| All rights reserved. |
Vivian Gilbert Zabel
| Writings |
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Case of the Missing Coach is
the sequel to The Base
Stealers Club. Both books tell
the story of the Jonesville
Chargers' challenge to reach
major championships against all
odds.
A sub-group of the team call
themselves the Base Stealers
Club because only bases should
be stolen. This bunch of players,
led by Ryan Scott, Colby Bryce,
and Shane Foster, help solve
mysteries in both books.
Both novels for youngsters can
be ordered from bookstores or
the 4RV store
the sequel to The Base
Stealers Club. Both books tell
the story of the Jonesville
Chargers' challenge to reach
major championships against all
odds.
A sub-group of the team call
themselves the Base Stealers
Club because only bases should
be stolen. This bunch of players,
led by Ryan Scott, Colby Bryce,
and Shane Foster, help solve
mysteries in both books.
Both novels for youngsters can
be ordered from bookstores or
the 4RV store
Walking the Earth can be ordered
from bookstores or on Amazon.com.
Hidden Lies and Other Stories
joins the talents of Vivian and Holly
Jahangiri. Although both authors
have different writing styles, their
stories mesh to create an interesting
collection of short stories.
Hidden Lies can also be ordered from
bookstores or on Amazon.com.
| Articles - Tips for Writing |
| Books |
Blog - Vivian Gilbert Zabel
| Poetry |
| Gone Little children play in the street, Laughing as they hide and seek, But none of them are you. With sparkling eyes, smiling faces, None of them are you. No, none of them are you. Other children’s arms may hug me, Their tender lips kiss me on the cheek, But no more embraces come from you. Others come to visit me at home, Or I can go to stay with them, But I never can see you two. Dark curls bouncing on a small girl’s head, Brown eyes in a young boy’s gaze Bring memories of the you I knew. Though knowing you are growing up, Would no longer look the same, My eyes search for you every day. You’re gone. I don’t know where you are. You’re gone, And I don’t know how far. You’re gone. My heart beats ‘round a hole. You’re gone, And I’m afraid you’re all alone. Please, God, help me - They’re gone. Written for two of my grandchildren, taken by their father in November, 1996, never seen or heard from by us since. Update: We saw Faris and Meena for the first time in 11 1/2 years on July 18, 2008 © Copyright 2002 by Vivian Gilbert Zabel |
Case of the Missing Coach
By V. Gilbert Zabel
Published by: 4RV Publishing LLC
ISBN-13: 978-0-9797513-1-8
ISBN-10: 0-9797513-1-4
Kurtis wants nothing more than to be near the baseball
team, helping in any way he can. However, his brother
Ryan finds Kurtis a bit on the annoying side, always in his
way. But this story isn't only about brothers. The author,
right from the start, has spun a yarn surrounding the
mystery as to who vandalized the Chargers team's baseball
equipment.
The boys on the team had formed their own little club
called the Base Stealers Club, initiated when they teamed
up and solved a previous mystery. Now the boys are at it
again, this time to discover the identity of the vandals.
Yet, the boys have another dilemma: what to do to raise
funds to allow all their teammates to participate in the
National Tournament, hosted outside their vicinity.
Vivian Zabel gives us a delightful tale of sportsmanship,
excitement centering the team’s efforts
to win the tournament games amidst dangerous and
mysterious going-ons, building confidence, and
friendship; everything a young adult or even a family
By V. Gilbert Zabel
Published by: 4RV Publishing LLC
ISBN-13: 978-0-9797513-1-8
ISBN-10: 0-9797513-1-4
Kurtis wants nothing more than to be near the baseball
team, helping in any way he can. However, his brother
Ryan finds Kurtis a bit on the annoying side, always in his
way. But this story isn't only about brothers. The author,
right from the start, has spun a yarn surrounding the
mystery as to who vandalized the Chargers team's baseball
equipment.
The boys on the team had formed their own little club
called the Base Stealers Club, initiated when they teamed
up and solved a previous mystery. Now the boys are at it
again, this time to discover the identity of the vandals.
Yet, the boys have another dilemma: what to do to raise
funds to allow all their teammates to participate in the
National Tournament, hosted outside their vicinity.
Vivian Zabel gives us a delightful tale of sportsmanship,
excitement centering the team’s efforts
to win the tournament games amidst dangerous and
mysterious going-ons, building confidence, and
friendship; everything a young adult or even a family
| Review: Case of the Missing Coach by Lea Schizas |
(review con't)
would enjoy reading about.
What I loved the most about this book is the way the
mystery played out in snippets, pulling me to continue
reading and finding out what would happen next. The boys
pulling through as a team and their interaction with the
youngest brother brought a realistic side to it.
Excitement is built slowly as to ‘who is this mystery person
determined to get the team off the Nationals and back
home’. From mysterious threatening notes, phone calls, fire
alarms going off in their hotel, to tampered food, Vivian
Zabel punches in a hoot full of excitement for the reader.
It’s easy to read and comprehend, the black and white
pictures add realism to each chapter, and the question
“What’s going to happen” eats away at you until the very
end.
A Great Read all around.
Lea Schizas – Muse Book Reviewer
would enjoy reading about.
What I loved the most about this book is the way the
mystery played out in snippets, pulling me to continue
reading and finding out what would happen next. The boys
pulling through as a team and their interaction with the
youngest brother brought a realistic side to it.
Excitement is built slowly as to ‘who is this mystery person
determined to get the team off the Nationals and back
home’. From mysterious threatening notes, phone calls, fire
alarms going off in their hotel, to tampered food, Vivian
Zabel punches in a hoot full of excitement for the reader.
It’s easy to read and comprehend, the black and white
pictures add realism to each chapter, and the question
“What’s going to happen” eats away at you until the very
end.
A Great Read all around.
Lea Schizas – Muse Book Reviewer
Torri hurried to the living room, a load of laundry in her arms. She blew a stream of
breath upward and told the ringing phone, “All right; all right. Give me minute.” With
another sigh, she thought, I don’t need anything else. Torri dumped the pile of clean
clothes on the sofa and reached for the telephone on the end table. Rubbing her temple with
fingers of her left hand, she used the other hand to hold the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is Mike there?" an unfamiliar woman’s voice asked.
"No, he isn't. May I take a message?"
