Today, author Bonnie McCune is sharing from her latest release, A Saint Comes Stumbling In.
Can a discarded wife find confidence, success and even a new love? A patron saint might help.
Thirty-something Joan Nelson has more to contend with than a biological clock or an identity crisis, for her husband of twelve years has fled. Despite her ardent belief in a conventional marriage, she finds herself deserted for a younger, slimmer woman. Lacking any skills or education, she’s thrust unprepared into the nightmare challenge of making a living for the first time in her sheltered existence. How can she reconstruct her damaged life and heal her bruised ego? Ill-equipped for the singles scene, she embarks on a confusing, sometimes frightening, lifestyle. Her namesake, Joan of Arc, provides a model of courage and insight. A Saint Comes Stumbling In features a strong, down-to-earth heroine full of hopes and dreams who unexpectedly and humorously becomes the heroine of her own story, in the manner, if not the scope, of Saint Joan.
On Saturday, the doorbell chimes and for the first time in several months, I open the door with neither hope nor fear. For a heartbeat, I fail to recognize the man’s back as he surveys the street instead of me. It should be as familiar to me as the lumpy overstuffed chair in the living room or the collection of family photos in the hall—its breadth, the slope of the shoulders, the ragged neck of the faded red t-shirt covering it.
When I realize the visitor is my husband James, the shock paralyzes my vocal chords. Why is he here? He removed all his portable belongings long before and the terms and division of property were hammered out several weeks ago. A thin tendril of hope struggles to force a way through the arid wasteland of my self-esteem, decimated after his desertion. Perhaps the twelve years of our marriage hadn’t been ecstatic, but at least I’d found our marital bliss comfortable.
I’m now wary enough of another rejection not to invite him in. Instead, I step out to the small square of concrete that serves as a porch.
Some inconsequential chatter, an exchange of how-are-yous and nice-weather-we’re-havings, leave me wondering why he’s suddenly reappeared. Then James’s voice turns resolute.
“Joan, I need to ask you a favor,” he says with a stiff formality, as if we’re strangers instead of a couple who have seen one another with drippy head colds or climaxing with animal moans and groans. “I know I told you there was no hurry to sell the house, but I’m pressed for money. Maureen and I need to get a place of our own. We’ve been squeezed into that tiny apartment too long.”
“You mean you can’t live on love?” My disappointment increases my inherent sarcasm, recently suppressed toward the finale of my marriage as I struggled to bandaid the relationship’s incurable wounds.
For more information:
To buy: www.inspiredromancenovels.com
To learn more: www.BonnieMcCune.com