A Walk in Your Shoes Read online

  What would you do if you could walk in someone else’s shoes?

  Joanne snapped one of her high-heels. The cobbler promised a two-hour turnaround. He lied. Can a night in a hotel help Gordon and Jo rediscover their love?

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  A Walk in Your Shoes

  Copyright © 2017 Stefan Angelina McElvain

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-1094-0

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

  Look for us online at:

  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  A Walk in Your Shoes

  By

  Stefan Angelina McElvain

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to my wife and muse, Judy. Without her critique, this story wouldn’t be complete.

  Chapter One: Problems

  The front door slammed. Joanne sighed, put her erotic book down, and looked up. Damn, I just got to the good part. She checked her watch. It’s seven. He’s late. I hope he hasn’t been drinking. I don’t know how much more I can take.

  Her husband, Gordon, staggered in and grinned at her. He’s way too bubbly, and he’s swaying. That’s not a good sign.

  “J-Joey, let’s go away for the weekend. It’s been f-forever since we had some fun together.”

  He’s slurring his words, and I hate it when he calls me Joey. How many times do I have to tell him? “The Smiths invited us over for dinner tomorrow night...”

  “I’ll phone Jim. H-he’ll understand. C-come on, Jo, it’ll do us good. I-I know things have been tough lately. I-I’ll make it up to you,” he coaxed.

  I’m not going to win this one, and he’s not nice when he gets angry. “Fine. Have you eaten?”

  “No, just a quick beer with Bill.”

  Or two. “Well, I ordered pizza. It’s in the kitchen and cold by now. Throw it in the microwave for thirty seconds.”

  He leaned over. She turned her head away, and he slobbered on her cheek. “I’m famished. Yes, pizza sounds good.”

  Joanne listened as the microwave door slammed shut, the plates clattered, and finally, the fridge door clunked. This doesn’t sound good.

  Gordon teetered in, a beer in one hand, and a plate overflowing with pizza in the other.

  He collapsed on the couch and pointed the remote at the TV. A baseball game came to life on the screen. He’s not even tasting that. He’s inhaling it! With a bit of luck, he’ll fall asleep watching the match. That beer didn’t last long.

  “Darling, I’m going upstairs to pack. What shall I take?”

  “I-I don’t know. Let’s play it by ear.” He looked at the TV and shouted, “Umpire, get your eyes tested. You need glasses... no, you must be joking.”

  Joanne left quietly and went upstairs. She packed an overnight bag and settled down to finish her romantic novel. She heard Gordon wandering around downstairs and multiple bangs as he tried to get the fridge door closed. At eleven, it went quiet except for the TV.

  Shall I go down and switch it off? No, that’s what earplugs are for.

  The bed shook. Joanne woke up startled and looked at the clock. It’s one in the morning. No, he wants to be romantic. A big arm flopped over her, and he snuggled up close. Beer breath—you didn’t even brush your teeth. The arm went limp. Thank God, he’s out for the night. I’ll move him onto his side. When he’s drunk, he snores something awful if he’s sleeping on his back.

  Joanne rose first the next morning. She showered and dressed, ready for the journey, wearing her favorite high heel shoes, simple white blouse, and a red tartan midi-skirt. Just coffee this morning. We can stop for fast food on the journey to wherever we’re going. What happened to us? The first three years were fantastic. He was considerate, and the sex was out of this world. It’s the job change. I’m sure of it. It’s a high-stress position, and your wage depends on making your quotas. I’m to blame as well. We’ve both got used to spending the bonus, and now we rely on it.

  Gordon always had a vicious temper, but he rarely lost it. This last year, his drinking became worse, and he’s a nasty drunk. Why doesn’t he see it? Whenever I raise the subject, he flies into an instant rage. My BFF says it’s denial. I suppose he hasn’t hit rock bottom. All I can say is hurry up. If I don’t soon see any light at the end of this long, dark tunnel, I’m out of here. It’s make-or-break time.

  Joanne heard movement upstairs. She shouted, “It’s ten. What time are we leaving?” The toilet flushing was the only answer. She mumbled, “I suppose that means we’ll leave when he’s good and ready. I’ll put my bag in the trunk and mustn’t forget my bottle of water for the road. This is going to be fun, I can tell!”

  Gordon was finally ready at noon. “Hun, let’s go. Fun, just like the old times. Aren’t you ready yet? You’ve had all morning.”

  Joanne bristled, I’ve been ready since eight. No. Bite your tongue. It’ll only make things worse. She smiled. “Did you phone the Smiths to let them know we’re not going this evening?”

  “Good catch. I’ll phone Jim right now.” He pulled out his smartphone. “Hey, Jim-bo, can’t make it tonight. I have wifey things to do. You know how it goes... yes, next Saturday sounds great. See you then.” He turned to Joanne. “All done.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s head south down I-15, try some wine tasting, and maybe drive into the hills. We’ll wing it.”

  “The goal’s San Diego?”

