Happily Ever Never

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Lloyd Langley

Lloyd makes room for his daughter as she plops down on the bed and accepts the book she hands him.

“The Baby-Sitters Club,” he says, nodding in approval.

Brooke smiles at him. “I love that one. It’s a real classic.”

“Is it?” He frowns. “I thought they just started publishing those.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right.” She shrugs.

The book does feel old, now that she’s mentioned it. The cover is worn, the pages yellowed, and it’s got that old-book smell to it.

He looks down at the book, running his fingers across the cover, and then carefully opens it. “Where were we again on this?”

“Chapter one. We always start with chapter one.” His daughter gives him a smile that’s a little sad. Is something bothering her? Maybe somebody’s been mean to her at school ?

“Everything okay, pumpkin-head?”

That makes her laugh. “Better than okay.”

“Those kids at school giving you a hard time?” She goes to the same school that the kids from the ritzy side of their small Connecticut town attend, and the kids can be a bunch of nasty little snots. Their parents are trust fund brats. He’s the carpenter who fixes their cabinets, and his wife is the baker who sells them bread.

“No, not at all.”

“All right then.” He flips open the book to the first chapter and starts to read. His daughter is an excellent reader, of course—he doesn’t need to read to her—but it’s a ritual he’s reluctant to let go of.

As he reads aloud, he wonders how much more time he’s got left before she tires of this. The years go by so fast.

He’s always loved stories. They were a way for his parents and him to connect on a deeper level, to visit the same worlds together, and now he’s passed that love on to his child. He’s proud of that.

They can escape to magic fantasy lands. They can learn moral lessons and travel through time. They can journey to a world where everything is made right in the end, where bad people are shown the errors of their ways and good people receive their just reward after their hero’s journey.

Stories tell us truths about ourselves that we couldn’t learn any other way.

They like to see plays, too, for that same reason.

They went to see a play about Winnie the Pooh at the local theater yesterday. He’s pretty sure it was yesterday.

Anyway, the day they went isn’t important. The real question is, how many more books will they have, how many plays will they see together, before she decides she’s too old and just wants to hang out with her friends? Middle school is right around the corner .

Has she gone shopping for school supplies yet? School starts in a few weeks.

He shakes his head impatiently. His mind is wandering a lot these days. Tomorrow morning he’ll go to work at his shop. He’s making cabinets for a new restaurant. What’s the name of that restaurant again?

He hesitates for a moment, losing his place.

His wife, Stephanie, reclines in a rocker, knitting. Her brown hair is shot through with gray and she looks tired. She glances up at him.

“When did we get that chair?” he asks, puzzled.

Stephanie hesitates a moment. “Today,” she says finally. She exchanges a look with Brooke, a look he doesn’t understand.

“What’s the name of the restaurant that I’m building those cabinets for?” he asks. He hates to admit it, but sometimes he has a hard time remembering things these days.

Before his wife can answer, the door opens, and a woman in a white polyester uniform walks in, smiling. She’s pushing a small cart with paper cups filled with pills on it.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt. Time for your meds, Mr. Langley.”

“My meds?” He looks at Stephanie for help. “We have a nurse at our house?”

Brooke puts her hand on his arm. “Daddy, can you just take the meds, and then we can finish the chapter?”

They’re not at home. They’re in a big room—it’s a very nice room, with pictures of his family up on the walls—but it isn’t home.

He wants to go home, but for some reason, he knows he can’t.

He accepts three pills and washes them down with the water that the nurse offers him. Then he looks at Brooke in confusion.

“Where were we in the book again? ”

But wait—Brooke’s not in second grade. Brooke is a grown-up. She’s a pretty woman with long brown hair and big Bambi-brown eyes. Her hair isn’t in pigtails anymore; it’s loose and wavy and hanging past her shoulders. She’s even wearing makeup. When did she start wearing makeup?

He shakes his head in confusion. “You... you’re too old for me to be reading to, aren’t you?”

“No, Daddy.” She blinks at him and takes his hand. “I’ll never be too old.”