As a Multiple Sclerosis patient, it has become necessary for me to reinvent myself. I have ... and continue to ... refuse to lie down and die, or in this case, follow the normally prescribed drugs and treatments that do nothing to defeat my disease. I am not only surviving by pursuing alternatives, I am thriving. I do the things specialists told me I would never be able to do. I walk and hope to one day even run regularly. I retain my cognitive and creative abilities for the pleasure of my readers. Although you may never see me on my daily walk, you are welcome to read my novel(s) and in doing so, come to ask yourself, "How can the 'out of the box' protocol she has followed, help my loved one with an autoimmune disease like Multiple Sclerosis?"

WIP - The Talisman - Chapter 6

Chapter 6
Present Day
Part A

Rhea woke with a start. Why was she sitting up in her chair and in the living room? Trish!
Rhea scrambled to right herself, plucking her reading glasses from their precarious perch at the end of her nose with one hand while fumbling for her romance novel that had slid between the chairs generous cushions. The grandfather clock ticked with its usual disciplined beat. She reached to turn off the lamp on the side table. The first pale glimmer of dawn beckoned at the horizon across the valley. Pushing the footrest closed, she stood and moved carefully through the waning darkness to see the clock's face. Five o'clock. She had fallen asleep waiting for Trish to come home.
This wasn't like Trish. Yesterday had been her birthday but she hadn't seemed overly distraught about it. She'd left the house early to go riding.
Maybe she'd gone with Vance. No one at his home had answered the phone last evening and Rhea had left more than one message. Of course if Vance and his mother were anything like herself, the light on the message recorder could go unnoticed for more than a day.
Where was Trish? Cell phones were wonderful gadgets and maybe after this, she would get one, but service was spotty at best in this valley and thus her decision to keep the landline. It was too early to call. Vinita, Vince's mother worked the late shift and wouldn't be up until after eight. That left her one choice, to go over and try to catch Vance before he got too engaged in training or left to deliver a horse. Why did Trish have to agree to go into business with Vance? He was so young and full of dreams, not to mention being cock-sure of himself.
Rhea mentally shook herself. Trish and Vance and their huge dreams were not the issue this morning. Finding Trish was.
Rhea paused long enough in the kitchen to grab a couple pieces of toast, she'd need it to think straight and if the day demanded more? Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. With her purse strap over her arm, butter slicking her fingers from the toast and keys in the other hand, Rhea hurried through the brisk morning air to her car. The old Pontiac Grand Prix turned over and burst into the gentle roar of power tweaked by local teens. Taking her foot off the brake she let the power roll the heavy car down the drive before coaxing the engine to speed down the dirt road. Oh Trish, where are you?
Ten years ago, Rhea would have thumbed through Trish's notebook, looking for friends and boyfriends whose couches Trish would happily crash on in a case like this. But not today. Trish had come home after weeks of phone calls from Rhea, begging her to reconsider.
Trish had reconsidered all right, right into Vance's dream of horses and training grandeur. What had become of Trish's dream to become a defense attorney? Rhea mulled the possibilities around in her head. Maybe something had happened at the law offices of Mikelson, Hoffman and Bauer. Trish had seemed happy enough until that last phone conversation. Rhea shook her head; she'd not held the power to sway Trish's decisions since high school. Something or someone else must have been the cause for Trish's willing return home.
Deep in thought, Rhea took the corner a bit too fast. The papers on the passenger seat slid. Rhea slapped her hand on them to keep them from falling to the floor. Letting off the accelerator, Rhea pulled safely into the yards of Vance's dream-come-true. As Rhea lifted her hand to put the car into park, the papers slipped to their earlier destination, the floor. It was only then that she took the moment to read. She didn't have to read much to discover the reason for Trish's rash decisions. The letter informed the reader that Trish had not passed her bar exam.

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