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    Promises, Promises
    Promises, Promises
    Promises, Promises
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Promises, Promises

    By Laurel Osterkamp

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A tale of love, secrets, and broken promises....

    Sixteen years ago Robin spent her summer at an elite boarding school, sharing oxygen with secret society members and exploring the haunted cairns. Lonely, enigmatic Tristan was her only friend, but when tragedy struck, Robin shamefully abandoned Tristan to resume her safe, suburban life.

    Now Robin has a successful design business and a passionate relationship with her boyfriend, Nick. Yet when Tristan calls out of the blue, Robin decides to revisit a dangerous world of lies and ghosts.

    Will keeping her promise and helping her friend cause Robin to lose everything she holds dear?

    NOTE: This novella is a prequel to the full-length, standalone 2015 Kindle Scout Winner, The Standout, from award-winning author Laurel Osterkamp.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPMI Books
    Release dateMay 9, 2016
    ISBN9781933826097
    Promises, Promises

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      Book preview

      Promises, Promises - Laurel Osterkamp

      Promises, Promises

      a novella

      by

      Laurel Osterkamp

      PMI Books, Boulder, Colorado

      Promises, Promises

      a novella

      by

      Laurel Osterkamp

      Copyright © 2016 by Laurel Osterkamp

      Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

      Published by PMI Books

      Boulder, CO 80302

      http://www.pmibooks.com

      Distributed by Smashwords

      eISBN: 978-1-933826-09-7

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

      Discover other titles by Laurel Osterkamp

      and sign up for Laurel’s newsletter at

      http://www.laurelosterkamp.com

      Table of Contents

      Some Years Ago…

      Thursday, 5:30 PM

      Friday, 10:00 AM

      Friday, 5:15 PM

      Friday, 8:15 PM

      Sixteen Years Ago

      Sunday, 11:00 PM

      Monday, 10:00 AM

      Sixteen Years Ago

      Tuesday, 5:30 PM

      Sixteen Years Ago

      Wednesday, 5:00 PM

      Sixteen Years Ago

      Wednesday, 8:00 PM

      Wednesday, 11:30 PM

      Thursday, 7:30 AM

      Thursday, 8:45 AM

      Thursday, 9:00 PM

      Friday, 7:30 AM

      Friday, 6:30 PM

      Friday, 7:30 PM

      Saturday, 5:00 AM

      Saturday 6:45 PM

      Monday, 10:00 AM

      Some Years Ago

      Monday 6:15 PM

      Preview of The Standout

      About Laurel

      Some Years Ago…

      Coming here was a stupid idea, in the same way that falling in love was a stupid idea. No good could come but it seemed so right. As she stepped over stone after stone, the bottoms of her feet felt sore and bruised. Sort of like her heart.

      But she kept going, because somehow, she knew that one day she would die among these cairns, against these boulders, or perhaps in that rock chamber.

      Call it a feeling, but the feeling was strong, had teeth with a serious case of lockjaw, and there was no releasing it. So returning wasn’t actually stupid, though maybe it was a teeny bit suicidal. Still, she didn’t think she’d bite it here today: just someday. Someday, she would claim her fate in this spot and reinforce what everyone already knew, that misery is a part of life.

      These rocks, these chambers, this mysterious stone structure: one day, she’d be a part of their history.

      That was a promise.

      Thursday, 5:30 PM

      Rush-hour does exist in Des Moines and I hate being stuck in traffic. My plan was to leave my studio forty-five minutes ago and be home in time to do a few yoga stretches before making dinner—maybe some broccoli and chicken stir fry. I’ve been trying to cook more healthy meals lately.

      But at the rate that this meeting with Phil is going, I’ll be picking up takeout and skipping the yoga altogether.

      Explain this one to me, Phil says, pointing at one of my sketches. I can’t really envision it.

      It’s a camisole with a jacket, I explain. They wore them like that all the time. Don’t you remember?

      His face goes blank and I suppress a groan. You signed up for this, I tell myself, so I square my shoulders and go over the details one more time.

