Beyond the Lighted Stage

A determined woman who refused to allow the loss of everything she holds dear sway the courage of her convictions.

A lifelong loner who has fatherhood thrust upon him with the sudden passing of his best friend.

Two lives defined by tragedy and loneliness find each other in a moment of ultimate need.

Roxy has known for a while that something wasn't quite right in her small town. She thinks that uneasiness will be the least of her concerns when she loses the only man she's ever loved. But the family and community who have always sustained her turn against her in her when she needs them most. Heartbroken and alone, she leaves everything she's ever known in hopes of finding the answers which elude her.

Veteran musician Elwood has been on the road for his entire adult life. It's the only thing he knows, and one of the only things that's ever filled the gaping hole left in his soul when he lost his family as a teenager. But the high of playing on stage has started to wane in recent years, leaving him grappling with a loneliness that meaningless hookups on the road can never satisfy. All of that is forgotten in an instant when he gets a devastating call out of the blue from his oldest friend, asking for the biggest favor imaginable.

Beyond the Lighted Stage is the tale of two lonely souls who find each other in a small southern beach town. Both had long ago given up on the idea of happily ever after. But a tiny island community, along with one precious little girl, team up in the hopes of giving our intrepid heroes one last shot at true happiness.

Authors note:

This novel is a slow-burn, dual-POV contemporary romance. I attempted to break this novel up for easier consumption on this platform, but the simple truth is that this story just doesn't lend itself to that kind of separation. If a full novel in this medium doesn't sound appealing, please take a look at some of my other works. For everyone else, I really hope you enjoy my second offering in the realm of traditional romance.

Content warning for characters that have, and frequently discuss, their progressive beliefs.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

Prologue

Ten Years Prior

"If you touch me with that thing," Edward "Elwood" LaJoie whispered through gritted teeth, "I'm going to rip your goddamn ears off."

"What's the matter, buddy?" Marcus Russell asked with a chuckle. "It's just a mud bug."

"It's a goddamned nightmare. What the fuck is it doing in a grocery store?"

"It's a delicacy. They're delicious."

"No wonder no sane woman will let you stick your cock in them."

Marcus reached out to grip his friend's shoulder, fortunately with the hand not holding a relic from the time when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and said, "I'll always have you, brother."

Elwood regarded his friend intently before saying "Thanks, man. For everything. But I'm still not eating one of those swimming murder cockroaches."

"Fine. We'll get some shrimp for your delicate palate. But you don't know what you're missing. And, not for nothing, but have you ever actually seen a shrimp before it got processed for consumption?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Stay golden, my friend."

The two quickly finished their shopping in the charmingly small grocery store and made their way back out into the sunshine. The omnipresent ocean breeze nicely attenuated the oppressive heat and humidity which was a constant companion to the tiny barrier island just outside Savannah. Elwood adjusted his sunglasses and followed Marcus toward the latter's CJ7. After depositing the groceries in the back seat, they climbed in and set off. Elwood cinched his lap belt tighter, because of course a vehicle with no doors or roof would also omit a three-point safety belt.

"You really drove this death trap back and forth to Savannah every day for high school?"

"Course I did," Marcus replied jovially. "It's only forty kilometers. One way."

"What about when it rains?"

"I got wet. You worry too much, brother. It's a perfect day. The sun is warm. The scenery is excellent," he gestured in the direction of a group of bikini clad coeds making their way to the beach to make his point. He continued, "And we're going to have a great time tonight. Trust me."

After arriving at the house Marcus's father had built several decades prior, the duo loaded the seafood into a collection of ready coolers filled with ice. They then made their way along an almost comically long dock to the deep-water channel nestled amongst the endless marshland. Marcus led Elwood onto a small, center-console power boat. The former handed the latter a beer and started up the engine before loosing the lines. They were soon under way, making their way toward the Savannah River at a sedate pace.

At length, Marcus broke the silence, "How you holdin' up brother?"

"Good as could be expected, I guess. I keep wondering if the reality of the situation hasn't hit me yet, or if I'm just a heartless bastard."

