Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #13: The Turnaround by L.Y. Levand

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#13: The Turnaround 

by

L.Y. Levand

The phone rang. 

Ellie looked away from the computer monitor and picked up the cordless phone to check the caller ID. She glanced at the phone’s screen, and then dropped the phone as though it were made of white-hot iron rather than plastic.  

She didn’t recognize the number. But she knew who it was. 

She stared at the dropped phone as it continued to ring, rattling on the desk. 

She took a deep breath. Answer it, or no? As if to help her decide, mental snapshots flipped through her head, one at a time. 

The first time they’d been in the same room for longer than a few minutes. She’d laughed so hard that day; harder than she had in months. 

The first time they went somewhere as a couple. They’d cleaned light fixtures. The floor had looked like it had snowed because of all the dust. 

Their first kiss. She knew exactly where it had happened, and could take you there in a heartbeat. When and where he proposed to her. Her birthday, the picture of him tickling her in the sunshine, both of them laughing, happy. 

When things started to fall apart. A picture of her, pale, with white lips and huge dark eyes, next to a picture of what she’d looked like before – rosy cheeks and a smile. The way he'd kicked that chair when he was angry; the holes he'd punched in the wall with a pen; the way he'd treated everyone else when he had been angry with her. 

When he threatened to lay down in a parking lot so he could get run over, to force her to tell him something he wanted to know. 

The day she finally realized that he really didn’t respect her and he’d called her a name. She discovered he had manipulated her to get what he wanted. Layered on the guilt, over and over. She broke it off; sat on the couch and missed him, crying. She had even considered suicide. How had it all gone so wrong? 

He had pressured her after that, trying to get her to come back. Calling her, sending her messages, talking to her. She had wavered, considered. She missed him so much it hurt like a physical pain. He tried to kiss her, to hold her hand, to convince her things would be different. She'd almost believed him. 

But then he was arrested. 

She’d heard the truth, then. 

He was arrested on charges of sexually molesting a minor. Four girls. Ten counts. 

It had started with a phone call that seemed as innocuous as this one. It had gotten both worse, and better. He was far away, but it was all people could talk about. No, she wasn't okay. Why did they have to ask? She wanted to pretend it had never happened - why did they have to keep talking about it? 

He had called once, before his hearing. Even then, his hold was strong. He'd wanted her help in his case. She'd said she would testify for the defense, but they'd never called. 

...and then, afterward, the day she had finally looked up the symptoms of emotional abuse. When she had found every problem she’d ever had during her relationship under the heading ‘Your Situation Is Critical If...’ and cried some more. 

She’d loved him. So much. And not only had he cheated on her, but he had knowingly done things to harm her. And, perhaps worst of all, he had harmed children. In her mind, it was the ultimate betrayal. 

He’d manipulated her. He could find some way to get to her, whatever the situation. He knew what she wanted from life, and he would use that as ammunition against her. He'd known what she wanted to hear, and would say it even if it was all a lie. And she had believed it. 

She had withdrawn into herself after his arrest. No one really knew how she felt, not even herself. But, slowly, the thoughts, the reminders, stopped hurting so much. She could hear his name without flinching. Then, finally, the day came when her smiles were no longer forced. How ironic that her freedom had come when he lost his. 

She stared at the phone ringing by her hand, biting her lip. She wanted to hear his voice again, even though she had been denying his existence for months. 

As she looked at the phone, an alarm blared, jerking her back to the present. She reached for the button to shut it off, and a small smile played across her lips as more recent memories came back. 

She had begun a journey he wouldn't understand. Perhaps, when he finally got out of jail, he would be afraid of her. She was no longer physically afraid of him - she could thank her instructors for that. As she gathered up her gear to go to her martial arts class, she grinned. 

One day when he got out of jail, she would find him. And he would be afraid. He would be afraid because she intended him to know what she’d become. She would meet him in an alley, look him in the eye, and he would know that she could beat him if she so chose. But she would smile, and walk away, leaving him untouched. He would know that his hold on her had been broken - for good this time. 

