The section's been a little dry lately with all the Jared Loughner and Top 10 video blogs, and I really don't have anything to write about. Sad, I know. So I thought since I didn't have anything new, I'd post a little snippet from a Novella I'm working on.

It's called Three Weeks, and it deals with the emotional struggles a man deals with while having to take a three week break from work pending an investigation. Who knows, I might post more of it at some point.

This particular section deals with a reflection on times with his exwife as he sits in his house:

...and then there was the girl. Carrie. She was nice enough, I suppose. She really was. Was she something special? Did I love her? I dont know the meaning of the word. Days seeing her turned to weeks, to years. She said she loved me, and I said it back sometimes. And, seeing as it was the thing to do, after a couple years I popped the question. Nothing fancy. None of that ring-in-the-wine-bottle stuff. We had discussed marriage before, so that one night, I just asked. That was it. I was cordial. Professional. She said yes, of course. No tears of joy, nothing. Official as could be.

She wanted kids, but I was unsure. There was a divorce, and that was that. I still saw her every once in a while. Shopping for groceries, walking down the street. I even pulled her over once or twice. She was nice enough as always, cordial and cold as could be, and I always let her go with a warning, even a smile.

And for some inexplicable reason, my eyes were drawn to the cedar box on the mantel. I stepped over to it.

The humidor was large, at least ten inches on a side. A wedding gift from my best friend. He had fiddled around with woodworking during his life, and it was gorgeous. My fingers brushed over the silky tung finish, traced the delicate dovetails and hinges. Yes, he sure had known how to craft the stuff. I gently felt the ornate brass humidity gauge, set deep in the grain.

I opened the box, and the rich aroma of cedar and tobacco floated up to my nose. Rich. Pungent.  Empty. I had never really taken to smoking cigars, but I left it stocked for Ray when he visited. But the fool hadnt known that the cedar odor would ruin the cigars. Even he hadnt blamed me for throwing them out. I smiled. An amazing woodworker, yes, but Ray wasnt much for common sense. He had killed himself sometime after my wedding.

The say that memories are carried on smells, more so than any other sense, and as the scent of the cedar and tobacco reached my nose, I believed it. Her face floated up from the aroma, and Carrie was on my mind. Right after dinner at the wedding reception, Ray had brought this box up to the table with a smile on his face. I was puzzled, and

...she was laughing. I couldnt light the damn thing, no matter how I tried. And once I did, I could barely hold it! Here, she said, my beautiful wife,  "Like this." She took the thick cigar from me, lit it with ease, and drew a deep breath. She coughed. And thats how we do it, Johnny! she said in a parody of a long-time smokers rasp.

And I laughed. I had laughed in the memory, and I laughed now. She sure was something. I could almost hear her voice now. And suddenly, I knew I had to call her. I had to hear her voice again.

A mans voice answered the phone when I dialed, and I hung up without a word.

Hope you liked it.