"Could be both."

"Ass," Elwood said with a grin.

"I can't imagine what you're going through. Closest I've come is losing my Nana a few years back. But that's hell and gone from losing both parents. And my Nana was sick for years before she lost her battle with that asshole, cancer. Your folks were just on vacation. One day, everything's great. And then... Did they ever tell you what happened?"

Elwood sighed and said, "They're claiming it was a mechanical issue. But I've seen some photos on the 'net. It certainly looks like a Stevie Ray type situation to me."

"Who?"

"Don't make me hit you, brother. Stevie Ray Vaughan? Best goddamned guitar player in history, Stevie Ray Vaughan? Killed in a helicopter crash after playing a gig with Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughan?"

"I thought Jimi Hendrix was the best guitar player ever."

Elwood chuckled and said, "Hardly. Listen to them both play Little Wing, or even Voodoo Chile, and tell me what you think. Although, funny story, Eric Clapton was basically the last person to see either alive. Coincidence?"

"Don't start with your musical conspiracy theory nonsense again."

"As you wish. In any case, I suspect the helicopter with my folks on it crashed because the visibility was shit and the pilot screwed up."

"Then why not say so?" Marcus asked with genuine confusion. "Liability? They were in Vietnam. It's not like you could sue anybody."

"Maybe, maybe not. In any case, I'm sure the tour company doesn't want any more bad press. The fact that the crash made the news in the states is likely going to ruin them in any case."

"Why were they on a helicopter anyway?"

"It was one of their bucket-list items to see Ha Long Bay."

"Where?"

Elwood sighed and said, "You really are just a dumb American, aren't you? Ever seen the Bond movie where a guy having a third nipple is a major plot point?"

"Sure."

"The final act of that movie takes place on an island that is actually off the coast of Thailand, but the wide shots showing hundreds of limestone islands were taken of Ha Long Bay. It's basically one of the most beautiful places on earth."

Marcus wrinkled his brow and asked, "And that's in Vietnam?"

"Yes," Elwood replied exasperatedly. "You know that quite a number of the world's most beautiful places are actually

not

in the good ole U S of A, right?"

"I mean, I guess I'd considered the possibility."

"Just promise me that after you find

the

girl, and raise your two point four kids, that you two will do some real travelling. There's a big, beautiful world out there, brother. My only consolation in this whole shit show is that my folks were on the way back to the cruise ship when they crashed. They got to cross that off their bucket list before they shuffled off this mortal coil."

Marcus regarded his friend intently, trying to look for a clue as to his mental state behind the ubiquitous sunglasses. He knew Elwood was having trouble dealing with the sudden loss of not only his parents, but indeed his entire family. Three of Elwood's grandparents had died before his birth, and the fourth passed away when he was in primary school. He was also a second generation only child, on both sides. This left him alone except for his friends. Marcus had arranged this get together in part to distract his friend from his grief, but also to remind him that he was not alone. He sincerely hoped that all the calls he had made, all the favors he called in, would bear fruit as the day wore on.

***

"My friends," Marcus called from his perch on the top step of the porch. "You are about to come face to face with your creator."

"I was told there would be no proselytizing," a voice called out from the small crowd spread across the back yard of the Russell homestead.

"I'm not preaching, ya ignorant wretch. I'm just factin'. Just trust me and turn around."

The crowd dutifully turned around and a collective gasp could be heard. The house Marcus's father had built was on the west side of Tybee Island. To the uninformed, this would seem to be foolish since the house was, quite literally, the farthest from the beach of any house on the island. But this positioning gave the house an excellent view of over ten thousand hectares of marshland, untouched by human development. For most of the day, the view was fairly pedestrian. For the most part, it was indistinguishable from an impossibly wide meadow. But as the sun approached the horizon and the tide crested, the marshland came alive with brilliant colors.

"Sweet Jesus," Elwood breathed next to Marcus.

"I told you, brother. This place is Heaven. You just have to wait for her to show you her true colors."

"It's gorgeous."

"It's even better from the dock. Come on."

