Memories of May

  Memories of May

  Juliet Madison

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Memories of May

  Juliet Madison

  They say that truth is stranger than fiction, but in Tarrin’s Bay, she’s about to find that love is stronger than time…

  By day, single mother Olivia Chevalier runs the family’s bookstore and raises her nine-year-old daughter. By night, she escapes into a world of fiction where there is excitement, romance, and happy endings.

  Both of her roles are endlessly rewarding, but Olivia’s life has not been without challenges, hard work, and disappointment. So when enigmatic travel writer Joel Foster walks into her bookstore – and her life – with his mantras of trying new things and taking risks, Olivia knows that nothing will change.

  But when a family dilemma surfaces, Olivia is compelled to enroll in Joel’s writing course to tell the story of her grandmother’s life. With each new day and each new page, Olivia discovers secrets about her family and truths about herself, and finds herself yearning to rewrite the story she has planned and seek a life as intriguing as fiction.

  About the author

  Juliet Madison is an Australian bestselling and award-nominated author of fiction in multiple genres, an inspirational colouring book artist, and a self-empowerment and writing coach.

  With her background as a naturopath and a dancer, Juliet is passionate about health, fitness, and living a positive life. She likes to combine her love of words, art, and inspiration to create books that entertain and empower readers to love, laugh, and live.

  Juliet lives on the picturesque south coast of NSW, Australia, where she spends as much time as possible writing books and as little time as possible doing housework. She is represented by literary agent Joelle Delbourgo, and can be found online at her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/JulietMadisonAuthor

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/juliet_madison

  And website: www.julietmadison.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Kate Cuthbert, Escape Publishing, and Harlequin Australia for supporting my Tarrin’s Bay series, and my editor Belinda Holmes for helping me polish up these books before publication and making editing fun.

  Thanks to the readers and reviewers who support my books and especially this series, I hope you enjoy the latest new beginning.

  To my critique partners, Alli and Diane, thanks for your help with brainstorming as I worked out the plot of this story. To Ruth, thank you for helping me with the Ducati motorbike information for one of the scenes, and for being a great friend. And to the person I shared a real life #hashtagconversation with, thanks for inspiring one of the scenes!

  To Cassie and James at Coffee Guru Kiama, thanks again for letting me set up office and write my books.

  And thanks always to my son, my family, my loved ones and my friends for their support as I live my dream career.

  To Nanna and Bunny, the two best grandmothers anyone could ask for.

  Thanks for the memories.

  Contents

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue: The following May …

  Chapter 1

  If Olivia Chevalier’s head hadn’t been stuck in a book, she would have noticed a lookalike of the gorgeous fictional man she was reading about entering her bookstore. She also would have noticed him do a double take on spotting her seated behind the counter, and his hesitation as he picked up a random book from the display table then put it back down again. But the first she saw of him was his hand, on her counter, a pile of brochures grasped between rugged, masculine fingers. Her line of sight trailed up the mountainous curvature of his loose-shirt-enclosed arm and shoulder, his thick, tanned neck, and to his face; peppered with stubble and sporting a casual, curious smile. Her eyebrows sprung up and she closed her book with a snap. ‘Hi. How can I help you?’

  ‘Hi.’ He scratched his chin. ‘I was wondering if I could leave these here?’ He gestured to the brochures. ‘Sorry, I should introduce myself first. I’m Joel Foster.’ His hand released the brochures and invited her hand as a replacement. As she moved her hand towards his, her casual assistant Marcus dropped a pile of books, then his head poked out from behind the end of the cooking section, his eyebrows arched high.

  ‘All good!’ Marcus gave a thumbs-up sign then disappeared behind the wooden shelves.

  Olivia accepted Joel’s firm handshake and met his ocean-blue eyes with her rainforest-green ones. ‘Olivia Chevalier.’ She looked down at the offering, noticing his photo on the brochure; a natural-looking headshot with an outdoor, rocky background.

  ‘That’s a lot of syllables,’ he said.

  She looked up with her brow furrowed. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your name,’ he elaborated. ‘Ol-iv-i-a Chev-al-i-er. Eight syllables.’ He smiled. ‘Compared to my pathetic total of three.’

  She tilted her head and smiled with curiosity at the intriguing man. ‘I wasn’t aware that the number of syllables in one’s name equated to their level of …’ She glanced to the side as though the elusive adjective would appear. Non-patheticness? ‘Level of …’

  ‘Awesomeness?’

  Her smile tickled her lips and became a chuckle. ‘Well if you say so, I’m happy to accept that.’

  His grin widened. ‘You know, I didn’t even know what a syllable was until …’ he glanced upward, ‘I don’t know exactly, but sometime far later than someone should learn such a term.’

  She glanced at the brochure and scanned the words. Tell your own story … turn your memories to memoir … learn from bestselling author Joel Foster …

  ‘But you’re an author.’

