Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War & Reconstruction by Allen Guelzo (self help books to read TXT) 📕

darling,” Jane sighed knowingly. “It’s you who is frightened of feelings. I have known you for twenty years. You do this all the time, you meet a chap, shag them, and before you know it, you shut yourself away or you walk out. I know it’s your self-defence mechanism, so why is it different this time?”

“I don’t know,” Nia attempted to fool herself, gave up, looked directly at Jane and said:

“He was so different. He made it different this time. He made me laugh and he brought me…” Nia’s voice broke, “joy.”

Jane was stunned.

“Fuck Nia, seriously? You haven’t felt like this since…”

“I know and it scared me. I just don’t know what to do. I can never trust these guys so… so all I could think about was running away.”

Jane who usually eschewed physical contact reached across the table and held Nia’s hand.

“If you want some advice from an old broad,” Jane said, and Nia nodded looking down into her coffee. “As much as you want to, as much as anyone wants to, we can’t control the future. You’re the toughest woman I know but you’re a coward, Nia. You don’t need to shut yourself down or lock yourself away. You deserve some… what did you call it, joy. Have you broken it beyond all recognition?”

Nia looked up through her fringe, “I don’t think so.”

“Then, kiddo, I’d suggest you go get him back,” Jane stated. “Maybe you should give him a chance to earn your trust.”

Nia said nothing.

“Now,” Jane continued. “What did you think about our lesbian matron?”

***

Nia walked aimlessly back from the cafe. The afternoon chill bit at her cheeks and she wound her scarf to just below her eyes, pulled down her hat, and thrust her hands deep into her coat’s pockets. She shivered still. She popped into a bookstore to get warm. Nia liked books, really liked them and often joked that she liked them more than people. She began browsing shelves; starting on the new releases, autobiographies and biographies, checking to see if they were about anyone she knew. Then she moved on to history shelves then through to the travel shelves. She ran her fingers across the spines of books along the length of a shelf, and then stopped. She pulled the book her fingers hovered over off the shelf, A Weekender Guide to the Canals of North Wales, it sounded like the guides Tom mentioned he wrote but the author’s name was different. She flipped the book over to find a picture of the author; it was Tom. Why was he writing under an assumed name? Military thing she thought. There he was, rugged, hand on tiller at the stern of a narrowboat, slightly embarrassed smile, Jack Russell at his feet. Okay, she told herself, I really do like this guy. It’s time for me to take a chance.

Outside, a light snow blew around through the soupy dark evening. Nia sat in her favourite comfy chair with her knees up underneath her. The fire warmed the room but still she nestled under a hip blanket. Billie Holiday played on her stereo. Nia placed her cup of tea on a side table she’d once picked up in Petticoat Lane. She had earlier arranged a number of canal guidebooks on the beloved table’s worn surface. She had been surprised at the amount and variety of canal guides. Who knew there could be so many, she wondered? She took a sip of her tea and watched the snow gently falling outside, lovely she thought, and hoped, there would be enough accumulation to build a snowman, or a snow-woman. She wondered how cold a canal boat would be in this weather. She thought about Tom on his boat. Nia picked up the first thin brightly coloured book.

Nia enjoyed books, and she read voraciously and well. She read Tom’s book greedily. She enjoyed his eye for detail and his prose. She was aware that he wrote easily with the same sense of self-deprecating humour he displayed in person. An anecdote about a pompous boat owner made her laugh out loud. She liked the way he wrote. Nia ran her finger over Tom’s picture. She held the book and smiled. I just spent an incredible weekend with this guy, she thought. Incredible enough for him to be her lover? That didn’t feel right, my fella, she determined sounded better. She smiled, but her smile faded quickly as she wondered whether Tom would be receptive. She hoped he would be. Nia pulled out her phone. She had deleted her earlier composition and although confident that her bridge to Tom could be repaired, she was, nevertheless, a little nervous as she simply typed. “I’m so sorry. Had a wobble. I really do want to see you again… I’d love to see you again. Friday? I’ll explain. Please write to me.” She read her text and added an ‘X before she hit send.

***

Llangollen Canal and London

Tom’s phone chimed with a text alert. ‘Nia’ the phone read. An icy sensation gripped at his stomach. His desire for her had only been heightened by the sense of her sudden unattainability. He held the phone for a moment knowing that this was one of those moments, a crossroads in life, that could spell happiness or sadness. Tom opened the text, read her words, read them again and smiled to himself as all concern melted away. He was thrilled that she had signed off with an ‘X’.

***

On the canal the snow turned to rain and the temperature climbed. The rain and miserable weather limited Tom’s boating, keeping him in the marina. Tom went through his daily routines with Jack and the Periwinkle with a new lightness after receiving Nia’s text. He caught up with some of his writing but found himself frequently distracted with thoughts of Nia and memories of their two nights together. He found himself