Snippet Sunday - Short Story by Rachel Dilley

He came back into my life during my regular Saturday morning trip to the library. I had not seen him in 25 years, having graduated high school, not turning back once to encourage any links to my past. Christian had been brilliant, beautiful, special to everyone who knew him, everyone who knew he would be one of the few to break out of our small town. He could have chosen any college, any profession, any girl. He chose me, and then he changed his mind. Christian was my high school sweetheart.


Browsing through the new release section at the library, I caught a glance of a glossy book with the author's name in large bold font sprawled across the lower third of the cover. My eyes, making efficient use of the precious little time I had for my library trip, skimmed right over Christian's book to scan the remainder of the books on the shelf. As soon as my brain registered the message from its optical partners, my eyes jerked back to Christian's book with spasmodic motion. Come Back Home, a novel by Christian Ford, sat boastful on the center of the shelf. The letters of his name were embossed in bright gold, outlined in black. I brought my hand up to the book and let it glide lightly over his name, my wedding ring catching the fluorescent light. Instinctively, almost shamefully, I pulled away from the book, my hand seeking the safety of my coat pocket.

I paced in front of the gold and black literary idol, not committing to picking it up, yet marking my turf to prevent some other bookworm from picking it up. Rationally, I knew that reading Christian's book was not so different than reading any other novel, but my pounding chest told of a deeper truth within me. I hadn't realized until just then that I had never completely let go of him, even after decades apart. Maybe I needed to finally face that still-open chapter of my life, even if it just meant reading a book. Checking the time on my cell phone, I grabbed the book and flipped it over to see if Christian's picture was on the back cover. My first love's smile gleamed on the back of the book, his black-and-white photo flanked by recommendation blurbs from the likes of John Grisham and Tom Clancy. The crisp smell of the new book combined with the piercing gaze of Christian's eyes caused my stomach to flip. My decision made, I headed straight for the circulation desk, a curved Formica® station staffed by Jeanette, a lean, pinch-nosed woman who was the regular Saturday librarian.

“No books for the kids this week, Ellen?” she said, taking Christian's book to scan its bar code.

“That's all I have time to look for this morning, I'm afraid. I'm running late to pick up Caroline from dance class.”

“Well, at least it's a good book. This author is wonderful. Do you know he's a brilliant Pentagon defense strategist by day, novelist by night?”

“No, I didn't know that,” I replied.

“Well, if you enjoy the book, you should come to the library's author event on Tuesday. Christian Ford will be our featured speaker. We were really lucky to get him here since it will be his only book tour stop in Ohio.”

“Yes, that sounds interesting,” I said, picking up the book and holding it to my chest to conceal the effects of my thrill or trepidation, I’m not sure which. “Thanks for letting me know about it. See you next week, Jeanette.”

***
As I pulled the car into the garage, Caroline hopped out nearly before the car was stopped. The neighborhood kids were out playing next door, beckoned by the first day of the spring season above fifty degrees. Caroline ran to join them, which was just as well with me. The book on my lap weighed heavily on my mind. I just wanted a few hours alone to read.

Like a teenager trying to sneak her first beer, I tucked the book into my purse and opened the door from the garage to the laundry room. Awaiting my return just inside the door was a dog turd, standing on its end like the leaning Tower of Pisa, left by our faithful dachshund. The pile of laundry that I asked my husband, Mike, to run through the washer remained undiminished, apparently a mountain only I am capable of conquering.

“Mike? Curtis? We're home,” I yelled through the door to the family room as I grabbed a Lysol wipe to clean up the dog's mess. ESPN, the network of choice for the testosterone-inclined half of my family, blared on the television. I stuffed the dog's mess into a plastic grocery bag, tied the handles together, and peeked my head into the family room to see my husband and son, both of whom were still pajama-clad. Frustrated and annoyed, I threw the crap-filled grocery bag at Mike, which landed on the floor beside him.

“What's this?” he grunted.

“It's dog poop from the laundry room floor. Did either of you bother to let the dog out this morning? How about that laundry? How's that coming along?”

“Sorry. Curtis and I just got wrapped up basketball. I'll get to it in a minute,” Mike said, not taking his eyes off the T.V.

I started to fume, and at least Curtis had the good sense to get up and leave, grabbing his glass of milk from the coffee table as he left. I turned my back on Mike and stepped back into the laundry room to begin the first load of wash. As usual, if I waited on him to do it, it would never get done. As I stuffed the dirty laundry into the washer, not caring if Mike's tighty whities come out pink from my red sweater, my head spun with thoughts about how taken for granted I am, how ignored I am in my own family, how things might have been so different for me.