"Do you know when he will return?"
"No, I don't. He didn't tell me. Do you want to leave a message?"
"Tell me, how long have you been with Mike?"
Looking at the toys scattered around the room, the clothes jumbled in front of her,
Torri gave an unlady-like snort before she answered, "Long enough. Now, do you or do
you not wish to leave a message?"
"Apparently good office help is difficult to find in Dallas. You certainly don't
sound competent or professional."
"Office help... I don't think..."
"Listen," the voice interrupted, "I need to talk to Mike. When will he be in?"
"I really don't know," Torri answered, surprising herself with the calm acceptance of
another woman's determined search for Mike. Hers wasn't the first such call Torri had
fielded. "May I take a message, or would you rather call again later?"
"Just what I need. I lost the paper he gave me with the name of the hotel where we're
supposed to stay for that conference. I'm at the airport and need to know where to go.
You wouldn't know where we're staying, do you? I know it's downtown Dallas
somewhere."
Huh! I could tell you where to go, Torri thought as she asked aloud, "Who do I say
called?"
A long-suffering pause precluded the answer, "His wife, Marty."
Torri's hand gripped the phone until her fingers ached from the pressure. A
roaring filled her ears as the woman's voice faded. After shaking her head sharply and
breathing deeply, her vision cleared. She could hear the woman demanding that she answer.
“Um... I’m sorry... I... ah...” Torri drew on years of hiding her emotions, of facing
unpleasantness. “Excuse me. If you don’t know where you are to stay... Well, I don’t
know...”
“Why don’t you just give me the office address, and I’ll wait for Mike there. Surely he
will check back there.”
“Here? You want... I mean, you really don’t want to come here.”
“What is your name? Does Mike have any idea how inept you are?”
As if in a dream, Torri gave the address to the woman, then dropped the phone back on
the table and herself beside the pile of clothes. Discouragement and despair smothered her.
Mike's affairs had been a constant source of heartache, each one followed by his fervent
promises to reform, but another wife had never before appeared.
What now? She shook her head. Things will heat up once this Marty arrives. Huh,
they'll boil when Mike walks in. Wonder what tale he'll tell this time? Torri rubbed her
hands over her face before whispering, "What have I done? What in the world am I going
to do? I don't think I have the courage to face her. I know I don't have the courage to
confront him."
"Mommie! Mommie!"
Lowering her hands until her forearms lay across her thighs, Torri looked at her
daughter's frowning face. “Leann?” she snapped through clinched teeth before thinking,
Wait a minute, none of this is her fault. Drawing a deep breath, she controlled her irritation
to inquire gently, "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Mommie, Lyle won't wet me pray!" Indignity vibrated through her two-year-old
body. Blue eyes snapped as she placed small fists on non-existent hips. "Do sumsing!"
Biting her bottom lip so that she wouldn't laugh - wouldn't cry, she didn't know which -
Torri shook her head.
"I see. Lyle won't allow you to play. What I don't understand is why is Lyle playing or
why you both aren't sleeping." After a brief pause, Torri added, "Well, Leann?"
The dark, curly head dropped. Suddenly the small girl's interest centered on her bare
toes. Fists uncurled into hands picking at her shirttail.
Standing, Torri gathered her daughter into her arms before walking to the children's
bedroom. She brushed her lips across the child’s temple and hugged Leann close to her
chest as she tried to reason with the girl.
"Now, sweetie, you know it's nap time. You and your brother had a late night and early
morning. I need the rest even if you don't."
"But, Mommie..."
"Leann," Torri warned in her strongest I-mean-business voice.
"Okay, Mommie. I go sleep."
Torri opened the door and watched her son maneuver his cars and trucks around
barricades of pillows before speaking, "Lyle?"
The boy's head snapped around. "Oh, hi, Mommie."
"Oh, hi, my foot. Now pick up the pillows, park the vehicles, and climb in bed." She
placed her daughter in the bottom bunk before she turned back to her son. "You know
playing is not part of taking a nap."
"But, Mommie..."
"That's what your sister said. Now, hop into bed." She patted her son on his bottom
as he climbed onto the top bunk.
"I'm too old to take a nap. I'm gonna be four."
"I'm older than that and would love to go rest. You stay there and sleep."
After she kissed Lyle's forehead and brushed Leann’s hair back from her face with a
tender touch, Torri left the room, closed the door, and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Yes, I
would love to sleep - for about a hundred years."
She entered the small living room but stood staring blankly at the clutter. Then taking
four laundry baskets stacked at the side of the coffee table, she set them side by side in
front of the sofa.
"Well, guess I'd better stop moping and straighten this room. What's-her-name will be
here soon; I don't need her feeling sorry for Mike because she sees a messy house," Torri
muttered to herself as she efficiently folded clothes, placed them in separate baskets,
gathered toys, put Lyle's in the basket with his clothes and Leann's in the basket with hers.
Stacking the basket with her own clothes on top of the one with Mike's, she carried the two
to her bedroom. The children's baskets she stacked in the hall outside their door.
She looked down at her bare feet below faded, worn jeans which encased her slim
thighs. Torri blew a stream of frustrated air from her pursed lips before hurrying to her
room to change quickly into a beige sleeveless blouse and tan slacks. She ran a brush
through her short, black hair, applied a light layer of lipstick on pale lips, slid
her feet into a pair of sandals before she returned to the living room to await her unwanted
guest.
Too nervous to sit, she paced the floor, mentally rehearsing what she would say, how
she would react when this Marty person rang the doorbell. When the bell did ring, Torri
squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched briskly to open the door.
Standing on the porch in a silver silk blouse and gray, tailored slacks, the tall, slender
woman, older than expected, eyed Torri through narrowed eyes. "I think someone played a
practical joke on me, and it is not funny. I'm looking for Mike Adamson's office. His
receptionist, or whatever, gave me this address."
"I'm his 'whatever,' his wife Torri Adamson," Torri challenged the other woman. "I
think we need to talk. Please come in." She moved from the opening.
Marty Adamson tossed her sun-streaked hair back from her carefully made-up face
before she glanced over her shoulder as if toward the street and escape. Looking back at
the open door and the woman waiting, she shrugged slightly before entering. A frown
marred her face.