Because she would not take advantage of weakness, as he had. Because she wanted him to know that she had succeeded in everything he had failed to accomplish. She would be happy, and she would be free. But she was not yet ready to face him. 

The phone rang into silence. 

She had gone. 

****

 L. Y. Levand is an aspiring family fantasy author with such an abiding love of the Lord of the Rings series that she has been forbidden from watching the movies by her family. Her favorite color is purple, and she is an acknowledged popcorn hog. A third degree black belt does not stop her from tripping over her own feet or closing fingers in doors, and does not guarantee keeping her balance when tackled at the knees by young children. 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/L.Y.Levand?ref=hl
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6444904.L_Y_Levand
Website/Blog: http://lylevand.weebly.com/

Call Me MAYbe #12: Mental Blocks by Serge (Grrouchie)

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#12: Mental Blocks

by

Serge (Grrouchie)

The phone rang.

Or did it ring? It was ringing, or it had rung? It gets too confusing. Even when I’m looking back at past life events, my mind gets stuck on stupid minute details that have no bearing on the bigger picture. There is a story to tell, but the hamster gets a foot caught in the wheel and goes nowhere.

I know where I want it to go when I open my mouth, but I feel I can’t continue until everything is correct.

A second ring.

The tragedy is that I know where the story goes—I lived it for crying out loud—yet I cannot tell it to you. The phone interferes. At this point I’m beginning to doubt the validity of the phone’s existence. I hear the noise it makes (is making?), but I can’t bring myself to answer it and have the conversation that pushes me toward this life-altering event. My life changes 100 percent after this conversation. Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t answer and tell you the story; maybe this is my way of trying to cope and move on. Build up a wall around the event and pretend it is not happening (has not happened?).

A third and final ring.

I know my phone goes to voicemail after 3 rings, but is that rings on my end or theirs (yours?)? Did this happen before cell phones? I’ve had one for so long, it’s hard to remember a time when I used a landline with any consistency. I’m avoiding the subject, beating around the bush. Trying to divert my attention until this phone call no longer exists, until it becomes erased in my mind.

If it goes to voicemail, I never have to listen to the message. I don’t have to hear she is not coming home, there was a wreck, and I have been widowed and left childless. A few more seconds and I don’t have to deal with the anger and depression and general worthlessness of my life.

The phone stops.

There is no voicemail.

I think I won (am winning).

Today I don’t have to deal with the pain, the tragedy.

Thank God. I can’t handle it.

After a few moments of silence, I breathe deeply and exhale. I repeat the process two or three more times. I feel calm and relaxed. I feel like I can face the world without breaking down, like I can be productive.

I look around the room. There is no phone. No trace of it ever existing. No cell in my pockets and not even an outlet in my walls for a landline to be connected to. My memory is either playing tricks on me, or I’ve taken some good drugs recently. But none of that matters.

What matters is there is no phone. There is no phone call. My life does not come to a screeching halt.

Silence, beautiful silence.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Leave me alone!” I scream.

“Sir, please open up. There’s been an accident.”

“Not today.” Tears roll down my face. I contort my face and ball my hands into tight fists, trying to give myself a headache and divert my mind, my thoughts.

Just when I thought I had won, I figure out a way to lose.

My entire body trembles. My teeth chatter together as if I was sitting in sub freezing weather for hours. I stutter…

“P-P-Please, n-n-n-n-ot today.”

****

Serge writes often (and poorly) on his blog which discusses whatever random topics are on his mind at that particular moment.

You can find him at:

www.grrouchie.com

www.twitter.com/grrouchie

www.facebook.com/grrouchie

and whatever other social media is out there by searching for “grrouchie”

Call Me MAYbe #11: Jesus Saves by Maria MacAuley

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#11: Jesus Saves

by

Maria MacAuley

The phone rang.

I rifle through the piles of yellowing newspapers, following the loud bell. I finally find the source of the urgent clanging, a piece of 1960s technology with a dial, a tangled spiral cable, and on picking it up, a weight of stone. 

‘Have you found Jesus?’ The voice is staticky and tinny, travelling through ancient copper wires buried deep underground.