  ‘Apparently,’ he replied with a bashful smile. ‘But really I just relayed my story of what happened to me, and a wonderful creature known as an editor helped make it understandable and readable.’ He drummed his fingers on the counter. ‘Dyslexia was my companion all through school, and there was a lot I missed, with that and the sporting priorities I had. It’s better than before, but I’m still not the best with words.’ He held out his hands to the side and shrugged.

  ‘You’re doing pretty well right now though,’ she said, amused by his chattering.

  ‘Speaking words, yes, no prob. Reading and writing the words? Not as good.’

  Olivia nodded. ‘My daughter had some trouble learning to read, but now she can’t stop. Once she got the hang of it, she couldn’t get enough. Makes my nights easier now that she wants to read by herself.’

  Why am I telling him this?

  ‘I bet she likes having a mum who works in a bookstore then.’ He smiled. ‘Or … runs a bookstore? Owns a bookstore?’ He eyed her with a subtle tilt of his head.

  ‘I’m the manager, and part owner. I share ownership with my mother and grandmother.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘family business huh? Nice.’

  ‘It is. My grandma did a
wonderful job setting up the store when she was young, despite her hardships.’

  ‘How long has the store been running?’

  ‘Around sixty years.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yep. And if my daughter maintains her love of books, maybe she’ll take over one day and keep it running another sixty years!’

  ‘What a great piece of history to have as a family legacy.’ He held her gaze with genuine admiration. ‘I’ve never been able to stick with anything for sixty days, let alone the idea of sixty years.’

  Olivia glanced back at the brochure, which she had yet to peruse properly. Ahh … now she realised who he was. The author of One More Breath, bestselling memoir about a wilderness survival experience.

  ‘You stuck with writing a book. Apparently,’ she said with a corner of a smile. ‘I’d say that takes a lot of …’ The elusiveness of words affected her again. ‘A lot of …’ Stickability?

  ‘Commitment?’ he suggested.

  She held up her finger. ‘Yes, was on the tip of my tongue!’

  ‘So, so far we’ve established that I have demonstrated commitment for one thing and you have overall awesomeness, on account of your …’ He rotated his hand in circles.

  ‘My eight-syllable name.’

  ‘Yes.’ He pointed towards her. ‘Was on the tip of my tongue.’ He winked.

  They both smiled at the same time. ‘I need to order more copies of your book, by the way; it’s sold out. Otherwise I’d get you to sign them.’

  ‘No problem, let me know when you have stock and I’ll pop back in.’ He tapped on the brochures. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you, and I have a meeting to get to. I’m visiting town to teach a course for the next six weeks. If I can write a book, anyone can. So I’ll be teaching what I’ve learned about the process. There are a few places left. I thought you might know some people who might be interested, possibly some of your customers?’

  She fanned the brochures out on the glossy wooden countertop. ‘Sure. I mean, I’ll ask around. No problem with leaving these here.’

  ‘Thank you, I really appreciate it. And I’ll be sure to recommend your store to my students for any books they may need for research.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  Ideas swirled in Olivia’s mind. Long forgotten ideas and memories, and hopes and plans that had been buried beneath the weight of responsibilities and day-to-day living. As Joel turned to exit the store, she opened her mouth. ‘A quick question.’

  He turned back as he ran a hand through his sandy hair.

  ‘Is the course only for people writing their own real life stories?’

  ‘Generally speaking. But it could also help people wanting to record memories or stories from their family history, for example. Why do you ask?’ He approached her again.

  ‘My grandma. She has some great stories from her life, and how she built this business from the ground up. I’ve always told her that one day I would have to put them all in a book.’

  Joel smiled and nodded. ‘Then maybe I’ll see you at the class.’

  Olivia flicked her hand. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t have much time to write, let alone do a class. Maybe one day.’

  ‘Fair enough. But if you change your mind, let me know before those places all fill up.’ He gestured to the brochures on the counter and as his eyebrows rose, the furrows in his forehead deepened into intriguing lines.

  ‘I will. Thanks.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Olivia the Awesome with eight syllables.’

  Her face flushed with warmth. ‘You too, Joel with …’ She’d forgotten his surname and had to discreetly eye the brochures. Foster. ‘Three syllables.’

  He grinned and turned, giving a wave on his way out the door.

  Hmm. Nice guy. There might be some customers who could be interested … Mr Donovan is always spinning a yarn when he comes in once a month to buy a new thriller. And then there’s that young bookaholic dude who loves the paranormals who learned to walk again after a shark attack, not to mention April’s amazing journey after her car accident, and then there’s Sylvia Greene who’d been reunited with her biological daughter eighteen years later. They all had stories to tell. Oh, and what about …

  ‘One day?’ Marcus shoved his face in front of her at the counter, snapping her out of her thoughts. ‘What’s this one day business? You’re always saying that, and one day never seems to come.’ He scolded her with his disapproving glare. ‘And that was Joel Foster! Damn, I should have asked for his autograph.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t have time for things like that.’ Olivia folded her arms across her chest, her usual response when well-meaning people tried to tell her what to do with her life. ‘One day means when Mia is older and I have more time.’