Torri closed the door, inhaled deeply and faced her visitor. "Mike doesn't have an
office except for the extra bedroom here. He does, however, have a family: a wife, me,
and two children."
"I don't believe you! Oh, I don't mean about the stupid office. But I am Mike's wife.
What are you trying to pull!"
"Mike and I have been married nearly eight years." Torri wearily sat in the rocking
chair across from the sofa. "Unless you've been married longer, I'm the legal spouse."
"No! You're lying! Mike wouldn't do that to me!"
"Maybe you should sit down," Torri suggested as her eyes filled with tears. "There isn't
any easy way to tell you..."
"Tell me what? More lies?" Striding toward the door, Marty reached for the knob.
"Mommie, why is that bad lady yelling at you?" Lyle crossed the room to stand beside
the rocking chair and glared at the woman who caused his mother to cry.
Marty paused, turned back. She slowly shook her head while she studied the
sturdy boy: his dark auburn hair, his green eyes with golden specks, the cleft in his chin.
"He's...he's..."
"A miniature of his father, I know," Torri completed Marty's statement as she brushed
tears from her face. "Please sit down. You really do need to listen to me."
As she took Lyle's hand and pulled him into her lap, she assured him, "Sweetie, this lady
and I need to talk. Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I'm all right. Would you do a
big favor for me now?" Lyle nodded his head. "Good. Play quietly in your room for
awhile. Let Leann finish her nap. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Thanks, sweetie." Torri gave her son a quick hug as he slipped from her lap. He
started toward the hall, stopped to frown at the woman sitting on the sofa before he
continued to his room.
Once the bedroom door closed, the second Mrs. Adamson turned to Torri in
confusion. "Why did you allow me to come here? In your place, I'd send you to hell
first." She blindly gazed at her clasped hands. "I can't believe...Oh, dear God...I don't
understand...Why..." Her composure shattered, she covered her face as sobs racked her
body.
Ignoring the other woman's distress, Torri allowed her eyes to wander over the
photographs on the wall above the sofa and crying woman: Torri’s and Mike's wedding
picture with her dreams of the future and “happily ever after”; the photo of parents and first
born with Mike appearing proud of his son; a family group of parents and two children
taken while Mike regaled the photographer with myths of his being a family man. All
photographs mocked the reality of Mike's long absences from home, of his impatience with
children wanting attention, of his numerous affairs, of his constant inability to avoid
financial disasters or to provide materially or emotionally for his family: her stolen dreams
on display.
When Marty's sobs decreased to a few sighs, Torri turned her attention once more to
the other woman.
"There are tissues on the table beside you." As Marty wiped her ravaged face, Torri
continued, "I don't really know why I gave you the correct address, had you come here. I
guess, I wanted actually to face one of Mike's other women. I don't know... Anyway I did;
you're here; so what do we do now? I don't know that either."
"What do you mean ...What can be done? I mean, I'm not even married if you ...
Wait a minute, what did you say...'one of Mike's others'? " Marty shot off the sofa, jerkily
moving to the front window. As she stared at the cars parked on the other side of a narrow
strip of July-brown grass, she whispered, "He seemed so real, so honest...I can't believe
this...I can't believe I was so dumb."
Torri rocked gently as she answered numbly, dispassionately. "I lost count of the other
women that I've known about. I'm not even sure when he started his extra-curriculars. I
first discovered he had been playing around for quite some time when Lyle was about three
months old."
No longer the arrogant woman who had arrived, Marty shuffled to the sofa, picked up
her purse, and started toward the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just didn't know."
"Aren't you going to wait for Mike?"
Not turning to answer, Marty watched her own hand reach for the doorknob. "No, I'm
going back home. I'll talk to my attorney, see what needs to be done."
Torri realized she also needed to take action and rose from her chair. "I'll probably talk
to a lawyer, too. I need some information...before you leave...please?"
"What? I mean what else could you possibly need to know!"
"I need to know your full name, other than Adamson, your address, when you
supposedly married Mike, things like that. I don't know what all I'll need. Please, I have
breath upward and told the ringing phone, “All right; all right. Give me minute.” With
another sigh, she thought, I don’t need anything else. Torri dumped the pile of clean
clothes on the sofa and reached for the telephone on the end table. Rubbing her temple with
fingers of her left hand, she used the other hand to hold the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is Mike there?" an unfamiliar woman’s voice asked.
"No, he isn't. May I take a message?"
"Do you know when he will return?"
"No, I don't. He didn't tell me. Do you want to leave a message?"
"Tell me, how long have you been with Mike?"
Looking at the toys scattered around the room, the clothes jumbled in front of her,
Torri gave an unlady-like snort before she answered, "Long enough. Now, do you or do
you not wish to leave a message?"
"Apparently good office help is difficult to find in Dallas. You certainly don't
sound competent or professional."
"Office help... I don't think..."
"Listen," the voice interrupted, "I need to talk to Mike. When will he be in?"
"I really don't know," Torri answered, surprising herself with the calm acceptance of
another woman's determined search for Mike. Hers wasn't the first such call Torri had
fielded. "May I take a message, or would you rather call again later?"
"Just what I need. I lost the paper he gave me with the name of the hotel where we're
supposed to stay for that conference. I'm at the airport and need to know where to go.
You wouldn't know where we're staying, do you? I know it's downtown Dallas
somewhere."
Huh! I could tell you where to go, Torri thought as she asked aloud, "Who do I say
called?"
A long-suffering pause precluded the answer, "His wife, Marty."
Torri's hand gripped the phone until her fingers ached from the pressure. A
roaring filled her ears as the woman's voice faded. After shaking her head sharply and
breathing deeply, her vision cleared. She could hear the woman demanding that she answer.
“Um... I’m sorry... I... ah...” Torri drew on years of hiding her emotions, of facing
unpleasantness. “Excuse me. If you don’t know where you are to stay... Well, I don’t
know...”
“Why don’t you just give me the office address, and I’ll wait for Mike there. Surely he
will check back there.”
“Here? You want... I mean, you really don’t want to come here.”
“What is your name? Does Mike have any idea how inept you are?”
As if in a dream, Torri gave the address to the woman, then dropped the phone back on
the table and herself beside the pile of clothes. Discouragement and despair smothered her.