  “Does it matter? Come on, we’ll see where the car takes us.”

  Gordon opened the trunk and threw in his overnight bag. “My, you’re traveling light. I’ll drive.”

  Joanne curtly responded, “We’re only going for one night. I have to go to work on Monday.”

  Traffic moved slowly. They crawled for mile after mile, and after eighty minutes, they finally pulled off the ninety-one freeway on to I-15.

  “Should be plain sailing from here,” Gordon commented.

  “I need a bathroom break soon. Are you getting hungry?”

  “Yes, I am. Good grief, it’s almost two. Let’s get another thirty minutes under our belt. You can wait that long, can’t you?”

  “I suppose so.” The car shuddered. “What happened?”

  “We must have run over some debris.”

  “Well, I can’t wait now. That jolt was the last straw. Take the next exit.”

  Gordon said, “Next exit is coming up. It’s Slipper City. Never heard of it. Have you?”

  “No, but I can’t wait any longer. Take the exit.”

  “Fine, keep your knickers on.”

  Gordon exited the freeway, and they followed the narrow road east toward the foothills.

  C
hapter Two: Unexpected Stopover

  Ten minutes later, Joanne asked, “How far did the sign say?”

  “Jo, come to think about it, it didn’t. I can always stop, and you could go behind the bushes. There’s nobody around.”

  “No, I can wait. I’m not going to squat anywhere. You know me and insects.”

  The road curved, and they entered a valley. She pointed. “Look, a sign.”

  “Finally, Slipper City, population two-thousand-twenty. Feel cozy in Slipper City. Let’s hope there’s a restaurant or coffee shop.”

  “I’m sure there’ll be at least one,” Joanne laughed. “Feel cozy in Slipper City. Yes, it does have a ring to it.”

  They passed by a couple of ranch-style homes, then seemed to be entering the village proper.

  Joanne shouted, “Stop. This cafe will do.”

  The car screeched and stopped on the gravel. Joanne opened the door and ran to the cafe. She slipped and fell. Gordon pulled on the hand brake, switched off the engine, and rushed to help her get up.

  He asked, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Twisted my ankle, and... oh no. I snapped my left heel! These were my favorite shoes.” She held up her broken shoe.

  “I’ll help you get up.”

  He bent down and put his arm around her waist. They hobbled inside. Joanne kicked off her other shoe and hurried to the restroom. Gordon absentmindedly picked up the shoe as he walked over to the counter.

  “Are you still serving lunch?” he asked.

  The young lady behind the counter smiled and handed him a menu. “Do you want some coffee? It’s fresh.”

  Gordon nodded a yes and smiled.

  “Coming right up, sir. We have an excellent cobbler in town. I bet he could fix those as good as new. I’ll give him a call.”

  She handed him a mug of steaming black coffee. He sipped and sighed.

  “I needed that. It’s good. Pour a second mug for my wife, please. We’ll sit by the window. I didn’t know this place existed.”

  The young lady laughed. “We get that often.”

  Gordon walked over with his coffee and sat down. We’re on the outskirts of a small town. It looks like they have one main street, a couple of shops, and a hotel. I bet things haven’t changed here for years. They still have a wooden sidewalk. That’s cute.

  Joanne joined him.

  He held up her shoe and said, “I think it’s beyond repair.”

  A deep male voice answered, “No, it’s not.”

  Gordon and Joanne both looked up. A small, elderly man smiled at them. He wore a tan leather apron that had multiple pockets filled with various small tools.

  “My name’s Ron, and I’m the local cobbler. Business is slow at the moment, so I should be able to fix these this afternoon.” He looked down at Gordon’s shoes. “You’re wearing expensive Italian shoes, and you’re not looking after them. Tell you what, I’ll give them a makeover at the same time, if you like.”

  Not convinced, Gordon deferred to Joanne.

  She asked, “Can you mend it?”

  Ron took out a pair of small wire spectacles from one of the apron pockets. “My eyesight isn’t so good anymore.” He carefully looked at the broken heel. “It’s a clean break. It’ll be as good as new.”

  “Hubby, go back to the car and bring my sneakers. Bring yours, too.” She turned back to Ron as Gordon reluctantly left the cafe to go and fetch the shoes. “How long will it take?”

  “Couple of hours, max. Have your lunch here, take a leisurely walk up and down the main street, and they’ll be done. You can’t miss my shop. I see you have a beautiful charm bracelet.”

  Joanne raised her arm and beamed. “Not many notice it. I’ve had it since I was a teenager. There aren’t many slots left.”

  “It’s beautiful. I see you don’t have any silver shoes.”

  Gordon returned, wearing his sneakers, and handed Ron his slightly worn Italian shoes.

  Ron smiled. “You won’t regret this. It’s always good to walk in someone else’s shoes. Did I catch your name?”

  Gordon answered, “No, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Baily.”