After starting the washing machine, I stomped in front of the T.V., which still displayed big-footed Amazons running mindlessly up and down the basketball court, but Mike paid me no attention. When he didn't alter his gaze from the screen, I walked to the front door, called to Caroline, who whined at having to come in, and climbed the stairs to read the book written by the man I would have married in a second, had he given me the chance.

It took me four days to read it. Really, I stayed up most of the night and devoured it in one day, but I re-read it slowly over the following three days to let Christian's words soak in. Come Back Home had suspense, mystery, and humor, but most of all it had a love story fraught with missed opportunities. Had Christian been thinking of me when he was writing the book? I scoured the pages for clues, snippets of our high school years together, impressions of our romance.

The scene in the book, for example, when the main characters fought over a job offer that would take the protagonist to another city caused me to flash back to my battle with Christian about his plan to attend a different college than I. The female lead in the novel was a teacher, while I was an education major the last time Christian and I spoke. Was Christian's use of a petite red-headed love interest in his book really just a remembrance of me? I tallied up the similarities between the book and my past with Christian, and there were too many to make it a coincidence, I told myself.

I let my mind wander at the possibility of seeing Christian at his book signing, having him take me aside and ask me out for coffee afterward, confessing his eternal regret at breaking it off with me all those years ago. What might it be like to be with him again, such an interesting, provocative, intelligent man? He probably lived a fast-paced life with connections in high places, so different from my mundane suburban existence.

I understood why he wanted to break up during our freshman year of college, but it wounded me regardless. It wasn't that we weren't compatible or not in love. We did end up attending different colleges, me at the state university and him on the East Coast. We rarely saw each other, and he was being groomed by his professors for big things, professors who recognized the same potential in him that I did. In a tug-of-war between his brain and heart, I was the casualty.

I began agonizing over my decision whether or not to attend the library's author event to see Christian. Thoughts of him sweeping me off my feet were fantasies, dreams of an overworked, under-appreciated soccer mom, I knew. Mike would have been so hurt if he knew I went to see my high school sweetheart behind his back, even if it was in a public forum. As imperfect as my marriage with Mike was, I thought about the life we had built together, and that he had chosen to be with me. Christian had made his choices, too. Doubt crept in, and I convinced myself that I wanted to see similarities between the book and my relationship with Christian that weren't really there.

I heard my kids downstairs, clanking dinner dishes, wedding gifts that had survived my twenty-year marriage. Tucking the book under my bed, I left it behind and head downstairs to begin preparing supper. When I entered the kitchen, Mike, Curtis and Caroline were scurrying about, setting the table, making a salad, and pulling a casserole out of the oven. I could not ever recall a time that dinner had been prepared without my involvement or prompting.

“What's the occasion?” I asked, surveying the spread.

Mike looked up at me with a faint smile on his face. “We were hungry,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, it smells great. Is there anything you need me to do?”

Caroline pulled out a chair for me and said, “No, Mommy. Have a seat.”

We sat down at the kitchen table save for Mike, who served as waiter, dishing out some sort of chicken and rice concoction. We didn't have much conversation. I think they were testing the waters of my mood. Finally, Caroline announced, “I took the dog out twice today, Mommy, because I don't want you to throw a bag of poop at me.” I buried my head in my hands in humored embarrassment while my family chuckled around me. I guess my message of frustration was finally understood, served up with a side of dog poop.

***

I returned Christian's book to the library the following Saturday. Sliding the book through the slot at the circulation desk, Jeanette caught my eye. She was helping another customer, but looked at me, holding up her index finger to request that I wait for her to finish. I stepped aside and scanned through the books waiting to be re-shelved. After several minutes, she approached me with a quirky grin on her face. “Ellen, you didn't tell me that you knew Christian Ford. Why didn't you mention it last week when I was raving about him?”

“How do you know, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I went to the authors’ event on Tuesday and during his presentation, Mr. Ford mentioned to the audience that he knew one of our hometown ladies and mentioned your name. I think he was disappointed that you weren't there.”

“Why do you say that?”

“When he mentioned your name, he scanned the crowd for any signs of recognition. I had an opportunity to speak with him after his discussion and mentioned that I knew you, and that I had told you about the event. He asked me to tell you hello.”

Snippet Sunday - Children's Market Snippet

Typically I write Inspirational fiction, leaning towards the Romantic Suspense genre. Today however, I am feeling a little young at heart. I thought I would share a children's piece that I had written several years ago. It is one of three that I have in my writer's file, waiting patiently to be published.

Hope you enjoy it.

When A Dog Does The Dishes

When a dog does the dishes
He'll make quite a mess.
He'll get suds on the ceiling
and sauce on your dress.

He'll lick the spoons and the
the bowls till they shine.
So you'll think they're clean
the next time you dine.

