an ocean and some land. People fly over oceans all the time. Some people do it for a living. So, why did it seem such a formidable obstacle between you and that person who could be the love of your life? What was it Petra had said? Yeah. It's just water. It's just dirt. Perhaps glib, coming from the one who wasn't winging her way to a life filled with everything new. But Jade had nothing to tie her down. She didn't own her own home. It was only fair that she be the one to make the trip.
Jade was now walking like a fish out of water. Feet without ground. The broken wheel on the suitcase was making it lurch to one side, and she had to continually right it. And it was making this horrid squeaking noise that reminded her of fingernails on a chalkboard. Not normally a big deal, but Jade was an HSP; a Highly Sensitive Person. The brain architecture she and around 20% of the human species were born with, meant that she had Sensory Processing Sensitivity. That caused her to be unusually affected by certain sounds, among other things.
She thought about her Xanax, sequestered in the prescription bottle in her bag. She needed one desperately, but she had to get on that plane and find her seat first. She soothed herself with the knowledge that she was going to meet someone who was easy-going and grounded. Petra's strengths appealed to Jade's weaknesses. Petra had weathered the storm of an abusive husband, and come out the other side more resilient. If she could get through that, a squeaky suitcase wheel would seem like nothing. So Jade would keep putting one foot in front of the other, swallow her fear, and focus on Petra. The woman to end all women.
When it was finally time to board, her entrance into first class was quite an experience. The plane's interior looked like a spaceship. A high-class spaceship. There were angled seats on either side of the aisle with their own console. Each one looked like the captain's chair in the Starship Enterprise.
As she continued further back to economy, the space got smaller, and the seats closer together. Two aisles split three seats on each side, and four seats wide in the center, making ten seats on each row. There were video modules on the backs of each chair, with personal headsets; by using the touchscreen, information could be had about the plane, the food that would be served, and the collection of music and video to watch in-flight.
Finally settling in her seat on the plane, she buckled the seatbelt, though the sign instructing her to do so had not dinged and illuminated. She wanted to be prepared. Anything could happen. The plane could be taking off, and she could be fumbling with the buckle and something could be wrong with it, and they could hit turbulence, and she could fall into the floor and bump her head. Not that there was room at all to fall on the floor. There was barely room down that way for her feet. So worse, the plane would shake, rattle and roll and she'd slither off her seat. And find herself wedged there. Stuck like an orange in a juicer, a blush surging to her face as she tried to get up.
The man wearing a sharp suit in the next seat would roll his eyes, summon the flight attendant and ask to be moved to another seat. It would be better to get knocked out. Yes, she'd be knocked out. Be carried off to some sick bay where she would be unconscious in front of strangers. Did planes have sick bays? she wondered. Or was she thinking of the Starship Enterprise? Well, she was boldly going where she had never gone before. And into space, the final frontier, no less.
Time to take another Xanax. Or get one of those cute little bottles of liquor. But they wouldn't be handing that stuff around until after takeoff, and she needed it in order to endure takeoff. So another magic pill, it would be. Just to get through the initial part, until they were in the air. Thirty thousand some-odd feet in the sky. She thought about that concept and shivered. A huge hunk of steel, weighing (she had read) 910,000 pounds. That was maximum take-off weight. She hoped they weighed everyone. Otherwise, she might have to push a chubby person out.
So, here would be this very heavy object just moving through mid-air. Somehow it seemed…well, just plain dangerous. Never mind that according to Fun Facts on the Boeing website, the plane had "six million parts, half of which are fasteners," and "was made of 147,000 pounds of high-strength aluminum." Aluminum. Like that stuff she pulled off a cardboard tube to cover her rotisserie chicken, and then could crinkle into a feeble little ball with her bare hands.
