Today we get a sneak peek of author Martin Crosbie’s novel, My Temporary Life:
Malcolm Stewart’s strength was forged during harsh childhood days—ugly days when he faced down schoolyard bullies and endured the neglect of a promiscuous mother. It is a strength that he has wielded to defend himself and his friends.
Yet those years and traumas have taken their toll. Somewhere along the way, Malcolm Stewart lost his love of life.
That changes the day when beautiful, tempestuous Heather enters his world. He feels the stirrings of something long dormant. And when he learns of Heather’s own abusive childhood—and the daughter that she was forced to leave behind—Malcolm knows one thing: he must help Heather get her little girl back.
And now, from My Temporary Life:
I talk to Jo, all the while watching the green-haired woman, moving, almost dancelike, as she enjoys the conversations from three different groups at the same time. I marvel at how someone can be so comfortable with themselves, while wearing heavy boots, and having green hair, on a summer day at her boss’s home.
Terry is performing of course. He has a group of serious younger people, and a couple of his other friends around him, and is using words that I don’t understand. He’s talking about computer speeds, and an aircraft that he wants to buy, and a trip that Jo and he will take later in the year. I’m amazed how some men can have so much knowledge of stuff, just stuff. How they can remember all the model numbers and brand names. I know numbers. I can tell you the phone number of almost anyone I know. I can tell you the social insurance numbers, and net earnings of most of my regular clients, but I can’t tell you the brand name of my television or computer.
“You were staring at me earlier. Why was that?” She’s behind me. I took my eyes from her for only a moment, and she must have crossed the pool area and come over to where I’m standing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my face instantly turns red.
“I was wondering if you were warm, standing in the sun, wearing those boots.” I turn slowly to her, hoping to blame my red face on the warm sun, trying to look down at her boots and avoid her gaze.
“You’re blushing,” she giggles, and laughs. The sun excuse isn’t going to work. “No, don’t look away. It’s cute. It’s like you’re a little boy.”
“I’m thirty-four, being a little boy was a long time ago.” All of a sudden, I notice her eyes for the first time, “Oh my goodness your eyes are lovely. They’re so blue.” I say it, but not in a flirtatious manner. They really are blue, really, really blue.
“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about your red face, and thank you, they sometimes change colour, depending on the weather. You dress like a banker. Are you a banker?”
“Accountant,” I reply. She laughs again, but not maliciously. When she laughs, her eyes sparkle, and there’s a half dimple on her left cheek. Her laugh is warm. I like this girl.[subscribe2]