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    Homeless: The Dollmaker's Web
    Homeless: The Dollmaker's Web
    Homeless: The Dollmaker's Web
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Homeless: The Dollmaker's Web

    By J. Keck

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    About this ebook

    Two young women, tortured by their past--and now the present--latch onto Evan, an interning therapist.
    Jennifer and Ruth make for intense relationships that will test Evan both professionally and personally.
    This novella is a compelling psychological thriller that will keep the reader guessing until the last few pages.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMay 25, 2012
    ISBN9780985032395
    Homeless: The Dollmaker's Web

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      Book preview

      Homeless - J. Keck

      HOMELESS

      THE DOLLMAKER’S WEB

      A Novella

      J. KECK

      Other works by J. Keck:

      The Big House - Story of a Southern Family

      Volumes 1 and 2

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or resemblance to events or locales is entirely coincidental.

      Copyright ©2012 J. Keck

      Copyright registered with the Library of Congress

      All rights reserved

      Cover Illustration by Riley Dickens

      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise–other than for ‘fair use’ as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews–without prior permission of the publisher.

      For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed:

      Attention: Permissions Coordinator

      at www.jkeck.com.

      This publication is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form or finding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

      Paperback ISBN-13:  978-0-9850323-6-4

            ISBN-10:  0985032367

      E-book ISBN:  978-0-9850323-9-5

      www.jkeck.com

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedicated to
      My Family and Friends

      CHAPTER ONE

      Thursday, February 2

      The flight from Switzerland to L.A. arrived late in the morning. I had just enough time after customs and baggage, the drive home, and a change of clothes to get to the clinic for my first appointment. I was an intern counseling people in the mid-1980s.

      A woman in her late twenties came into the building at the end of the day and asked to speak with someone, anyone. Because I was the only one there to talk with, Jennifer was soon sitting across from me. Blonde and lean, with blue eyes that moved back and forth anxiously, she didn’t wait for me to ask the first question—she lurched forward.

      I left my husband and children for another . . . woman!

      She paused slightly, then declared, I told Todd about Joan. The next day, he told my dad and his own family. She sank back into the chair and closed her eyes. Breathing out, she said softly, His family told others and pretty soon, the whole town knew. That’s just the way it is back there.

      Jennifer looked up and gazed vacantly at the ceiling for a time. A sound outside the door evidently reminded her of where she was. She focused back on me and sighed, None of ’em want anything to do with me. So, I left. I left town with her.

      At that moment, she looked desperate, alone and out of place, huddled in the old, overstuffed chair that had been donated either by someone or—more likely—by the nearby thrift store.

      She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, then opened them slowly and added, The town’s really small, less than 500 folks. A couple of churches, a bank, a school and a few shops. Oh, yeah, she hesitated, there’s a bar named The Firewater Saloon, where a lot of the ranch hands hang out. Joan thought the name was ‘corny,’ but then, she didn’t much like the town or the townspeople. I guess, you’d say . . . well, she just sort of tolerated us.

      Sounds like that kind of hurt your feelings?

      Caught up in telling her story, Jennifer hurried along. "Anyway, she was just visitin’ one of her relatives. We met one day at the general store in town. We spent part of the summer getting to know each other. She started to come out to the ranch and have dinner with us. After a while, she’d stay overnight. Then it wasn’t long before she’d be there for days at a time. Finally, it just happened.

      "You know, it just happened," she repeated, looking at me searchingly.

      The two of you became lovers, I said matter-of-factly.

      Uh huh. She looked down and began to twist the button on her faded shirt. Dressed in blue jeans, she came from the flatlands of southern Colorado at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She had the wholesome good looks and simple, direct demeanor of people from the ranchlands of the West.

      I waited, giving Jennifer the time she needed to know she had been heard and understood. Her gaze returned to me ever so slightly, and I wondered to myself if she were trying to assess if it was safe, or even worthwhile, to continue speaking with me—a man.

      She comes from California, Jennifer started, even though she’s got some family in Colorado. She comes from California, she said, repeating herself. Big difference, shaking her head. "There’s a real big difference. Californians are friendly and all, but not really to be counted on. They’ll say one thing and mean another. You find that out soon enough.

      When I came home yesterday, my suitcase was on the doorstep. A scrap of paper was taped to the side. She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a note and read it. I’m not in love with you anymore. You need to go. Sorry, Joan

      She waited, seemingly collecting her thoughts, then she said absently, ‘Sorry’. That’s all!? That’s all she wrote . . . just ‘sorry’. Jennifer’s chest heaved once. She caught her breath; she appeared to stifle the need to cry.

      I have nowhere to go. No one—just no one—wants me.

      You said your husband told your dad, but maybe—

      No! she interrupted. My mom died when I was fifteen. Cancer. Then it was just me and him, my dad, out on the ranch. Jennifer shook her head adamantly. No, that jus’ won’t work. Anyway, my husband, he’s there, too. And, he’s got the kids.

      Your children, what are their names?

      I have three of ’em, all boys. Jamie, the youngest, he’s three; William’s five; and Michael, he’s the oldest at seven.

      With the mention of Michael’s name, I saw Jennifer’s expression change. It softened and she seemed to become almost reflective. Michael, he’s your first—the oldest? I asked.

      Yeah. I missed his birthday last week. I sent a card, but I don’t know if he’ll even get it. We were always very close. I hope— Jennifer stopped.

      "Well, like I said, we all lived with him—my dad—out there. My husband had a part-time job in town and also worked on the ranch. Before that, before I was married, I used to work with my dad and take care of the house. Once I had the kids,

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