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Goodbye Emily

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ISBN-10: 1938467213

ISBN-13: 9781938467219

Edition: N/A

Authors: Michael Murphy

List price: $16.95
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Description:

Two years after the death of his wife Emily from cancer, a college professor faces his own life-threatening illness, broken heart syndrome. Adding to his grief, a bean counting administrator has kicked him into early retirement, his daughter is considering a dream job halfway across the county, and his only friend is a pot smoking Vietnam vet stuck in the sixties. With one last chance to grab life by the balls, the professor plans a roadtrip to scatter his wife Emily’s ashes where they met at Woodstock. To recreate the original trip they’ll need the third tripper from back in the day, now in a nursing home with early stage Alzheimer’s. When the home refuses to allow their friend to come…    
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Book details

List price: $16.95
Publisher: Morgan James Publishing
Publication date: 1/1/2013
Binding: Paperback
Pages: 270
Size: 6.00" wide x 9.00" long x 0.75" tall
Weight: 0.946
Language: English

My life changed forever the night I drank the last of my bourbon. Two blocks from home, I entered The Library, once the top tavern in Milton, Pennsylvania. I climbed on a stool at the end of the bar, tuning out the one-liners, high-fives and lame pickup lines of my fellow patrons. I just wanted a drink. Maybe two.
I signaled the bartender. "Bourbon on the rocks." No water to dilute the alcohol.
Time changed everything, including one's favorite bar. In the sixties and seventies, students and faculty from the nearby college hung out and debated war, Watergate, disarmament and nuclear power while classic rock played in the background. Now I had to tolerate Lady Gaga.
The bartender, in his twenties, wore a starched long-sleeve maroon shirt with a glossy "Librarian" button pinned to his black vest. He slid a napkin in front of me and studied my face. "Professor Ellington?"
That's me. Professor-former professor-Walter Fitzgerald Ellington. Close friends, back when I had friends, called me Sparky. He set the drink in front of me, apparently determined to strike up a conversation I hoped to avoid.
"You let your hair grow since the bastards forced you to take early retirement."
"No one forced me out. I retired a year ago to write the great American novel."
"How's that worked out?"
This kid was either charmingly droll or a complete smart ass. I lifted the glass in a mock silent toast and swallowed half the booze.
He wiped down the counter with a white towel as if the bar paid him for each swipe. "Last night the dude who didn't force you out, Chancellor Warfield, and his co-conspirator who took your place, Professor Blake, came in. They shared a booth, and Blake didn't look happy."
"I really don't care."
I vowed not to think about those two self-indulgent, backstabbing bureaucrats again. I'd moved on. I sipped the bourbon as if I enjoyed the taste while he prattled on about taking my Nineteenth Century English Lit class. I caught something I never expected to hear.