Starts out in summer of 1963. Sweet little ten-year-old Catholic school girl Georgia Christine meets eleven-year-old smoker with armpit hair who really does live on the wrong side of the tracks Easy. She and Abigail May are mystery solvers, The Darnay Spies, in their spare time, and Easy Caghan (E.C.) and his brother Cap will keep these two little ladies on their sleuthing toes. Darnay Road leads them into a future where their childish friendship blooms into love. Will the Vietnam War be the one challenge they can’t overcome?
Easy is digging in the high pocket on his jacket. He gets out a velvet box and hands it to me. “I told you I’d get you something, right?” he says. He just seems so serious.
He hands me this box. I look at him before I open it and smile but he doesn’t smile back.
“Go on,” he says meaning I should open the box, and I do and it’s a ring with an opal. I know it is because I love opals very much and he says it. “It’s an opal.”
I take it out and it fits just right.
“Abigail May told me the size,” he says.
Well she didn’t spill the beans at all. I put it on my finger and I keep my hand in a fist because my nails are just plain Jane. I don’t do much to them unless Abigail May and I do it together, but we haven’t lately.
“Thank you,” I say. I look at him. “Thank you,” I say again because he can’t have much money and there are a million places.
He takes in a big breath. “Well I wanted to,” he says.
I look at his lips and he leans a little and kisses me. I am overcome.
“Easy,” I whisper. I’ve got tears.
“What’s the matter?” he says low.
“I…,” I laugh a little, “never thought I’d get a ring from you in Disbro’s truck.” That’s not what I was going to say, I don’t know what I was going to say, but it’s the truth about this truck.
He laughs too. “Yeah. I’m just looking for time with you when they aren’t all around.” It has been that way.
We’re being watched.
All of Diane’s available works can be found on her Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/dianemunier
Living comfortably in the heart of America with the people I love. I live an extroverted life, but I'm a genuine introvert. An urban kid, I spent much of my youth running in various neighborhood establishments. There I met many colorful characters and I learned to love them and be fascinated by them. My love of story comes from them. I learned to sit on a bar stool or a kitchen chair or in a pew and hear story. Hear the voices telling story. See the mouths move and the hands clutching glasses or cigarettes. See and hear the laughter. There is no greater honor than to hear someone's story. If you feel that way about the tales I tell...what more could I ask.