“Yes. I believe that one just landed on my hand.”

“Then there must be such a thing,” he had said and noticed that in the years following she appeared more at ease with her past.

The phone rang, the sudden explosion of sound in the quiet room jarring. He was alone in the apartment this evening. He had dismissed the servants for the night; the cook had left supper for him in the oven, and his daughters, seven and five, were at their grandparents’ home in Connecticut for the weekend. “Hello,” he said with a clutch in his voice.

“Richard, my love, I am sorry for the late hour. I…have been engrossed.”

Richard, my love. She had never called him that, and there was a warmth in her voice that he’d never heard before.

“Was your trip successful?” he asked, his heart stilled.

“Very. I will be coming home tomorrow. I have much to tell you. Much to share. It’s time, Richard.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

*  *  *

Two years later, a nonfiction book appeared on the New York Times best sellers’ list written by an unknown author but a well-known legend in the field of which he wrote. The intriguing title had caught the nation’s attention as well as the striking jacket cover. It featured a mural of a stunning seascape painted on the ancient courtyard wall of a convent, and above it in raised lettering, aptly titled from the content and rave reviews, The Mark on the Wall.

Acknowledgments

A close friend, Terry Jo Gough, presented me with a gift after my first novel, Roses, was published. It was a polished block of gray stone and on its face was written, “Once in a while right in the middle of an ordinary life…love brings you a fairy tale.” As with all T.J.’s gifts, it was most appropriate, and it sits now on a special shelf in my office where my glance can fall upon it as I drink my morning coffee. It is a reminder that this writing journey of mine has indeed been the stuff of fairy tales brought to life by the love from family, longtime friends, fans, and readers. Without your interest and confidence in my literary endeavors, I may not have stayed the course. So thank you, each and every one. You are held dear in the ordinary life of this writer.