Mike's affairs had been a constant source of heartache, each one followed by his fervent
promises to reform, but another wife had never before appeared.
What now? She shook her head. Things will heat up once this Marty arrives. Huh,
they'll boil when Mike walks in. Wonder what tale he'll tell this time? Torri rubbed her
hands over her face before whispering, "What have I done? What in the world am I going
to do? I don't think I have the courage to face her. I know I don't have the courage to
confront him."
"Mommie! Mommie!"
Lowering her hands until her forearms lay across her thighs, Torri looked at her
daughter's frowning face. “Leann?” she snapped through clinched teeth before thinking,
Wait a minute, none of this is her fault. Drawing a deep breath, she controlled her irritation
to inquire gently, "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Mommie, Lyle won't wet me pray!" Indignity vibrated through her two-year-old
body. Blue eyes snapped as she placed small fists on non-existent hips. "Do sumsing!"
Biting her bottom lip so that she wouldn't laugh - wouldn't cry, she didn't know which -
Torri shook her head.
"I see. Lyle won't allow you to play. What I don't understand is why is Lyle playing or
why you both aren't sleeping." After a brief pause, Torri added, "Well, Leann?"
The dark, curly head dropped. Suddenly the small girl's interest centered on her bare
toes. Fists uncurled into hands picking at her shirttail.
Standing, Torri gathered her daughter into her arms before walking to the children's
bedroom. She brushed her lips across the child’s temple and hugged Leann close to her
chest as she tried to reason with the girl.
"Now, sweetie, you know it's nap time. You and your brother had a late night and early
morning. I need the rest even if you don't."
"But, Mommie..."
"Leann," Torri warned in her strongest I-mean-business voice.
"Okay, Mommie. I go sleep."
Torri opened the door and watched her son maneuver his cars and trucks around
barricades of pillows before speaking, "Lyle?"
The boy's head snapped around. "Oh, hi, Mommie."
"Oh, hi, my foot. Now pick up the pillows, park the vehicles, and climb in bed." She
placed her daughter in the bottom bunk before she turned back to her son. "You know
playing is not part of taking a nap."
"But, Mommie..."
"That's what your sister said. Now, hop into bed." She patted her son on his bottom
as he climbed onto the top bunk.
"I'm too old to take a nap. I'm gonna be four."
"I'm older than that and would love to go rest. You stay there and sleep."
After she kissed Lyle's forehead and brushed Leann’s hair back from her face with a
tender touch, Torri left the room, closed the door, and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Yes, I
would love to sleep - for about a hundred years."
She entered the small living room but stood staring blankly at the clutter. Then taking
four laundry baskets stacked at the side of the coffee table, she set them side by side in
front of the sofa.
"Well, guess I'd better stop moping and straighten this room. What's-her-name will be
here soon; I don't need her feeling sorry for Mike because she sees a messy house," Torri
muttered to herself as she efficiently folded clothes, placed them in separate baskets,
gathered toys, put Lyle's in the basket with his clothes and Leann's in the basket with hers.
Stacking the basket with her own clothes on top of the one with Mike's, she carried the two
to her bedroom. The children's baskets she stacked in the hall outside their door.
She looked down at her bare feet below faded, worn jeans which encased her slim
thighs. Torri blew a stream of frustrated air from her pursed lips before hurrying to her
room to change quickly into a beige sleeveless blouse and tan slacks. She ran a brush
through her short, black hair, applied a light layer of lipstick on pale lips, slid
her feet into a pair of sandals before she returned to the living room to await her unwanted
guest.
Too nervous to sit, she paced the floor, mentally rehearsing what she would say, how
she would react when this Marty person rang the doorbell. When the bell did ring, Torri
squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched briskly to open the door.
Standing on the porch in a silver silk blouse and gray, tailored slacks, the tall, slender
woman, older than expected, eyed Torri through narrowed eyes. "I think someone played a
practical joke on me, and it is not funny. I'm looking for Mike Adamson's office. His
receptionist, or whatever, gave me this address."
"I'm his 'whatever,' his wife Torri Adamson," Torri challenged the other woman. "I
think we need to talk. Please come in." She moved from the opening.
Marty Adamson tossed her sun-streaked hair back from her carefully made-up face
before she glanced over her shoulder as if toward the street and escape. Looking back at
the open door and the woman waiting, she shrugged slightly before entering. A frown
marred her face.
Torri closed the door, inhaled deeply and faced her visitor. "Mike doesn't have an
office except for the extra bedroom here. He does, however, have a family: a wife, me,
and two children."
"I don't believe you! Oh, I don't mean about the stupid office. But I am Mike's wife.
What are you trying to pull!"
"Mike and I have been married nearly eight years." Torri wearily sat in the rocking
chair across from the sofa. "Unless you've been married longer, I'm the legal spouse."
"No! You're lying! Mike wouldn't do that to me!"
"Maybe you should sit down," Torri suggested as her eyes filled with tears. "There isn't
any easy way to tell you..."
"Tell me what? More lies?" Striding toward the door, Marty reached for the knob.
"Mommie, why is that bad lady yelling at you?" Lyle crossed the room to stand beside
the rocking chair and glared at the woman who caused his mother to cry.
Marty paused, turned back. She slowly shook her head while she studied the
sturdy boy: his dark auburn hair, his green eyes with golden specks, the cleft in his chin.
"He's...he's..."
"A miniature of his father, I know," Torri completed Marty's statement as she brushed
tears from her face. "Please sit down. You really do need to listen to me."
As she took Lyle's hand and pulled him into her lap, she assured him, "Sweetie, this lady
and I need to talk. Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I'm all right. Would you do a
big favor for me now?" Lyle nodded his head. "Good. Play quietly in your room for
awhile. Let Leann finish her nap. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Thanks, sweetie." Torri gave her son a quick hug as he slipped from her lap. He
started toward the hall, stopped to frown at the woman sitting on the sofa before he
continued to his room.
Once the bedroom door closed, the second Mrs. Adamson turned to Torri in
confusion. "Why did you allow me to come here? In your place, I'd send you to hell
first." She blindly gazed at her clasped hands. "I can't believe...Oh, dear God...I don't
understand...Why..." Her composure shattered, she covered her face as sobs racked her
body.