  Joanne turned to Gordon as the cobbler left. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

  “What? Oh, about walking in another person’s shoes? Yes, I suppose it is. Let’s order. I’m starving.”

  The main street appeared like something out of the early twentieth century. They sauntered down the wooden sidewalk and checked out a couple of antique shops.

  Gordon pointed. “Thank God, there’s a bar at the hotel. God, I’m thirsty.” He hurried across the road and pushed through the louvered saloon doors. They swung shut after he entered.

  “I’ll have a beer,” he ordered.

  “Sorry, sir, the strongest drink we have is a sarsaparilla. It’s really good.”

  “This is a bar?”

  “City ordinance—we’re dry. We do have a ginger beer that’ll knock your socks off.”

  Joanne joined him. She slowly turned around. “It’s beautiful. Wood everywhere. I love the massive mirror behind the bar—”

  Gordon interrupted, “They don’t serve any beer. Ginger beer doesn’t count. I’m out of here.”

  Joanne laughed. “It’s about time you had an alcohol-free day. Buy me a ginger beer.”

  He stopped and grudgingly returned. “Okay, Jo. Bartender, we’ll have two ginger beers.”

  The man brought them two frothy drinks.

  Joanne sipped hers. “Definitely gingery, and it’s not bad. We’re the only people in here. How do you make any money?”

  The bartender smiled. “You’d be surprised. We have six hotel rooms upstairs. If you went back a hundred years, this place was a lively bordello, and the girls for hire lived up there. The punters would drink and then head up the curved staircase. Closed doors meant the girls were busy.” He pointed. “See those chairs behind the wooden balustrade at the top of the staircase? Available prostitutes would sit there advertising their wares. There were many fights. Occasionally, if the girl had a client, the disappointed punter would break the door down or shoot at it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, room number three has a colorful history. Men would escape out the window onto the small veranda and slip down the overhang to the street. Check out the door and the window frame. We left the bullet holes.”

  Joanne laughed. “Sounds like you miss the good old days.”

  “If you decide to stay the night, you’ll see that we’ve tried to maintain the Old West look and feel. Our rates are very reasonable.”

  Gordon put his ginger beer down. “I can’t drink it. It’s been a couple of hours. I think we should check out the cobbler, pick up our shoes, and get back on the road. We can still make it to Temecula. How about wine tasting tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.” Joanne turned to the bartender. “I like the ginger beer. Can I have a to-go cup? I don’t want to waste Gordon’s.”

  “No problem.”

  Gordon threw a ten-dollar note on the bar. “Let’s go.”

  “Hubby, why don’t we stay here? I think it’s quaint.”

  “They don’t have any alcohol, and I need a real drink.”

  They walked down the wooden sidewalk. “The store should be on the way back to the cafe. I’m sure I spotted it earlier. Here we are.” He stopped, stunned. “Can you believe it?”

  Joanne looked at the closed sign, and the smaller one which read will be back. The miniature clock hands pointed at ten. “I assume that means ten tomorrow morning. What’re we going to do? Leave our shoes behind?”

  Gordon peered through the window. “I can see them. They’re sitting on the counter. It looks like he’s fixed them. They look as good as new. Shall I break in?”

  Joanne scolded. “Don’t be silly. Do you want to spend tonight in their jail? I’m sure there’s a little room with bars in the window around here somewhere.”

&
nbsp; “They’re very expensive shoes. I suppose we could call back here on our way home tomorrow, but it’ll be out of our way.”

  “Who knows? I’ll bet you we’d find the same closed sign, but the smaller one would say come back next week. Let’s spend the night here. You can pretend I’m a prostitute, and you’ll be my client. I want to sit in the chair just outside our room. You can walk up the staircase, grease my hand with a hundred-dollar bill... no, two, and I’ll be yours for the night.”

  Gordon grinned. “That’s inflation for you. We haven’t played that game for years. But they don’t serve alcohol.”

  Joanne put her hands on her hips and belligerently replied, “What’s more important to you... your sexy wife, or a belly full of booze?”

  “Put like that, let’s go back and get the car. I’m sure we can park behind the hotel, then we’ll check in.”

  Ten minutes later, Gordon, carrying two bags, and Joanne entered the Boot Inn from the rear parking lot. Joanne excitedly said, “I love this place. It’s as if we’ve stepped through a time warp.” She spotted a sign. “Come on, reception’s this way.”

  They turned the corner, and Joanne exclaimed, “I don’t believe it. Gordon, look who’s behind the counter.”

  Ron, the cobbler, greeted them, “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Baily, you decided to stay the night. Good choice.”

  Gordon dropped the bags and tensed. Joanne placed her hand on his arm.

  “Hubby, it’s not worth it. Please, don’t lose your temper. You’re much bigger than he is.”

  Gordon took a deep breath and slowly released it. “You wouldn’t happen to own this hotel, by any chance?”

  Ron answered, “How did you guess?”

  Gordon growled, “Was the reason you closed your shoe repair early to get us to stay overnight in your hotel?”