Chris Posti’s second novel in the “Next Act” series for and about Women over 50 gives readers real life & romance in Contemporary Women’s Fiction!

“Told from the alternating points of view of Rachel, Marla, and Suzanne, respectively, the novel effectively offers a look at the tribulations of adults in late middle age—from caring for elderly parents to navigating relationships with grown children. The honesty and openness with which the author examines familiar experiences has a grace of its own. Watching three very different women find common ground as they pursue second acts for themselves is poignant and compelling. [Posti] presents characters with grit and fortitude.” – Kirkus Reviews

From the Publisher: “At 58, Rachel, Suzanne, and Marla should be enjoying the tranquility of their golden years—perhaps indulging in pickleball and planning a leisurely cruise. However, life has a different plan.

Rachel grapples with the complexities of dating, her newfound self-confidence shattered by the revelation of her late husband’s long-term affair. And then, there’s the new matter of having to wear a wig.

Suzanne’s brand-new husband postpones their honeymoon, and she lands alone in her hometown, where she confronts her mother’s failing health and escalating hoarding habit.

Marla always finds reason to speak her (very smart) mind, but with every attempt to get closer with her daughter, she unwittingly says precisely what she shouldn’t.In the backdrop of tiny Port Mariette, where the echoes of coal and steel abandonment still linger, all three women are faced with the added challenge of running their businesses.

As the town experiences a fragile recovery, an unseen adversary threatens their livelihoods and the community they hold dear.Amidst the uncharted territories of dating, marriage, and motherhood, the trio unites to protect what they’ve built, leaning on each other and their faith as they learn to give the love they yearn to receive.

Praised by Kirkus Reviews as ‘uplifting, poignant, and compelling,’ this novel weaves a tale of resilience, friendship, and love with a heartfelt narrative that explores the bonds that endure beyond age and circumstance…”

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About the Author: “Chris Posti began her writing career at age eight, when she gave her mother a book of poems she’d written in pencil on a lined yellow tablet. Since then, Chris has authored two novels with a third due out in November, along with three non-fiction books, a workbook, a Sunday newspaper column, and dozens of articles. Self-employed for 30 years as an executive coach, job search consultant, and public speaker, she turned in her high heels and leather briefcase to write novels for women over 50. Maybe Now, Maybe Never is the second book in this trilogy…”

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Chapter 1

Rachel
Saturday

Mercy me. Rachel Baran gawked at herself in the ladies’ room mirror, shaking her fake shoulder-length hair. Even in the church’s bright fluorescent lighting, you couldn’t tell it was a wig.

All the way from Port Mariette to Pittsburgh, her neighbor Frank hadn’t said a thing about it. Now, could she fool her old high school friends too? Suzanne would be too engrossed in marrying Rob to notice—but what about Marla? She never missed so much as a crooked eyelash. As if Rachel wasn’t already emotional enough. She sure didn’t need anyone asking about her hair.

She exited the ladies’ room and tapped across the tiled foyer in high-heeled sandals. As soon as she entered the sunlit sanctuary, she let out a deep sigh that threatened to convert into a sob.

How the heck could she enjoy someone else’s wedding when today would have been her and Stan’s fortieth anniversary? If he were still alive, this wedding would be a joyous occasion. Instead, every grin she gave would be as phony as her hair.

Way down the center aisle, Frank rose from a pew and moved onto the thin white runner. A smile spread across his clean-shaven face as his gaze trailed over her whole body.

Over the past year, her also-widowed next-door neighbor Frank had wormed his way into her life. She’d agreed to be his companion—a silly term in her estimation, but she refused to call a grown man her boyfriend. Besides, at this stage of life, no way did she want another husband. No, sirree. Stan had been it. Anyway, when Frank wasn’t complaining about his health, he made for pleasant company.

Rachel stopped a few feet in front of him and put a hand to her hip. “What’cha lookin’ at, Frank?” With no one else there yet, no need to use her church voice.

“You look pretty enough to be the bride today.”

“Aw, thank you.” She fake-smiled wide enough to show her teeth, whitened just yesterday. Marla claimed whitening them took ten years off a woman. Rachel wasn’t so sure, but at fifty-eight, she gave it a go. Besides, whiter teeth might distract eyes from her hair.

The wooden pew quivered as Frank plopped beside her and kicked his wet umbrella under the pew in front of them. For the first two weeks of June, the rain had been relentless in southwestern Pennsylvania, and this morning’s skyful of dark clouds signaled no end in sight.

“I guess we didn’t have to arrive quite this early,” Rachel said.

Frank tugged at his tie. “Nothing wrong with arriving an hour early for a wedding. We might’ve run into traffic or had a hard time finding our way in the rain.”

“At least we’re not late.” The new highway opened last year, shortening the drive from Port Mariette to Pittsburgh to a mere half-hour. New highway or not, she still felt far removed from Pittsburgh and the rest of the world.

Fine by her.

But she felt distanced from Suzanne and Marla too. And that was not so fine. Back in high school, the three of them were so inseparable their classmates collectively called them RÉSUMÉ—short for Rachel, Suzanne, and Marla. Phonetically, the nickname worked, and Rachel treasured the bond it represented.

When last year’s high school reunion brought the three of them together for the first time in forty years, they quickly became close again. No one was more surprised by this than Rachel, whose life had turned out nothing like Suzanne’s or Marla’s.