I frown. I have come to clear out my neighbour’s home. I had been living beside her as long as I remember. My parents moved into this little clapperboard house in 1985, and my first memories of Ethel, our neighbour, was that she was ancient even then. She was an elderly lady who kept her grey hair in cinnamon roll buns, a bunch of artificial carnations in the window, and her opinions to herself. As a child my mom used to encourage me to go in and have a glass of lemonade with her. I found her accent frustrating, the thick consonants a parody of Europeans in war movies. 

As a teenager my visits were a means to an end; by evidencing that I assisted the elderly in the neighbourhood, my admissions essay was robust and I got accepted into college with a full scholarship. As a college student, Ethel was the quiet recluse next door, only seen occasionally, refusing help from anyone. I tried to call on her when I was in the neighbourhood, sitting politely on the edges of newspaper filled seats, listening once again to her tales of the old country. 

And now, as an adult with a husband overseas, two cats, and one final attempt for IVF ahead of me, I am sitting alone in her sitting room, the furnishings unchanged from my first observations as a five year old. Ethel may be dead; even if she did not leave her mark on this world, she certainly left it on this tiny plot on a 1930s street.  She died intestate, but she did sign a document that lists me as her contact. The contents of her house are mine, the proceeds from the sale of the house to a local charity for the elderly. I sneeze on the dust that has been disturbed when looking for the phone. Executor is a fancy word for cleaner, if you ask me.
　
I finally answer, I am sure my voice is equally crackly through the heavy Bakelite handle. ‘Thank you for your call, but I’m not interested. I’m agnostic.’

‘You must have Jesus! Ethel was given the gift of Jesus in 1941!’

Wonderful. A God-botherer and an ancient one at that. Miss Ethel Greenberg would not be interested in Jesus.

I look around and can’t see anything remotely Saviour-related in the house. Jesus is the guy with the beard and white robes, isn’t he? ‘Caller, there is no Jesus in the house.’

‘You must find Jesus! Ethel needs you to find him!’
　
I hang up, and continue with my cleaning. Some of these papers go back years, there are clippings from seemingly nondescript dates, random snippets of news. Idly, I spread some of them out on the table, looking for some pattern within them. There’s nothing that I can see that links them together. I shrug. No Jesus here. 

I happen to glance upon a tiny little figurine on the mantlepiece, unsteadily balanced on a pile of supermarket coupons. (Here’s one for three cents off a pound of ground chuck.) It looks like a small boy with a stylised square hat and a solid triangular cloak. I’ve seen one of these before when my husband took me to church. He called it a Child of Prague. It is a representation of Jesus, apparently. I wonder if this is what they are talking about? I go to hit caller redial, but on the ancient dial-face phone, that’s not an option. How was that analogue anachronism even making a connection in our digital world?

Picking it up gingerly, the statue’s once shiny surface has crazed, giving the youthful Christ Child an eerie feel of an old man. Distracted, I sit down at the dining table, and I spit lightly on my thumb to gently wipe away some of the grime from his face, now pink, with flushed cheeks and a dainty little mouth.  It is odd to see an image of the Christian God, who, in all probability, didn’t look like this, in a old Jewish lady’s home. 

I pause to look at the little statue, and scoot back. The house isn’t going to clean itself. My chair leg catches on a paper, causing it to concertina under my feet and as I grab the table to still the bunching

and scratching of the detrius beneath my feet, the table wobbles. In slow motion, I see the little statue topple over. I throw myself forward to try and catch him and we meet in a trifecta of pottery, flesh and table, crumbling into two thousand tiny pieces of earthenware and one medium sized cylinder of paper, wrapped up in crumbling, dusty sticky tape. I pick it up and it unrolls in my hand, like a clockwork spring 

I peel back the paper, and held within were five shiny gold coins. I read the note, the faded English handwriting in a smooth looped script. ‘Ethel Dearest, I hope that holding this Catholic image gave you some security as you travelled over the seas. Use this small boon to buy your passage should you need it, The past is difficult but think about your future. The world works in mysterious ways, and I hope that this Jesus will save you‘.
　
Twelve months later I look at the glass-covered note, the past in a frame, and the future in my arms. The future gives a shrill gummy cry and I offer her my breast. Ethel nuzzles up close to me, pink, with rosy cheeks, her dainty mouth suckling, her five tiny fingers gripping one of mine. Sometimes, it might not be that bad to find Jesus. 