Ignoring the other woman's distress, Torri allowed her eyes to wander over the
photographs on the wall above the sofa and crying woman: Torri’s and Mike's wedding
picture with her dreams of the future and “happily ever after”; the photo of parents and first
born with Mike appearing proud of his son; a family group of parents and two children
taken while Mike regaled the photographer with myths of his being a family man. All
photographs mocked the reality of Mike's long absences from home, of his impatience with
children wanting attention, of his numerous affairs, of his constant inability to avoid
financial disasters or to provide materially or emotionally for his family: her stolen dreams
on display.
When Marty's sobs decreased to a few sighs, Torri turned her attention once more to
the other woman.
"There are tissues on the table beside you." As Marty wiped her ravaged face, Torri
continued, "I don't really know why I gave you the correct address, had you come here. I
guess, I wanted actually to face one of Mike's other women. I don't know... Anyway I did;
you're here; so what do we do now? I don't know that either."
"What do you mean ...What can be done? I mean, I'm not even married if you ...
Wait a minute, what did you say...'one of Mike's others'? " Marty shot off the sofa, jerkily
moving to the front window. As she stared at the cars parked on the other side of a narrow
strip of July-brown grass, she whispered, "He seemed so real, so honest...I can't believe
this...I can't believe I was so dumb."
Torri rocked gently as she answered numbly, dispassionately. "I lost count of the other
women that I've known about. I'm not even sure when he started his extra-curriculars. I
first discovered he had been playing around for quite some time when Lyle was about three
months old."
No longer the arrogant woman who had arrived, Marty shuffled to the sofa, picked up
her purse, and started toward the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just didn't know."
"Aren't you going to wait for Mike?"
Not turning to answer, Marty watched her own hand reach for the doorknob. "No, I'm
going back home. I'll talk to my attorney, see what needs to be done."
Torri realized she also needed to take action and rose from her chair. "I'll probably talk
to a lawyer, too. I need some information...before you leave...please?"
"What? I mean what else could you possibly need to know!"
"I need to know your full name, other than Adamson, your address, when you
supposedly married Mike, things like that. I don't know what all I'll need. Please, I have
| Stolen by Vivian Gilbert Zabel Chapter 1 |
to free myself, too. I can’t... This is the final humiliation...no more. I never thought I’d ever
try to leave...”
Marty opened her purse and removed a business card then turned slightly to hand it, without
raising her sight, to Torri who had joined Marty at the door. "Our 'wedding' was six weeks ago,
May 29."
Torri gently placed her empty hand on Marty's bowed shoulder. "You didn't know, but Mike
did - he knew he was already married. Blame him, not yourself."
"But, but I'm so ashamed. I never checked. I just believed him... If you need them, the
records are on file in Austin. Please, I've got to go...please." Marty yanked open the door,
rushed toward her rental car parked at the curb to return home to Houston.
Torri quietly closed the door before she walked back to sit in the rocking chair. As she read
the card in her hand, her eyes widened in amazement. "Uh-oh, he really hit the big time. CEO
of a company even I've heard of...Shee. He'll hit the roof...Wait a minute...He will hit the roof?
What about me."
Her adrenaline pumping as anger momentarily replaced shocked indifference, Torri jumped
from the chair to pace the room. "I can't take this. I won't take this. His excuses, his lies...
they won't work this time...I'll tell him...this time, I will tell him it is over...I can't..." She
dropped to the sofa, hands dangling between her knees, the brief surge of anger gone, leaving
her drained. How strange. I should be devastated; my pride hurt at least, but I’m not. I feel ...
numb. Strange.
"Mommie," Leann's voice broke her inner discussion.
"Hi, sweetie, did you have a good nap?"
"I tolded her to stay in the room, but she won't mind," Lyle interjected.
Drawing the children to the sofa, one on each side of her, Torri hugged both.
"That's fine, Lyle. It's all right now. You've been my big boy. Thank you. Now, tell you
what. If the two of you will go in your room and put on your shoes while I call Gram and
Gramps, I’ll let you talk to them and then take you to the playground.”
“Yaiiiii!” Leann slid off the sofa and ran toward the bedroom.
“I hurry,” Lyle stated as he followed quickly behind his sister.
Torri picked up the phone and punched in the numbers to reach her grandparents. She
mentally pushed the intruding feelings back behind the numbness again, needing to be able to
function, to make arrangements to get her children and herself away from this nightmare her life
had become.
“The Light House Inn, may I help you?” The warm voice answering the phone wrapped
Torri in comfort.
“Gram?” Torri asked, relieved her grandmother had answered.
“Torri? Oh, honey, how good to hear your voice, but what’s wrong?”
“I can’t explain now, the kids will be back in any minute. May we come home?”
“You didn’t need to ask. You know that, don’t you? When are you coming?”
“As quickly as possible tomorrow morning. I don’t want to say anything to Lyle
and Leann, yet. They’ll be in here to talk with you and Gramps as soon as... oh, here
they are. I’ll let them speak with you.”
Torri placed the receiver to Leann’s ear and told her, “Say hello to Gram, sweetie, and then
let Lyle talk.”
“Hilo, Dram, I gonna go swing.”
As Leann and then Lyle briefly visited long distance with their great-grandparents, Torri
started a list of things she needed to do before they left for Oklahoma and home. Stay busy, that’
s what I need to do. Stay busy. Play with the kids, pack, stay busy.
Ten o’clock that night, Torri stood in the middle of the living room and rubbed the small of
her back. After feeding, bathing, and putting the children to bed, she cleaned the apartment and
packed the minivan, leaving barely enough room for Lyle, Leann, and herself.
Whew, think I’ll take my shower in the morning. Torri glanced around the tidy room. At
least Mike won’t have any complaints if he does show up tonight. Maybe, just maybe, we can
be long gone before he does come back.
Amazed at the amount accomplished since her afternoon visitor had left, but feeling the
results in her tired muscles, Torri entered her bedroom, turned on the lamp beside her bed
before she quickly removed her makeup and prepared for bed. Sighing, she crawled into bed
and turned off the lamp. Sleep claimed her thoughts and body within minutes as darkness pulled
her downward.
Suddenly the overhead light glared into her eyes as her husband’s bellowing voice brought
her wide awake.
“What the hell is going on? Why can’t you do at least one thing right?”
