The Heart Grows Stronger

By K. E. WARD

The Heart Grows Stronger is a novel about a troubled young girl, Julie, struggling with drug addiction and emotional issues resulting from a broken family life. One day her boyfriend pushes her out of the car and onto a lawn which happens to belong to the Brooks family, a single mother and her young son, Todd; they befriend her and encourage her to break free from her destructive lifestyle.

But her happiness will soon be tested again when Michael, the powerful lawyer she meets at her first job, begins making advances. She cannot deny the attraction she feels towards him, yet at the same time she senses something about him that frightens her to the core. Torn between her love for Todd and the new feelings she is experiencing for Michael, Julie comes to terms with her blossoming adulthood and discovers that life is not as simple as she once had thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477237397

Book preview

THE

HEART

GROWS

STRONGER

K. E. WARD

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 by K. E. WARD. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/14/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3738-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3739-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912033

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

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She looked out beyond French doors that led to her balcony into thick dusk surrounding the Manhattan penthouse apartment. Night was coming in fast. Inside, the rooms were already enveloped in darkness, for Julie had not bothered to turn on any lights since she entered two hours ago. It was just as well, because the view of the city from where she stood was spectacular. Lights were beginning to litter the skyline, and a sliver of an early moon was trying to peek out from behind an ominous, gray cloud. From twenty-seven stories up, she could look below and see a silent line of cars inching along East 44th Street through rush-hour traffic. Smoke from exhaust pipes rose into the air as neon lights flickered, intermittently illuminating the smog. I wish I were down there, she thought. So much action, so much excitement.

But she knew she didn’t have time to mingle in the city and get back in time for when her husband arrived home. Whenever the two were in New York, Michael wanted Julie to be at their place to greet him at the end of a workday. Although their house was in Seattle, they split their time between the two cities. Michael owned a Puget Sound transport company that had a subsidiary office in the New York Harbor. His scheduled visits to the city were spaced every two to three months, but an emergency called him back sooner than he had planned. That meant Julie and Michael flew separately. Julie had flown into JFK Airport three days after him, hired a taxi, and arrived at 4:30 p.m. to an empty apartment.

6:45 p.m. The minutes seemed to tick away slowly now. Julie was worried. Why is it taking so long for him to return? she wondered. She tried to reassure herself: Michael would come home complaining about hassles at work, stubborn employees and things of that nature. He would be carrying food and wine, enough for the two of them. She would sit with him for a while in the den; and when they were relaxed—maybe a little sleepy—they would go to bed, make love, and fall asleep. That was their usual routine in New York, and Julie looked forward to those nights together.

She put her hand to the glass pane in the door, tracing the outline of the buildings. So beautiful, she thought. Nothing can surpass the beauty of this city at night. Her glance wandered over to the building directly across the street, and her eyes scanned the backlit balconies. A dark silhouette caught her attention: what appeared to be a man in a monochrome outfit, his face obscured by shadows. He was standing eerily still. She thought he might be looking at her. Julie suddenly felt exposed. She hastily retreated from the balcony door and pulled the drapes into place. Was that man looking at me? she thought. Maybe I’m just paranoid. She reminded herself she was standing in darkness; surely, there was no way he could have seen her. A chill ran through her body; she turned back to the parlor and switched on a light next to the sofa, a black leather Broyhill Michael had purchased the year before.

Unnerved and feeling lonely, she picked up the remote control from the side stand and turned on the television. An old I Love Lucy show was playing, and the volume was set too high; she heard raucous laughter and loud yelling. After juggling with the volume, she decided to get something to drink and walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and discovered a bottle of Sangria. She grabbed the bottle, retrieved a goblet from the cupboard and poured the wine to the very top. She bent down and sipped a little of the cool liquid so that she could carry the glass back to the living room safely (Michael wouldn’t want any spills on the white carpet under her feet). Carefully, she walked back to the sofa and sat down. She kicked off her shoes and relaxed into the cushions. Lucy was yelling at Ricky about something he had done, and he was talking back in Spanish to her, shrugging his shoulders as if he were innocent. Julie laughed.

