The Choice

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To start whetting your appetite for the paranormal, I'm offering The Choice in its entirety.

This novella is published in an anthology by Genesis Press. I no longer link to online bookstores carrying this because I have never received a single royalty statement reflecting their sales of my work (or payment) as contracted.

So download and enjoy the freebie novella!

What readers said on Amazon about The Choice. . .

Excellent Holiday book. I read this book in 2000, again in 2001 and it will be re-read in 2002. My favorite story was The Choice by Monica Jackson.

These four Christmas stories were awesome. Each story was something truly special and they were all first-class material. I must admit my favorite was The Choice by Monica Jackson. I know the holidays are over but if you can your hand on a copy of this novel, do so.

I loved all the stories, but I think 'The Choice' was my favorite. Read it and see if you agree!

An excerpt from Chapter 1 of "The Choice"

. . .Evelyn had decided to cook smothered pork chops for tonight's dinner. She got the extra-large family-size pack out and reached in the cabinet for the seasonings. Suddenly Evelyn cocked her head and listened intently. She heard singing. Smooth and soulful, like gospel music. Did she leave a radio on somewhere?

"There you go cooking on the white folks' part of the hog again."
Evelyn spun, her heart freezing.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
She started to take a step forward and stopped, biting her lips nervously. There had to be an explanation. Of course there was. She cocked her head and listened. The homey and familiar hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the wall clock were the only sounds she heard. She was tired. That had to be it.
Evelyn bent over and put the big frying pan on the stove. Her eyes moistened. It was December 17. The anniversary of Sweet Mama's death was a week away. The grief had faded to a dull ache, but with her fatigue and the memory of her loss last Christmas . . . No wonder she heard her great aunt's voice, the woman who raised her and her sisters with a firm but loving hand.
The white folks' part of the hog.
Sweet Mama liked the pork chops, the ham and the bacon, but she loved the parts of the pig reserved for the black folks way back when. Smoky ribs and crispy fried pigskin. Pig's feet and chitlins. That's good eating, child, she would say. We took the scraps and turned them into gourmet cuisine. That's how we black folks do it.

"Evelyn? You in the kitchen?"
"Yes, I'm back here, Deb."
Her youngest sister glided in sniffing.
"You scared me for a moment. I didn't smell any food."
"I just haven't got it in the pan yet. I know you all would riot if I didn't cook."
Deb was beautiful, trim and small with smooth skin that looked like honey and long black relaxed hair hanging over her shoulders and down her back. Deb favored her other two younger sisters and her mother's sister, Aunt Jean. Not for the first time did Evelyn wonder why she'd gotten such a different set of numbers in the gene lottery, with her stocky body, dark skin and short, kinky hair.
Her mother and grandmother had drowned together in a flash flood so long ago that Evelyn's memories of being clasped to a full, soft chest by strong arms were all that remained of them besides a few photos. If it weren't for her looking so much like Sweet Mama and the old photos of her mother, she would have thought there had been some mistake.
Fair or dark, plain or pretty, the family legacy is always the same, Sweet Mama would say. Evelyn had frowned because that usually was a prelude to Sweet Mama going on and on about the importance of choices and dirty-doggish men. But everyone in Mystic Ridge knew that Evelyn's choices had already been the wrong ones.
"Pork chops? What are you cooking with them?" Deb asked.
"I'm making smothered pork chops, rice and gravy, sweet peas, yellow pound cake. Speaking of peas, they're in the refrigerator. You can snap them for me and put them on to boil with a pinch of sugar and lots of butter."
Deb heaved a sigh and went to the refrigerator. "Sometimes I wonder why I show up early and don't have the sense to wait for the food to be on the table like everybody else."
Evelyn shrugged and unaccustomed resentment touched her. She was forever cooking and tending to other folks. What would it be like to come home to a good meal for a change? She banished the thought.
"Let me tell you why I rushed over," Deb continued. "I had to tell you the news. You aren't going to believe it. David's back in town."
"David?" Evelyn put a questioning tone to the name, but she knew who he was. Her heart thudded as she remembered the handsome young man who every single girl in the town, black or white, wanted to call her own. They'd gone to school together, first through twelfth grade. Not only was he the best-looking, most athletic young man with the highest test scores and grades, he was also one of the nicest boys she'd ever met. David Douglas had been born under a lucky star.
"I know you remember David. That man was so fine, when he left, the echo of breaking hearts around this town about broke the sound barrier."
"He went into the Foreign Service after college, right? What makes him decide to finally bring his family back to Mystic Ridge after all these years?"
"This is the good part, sis. He was in a car accident in Germany, serious injuries, and his second wife booked on him."
"That's the good part?"
"The man is unattached, broken-hearted and has been injured. He comes back to his hometown to heal and nurse his wounds. What could be better? He's ripe for the picking. The man is mine, do you hear me?"
Evelyn shot a sharp glance at her sister and shook her head. "The poor man," she murmured under her breath. "You were a kid when he left. What do you know about David?"
"I remember David quite well. And I'm not a kid anymore."
Evelyn started to open her mouth to reply when her daughter Ashley bounded in, all long legs and coltish energy. "Hi Mom."
Ashley glanced over at Deb. "What's going on, Aunt Deb?"
"We were talking about David," Deb replied.
"Who isn't? It's so romantic. Wounded hero returning home . . ."
"As far as I know Germany isn't a war zone anymore, and the Foreign Service hardly qualifies as military duty," Evelyn said dryly. "Mom, you know what I mean."
Evelyn eyed her daughter, hardly believing that this tall beauty sprang from her loins. Ashley was home from the University of Maryland for Christmas break. She was staying in her own apartment and just dropping in occasionally. Evelyn barely got to see her. The apron strings were fraying. She'd be ready to graduate next year and she was already talking about heading off to the west coast for grad school.
Ashley was both the best and worst thing she'd ever done her entire life. She'd been a child having a child when she gave birth to her at fourteen. She could scarcely believe what was happening to her and to her body. When she brought forth this little wailing creature, she'd stared at it in disbelief.
"You've set a course for your life, child. You gave away your youth and you're a woman now," Sweet Mama had said.
And that was the way it had been. From that moment on, she'd been a mother to her child and her three younger sisters. She'd never looked back.
Her heart ached at the thought of her baby grown up and gone. Time had gone by so quickly. She was only thirty-five and she felt like a much older woman who'd never had the fiery juices of young womanhood fill her.
An hour and a half later, dinner was on the table. Folks were talking all at once and enjoying their food thoroughly. Evelyn hurried between the kitchen and the table, as was her habit, refilling glasses and serving platters, bringing out dessert.
Joyce said, "I asked David to dinner over here tomorrow."
"Why?" The word from Deb was a sharp rap.
"I thought it would be a nice gesture."
"A nice gesture towards what?" Deb bit into a roll. "Don't get any ideas, now. That man has my name on him."
"I think it is a very good idea to be welcoming toward David," Beverly interrupted. "The man has been through so much."
"And Deb here is itching to put him through more drama," Joyce said.
You got that right," Deb replied.
Evelyn went in the kitchen and closed the door behind her, shutting off the exchange. Her sisters kept a friendly rivalry going on between them over men. It had always been like that since they were teenagers, but they'd never seriously stepped on each other's toes. Beverly had been out of the loop with her marriage, then the bitter divorce such a short while later. Evelyn was happy to see her rejoin the banter. Apparently nobody ever considered that Evelyn could be interested in a man or that any man could be interested in her.
Although Deb's words had been joking, she'd obviously decided that David would be one of the very few men around Mystic Ridge worthy of her. Joyce saw a catch too. Plenty of women would be after David Douglas--that was for sure. It should be interesting around Mystic Ridge with him back, and the Lord knew this town needed all the excitement it could get.

