Still Waters

excerpt

Chapter Eleven
“I missed you.” Dr. Cam Tournquist stood in the doorway to the
instrument room and watched Tyne assemble and wrap a laparotomy
set for sterilization. “How long were you gone, anyway? Two
months?”
Tyne laughed. “You know it was only two weeks … twelve days to
be exact. So you couldn’t have had time to miss me that much.” He
looked more handsome than ever, even in his OR greens and cap, an
ensemble not noted for enhancing one’s appearance.
“And did you enjoy sleeping on the ground, and eating cold beans
out of a can?”
“We didn’t do either of those things. We slept on wonderfully comfortable
air mattresses in cozy sleeping bags. We hiked for hours, and
explored every stream and river and mountain crevasse we could
find.”
Cam grinned. “And you didn’t get et by a bear?”
“No, silly, we didn’t get et by a bear. We didn’t even see one.” Tyne
wrote on a piece of masking tape, placed the label on the wrapped
instrument set, then carried the bundle to a cart filled with similar
bundles. “And we ate like kings, I’ll have you know. Bacon and eggs
cooked over an open fire … baked potatoes done to a turn in the coals,
and slathered with butter … steaks smothered in onions and ….”
Cam held up a hand. “Stop, please. Not only are you making me
fear for your arteries, but you’re making me hungry as well. Which
brings up my next question. Are you free for dinner tonight, Miss
Milligan?”
She gave him her most winsome smile. “As free as I’ll ever be, Doctor.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Poodie James

excerpt

WINIFRED STONE’S NETWORK included
dirt farmers in the flatlands beyond the
valley, legislators in Olympia and
Washington, a potline stripper from
the aluminum plant downriver, ministers,
a priest, the town’s only rabbi, orchardists, pickers, packers,
school teachers, all three of the town’s cab drivers, her bridge club,
the pro at the golf course and Ralph Gritzinger, who in the course
of a year talked with nearly everyone in the valley when they
bought groceries at his market. Her contacts did not include Angie
Karn.
“My word, Mrs. Karn,” she said into the telephone, “I don’t
believe that we have ever spoken.”
“I guess you wouldn’t expect to hear from me, Mrs. Stone, seein’
that Ted and I ain’t exactly in a business you approve of.”
Winifred heard the tremble in the woman’s voice and paused.
“Restaurants are necessary, Mrs. Karn.”
“You can call me Angie. Everybody does.”
“Very well, Angie. You may call me Winifred.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could do that.”
“Please.”
“Well, here’s why I’m callin’. It’s about Poodie. You know,
Poodie James, the little man with the wagon? The deaf one? He
pulls that wagon all the way down here sometimes and gets old
papers and magazines. I give him a few empties now and then too,
but I don’t tell Ted. We’re supposed to turn ’em back to the beer…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

Life around Ken is never uncomplicated. The advent of a family forced
him to attempt to fit into a more conventional lifestyle. Businesses were
started and failed; the northern project took a back seat to the necessary
pursuit of a career in art, but ultimately the unfulfilled promise to the
Inuit grandmother would not be denied. Helen chose to remove Michael
to Toronto where she felt the boy would have a more normal family life
near to her parents, and the failure of his marriage was one of the toughest
things Ken had to deal with. He loved his son, and he spent as much time as
possible visiting Michael. Once they were no longer living together, but still
connected through the bond of their son, his relationship with Helen became
less acrimonious. Michael’s proximity was one of the major reasons Ken
chose to leave Vancouver and pursue his lifework, Isumataq, in Toronto.
Throughout his years in thrall to the creation of this record-breaking
painting and public relations masterpiece, there were various women
who moved into Ken’s life for a time. In every case they were physically
attractive, strong-minded, professional women who were drawn to his
hectic lifestyle and high-profile image by the very things that ultimately
destroyed the relationships. So often, what started in a collegial manner
ended in competition.
Ken and Karen met on a junket to the Arctic—part of a promotional
event he orchestrated to create greater awareness of the northland amongst
the professional echelon in Toronto. She was married but travelling alone;
a high level lawyer with a golden future. She was nearly as fascinated with
the north as she was with Ken and by the end of the tour had made up
her mind to leave her husband and move forward with Ken. She seemed
to understand his drive without being threatened by the project, and Ken
believed he’d found his long yearned for soulmate.
They’d been together a handful of years as the Isumataq project came
to a close. Karen then expressed her wish to practice Environmental Law
in British Columbia, and even before they moved to Vancouver, Ken called
in favours and introduced her to the people in the positions to ease her
way into the tightly knit legal circles on the West Coast. The first hint of
anything amiss arose when Karen appeared blindly and arrogantly certain
that the BC Bar would present no obstacles to her entry, seeming to dismiss
the provincial standards as much lower than those of Toronto the Good.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

The Incidentals

Shepherd
Old Manousos, the back
in a day young shepherd boy
upon the mountains of Sfakia,
proudly stood in his pew
while the priest read the Gospel
and the chanters sang
Christ is Risen and he
always with reverence
bowed his head
old Manousos with his snow
white hair thinned by the years
with his strong belief that
he too, a descendant of
the Minoans, would one day
rise and go meet his
predecessors in Heaven
especially his most glorious
great grandfather Minos
his primeval ancestor
until the night came when Hades
paid a visit to him and his
pew became an orphan, none
of the villagers dared stand
in his spot, none ever learned
whether old Manousos met his
relatives, especially his great
Grandfather Minos, none ever
stood at his beloved pew when
one time during the Christ is Risen
eulogy his buddy Kostas put
his thin hair on fire to
the congregation’s amusement,
such tricks were very common
in the church and to the father
Theodosios who’d smile vaguely
and keep slowly chanting
the appropriate Easter psalm

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763637