“What...what...” Torri felt as if her mind were wrapped in a fog as she tried to shake off the
remnants of sleep.
“Can’t a man even come home to a decent meal in this house? Oh, no, not from
my loving wife.”
With a glance at the bedside clock, Torri answered his attack in confusion, “Mike, it’s after
midnight. If I had cooked you a meal, it would have been ruined by now.”
“Always some excuse. What do you do around here? The house is a mess!”
“What are you talking about? I had the apartment clean before I came to bed.”
“Hell, why do I even try to talk to you. You are one of the most worthless people. I don’t
know why you can’t do...” As Mike’s pounding voice continued, Torri sat on the side of the
bed, her arms wrapped around her waist as if they held her together. Her head lowered while
Mike continued beating her with words. Then Torri realized that she had sat this way too, too
many times as Mike killed her soul. Her head snapped up; she stared at the man who paced the
bedroom floor, hands waving, his usually handsome face molted with anger.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” Torri quietly interrupted Mike’s tirade.
Mike stopped his swing toward the door. “What did you say?”
“You heard me quite well. I’m not going to let you talk to me like this any more.
The house is clean. You never said you wanted dinner. In fact you said you probably wouldn’t
even be home tonight, that you had business out of town. Well, your ‘business’ came here.
Marty, I believe she said her name is.”
“What do you mean... Marty? What have you done?”
“What have I done? Oh, you really are something else. What have I done indeed
You commit bigamy and try to blame me. Well, it won’t work, not this time.”
“Where is she? Don’t you realize what she means? She has money; she can make me a
success! Damn you, where is she?” Mike grabbed Torri’s arm, pulled her to her feet, shook
her as he yelled. He bruised her arm and caused her head to whip from side to side.
Tearing herself away, Torri ran to the other side of the bed and picked up the phone. “If
you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police. Your other ‘wife’ went home to end your so-
called marriage, which I’m going to do, too. I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to hear
you any more. Get out, now!”
Mike glared at his wife before he turned and half ran down the hall, muttering, “I’ve got to
get to her. I’ll make her understand...”
When the front door slammed, Torri grabbed the clothes she had laid out for her trip and
threw them on. She pushed her dirty clothes and remaining personal items in the bag waiting
for them. She rushed to the children’s room, placed their clothes in the bag, and gathered their
covers together, taking the blankets and the bag to the van. Next she loaded both children, who
stirred but settled back to sleep when told they were going to visit Gram and Gramps. Within
thirty minutes, she had the Caravan heading north on Interstate 35. A blessed sense of relief
spread over her when the minivan crossed the Red River bridge. Three hours later she pulled
into the drive of the Victorian mansion which housed the Light House Inn just northeast of
Oklahoma City.
She found her keys to the house in her purse, opened the van door, and slid from the vehicle,
stretching and twisting her body to remove the kinks caused by sitting for over four hours
behind the wheel. She allowed her attention to dwell on the house, her home from the time she
was seven years old, after the death of her parents. During vacations before their deaths and
while living there, she had explored the old building, playing games of pretense. The corner
octagonal front towers had been castles with princesses hidden in their depths. The attic above
the third floor provided a treasure hunt with many trunks and boxes. The wide front porch, just
the right size and location for dreaming, found her snuggled in the swing before summer
bedtimes. The house, built in 1900 by her great-great-grandfather for his two sons, had once
been a matched duplex, but her grandfather had renovated it into a bed and breakfast with
special apartments for his family and rooms filled with antique oil lamps. Now, the house with
its sleeping occupants welcomed her and her children with open arms. Home, where she was
loved and wanted.
She carried her sleeping children individually into the house, around the carved entry stairs,
and in the ancient elevator to the second-floor room – next to her childhood tower-room – set
aside for their use. Torri then walked back down to lock her car and the front door. Wearily
stumbling into the private family room at the rear of the first floor, she curled her aching body
into her grandfather’s favorite recliner, where he found her later that morning.
“Torri, Torri, come on, wake up. You need to go to bed. Torri?” Gramps’ voice sounded
miles away as he gently shook her. Finally, she opened her eyes to see his concerned face over
her. “When did you get here, honey?”
She yawned and stretched, then checked her watch before Torri answered, “About two
hours ago.”
“You should have awakened us.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. I just took the kids upstairs and then came in here because I
needed to think, but guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“Well, you look worse than tired.” Taking her hands in his callused ones, the tall, still
vigorous seventy-year-old man pulled her to her feet. “Now, you head on to that bed. Bess
and I will take care of the kiddos, and we’ll talk later. Scoot.”
Torri gave her grandfather a tight hug and kissed his creased cheek. “Thanks, Gramps. I
think I will get some rest before I plan what I’m going to do.” She started toward the door
before she turned back. “One thing, though, if Mike should call, I don’t want to talk to him. I
wish he wouldn’t, but I know he’ll figure we’ll be here. I don’t want to talk to him until I feel
stronger and more in control than I am now.”
“Is this a short-term separation?”
“No, Gramps, this has to be permanent.” Yawning again, she shook her head, to rid her
mind of the cobwebs smothering her thinking. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Roy Gibbs watched his granddaughter stumble from the room, wondering what that sorry
excuse for a man had done this time. He and Bess hadn’t said anything to Torri, hadn’t
interfered in her marriage to Mike, but to stand by while her husband had belittled her, neglected
her and the children, and lived as if he were single and unattached had been a struggle. A
strong believer in the sanctity of marriage vows himself, Roy never did understand how a man
could promise to love, honor, and cherish and go forth and betray, but he knew many did.
“He never was any good for her.”
“Who are you talking to, Roy?” Bess stood in the doorway studying her husband.
“I was talking to myself. I found Torri down here asleep and sent her up to bed. I have a
feeling that Mike did something very bad this time, but she said she’d talk later, that the
separation is permanent. The little ones are asleep in their room.”
“Well, I’ll go help Josie with breakfast so that we’ll be sure and have something special for
the children. Sometimes we don’t have food items that children really like to eat. I want Leann
and Lyle to enjoy their breakfast.” Bess giggled. “You know, a good beginning for hopefully a
long stay.”
“Do we have many guests coming in today?”