Then he'll drink all the water
so you'll think he is done,
but that is really when
your work has begun.

You need to redo all the
word he has done.
Re-doing the dog's work
is never much fun!

So next time your dog
says, "I'll do the dishes."
Just let him outside to
avoid all the messes!

Snippet Sunday - First Pages

We've all heard it...when writing a novel your first page must grab the reader (or editor) if they're going to read on. Today I'm going to be posting the first page of my novel Healing Springs. I entered this piece in the ACFW Christian fiction contest, and did not final, but the good news is, I did get two requests for the full manuscript from different publishers.

Feel free to leave me your feedback.


Chapter One

Breaking and entering, Jackie Stevenson knew it was against the law, but the risk would be worth it. She just had to get her laptop and flash drives. Although her women’s safety advocate had advised against it, she didn’t care. Her soon to be ex-husband Nick had something that belonged to her, something he knew she would come looking for.
Law or no law, she was breaking into his home. She had been waiting for the perfect opportunity, a time when Nick would be gone for a long stretch of time. He would never expect it. Bet he thought she didn’t have the courage.

He was wrong.

Nick’s shift at the Chicago Police Department started at three o’clock. The afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders. She had been watching the house from a distance, just waiting for him to leave. She took her eyes off the door for a brief second to check her watch. Two-fifteen, he should be leaving any minute.

No sooner than the thought formed in her head, she looked up, and saw him. Tall and lean in his police uniform, he looked so handsome. It was what had attracted her to him in the first place. Little did she know the ugliness that lay deep within his soul.

She shuddered.

Snippet Sunday

This is the first scene of my work in progress, an as-yet untitled paranormal romance. Love it or Hate it? Let me know, I'm interested in getting some feedback.


“Please, help me,” she cried. “Someone is trying to kill me!”

Dax Ulric looked at the beautiful stranger standing at his door and acted without thinking – he pulled her inside and locked the door behind her. Anyone coming after her now would have to get through three inches of solid oak, a deadbolt - and him.

Turning around, he instinctively tried to comfort the white-faced, shaking woman. There was such an air of fragility about her, he couldn’t stop himself. But the moment he touched her, she stiffened and pulled away from him.

Dropping his hand in confusion, he said, “I’ll call 911,” decisively pulling out his phone while reaching behind the door for the shotgun he kept there. Stupid, he thought to himself. Why would he try to embrace a complete stranger? Usually he was the one who kept himself apart, no matter how beautiful the woman was.

“No, wait,” her interruption stopped his thumb over the last digit. “I need a minute to think. I don’t want to bother the police unnecessarily,” her voice had an edge to it – and something else.

Dax looked up from his dialing. He’d been en route to the locked gun safe where he kept extra shotgun shells and his pistol. He was prepared to defend his home – and her – against intruders. And if guns didn’t do the job, he had other ways to stop them. He just hoped he didn’t have to use them. She was still pale and shaking and he could see her take a deep breath, trying to pull herself together by sheer force of will.

“Miss, if someone threatened your life, you should file a police report. They can help you.” From previous experience Dax didn’t have a lot of faith in the local police helping anyone, but he really didn’t want to get involved in the situation and was looking for the easiest way to get this woman – beautiful as she was, with long, chestnut brown hair and cinnamon brown eyes – out of his house and life. He had problems of his own to deal with.

“No – I mean, yes, of course, you’re right. It’s just…,” She trailed off. She had a dazed look in her eyes and Dax cursed under his breath as he saw signs of shock setting in. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and motioned her toward the living room, taking care not to touch her again.

“Miss…?”

“Jordan, Sophie Jordan.”

“Miss Jordan -.”

“Please call me Sophie.” She mustered a wan smile. “I just moved in down the road.

I’m your new neighbor.”

Being neighbors would explain how she ended up on his doorstep, Dax thought. She must have rented the old Duncan place. They had retired to Florida just after he’d come back. He didn’t get many visitors this far out of town, not even family. He’d chosen his cabin precisely for its remote location. But he wondered why she chose to live here. Not many people lived on the side of this mountain in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains and those that did were usually ready to fend for themselves. Sophie Jordan didn’t strike him as a woman used to roughing it.

“Sophie, I’m Dax. Would you like to sit down for a minute? Can I get you some tea?” The manners his mother had drilled into him from birth suddenly made an appearance, overriding his impatience to get Sophie out of his house.

“Tea would be lovely,” she said.

Snippet Sunday

Here's the first half of the first chapter of my novel in progress, Monticello Mystery.  As the title suggests, Thomas Jefferson, or rather his remains, figure prominently in this novel.