      A couple of weeks ago, on an afternoon when I got home in time to cook and do yoga, my boyfriend Nick walked through our front door, took off his flannel-lined jacket, kissed me by the piano that we’d crammed into our tiny entryway and said, What do you know about 1980s proms?

      Tons, I answered. "After all, I’ve seen every John Hughes film ever made, and Pretty in Pink changed my life."

      That’s not an exaggeration. In the movie, all the rich kids hate free-spirited Molly Ringwald because she can’t afford designer outfits from major department stores, so she gives secondhand clothes a facelift while she agonizes over prom. Watching this cinematic masterpiece shifted my fashion paradigm, and since then I’ve made a career out of upcycling thrift store finds into newer, more stylish creations. I sell my designs from my website, on Etsy, and out of my studio in the west end of Des Moines.

      Well, Nick countered, how would you feel about designing a 1980s prom-themed anniversary party for Phil?

      I sat down on the piano bench. You mean, Phil, as in your boss, Phil? I don’t know why I asked. We don’t know any other Phils besides the one who manages the real estate office where Nick works. Phil strikes me as the type of guy who enjoys being a stereotype because he requires donuts at all his morning meetings, laughs a little too loud at his own jokes, and slaps his employees a little too hard on the back.

      Yup. Nick sat next to me, brushed his graceful fingers over the piano keys, and gave me his signature, crooked smile. His twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up. He and his wife were high school sweethearts and they want you to recreate their prom.

      Do they know I came of age in the 90s?

      Nick shrugged. You’d be designing their outfits, and accessories for the guests to wear. I think you’d be great.

      I hate turning down work. I hate turning down Nick even more. Of course I said yes.

      So now Phil and I are at my studio and he is perched on one of my hand-painted stools, tottering ever so slightly as he gazes at the sketches I’ve spread across my work table. He nods his balding head, his brow furrowed and his thick neck threatening to burst through the necktie that’s around it. These look great. But is Daphne’s dress all set to go? You don’t need her measurements?

      I smile as if I’m giving him a playful punch in the shoulder, though I keep my hands to myself. Not unless she’s grown or has shrunk since you gave them to me last week.

      Phil’s throaty laugh seems a little insincere but I appreciate the effort. Sorry, he says. I just really want this party to be perfect. Daphne’s been so down lately and I’m hoping to lift her spirits, you know?

      Of course, and it’s so sweet of you to do this for her.

      He lets out a middle-aged man sigh/groan combo, which sounds pent up, like for years he’s only ever showed emotions at sporting events. You know, I proposed to her at our prom. I didn’t think she’d say yes, but she did.

      Perhaps my response is a little boisterous? And now, here you are; twenty-five years later, happily married and doing great!

      Well, yeah, I guess… He picks up a swatch of emerald taffeta and rubs it between his fingers. I mean, I love her. But sometimes I don’t think she’s all that happy, and then I start feeling low, and our misery feeds itself, you know?

      Sure. I start stacking the sketches, hoping he’ll see it as a signal that our meeting is winding down. He’s been here for over an hour, and this is his third visit to my studio this week.

      Now that the kids are out of the house, she has all this time on her hands, so I keep telling her to take a class, or find a part time job, or do something that will interest her. But she refuses. Says she has a right to take a break, after raising our sons and making a home for us all these years.

      I let my eyes creep over to the clock. If I leave in the next ten minutes, maybe there won’t be a line at 5 Spice and I can bring home my favorite, chicken basil with brown rice. My stomach growls at the thought. Maybe she just needs some time to figure out her next step.

      Phil leans back on his stool and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to topple over. But he regains his balance, looking like an oversized version of the Weeble Wobbles I played with when I was little. We used to have so much fun together. Now, everything feels so predictable. I bet you and Nick aren’t like that, are you?

      I shrug. No, but we’ve been together for less than a year.

      Phil’s bottom lip juts out and the top one curves up, into what could be a sneer but I think is a smile. Enjoy the honeymoon phase, Robin. It may seem like it will never end, but believe me, it will.

      Sort of by accident my gaze meets Phil’s, and I’m bombarded by his desperation. I press my sketchbook to my chest and try to give him an

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