Suzanne had just lost her airline trainer job, and while staying in Port Mariette for the reunion, she teamed up with her sister to launch a charming art consignment shop on Main Street.

Marla took the opportunity to locate the daughter she’d given up for adoption forty years ago. Grace, it turned out, also happened to be the adopted daughter of Rachel’s sister. Quite the surprise, but everyone eventually recovered.

It seemed both of them might stick around Port Mariette for a while, but soon after the reunion, Suzanne moved from Pittsburgh to California, and Marla flew home to Manhattan. Although they came back to town once in a while, some of the magic had been lost.

For Rachel, though, that old saying still rang true: the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. She alone remained in Port Mariette, just as she had her entire life. Was there something wrong with her for disliking change?

More than a year after Stan’s heart attack, she’d finally come to accept the adjustments his passing wrought. Her oldest son Pete had moved back home after a divorce, and together, they created Food ‘n Fuel, a successful enhancement of the old gas station Stan had left behind. She’d never considered herself entrepreneurial like Marla, but she eked out a decent living in a Rust Belt town using nothing but her previously taken for granted cooking skills. Even Marla couldn’t have done that.

Rachel had forced herself to socialize, too. That’s how she ended up on the St. Cyprian’s Academy fortieth reunion committee and reconnected with her classmates. But at the reunion itself, the moment she felt some romantic sparks while dancing with her high school crush Tony Mastriano, she decided she had adapted enough; she picked up her purse and went home.

Now, though, her eyes roamed the spacious church. No kneelers, statues of saints, or candles to burn. Not a whiff of incense or a single pane of stained glass. “Well, Frank,” she sighed, “I don’t think we’re in a Catholic church.”

Frank cocked his head. “Living Water Church—that sure doesn’t sound Catholic. Not Protestant either. What kind of church is this, anyway?”

“Nondenominational. Suzanne used to come here when she lived in her condo across the river.”

“A little bare-bones, don’t ya think?” Frank swiveled his head around. “I like St. Cyp’s a whole lot better. Especially for a wedding.” He looked Rachel straight in the eye, waiting for her response.

“Yeah, I’m used to St. Cyprian’s too.” She squinted. “But that cross dangling over the stage is pretty dramatic. I kinda like it. Maybe just for today, I could stretch out of my comfort zone.”

“You? Stretch out of your comfort zone? Good luck with that.” Frank gave her knee a comforting squeeze.

“Oh, my. I hope I remembered to bring some tissues.” Rachel reached into her clutch. “I’m wearing mascara today.” Her ploy of wearing extra make-up to distract people from the wig was clearly a tactical error.

“I’ll bet Marla will wear lots of mascara,” Frank deadpanned. “Maybe even false eyelashes.”

Rachel could tell he was joking. “Probably. That woman never cries.” Rachel shoved a few tissues in her dress’s side pocket. “All set now.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Forty-five minutes to go.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “What a shame Rob’s son couldn’t make it today. I wanted to meet him.”

“Oh, I don’t think he had any intention of coming to his dad’s wedding. Pretty flimsy excuse, if you ask me.”

“Kevin has an important job, Suzanne said. All the way in Seattle. He couldn’t get away.”

Frank waved a dismissive hand. “Aw, gimme a break. I was in Florida enjoying a visit with my son, but I flew back for this. Even put on my suit. And I’m not a member of the family.”

The man had a point. Rachel wrapped her hand on his burly forearm. “I appreciate that you came back early.”

“Only for you.” Frank lay his tanned hand over hers and paused a moment before speaking. “I really missed you when I was away.”

“I—I missed you too.” She replied in a whisper and blinked a few times. Did I really? She considered her feelings for a moment, then decided she had missed him. But how much? And why?

They sat there silently, unmoving.

Then Frank inhaled loudly, as if he needed a double dose of oxygen. He pushed himself up from the pew and moved into the aisle. His eyes darted around the sanctuary.

“Restrooms are in the foyer.” Rachel pointed behind them.

But Frank didn’t budge. His full face turned a deep shade of pink.

“Frank! Are you okay?” Rachel stretched an arm toward him.

He grabbed the pew’s armrest and, perspiring, drifted down on a knee.

“Are you dizzy? Is it chest pain?” Oh God, don’t let him die of a heart attack too!

Frank’s eyes had a pleading look as his mouth opened, but no words came out.

Rachel reached for her cell phone. “I’ll call 9-1-1!”

“No, No!” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and released a breath. “Look, Rachel, let’s not waste the rest of our lives. We’re not getting any younger, and you know how I feel about you.”

Her throat constricted and her eyes widened. Don’t say it, Frank! Please don’t say it! After Stan died, she’d worked so hard to perfectly reconstruct her life. She couldn’t allow Frank to shake it up again—but short of slapping her hand over his mouth, what could she do?

“Rachel, will you—”

The church’s rear door banged open, and she spun, relief flooding her at the interruption. “Marla’s here!”

Rachel jerked Frank up to his feet. Their eyes met, and she felt a twinge of remorse at the sadness in his. The poor man had no idea that thoughts of her deceased husband had been running through her mind all morning. She touched Frank’s arm with her fingertips.

“Oh, Frank.” If only she had given him a heads-up about her anniversary date. It may not have changed her reaction but it might have stopped him from asking.

“Marla’s got lousy timing,” he muttered, dusting off his pant leg.

Rachel spread her hand across her chest. No—perfect timing.

 

This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and should not be reprinted without permission.