“A couple on their honeymoon, and the Randel family is staying another night. The Harms
are checking out after breakfast. Everything is rather light this week, but next week has heavy
reservations.”
“We’ll manage then. I’ll go check on Lyle and Leann. Don’t want them to wake up and be
afraid.”
Crossing to her husband of fifty years, Bess reached up to frame his face with her hands;
pulling his silver head close to hers, she brushed her lips across his. “You just want to be with
the children, you old softy.”
“Of course you plan on avoiding them, right?” Roy’s eyes searched her face, thinking she
was still the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Gathering her into his embrace, he kissed her,
smiling when, after withdrawing from his arms, she teasingly batted her eyelashes at him. He
brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, still satin-soft.
When Bess laughed and left the room to make her way to the kitchen, Roy started for the
back stairs to go to the children, thankful that they were safely under his roof once more. The
sound of their laughter would gladden his heart. Their presence and Torri’s would lighten the
worry about their well-being. He silently prayed that they would continue to be safe away from
Mike’s influence and presence.
(comments can be sent to Vivian at vivian@viviangilbertzabel.com)
try to leave...”
Marty opened her purse and removed a business card then turned slightly to hand it, without
raising her sight, to Torri who had joined Marty at the door. "Our 'wedding' was six weeks ago,
May 29."
Torri gently placed her empty hand on Marty's bowed shoulder. "You didn't know, but Mike
did - he knew he was already married. Blame him, not yourself."
"But, but I'm so ashamed. I never checked. I just believed him... If you need them, the
records are on file in Austin. Please, I've got to go...please." Marty yanked open the door,
rushed toward her rental car parked at the curb to return home to Houston.
Torri quietly closed the door before she walked back to sit in the rocking chair. As she read
the card in her hand, her eyes widened in amazement. "Uh-oh, he really hit the big time. CEO
of a company even I've heard of...Shee. He'll hit the roof...Wait a minute...He will hit the roof?
What about me."
Her adrenaline pumping as anger momentarily replaced shocked indifference, Torri jumped
from the chair to pace the room. "I can't take this. I won't take this. His excuses, his lies...
they won't work this time...I'll tell him...this time, I will tell him it is over...I can't..." She
dropped to the sofa, hands dangling between her knees, the brief surge of anger gone, leaving
her drained. How strange. I should be devastated; my pride hurt at least, but I’m not. I feel ...
numb. Strange.
"Mommie," Leann's voice broke her inner discussion.
"Hi, sweetie, did you have a good nap?"
"I tolded her to stay in the room, but she won't mind," Lyle interjected.
Drawing the children to the sofa, one on each side of her, Torri hugged both.
"That's fine, Lyle. It's all right now. You've been my big boy. Thank you. Now, tell you
what. If the two of you will go in your room and put on your shoes while I call Gram and
Gramps, I’ll let you talk to them and then take you to the playground.”
“Yaiiiii!” Leann slid off the sofa and ran toward the bedroom.
“I hurry,” Lyle stated as he followed quickly behind his sister.
Torri picked up the phone and punched in the numbers to reach her grandparents. She
mentally pushed the intruding feelings back behind the numbness again, needing to be able to
function, to make arrangements to get her children and herself away from this nightmare her life
had become.
“The Light House Inn, may I help you?” The warm voice answering the phone wrapped
Torri in comfort.
“Gram?” Torri asked, relieved her grandmother had answered.
“Torri? Oh, honey, how good to hear your voice, but what’s wrong?”
“I can’t explain now, the kids will be back in any minute. May we come home?”
“You didn’t need to ask. You know that, don’t you? When are you coming?”
“As quickly as possible tomorrow morning. I don’t want to say anything to Lyle
and Leann, yet. They’ll be in here to talk with you and Gramps as soon as... oh, here
they are. I’ll let them speak with you.”
Torri placed the receiver to Leann’s ear and told her, “Say hello to Gram, sweetie, and then
let Lyle talk.”
“Hilo, Dram, I gonna go swing.”
As Leann and then Lyle briefly visited long distance with their great-grandparents, Torri
started a list of things she needed to do before they left for Oklahoma and home. Stay busy, that’
s what I need to do. Stay busy. Play with the kids, pack, stay busy.
Ten o’clock that night, Torri stood in the middle of the living room and rubbed the small of
her back. After feeding, bathing, and putting the children to bed, she cleaned the apartment and
packed the minivan, leaving barely enough room for Lyle, Leann, and herself.
Whew, think I’ll take my shower in the morning. Torri glanced around the tidy room. At
least Mike won’t have any complaints if he does show up tonight. Maybe, just maybe, we can
be long gone before he does come back.
Amazed at the amount accomplished since her afternoon visitor had left, but feeling the
results in her tired muscles, Torri entered her bedroom, turned on the lamp beside her bed
before she quickly removed her makeup and prepared for bed. Sighing, she crawled into bed
and turned off the lamp. Sleep claimed her thoughts and body within minutes as darkness pulled
her downward.
Suddenly the overhead light glared into her eyes as her husband’s bellowing voice brought
her wide awake.
“What the hell is going on? Why can’t you do at least one thing right?”
“What...what...” Torri felt as if her mind were wrapped in a fog as she tried to shake off the
remnants of sleep.
“Can’t a man even come home to a decent meal in this house? Oh, no, not from
my loving wife.”
With a glance at the bedside clock, Torri answered his attack in confusion, “Mike, it’s after
midnight. If I had cooked you a meal, it would have been ruined by now.”
“Always some excuse. What do you do around here? The house is a mess!”
“What are you talking about? I had the apartment clean before I came to bed.”
“Hell, why do I even try to talk to you. You are one of the most worthless people. I don’t
know why you can’t do...” As Mike’s pounding voice continued, Torri sat on the side of the
bed, her arms wrapped around her waist as if they held her together. Her head lowered while
Mike continued beating her with words. Then Torri realized that she had sat this way too, too
many times as Mike killed her soul. Her head snapped up; she stared at the man who paced the
bedroom floor, hands waving, his usually handsome face molted with anger.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” Torri quietly interrupted Mike’s tirade.
Mike stopped his swing toward the door. “What did you say?”
“You heard me quite well. I’m not going to let you talk to me like this any more.
