Leaving the Lake

By Alexi Paulina

When a relationship goes south faster than she did, Tane Ridel escapes a perilous situation in Louisiana and returns to Colorado. Yet she can't forget her beloved Lake Pontchartrain, or the charismatic rock musician Stormy Lavarre, who stole her heart with his first glance. Abandoning the enticement of security for the risk of following her dreams, Tane is rewarded with the discovery of her talent for songwriting – and the possibility that she and Stormy might have a future together after all.

Portions of this novella were inspired by true events. If you doubt that we can make a significant impact on other people in the course of our daily lives, this story offers proof that we can – and do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexi Paulina
• Release date: Oct 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311034212

Alexi Paulina

Alexi Paulina is a writer, editor, songwriter, singer, and speaker who has studied personal growth, health, and metaphysics all her life. Her early interest in science and spirituality led to a lifelong investigation of the nature of reality and fascination with moving beyond the limits of conventional beliefs. Alexi gives presentations on personal transformation and shifting consciousness. Alexi's ebooks do not require an ebook reader and can be read on any computer or mobile device (as well as any ebook reader). For computers, choose the EPUB or PDF format. The EPUB format is much nicer and includes the front cover and table of contents. If you don't have the Adobe Digital Editions software that enables you to read EPUB files, download it for free at http://www.adobe.com/products/digital-editions/download.html.

Book preview

Chapter 1: May 2

I want to be near the stage so I can dance, Tane decided, tearing the last shreds of the shiny label from the bottle of beer she had nearly finished. Though she rarely drank alcohol, that evening Tane had impulsively ordered a wheat-based brew infused with raspberry, a local beer with a name that appealed to her: Purple Haze. It seemed an appropriate drink to have at Tipitina's, the historic French Quarter nightclub, while listening to a band that had originated in New Orleans.

It typically took Tane an entire evening to drink a bottle of beer, but she downed the last mouthful of the lukewarm brew moments before Marsh Mountain started their second set. She purposely finished the drink quickly so as not to be encumbered with a bottle.

I'm going to the dance floor, she told Vance, her boyfriend, who as usual was so intensely focused on himself that he was paying little attention to her. Nonetheless, he followed Tane as she walked toward the stage, staying close enough that the other male patrons would know she was his woman. Due to the humidity, Tane's long, dark-red hair was bushier than usual, and her sprightly stride drew subtle attention.

The four band members, musical veterans that had been playing together for over two decades, took the stage. All were good-looking men who appeared to range in age from mid-forties to mid-fifties. Tane, at 38, felt young by contrast. Her attention was drawn to the keyboard player, a slim, vibrant-looking man with a thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair that framed his handsome face like a halo. She knew she had never seen him before, but he felt familiar. A few dozen shared lifetimes between us, no doubt, she acknowledged with a smile. Tane pulled the crumpled flyer from her back pocket and scanned the list of band members' names. Langdon Shepherd – that must be him, she noted. Cool name; it fits.

The first few bars Tane watched him play revealed that Langdon was a fabulous musician. Not only was he technically skilled, he put his whole heart into the music, as did the rest of the band. Tane was pleased that she had moved close enough to the stage to watch them, because the visual effect was as energizing as the sound.

She focused on the various band members, exercising her intuitive skills to see what she could pick up. The drummer was a dark-haired man who appeared to be around 45. Seems like a real party-going type, Tane surmised – fun to hang out with, but not someone that would be a good idea to get serious about. Feeling like she was cheating, Tane again pulled the flyer from her pocket and noted the drummer's name: Tony Buratti. Italian ancestry, I suppose; he looks it. In her mind, Tane saw him as a pirate, and then as a thief in southern Italy, realizing that she had been a male compatriot of his in both of those lives. He was a good friend – we broke a lot of laws, but always were loyal to each other. It's not true that there is no honor among thieves!

The deep, soulful baritone of the lead singer and guitarist resonated the two-story building. He's good, Tane noted, really good. And he feels even more familiar than Langdon or Tony! She hadn't realized it until she was close enough to look into his eyes. Moved by the music – a heartfelt love song – and by her feeling of strong connection with the singer, Tane's body started moving rhythmically and sinuously. She didn't have to look up his name; she remembered hearing it earlier that evening, and it was memorable: Stormy Lavarre. Stormy obviously was a nickname, but she could see that it fit the singer, who appeared to be of Cajun ancestry. Her green eyes locked onto his dark brown ones, and for a moment she entered a place where time does not exist. I know this man…. I know him, really, really well.

The overriding emotion permeating Tane was not, however, physical attraction. It was sorrow – a profound, soul-rending sorrow that seemed to have no explanation, given the current circumstances. Whatever this man and I have experienced together in other lifetimes, it was intense! Tane knew she could tune in with her intuitive senses to discover the details, but was not sure she wanted to. Some things are better left concealed. Exposing them can be too painful.

Tane lowered her eyes, took a deep breath to clear her mind, and turned her attention to the rest of the band. Just then, the bass guitar player, standing stage right from Stormy, brushed a shock of blond hair from his eyes and looked directly at Tane. He smiled at her with an expression that softened the angles of his handsome face, and then moved his gaze upward to focus on the crowd of swaying Marsh Mountain fans. He must be Peter Markow, she acknowledged.

Not a concertgoer by habit, Tane was surprised to feel such a strong connection with this band. Forgetting the fatigue she had felt earlier in the evening, she found herself dancing energetically to every song Marsh Mountain played. Her movements were due to no conscious decision on her part. Her body just seemed to know how it wanted to move, and she didn't try to stop it. Although she felt connected to all four musicians, her attention was drawn most often to Stormy and Langdon.

Vance stood next to her, almost motionless, subtly tilting his chin up and down to the music but otherwise appearing unmoved. Tane was dismayed to realize she felt a greater connection with these musicians she had just seen for the first time than with the man with whom she had been sharing a bed for three months. She felt intense emotion rise up inside her, in her heart center. It was the passionate nature she had been suppressing and denying for the past few months, as she tried to convince herself that she was happy with Vance and intended to say with him for the rest of her life.

I've been trying so hard, she admitted to herself, but the truth is that Vance is a self-centered, arrogant, narcissistic jerk who pretended to be spiritual and compassionate just to get me to move here from Denver. I've given up my power and tried to mold myself into being what Vance expects, but I'm dying inside. The guys in this band have more passion in the tips of their little fingers than Vance has in his entire body! I must get out of this relationship, somehow, to save my heart and my soul.

After two encores, the band left the stage for good. Adrenaline still coursing through her body, Tane felt empty inside except for the deep longing that had been triggered by the soulful music and her recognition of the band members. The brief, thirst-quenching taste of passion she had experienced when watching them play was now fading, much like the flavor of the beer she had finished an hour earlier.

Making her way through the slow-moving sea of the boisterous crowd, Tane finally reached Tipitina's front door and felt the warm,