Marcus led the group past the smoldering campfire, around the steaming caldron of low country boil, and out onto the dock. The group was nearly silent, in awe of the lush tapestry laid out before them. They stood around Elwood, careful not to crowd him but ensuring that their grieving friend knew he was not alone. Indeed, that he would never be alone.

"Thank you for this," Elwood whispered haltingly to the man who was more a brother than a blood relation could ever be. Marcus had flown to Dallas with Elwood, blowing off critical tests in several classes, to ensure that his friend was not alone in his time of need. He had stayed there with him through the funeral, and even arranged for a large group of their friends to make the trip up from where they went to school in New Orleans for the weekend.

"You'd have done the same for me, brother," Marcus said confidently as the sun dipped below the horizon. He clapped his hand on his friend's back and raised his voice, "Boil should be about ready. Who's hungry?"

The group made their way back along the hundred-meter-long dock to where the cauldron containing the aforementioned low country boil bubbled angrily above a propane burner which seemed like it would have been more than sufficient to melt steel. Marcus's father helped him lift the fifty-liter pot off the heat and place it on the concrete walkway. Marcus then lifted off the lid and reached in with a large hook to pull the steam pot from the still roiling water. He used another hook to upend the contents of the pot onto a picnic table covered in newspaper. The crowd quickly gathered around to begin feasting on the steaming smoked sausage, new potatoes, corn, shrimp, and crayfish now filling the table.

Elwood elbowed his way up to the table, next to Marcus, and started digging in. There were no utensils anywhere to be found, only a few rolls of paper towels and a large bucket on one end of the table which quickly started filling with seafood shells.

"I've eaten in five-star restaurants on two continents," Elwood said around a mouthful of shrimp. "And this is the best goddamned meal I've ever had."

"Told you so," Marcus said with a grin.

Before long, everyone was stuffed and retired to the firepit. It started slow, but soon the group of friends started swapping stories about their grieving friend. An outsider would likely have thought it odd that the group was belittling the person they were meant to comfort. But there was a method in their madness, and the jovial personality they all loved in their friend slowly started to re-emerge.

Marcus told a story of a time when a group had visited Elwood's parents over the Thanksgiving holiday. The laugh that went up from the group when Marcus told of how Elwood's mother had schemed to get each of his friends alone in hopes of discovering if Elwood was practicing safe sex lifted the last vestiges of shadow from Elwood's previously haunted eyes. He laughed openly along with the rest.

As the evening wound down, someone put a guitar in Elwood's hands. He had always been happiest when making music. Their fraternity parties always included Elwood strumming away at an acoustic guitar, frequently surrounded by a sizable group of adoring members of the fairer sex. His fraternity brother termed it pickin' an' grinnin'. And, despite the good-natured razzing they gave him about his seeming inability to translate his musical talents into bedroom companionship, they enjoyed his playing just as much as anyone. The night wore on as the group sang along with their brother and mass quantities of beer were made to disappear.

When the last chord faded into the starlit evening, most of the party goers faded into the darkness in search of a bed or a comfortable looking piece of floor. Soon, only Marcus and Elwood remained. They stared into the dying embers of the fire and drank the last of the beer.

Elwood turned to his friend and said, "Thank you for this. I didn't know how much I needed it. But, looking back, I'm not sure how I would have gotten through this without you."

Marcus regarded his friend for a moment before saying simply, "You're welcome."

"I mean it, man. This meant the world to me."

"I'm thankful I could be there for you. I know you would have done the same for me."

Elwood said, "I'm not so sure. I mean, I would have hoped so, but I've never had a great deal of faith in my overall quality as a human being."

"You sell yourself short, my friend."

"Regardless. If you

ever

need

anything

, I'm there for you. Doesn't matter when or where, or how big the favor is, I'll be there with fucking bells on."

Marcus gripped his friend's shoulder admiringly and said, "I know you will."