She was so entranced by Ricky’s Spanish that at first she didn’t hear a faint knocking sound; when she did, she was startled and jumped out of her seat, thinking someone was at the door to her apartment. Rushing to the door, she wondered who it could be. Michael would just unlock and enter. She looked through the peephole and asked, Who’s there? No answer. No one there? She didn’t dare open the door under the circumstances—not in New York. But then she heard the knocking again. She tiptoed around into all the rooms but found nothing. It must have come from downstairs, she thought. Satisfied the knock was not for her, she settled back in her cozy spot just in time to hear a special news report. A series of devastating tornadoes had swept through much of the Southeast—in Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia—and the news agency was asking for donations to help the families who had lost their homes and were now living in shelters. How horrible, Julie thought. All of their lives’ work dashed to pieces in a spin of violence. She got up to get a pen and paper to write down the phone number to call in a pledge but stopped when she realized she didn’t know where they were located.

Oh . . . Michael’s desk . . . maybe a pen and pad were inside. She took another sip of her wine and shuffled into the rich, Karastan-carpeted library. In the center of the room, Michael’s executive-sized, mahogany desk sat like an old elephant in a book-lined cage. She set her glass down on top of the desk and pulled on the brass handle knob to the middle drawer, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried the other drawers, but they wouldn’t open, either. Finally, she gave a last heave-ho to the top left drawer and it popped open. Julie thought the desk ugly and old, but it was in pretty good shape, despite its age and exposure to New York’s moist summer heat.

She rustled around the papers looking for a notepad or a pen but couldn’t find either. Then her hand felt something hard underneath a pile of letters. It was rectangular in shape, and smooth like a picture frame. Curious, she pulled the object out and stared at it. It was a picture of Todd.

What would Michael be doing with a picture of him? I never gave him any of his high school pictures. She unlocked the back of the picture frame to see if anything was printed on the back of the photo. What she saw was her own handwriting. She read, "To Julie, Love Todd." She gasped, stunned.

This was Todd’s? But how could it be? Todd had died five years ago, before she and Michael were ever married. The memory of Todd came like a bolt of lightning. Her heart suddenly ached. Once—what seemed a long time ago—he had saved her from a life that was in shambles. He had given her a place to live, food to eat, and all the emotional support she could have wished for. She had grown to love him sweetly, happily; but one night he disappeared, leaving only a typed suicide note behind him. All the emotions she felt when she discovered him gone came flooding back.

She began to tremble; her hands shook, and something dropped to the floor. She reached down to pick it up and discovered a plain, white sheet of paper folded into quarters. What is this? she wondered. Carefully unfolding it, she read:

Dear Julie,

It’s late and I’m sitting in my room thinking of you. I don’t have much time, so this letter will be short.

Forgive me for fighting with you. It was selfish of me. I don’t like hurting you; but I did, and I don’t want to do that again, except I think I have no choice now.

Lately I’ve noticed someone following me almost everywhere I go. This morning, on my way to work, a couple of jerks grabbed me from behind and dragged me toward a car that had pulled up beside me. Everything happened so fast, but I had enough sense to kick and twist around and wrench myself out of their hold. You know me—I’m pretty good at self-defense. Well, I sprinted down the street to the nearest coffee shop. I hid there until I knew the coast was clear.

I know I should go to the police, but I don’t want to, mostly because I don’t know for sure who did this to me. So I think I should lay low and disappear for awhile—leave town. When I figure out who’s following me and why, I’ll get in touch with you. Whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, please remember that I love you.

Love always,

Todd

The letter dropped from her fingers to the floor. She felt light-headed, confused. Could it have been murder? Had Todd not taken his own life after all?

She felt nauseated. She couldn’t get enough breath and stumbled, then collapsed onto the carpet.