The house is clean. You never said you wanted dinner. In fact you said you probably wouldn’t
even be home tonight, that you had business out of town. Well, your ‘business’ came here.
Marty, I believe she said her name is.”
“What do you mean... Marty? What have you done?”
“What have I done? Oh, you really are something else. What have I done indeed
You commit bigamy and try to blame me. Well, it won’t work, not this time.”
“Where is she? Don’t you realize what she means? She has money; she can make me a
success! Damn you, where is she?” Mike grabbed Torri’s arm, pulled her to her feet, shook
her as he yelled. He bruised her arm and caused her head to whip from side to side.
Tearing herself away, Torri ran to the other side of the bed and picked up the phone. “If
you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police. Your other ‘wife’ went home to end your so-
called marriage, which I’m going to do, too. I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to hear
you any more. Get out, now!”
Mike glared at his wife before he turned and half ran down the hall, muttering, “I’ve got to
get to her. I’ll make her understand...”
When the front door slammed, Torri grabbed the clothes she had laid out for her trip and
threw them on. She pushed her dirty clothes and remaining personal items in the bag waiting
for them. She rushed to the children’s room, placed their clothes in the bag, and gathered their
covers together, taking the blankets and the bag to the van. Next she loaded both children, who
stirred but settled back to sleep when told they were going to visit Gram and Gramps. Within
thirty minutes, she had the Caravan heading north on Interstate 35. A blessed sense of relief
spread over her when the minivan crossed the Red River bridge. Three hours later she pulled
into the drive of the Victorian mansion which housed the Light House Inn just northeast of
Oklahoma City.
She found her keys to the house in her purse, opened the van door, and slid from the vehicle,
stretching and twisting her body to remove the kinks caused by sitting for over four hours
behind the wheel. She allowed her attention to dwell on the house, her home from the time she
was seven years old, after the death of her parents. During vacations before their deaths and
while living there, she had explored the old building, playing games of pretense. The corner
octagonal front towers had been castles with princesses hidden in their depths. The attic above
the third floor provided a treasure hunt with many trunks and boxes. The wide front porch, just
the right size and location for dreaming, found her snuggled in the swing before summer
bedtimes. The house, built in 1900 by her great-great-grandfather for his two sons, had once
been a matched duplex, but her grandfather had renovated it into a bed and breakfast with
special apartments for his family and rooms filled with antique oil lamps. Now, the house with
its sleeping occupants welcomed her and her children with open arms. Home, where she was
loved and wanted.
She carried her sleeping children individually into the house, around the carved entry stairs,
and in the ancient elevator to the second-floor room – next to her childhood tower-room – set
aside for their use. Torri then walked back down to lock her car and the front door. Wearily
stumbling into the private family room at the rear of the first floor, she curled her aching body
into her grandfather’s favorite recliner, where he found her later that morning.
“Torri, Torri, come on, wake up. You need to go to bed. Torri?” Gramps’ voice sounded
miles away as he gently shook her. Finally, she opened her eyes to see his concerned face over
her. “When did you get here, honey?”
She yawned and stretched, then checked her watch before Torri answered, “About two
hours ago.”
“You should have awakened us.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. I just took the kids upstairs and then came in here because I
needed to think, but guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“Well, you look worse than tired.” Taking her hands in his callused ones, the tall, still
vigorous seventy-year-old man pulled her to her feet. “Now, you head on to that bed. Bess
and I will take care of the kiddos, and we’ll talk later. Scoot.”
Torri gave her grandfather a tight hug and kissed his creased cheek. “Thanks, Gramps. I
think I will get some rest before I plan what I’m going to do.” She started toward the door
before she turned back. “One thing, though, if Mike should call, I don’t want to talk to him. I
wish he wouldn’t, but I know he’ll figure we’ll be here. I don’t want to talk to him until I feel
stronger and more in control than I am now.”
“Is this a short-term separation?”
“No, Gramps, this has to be permanent.” Yawning again, she shook her head, to rid her
mind of the cobwebs smothering her thinking. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Roy Gibbs watched his granddaughter stumble from the room, wondering what that sorry
excuse for a man had done this time. He and Bess hadn’t said anything to Torri, hadn’t
interfered in her marriage to Mike, but to stand by while her husband had belittled her, neglected
her and the children, and lived as if he were single and unattached had been a struggle. A
strong believer in the sanctity of marriage vows himself, Roy never did understand how a man
could promise to love, honor, and cherish and go forth and betray, but he knew many did.
“He never was any good for her.”
“Who are you talking to, Roy?” Bess stood in the doorway studying her husband.
“I was talking to myself. I found Torri down here asleep and sent her up to bed. I have a
feeling that Mike did something very bad this time, but she said she’d talk later, that the
separation is permanent. The little ones are asleep in their room.”
“Well, I’ll go help Josie with breakfast so that we’ll be sure and have something special for
the children. Sometimes we don’t have food items that children really like to eat. I want Leann
and Lyle to enjoy their breakfast.” Bess giggled. “You know, a good beginning for hopefully a
long stay.”
“Do we have many guests coming in today?”
“A couple on their honeymoon, and the Randel family is staying another night. The Harms
are checking out after breakfast. Everything is rather light this week, but next week has heavy
reservations.”
“We’ll manage then. I’ll go check on Lyle and Leann. Don’t want them to wake up and be
afraid.”
Crossing to her husband of fifty years, Bess reached up to frame his face with her hands;
pulling his silver head close to hers, she brushed her lips across his. “You just want to be with
the children, you old softy.”
“Of course you plan on avoiding them, right?” Roy’s eyes searched her face, thinking she
was still the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Gathering her into his embrace, he kissed her,
smiling when, after withdrawing from his arms, she teasingly batted her eyelashes at him. He
brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, still satin-soft.
When Bess laughed and left the room to make her way to the kitchen, Roy started for the
back stairs to go to the children, thankful that they were safely under his roof once more. The
sound of their laughter would gladden his heart. Their presence and Torri’s would lighten the
worry about their well-being. He silently prayed that they would continue to be safe away from
Mike’s influence and presence.
(comments can be sent to Vivian at vivian@viviangilbertzabel.com)
| Midnight Hours available from 4RV Publishing, local book stores, Amazon.com BarnesandNoble.com |
| Information about books, book review, and sample of poetry at bottom of page. |