****

　
　Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Northern Ireland.  She is married to the love of her life and they live in relative peace with two cats. Her favourite historical era is pre 12th Century, favourite tense is the subjunctive and favourite drink is Guinness.  
 
twitter: maria.macauley
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email: maria_macauley@gmail.com

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge #10: Savi by Ayesha Inoon

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#10: Savi

by

Ayesha Inoon

The phone rang. The shrill sound cracked the early morning silence, startling Julie so that she spilled some of the coffee she was pouring into her mug. Probably a wrong number, she thought, grabbing a sponge and mopping up the puddle on the counter. The darkness outside had lightened, the faint silver glow of dawn coloring the living room where the phone blared, falling silent as she approached.

Relieved, she dropped on to the couch to sip her coffee and watch the sun rise from behind the neat row of houses across the street. She savored this quiet time before the day’s madness began, waking and getting Savi ready, dropping her off at daycare and driving to her work as an office manager in a small company.

As she swallowed the last of the coffee, the phone rang again. Sighing, she put down her mug, reached over and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said, preparing to tell the caller it was a wrong number.

“Julie?” said a voice edged with a warm accent, “It’s me – from Sri Lanka.”

Sri Lanka.  The voice and the words dropped into her thoughts, sparking a trail of memories – of sapphire oceans and emerald hills, of bright, hot days and steaming nights, of a man, with bronze skin and chocolate eyes who read translations of native poetry in a voice that was distilled music. 

“Julie?” said the voice, again, its gentle tones unraveling a knot deep inside her.

“Three years.” She said, the tears sliding down her cheeks, “It took you three years to call.”

There was a pause, a sigh, from halfway across the world brushing her cheek as her mind reached back to that winter spent with her friends in the tropical island – the hotel by the beach, meeting him one day as they walked the white sands at sunset. She remembered, as she had everyday for the past three years, the sweetness of the week that followed, the silken embrace of the Indian Ocean as she swam beside him, the shadow of the leopard as she followed him down a forest trail, the coolness of the temple where they worshipped together with frangipani blossoms in their palms.

She remembered the conversations and laughter, falling in love with the beat of the ocean in her ears and the starlight in her eyes. The way her heart had cracked open the day before she left, as he told her he was engaged to be married to a girl his parents had chosen and she responded that she had a boyfriend in America. The way the tears knotted in her throat as they decided the week they had spent together was nothing but a memory to be cherished, agreeing that to try and stay in touch would be futile.

“How did you even find my number,” she asked, wondering.

He laughed. “With a lot of googling, conniving and phone calls. Finally reached your parents and your Dad gave me this number.”

“He did?” She gasped, “Who did you say you were?”

“Your long lost lover, who else.”

He was only half-teasing. Joy and suspicion collided in her mind as question after question raced through. What had finally made him contact her? Boredom? Nostalgia? A failing marriage?

“And your wife…” she began,

“Wife? I never married darling. Went home that week and called off the whole thing.”

She too had broken up with Max a few months after the trip to Sri Lanka, any thoughts of reviving that relationship fleeing in the wake of the amazing discovery that came at that time. Oh she had dated a few times after that – seeking, but never finding the magic she had discovered on the other side of the world.

Arthur Trinidad Photography

He went on to tell her that he was coming to Yale that Fall to begin a Master’s Degree. He’d been trying to find a way to get into the USA ever since she left, he hadn’t wanted to contact her until he knew for certain that he could come. He had thought about her every day for the past three years. Could he see her when he arrived? Could they, perhaps, pick up where they left off?

The sun had risen now, staining the sky red-gold, drawing a pattern of bright yellow lines on the carpet. A soft sound made her look up to see Savi toddling down the stairs, her dark curls tousled, yawning as she flung her sleep-warmed body on Julie’s. She hugged the child closer as she told him, yes, she would love that.

