Marking Time
Chapters (44)
- Part I: Marking Time
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Part II: Forward March
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Part III: Column
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Part IV: About Face
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Part V: Parade Rest
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Epilogue
Marking Time
By: Marie Force
Marie Force
Copyright 2011 by Marie Force
Smashwords Edition
Cover by Kristina Brinton
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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
For all the readers who asked for Clare’s story—thank you!
Part I: Marking Time
Marching in place.
Chapter 1
Clare checked her watch again. One thirty. It must be done by now. My husband—or I should say ex-husband—is remarried.
“Ex-husband,” she said with a shudder. Unimaginable. Divorced… Such an ugly word.
She wheeled her chair across her room in the rehabilitation center and gazed out at the steamy August day. Somewhere along the Ten Mile Ocean Drive in historic Newport, Jack had exchanged vows with Andi. He has a new family now. Clare had known this day was coming and had set the whole thing in motion by letting him go, but that didn’t make it any easier to imagine her Jack married to someone else. “Not my Jack anymore,” she said to herself.
The door opened. “Mrs. Harrington?”
Clare didn’t correct the nurse. She wasn’t “Mrs.” any longer. “Yes?”
“They’re ready for you in PT.”
Taking another long look at the City by the Sea, Clare wondered what Jack was doing right at that moment. Was he kissing his bride? Making a toast? Dancing with one of their daughters? She shook her head, angry to have allowed herself even a brief trip down that road. What did it matter now?
“Let’s go.” She wheeled herself to the door to let the nurse push her through the long hallways to physical therapy.
After dinner, Clare worked her way into lightweight pajamas. She was proud of her ability to do things for herself, even small things like changing her clothes. Each little victory added up. Rolling the wheelchair across the room she’d called home for the last four months, she eased herself from her chair to the sofa on her own—another recent accomplishment. Her recovery was coming along slowly but surely.