One

Present Day

Rahab "Roxy" Norris sat in her car, unable to force herself to reach for the handle to open the door. The tears were long gone, leaving an even bigger void inside her. She had tried so hard to see things the proper way, the way she had been taught since before she could form complete sentences. But the pain was still there, as was the anger which, if anything, was growing in intensity. For not the first time since she had arrived, she looked ruefully at the house which was nearly as familiar as her own. The house where she had spent countless hours throughout the last several decades. The house which now filled her with dread.

"This only gets worse, the longer you wait," she muttered to herself.

She gave one final mighty sigh before opening the door and stepping onto the sidewalk. She self-consciously smoothed out her black dress, wishing she had something better fitting than the black dress she had worn to her grandfather's funeral back when she was in high school. She had been something of a late bloomer, adding a couple cup-sizes during her senior year, and the dress now seemed significantly more salacious than she had remembered. She glanced around, taking in the cars which filled the street, and realized that most of the town was inside the contemporary four-bedroom house on the quiet rural street.

She climbed the steps to the quaint front porch and stood before the door. Taking a final deep breath, she raised her hand to knock. But, before her knuckles could make contact with the white painted wood, the door was pulled open to reveal a frumpy woman in a floral painted dress with what looked to be a celebratory hairdo.

"Well, hey Roxy honey," she exclaimed exuberantly. "Where you been? We thought you got lost headed here from the cemetery."

"Um, hi Mrs. Taylor. I uh..."

"Don't sweat it, sugar. Important thing is that you're here now. Come on in." Mrs. Taylor raised her voice to call out, "Call off the search party. Roxy's here."

Roxy followed Mrs. Taylor into the maelstrom of humanity that was their parlor. She had underestimated the amount of people here. There was barely room to breathe, much less find a place to sit. The overall mood of the room confounded Roxy. Everywhere she looked, she saw smiles and heard laughter. The atmosphere was like a reunion: friends she had not seen since high school jovially catching up; babies and new significant others being shown off; people who peaked in high school holding court as though a decade had not passed since they had crossed the graduation stage. No one was even talking about him. It was just a party to everyone.

She angrily made her way to the hallway where she found a flower wreathed display featuring a picture of Xander. It had been a picture taken at a bible camp where she had joined him as a counselor. She noted bitterly that the picture had been one taken of the two of them, but she had been cut out for the display. The tears which she thought had long run out sprang unbidden to her eyes. She angrily wiped them away, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. She tried to calm her racing heart but found it nearly impossible. She quickly sought the relative refuge of the tiny kitchen.

"There you are," a familiar voice sang out.

Roxy turned and found her parents seated at the breakfast room table, each with a plate of food before them.

"Hey, Mama. Sorry, I'm late."

"We sent Gideon out to look for you," her mother remarked reproachfully.

"You could have just called."

"Respect your mother," her father said gruffly.

"Yes, Papa," Roxy replied dutifully.

"What's goin' on with you?" her mother asked critically. "I couldn't help but notice that you were just mouthing the words to the hymns at the service. Fact is, you've been in a funk all day."

"I just lost my best friend, Mama. What do you expect?"

"But he's in the hands of the good Lord now. He's at peace."

Roxy did not trust herself to respond directly to her mother's statement. Instead, she said, "I need some air. I'll see you guys a little later."

"Ok, sweetheart," her mother replied jovially around a mouthful of fried chicken. "Be blessed."

Roxy made her way out onto the back porch, taking in a gulp of the relatively cool outside air as the door closed behind her. She took a seat on the bench against the back wall of the house and dropped her face into her hands.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," she whispered.

"What's wrong, child?" a gravelly voice spoke behind her.

Roxy jumped in surprise before turning to spot a skinny, elderly man with a wisp of white hair on top of his head and a ready smile on his lips. She took a breath and said, "Oh, Deacon Jones. I didn't see you there."

"It is pretty crowded in there, isn't it?"

"Yes sir. It is, that."

"Beautiful service, though. Wasn't it?"

Roxy could only shrug in response. She looked away and tried to quell the anger coursing through her veins.

"I asked you a question, young lady."

"I guess so," Roxy grumbled.

"You miss him, don't you?"

"Of course I miss him. He was my best friend."

"Perhaps a bit more than that, unless I miss my guess."