“I should have asked first,” he said, hesitantly. “Is there someone in your life right now?”

Savi. It meant strength in Sinhalese, she had learned. Savi: her strength, her joy, the beautiful reminder of the most joyous time of her life. Julie kissed her dusky cheek before answering.

“There is,” she said, “and it’s someone that you would love to meet.”

****

Ayesha is a freelance writer and mother of two from Sri Lanka. Her fiction, which she writes in the brief pauses in her life as a work-at-home mom, is drawn from the rich and diverse culture of her country.

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge #9: Chosen by Leila Smith

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#9: Chosen

by

Leila Smith

The phone rang on the day I found out I was chosen.  It was on a Friday and my Mom answered it.  That was a whole month ago, and now, today’s the day.  My family isn’t happy about it through and just cried some more when I told them I’d see them after school.  My teachers say it’s a good thing to be chosen. Last year one of my friends was chosen and all the teachers gave her a cake and the lunch ladies cooked her favorite meal before her final test.  After that, I didn’t see her anymore.  Her parents always look sad now.  People who get chosen are special.  To get chosen, you either come from a large family or are different from everyone else somehow.  Either way, you take a bunch of tests which tells our leaders who’s smart or not.  We’re not allowed to know what the results are, just if we get chosen or not.  My parents and older brother just cried and held me for a long time when they found out I was chosen.  I still don’t know why they aren’t happy for me. 

Grownups who are older took the test starting twenty years ago so now they just have the teachers test the kids.  I think my friend got chosen because she was so smart and was always asking our teacher lots of questions.  I think I got picked because I like to draw and write a lot.  My teachers are always reminding me to pay attention and do as I’m told.  After I was told I was chosen last month, both my parents went to the school and begged and pleaded for them to change my results somehow.  The principal said that the government handles the results and there was nothing that he could do. They then called the government test lady who said something about my ‘quotient being too skewed  towards the arts’ and that I ‘wouldn’t be a suitable worker’ because of it.  When my parents told her they wouldn’t let me draw or write anymore if she changed my results, the lady said there was nothing she could do and that my brother and baby sister would be taken too if they kept me from my final test.  So my parents couldn’t get my results changed.  After that, my whole family has been awful nice to me.  Because I was chosen, I didn’t have to go to school anymore until my final test day.  So my family took me to all the places I always wanted to go and took lots of pictures. They still aren’t happy though. Last week, I heard them arguing about it when they thought I was asleep.

“Lacey, we’ve got to do something! Get her out of the country, smuggle her underground somehow!”  Daddy sounded frantic and scared, though I didn’t know why.

“Jason!  You know everyone’s been chipped, we were chipped twenty years ago after we ‘passed’ the government workers test while each of our children were chipped at birth.  They are tracking her already!  I heard that wench from the government testing agency call her number in…” Mama was now weeping as Daddy spoke again.

“That test!  All because the bureaucrats wanted little cogs for their corporate masters who would do as they’re told.  They wiped out most of the artists and thinkers years ago and now they go for anyone with a spark of life in them just to keep everyone in fear! To hell with them!  I want all our children, not just the ones the government finds useful!”

“Don’t you think I don’t want that too?!  Jason, I love each one of them as much as you do and if I could give my life for any of them I would!  Where can we go?  Our house and car belongs to the state and we have no money thanks to the low wages we get from ‘working’ for the corporations that buy our leaders off.  Not to mention they’ve disarmed most of the population years ago to prevent another uprising! They’ve got us right where they want us and everyone else that’s not part of their elite group!  There’s nothing we can do without losing Lexi and Daniel too.  At least she won’t be hurt by it…”

“That doesn’t help!  You know I’d gladly take a bullet for any one of you! Please, help me fight for her!  I’d rather lose her in life than lose her to death!  I- I think I know someone…”  After this I got sleepy and didn’t hear Daddy and Mama finish talking. 