Voices whispered around her. She’s losing consciousness. Let’s get her down to the street and into the car. Another low voice, not Michael’s, said something, but she couldn’t make it out. For an instant, her vision cleared a little, and she caught a glimpse of a muscled form looming over her. But she felt sleepy . . . so sleepy . . . couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Chapter Two

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The year was 1984, and Julie was sixteen. The weekend was just beginning as Friday evening settled in. Julie and a bunch of her friends were hanging out together in downtown Mapleview, Washington.

Julie . . . Julie! One of her friends was holding a joint in front of her. Hey, you want some?

No. No, thanks. She pushed it away from her in disgust. I’ve had too much already.

Jimmy, the guy who had offered the joint to her, passed the roach to her boyfriend. Eric?

Baby, you sure you’ve had enough? her boyfriend asked, swinging his arm around her.

Yes, Eric. I’ve had enough.

He inhaled deeply into the end, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few moments, then let the soft billows pour out of his mouth.

This is good shit. Where the hell did you get this, Jimmy? I could smoke this all day.

Some freak uptown. I asked him for a quarter to make a phone call and he showed me a quarter baggie instead.

Eric leisurely finished off the rest of the pot.

Too bad it’s gone. He tossed the remnants into the bushes, then leaned over and kissed Julie sloppily on the mouth. He tasted stale to her, like cigarette butts.

I got an idea, baby, he said, pushing her hair back from her face. Why don’t we all go over to my house? We can get some beers, roll a couple more joints. You know, just relax. What do you say?

No. The heavy-set girl with dyed black hair and black-rimmed eyes interrupted. Eric, your place is too far to walk to. It’s, like, three miles from here. And we can’t fit five people into that little tight-ass car of yours. It barely has a back seat.

So I’ll drive Julie, and you three can hitch. No problem.

Yes, that’s a problem. Who’s going to pick up three stoned teenagers? I think we should go to me and Julie’s place. It’s just two blocks away. My cousin can get the beer for us, and we can hang out and play music. The others nodded their heads in agreement.

Fine, Miffie, said Eric. "You guys can go over there, but Julie and I are going to my house. Right, baby?" He squeezed her arm.

She nodded her head, reluctantly.

The group got up. Eric straightened his leather jacket and dusted off his jeans. Jimmy, Lisa, and Miffie started walking down the street while Eric and Julie headed towards the car.

They climbed in and Eric started up the engine. AC/DC was playing on the radio. Eric turned the volume up to nine. The music is great, isn’t it? he yelled. He put the car in gear and sped off.

God, it’s great to be hanging out with the guys. He glanced over at Julie. I guess Miffie’s like family to you now, huh?

Almost two years ago, Julie was living with her parents in a small house close to town, but no one was getting along. Screaming matches, name-calling, and insults flew through the house until Julie just couldn’t stand to live with them anymore. Her mother was an alcoholic; her father wasn’t home much. Miffie, like a surrogate mother, had taken Julie in to live with her and became her best friend. Back then, Julie, an only child with few friends, was a freshman at the town’s public high school. Miffie, two years older but one year by grade, had her own apartment paid for by the parents. But Miffie was pretty wild, so everyone seemed to understand that that was Miffie—no one could control her. When Julie began to live with her, Miffie introduced her to the drugs running through the underside of the high school scene: marijuana, alcohol, and LSD. In fact, Miffie had even introduced her to Eric. Julie could remember that day clearly. He was so cool. Before then, he hadn’t given her a second look. She remembered feeling intimidated by him: He was so good-looking and decidedly nonchalant, with his lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Light brown hair hung loose over blue eyes that seemed to penetrate everything he looked at. Not strikingly tall nor muscular, he was still considered attractive by the girls because of his million-dollar smile and cocky ways—a bad boy, for sure.

A pick-up truck swerved dangerously close, cutting in front of them. Eric honked the horn and yelled, Idiot! The truck slowed to almost a crawl and turned right onto a side street, causing Eric to slam on his brakes. Julie lurched forward, bumping her knee on the front panel.

Sorry, babe. What an idiot! Hey, do you mind grabbing that green army bag in the back seat?

Julie turned around in her seat and groped in the darkness. She pulled up a tattered shoulder bag and said, "Is