JUST LIKE CLOCKWORK

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

A hardbound book arrived in my mailbox a few days ago. I’m calling it a gift To me, From me, but it’s actually a gift to the world when John M. Floyd shares his stories.

I knew better than to open the book when I was rushed, so I waited until I had the house to myself. That morning it wasn’t easy waiting for everyone to get out the door. I put on a pot of coffee and waited for the brew to be ready. I didn’t want to be disturbed by empty cups and wasted trips back to the kitchen, so I filled a thermos, adding what I like best in my coffee and brought it with me into the living room. I settled into the Crunchy Chair (named after the one resembling it in the Cary Grant movie, “Every Girl Should Be Married.”) as expectant as any kid on Christmas morning, I held my breath just a little and opened the package from the bookstore.

The cover was impressive in its stark, bold design. The title graced the top edge and followed by our fellow Criminal Brief collaborator’s name in bold print in the center. The clock’s hand points at John’s name like a symbol of hope; this is the right time to expect a good read.

I opened the book and took a sip of my coffee before beginning the first story, “The Powder Room.” Actually, I was re-reading this story as I’d seen it originally in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine a year ago. I recognized the opening, but kept reading. It’s that good of a story. It’s like watching an old episode of “The Twilight Zone”. You know where it’s going to end, but you keep on reading because it is such a delicious excursion getting there.

By the end of the story, I realized my coffee had grown cold. Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t usually happen to me. I jumped up and popped the mug into the microwave. As seconds passed like in slow motion, I found myself impatient for it to heat. I had a great book to read and only thirty-nine more stories were left.

The second story didn’t disappoint me, nor the third or the fourth. By the time I’d read a quarter way through the book, my husband was walking through the door. He looked at me all snuggly in the chair with my book. He smiled. I smiled back.

Suddenly, I sat up straight. “It’s not time for lunch already?” I asked.

“It would be for most people. Everyday. Like Clockwork,” he said.

“Yes, I do!”

He looked puzzled, so I held the book’s cover up for him to read. He didn’t get what I was saying, so I repeated, “Yes, I do! I like Clockwork very much.” I held the cover up again.

“Oh,” he said and glanced toward the kitchen. “And lunch is—”

I sighed and put the book down on the Crunchy Chair with a bookmark firmly in place. My husband is rather used to me not always having meals ready when they should be, but he’s a good sport. He often cooks if I’m in the middle of a writing spurt that needs to not be halted.

He’s quite capable of taking care of himself (and me, too), but I thought since I’d bought myself such a wonderful gift, the least I could do is make him a nice lunch. Okay, a somewhat healthy lunch that doesn’t take too long to prepare. I had a book calling my name like a siren to sailors on a long voyage.

As I put together a Dagwood-like sandwich on whole wheat and heated a mug of the homemade vegetable soup I’d made yesterday, he asked about the book.

This is one of the reasons I love him. Writers love to talk about really good stories and I had forty of them I could talk about for days. He’s a good listener.

I rattled on about the book, about how talented the author was and how John could jump from twist-ending mysteries to comical scenes, and how his characters were written so well they seemed real. “These people could show up on a reality show and be viable,” I said watching him finish the sandwich.

Quite innocently he asked which story I liked best.

I shrugged. “That’s like asking which of my children I like best? They’re all good in their own ways. I’m glad I don’t have to choose a best one.”

John’s stories aren’t cloistered in a little boxed label. Each one has its own beauty. His style and talent is envied by writers and welcomed by readers. He always leaves me wanting more. Already, I can’t wait for his next collection to be published.

I really like Clockwork. I think you will, too. Treat yourself to a copy and buy one for a friend, too.