This morning, a lady came to my home to take me to school in a limo like I was a movie star.  Daddy  and Mama looked a bit happier then and the lady told them not to worry after they signed some special papers she had.  When I got there, all my friends were waiting for me and I got my cake and special meal just like my friend did.   The lady told me we had to keep up appearances for some reason, so I couldn’t tell anyone about the limo ride. After that, the lady and me took the limo to another building where she showed a man from the government the papers my parents signed. She then took me to a special room and had me change my old clothes into some fancy ones she already had for me.  I even got to pick out a special necklace for my parents to have once we left there.  I was told it would be like a special phone so I can talk to my family anytime I wanted  and I picked one that looked like an angel, like my friend’s mom now wears.   After that, I took a nap on a fancy couch in the room I changed in.  I woke up when I heard the lady say to get the limo ready for her and her new daughter.

****

Leila Smith currently lives in Tennessee and writes creative fiction in her spare time.  She enjoys a variety of fiction, mostly speculative, horror, and science fiction.  Though it's been touch and go as far as getting on a writing routine, Leila has been writing more regularly as of late.  The work featured in this contest is part of an anthology of mostly flash fiction she hopes to self publish once it's completed. 

NEW RELEASE: Time Changes Everything by Melinda Dozier

Amanda Larson is dedicated to her job and doesn't want to make time for anything else. Until she runs into Jake Edwards. He used to be the cute boy next door; now he's a sexy, big shot lawyer.

Jake Edwards isn't interested in commitment. He's successful, sexy, and single--and that's how he likes it. When he reconnects with Amanda, Jake realizes he might have to rethink his philosophy on the carefree, bachelor lifestyle.

But, is it too late for them? Or can he convince her that he's ready to give her his heart?

***Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a $25 Amazon gift card and an e-copy of Time Changes Everything at the end of this post!!***

Excerpt:

In high school, Amanda was someone special. Hell, even before then. Their parents were best friends, which had forced Jake and Amanda together. At first, he’d thought it was a hindrance. Later, when she developed longer legs and a bigger bust, he found himself around her more. After discovering her quirkiness, her love of art and her sense of humor, he actually enjoyed being around her. But he never touched her.

He contemplated running his fingers through her hair like he did his first year of college –– the last time they were alone –– the night he left town and never saw her again.

Did she remember the night he left? Of course she did. Seven years ago, he’d ruined their friendship.  He knew Amanda almost as well as he knew himself. Well, he’d known her. Now she was a different woman.

 Jake leaned in closer, running his hand down her arm. “Know what I’m thinking?”

Amanda fiddled with her coaster and smiled at him. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I’m thinking we should spend a lot more time together.” He reached over and held her chin. “It’s been way too long.”

Amanda licked her lips, and damn it, it actually turned him on. Sweet little Mandy Larson wasn’t so sweet anymore. She was driving him crazy.

She moved closer bridging distance. “Why wait? There’s no time like the present.”

“Exactly.” He drank the last of his beer as the waiter returned with her martini sans olive. 

Jake leaned on the table with his elbows, folded his hands together and studied her.  “Look at you, drinking a martini, living the life in New York City.” He examined her from head to toe. “A sexy skirt. Tall boots.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “A beautiful face.”

Amanda hiccupped and put down her glass. “Now, wait a minute. I know it’s been a while, but some things never change, including you.” She wagged her finger at him. “No smooth talking with me. Don’t forget I used to know you better than anybody.”

Because his fingers actually ached with the need to touch her again, he reached over and held her hand. “Yeah, but things have changed, Mandy. We’re two different people now, and I can’t wait to get to know who you are now.”

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Purchase link: http://www.entrancedpublishing.com/imprints/entranced/time-changes-everything/

Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzKh1B21Z5w&feature=g-high-f&list=FL5KvXdEur-muCY2C8YBXBYQ

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15990302-time-changes-everything

****

Reading romance has always been at the top of Melinda’s favorite past times. After hectic days of teaching English to middle school students, Melinda finds time to write and read in the evenings. She lives in Guatemala, Central America with her husband, three boys and German Sheppard. She enjoys being the queen of her household and dreams of being pampered fully by her boys once they are grown. Melinda loves reality TV, traveling, blogging and playing Words With Friends.

Website: www.melindadozier.com

Blog: http://melindadozier.blogspot.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/melindadozier