That night Evelyn woke suddenly to the whistling of the wind and cold so frigid her breath made white, ghostly puffs in the darkness of her bedroom.
She shivered and got out of the bed, drawing the blanket tightly around her.   She slipped on her house shoes and made her way to the thermostat.
The heater kicked on immediately and she moved back to her bedroom to burrow under the warmth of the covers.
She stopped. Was that a voice she'd heard?
"Sweet Mama?" Her voice quavered and hung in the cold dark air.
Evelyn stifled the urge to turn on every light in the house and get back into bed. Remnants of a dream? A whisper from the grave? The hairs stood up on the back of Evelyn's neck. She sat up in the bed and reached out for the lamp. The yellow light from the lamp warmed her and she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The voice of Sweet Mama should be nothing to fear. If only she could hear her voice again, one more time. If only.
She picked up her watch by the bed stand. 12:03 and the date was December 18. Exactly one week before Sweet Mama died the year before on Christmas Eve. It had ruined Christmas for everybody, but Sweet Mama never put much stock in the holiday anyway although she claimed to love the time of the year. Fool commercialization, she'd murmur. Santa Claus and trinkets and spending too much money.    Old gods own that time and don't you forget it.
"The longest, darkest night of the year."
Evelyn's head snapped up. "Sweet Mama?" she whispered. There was a hint of pleading in her voice. She needed her now.   Sweet Mama was the only one who'd cared for her in the way Evelyn gave and gave to others. Sweet Mama would cook the things she liked, rub her back and tell her to keep on putting one foot in front of the other when it seemed as if the world was against her. She missed her so much, and the year's passing had hardly dented the rock of her grief.
Evelyn cocked her head and listened hard. Was there the thrum of drumbeats, women's voices raised in joyous song, or was it the hum of the heater? Was she losing her mind?
She buried her face in her hands. Evelyn had thought this Christmas would be easier--a time of healing and renewal after the sad Christmas of last year. She'd wanted to make this Christmas special. But she was exhausted and broke and getting broker. Everything was falling on her as usual.
Her home was the hub of the family. She poured the money, time and energy to keep the traditions and family spirit alive, and her home was where they all gathered. Four sisters, their men all gone or lost, and their children. They all lived in Mystic Ridge, tied there by reasons of circumstance and habit. A family of women was what they'd always been and family was all Evelyn had. All that was supposed to matter. Why the hole in her heart?
"Sweet Mama?" She needed her so much.
She turned off the light and lay back and closed her eyes. She felt sleep wash over her.
"Rest, child. You rest now. There's changes a comin' soon."

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