  ‘Meanwhile, you miss opportunities to live your own life more fully.’

  ‘Mia needs me, I’m all she has. I mean, as far as parents go. I want to do the best for her.’

  ‘And you already are, but don’t forget about yourself.’ He picked up one of the brochures and sighed at Joel’s picture. ‘Plus he’s super hot. Looks a bit like Scott Eastwood with that sexy furrowed brow. And I’m pretty sure he’s straight, and single, you lucky thing.’

  ‘Marcus!’ Olivia whacked her employee with one of the brochures, then glanced at the image of Joel who now had a diagonal paper crease across his face. Oops. ‘Are you going to appraise every straight and single-looking guy who comes in here for potential date material? I’m not even looking for someone, I’m—’

  ‘Too busy, I know.’ He placed the brochure back down. ‘Okay, forget about that, but didn’t you say you wanted to write a book about Mrs May?’

  She shrugged. ‘When the time is right.’

  Marcus stared unblinking at her. ‘Ten years from now? Joel Foster is teaching a course here in Tarrin’s Bay, and it’s not the right time? Think about it. What a great opportunity.’

  ‘I need to place an order and make some calls to customers,’ Olivia said, checking the list of special orders that had come in.

  Marcus held his hands up in defeat. ‘Back to work I go then.’

  Olivia read the words on the computer screen but her brain didn’t register them. Instead she thought about all those ‘one day’ things she hadn’t yet done.

  Buy a house … one day, when she could afford to break free of the rent cycle.

  Take Mia on an exciting holiday … one day, see aforementioned reason.

  Write her grandma’s book … one day, when she could find time for writing.

  Meet a man who wouldn’t run off from fear of too much responsibility … one day.

  Maybe.

  She wasn’t quite sure if a man like that existed.

  Chapter 2

  If Olivia hadn’t accidentally left her phone in the car when taking Mia into her classroom the next morning, she would have heard the chirping birds ringtone of her mother’s phone call. And if she hadn’t needed to help her daughter carry the cardboard solar system model she’d been up until 11 pm fixing, after Mia’s enthusiastic ‘ice-skating’ in socks on the kitchen floor had knocked over the model and squashed it when she landed on it, she would have heard it ring a second time. Instead, she saw two missed calls and one message on her phone when she finally checked it on arriving at work.

  ‘Mum?’ she spoke urgently into the phone after checking voicemail. ‘Is Grandma okay?’

  ‘She’s stable now, but once her tests are completed and she’s okay for transport, they’ll move her into the high-dependency facility of the nursing home.’

  Olivia’s shoulders sunk. ‘She’s going to hate that. She loved her semi-independent room.’

  ‘I know, but she’s not getting any younger, and this stroke was more significant than the minor one she had at Christmas. She’ll get round-the-clock care there.’

  And it’ll be the last place she ever lives …

  Mrs May Chevalier was known as Mrs May by the locals and Mia, who’d had trouble sa
ying ‘great-grandma’ when she was little, so Mrs May had become the easier option. At almost ninety, Mrs May had stubbornly refused to go into the nursing home proper, and was adamant about living the rest of her life in her cute little semi-apartment attached to it.

  ‘When can I see her? Should I get Marcus to watch the store and come now?’

  ‘No, they’re busy doing tests and she needs to rest. I’ll check in this afternoon and see if we’re able to visit with Mia after you’ve finished work.’

  ‘Okay, let me know.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Olivia ended the call and opened up the store, sadness filling her heart as she switched on the lights that somehow weren’t as bright without her grandma there. It’d been ages since her grandma had anything to do with running the store, but she’d often come in to hang around and chat to the customers. The little kids loved her. She used to read to them in the back corner of the kids’ section in her old-fashioned velvet armchair that still sat tall and proud, as it had for so many years.

  Olivia wandered to the back of the store, trying to imagine her grandma seated there; smiling, comfortable, and at home as though the armchair was an extension of her body. Colourful children’s books framed the walls, each bursting with delicious adventures for the young and young at heart. The small alcove of the kids’ section had a secure, cosy feel, as though the walls and books embraced each person who entered and beckoned them to discover amazing journeys and secrets.

  The armchair creaked softly as she sat on the firm velvet padding and slid her hands down the sculpted armrests. Goosebumps prickled her skin as tiny fibres of the velvet fabric that was wrapped around the dark wood tickled her skin and triggered memories of sitting there on her grandma’s lap as she read to her. Olivia was glad Mia had been able to experience the same magic of Mrs May’s armchair several years ago, before it became difficult for her grandma to come into the store. Mia would climb eagerly onto Mrs May’s lap and Olivia had to remind her to be gentle with her great-grandmother’s frail bones.