A curious package sat on her desk. Faith's secretary customarily opened her mail for her each day, stamping the date in the upper right hand corner of each piece. However, it was highly unusual for her law firm to receive a box-sized package, let alone one that covered nearly a third of Faith's desk. Because of the unorthodox nature of the package, the secretary had not opened it, rather placing it on Faith's large oak desk, where it sat looming upon her return from lunch.


"Caroline, what's up with this package? Was it delivered by Fed Ex or by regular mail?" Faith questioned, stepping just outside her office threshold so that she could see her secretary.

"Ms. Fisher, it was delivered by a private service with signature required. The sender's name was not listed on the receipt. Were you expecting a package?"

"Nope. I guess I'll just open it, though I'm a little wary with an unexpected package from an unknown sender." Faith stepped back into her brightly lit office, sunshine meandering in, cascading a soft spotlight on the package.

"Since you're hesitant to open it, do you want me to call building security, just to be safe?" Caroline called from her station just outside Faith's office.

"That's not necessary, Caroline. I'm just being paranoid, I think." Faith closed her office door, something she rarely did. She sat down in her brown leather desk chair, leaning back to survey the rectangular box on her desk, which was wrapped in generic brown paper. Faith slid her hands on both sides of the package and lifted slightly, to judge its weight. It was solid and surprisingly heavy. Though no one was watching her, she was embarrassed when the thought crossed her mind that she should probably put her ear to the package to make sure there were no ticking bomb sounds. Standing up, she placed her hands on the sides of the package and bent at the waist, pressing her right ear to the top of the box. She sat back down, satisfied that there was nothing left to do but open it.

Faith Fisher was thrown off by the break from routine. Craving predictability, she had worked at the same law firm and lived in the same house for 15 years. She and her husband, Ross, a science professor at University of Virginia, took the same vacation to Cape Cod each summer. Highly organized, Faith did not like surprises or change. Even at home, Faith paid her bills online the day they arrived in the mail, and laundry was washed, folded and put away three times a week.

She took a rarely-used letter opener from her top desk drawer and slid it through the taped ends of the brown wrapping, careful not to ruin yesterday's french manicure. A shiny wooden box was inside. She grabbed the flaps of the thick outer paper and tipped the package up slightly so that the wooden box would slide out the opposite end. Placing the brown paper on the floor, she began her inspection of the wooden container.

The dark wood gleamed with a high polish. It was well crafted with a silver clasp in the center of one of the long sides. There were no markings or other indications as to the origins of the box or its contents.

Faith flipped the clasp open and slowly lifted the lid upward on its hinges. Peering in, Faith felt her stomach tighten as she realized what was inside. The box was lined with burgundy velvet fabric. The bottom of the container held what appeared to be a variety of bones, some whole and some fragmented. Bones lay one on top of the other, filling the container half full. A pocket was sewn into the short side of the lining. Without reaching into the pocket to grab its contents, Faith pulled the fabric out to peer down inside. There appeared to be three silver fasteners of some type, perhaps buckles.

Her head swam with possible scenarios for the reason a box of bones would be on her desk. Feeling woozy, Faith plopped with a thud into her chair. She began to inventory her list of crazy clients. All attorneys had at least a few clients who were difficult, or quirky, or just plain nuts. Perhaps one of her crazy clients had sent her this box for some reason. Her mind then wandered to her family for possible culprits. Faith had not seen most of her extended family for several years. She could not imagine her parents, sister, or in-laws doing anything this morbid.

On edge, Faith jumped when she heard a light tapping on her door. She did not want anyone entering her office right now, with the pile of what appeared to be human bones on her desk. "Just a minute," was all that Faith could utter. She closed the box and latched it. Feeling warm, she pulled her straight chestnut hair into a low pony tail at the nape of her neck. She walked to the door and opened it a crack. It was Caroline.

"Is everything alright? I mean with the package?" Caroline asked with concern.

"Not really. Would you mind checking to see if Brad Henderson is available, and if so, have him come to my office?"

"No problem, Ms. Fisher. I'll call his secretary right now," Caroline said, heading for her desk.

Faith closed the door and returned to her chair. Brad Henderson was the managing partner of the firm, Barclay and Cahill. He had hired Faith and had also been her mentor as she learned the practice of family law. Brad was the only person in the firm she felt she could trust to share the contents of the package. He had a level head and had never betrayed a confidence. Brad was the glue that held the firm together.

Footsteps echoed on the marble floor outside Faith's office door. A firm knock was followed by Brad's smooth voice. "Faith, it's Brad. May I come in?"

Faith jumped out of her chair and opened her door, taking care not to open it so wide as to let anyone passing by peer in her office. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Come in. You're never going to believe this."

Brad sat in the chair opposite Faith's desk, curiously eying the box. "What's in the box?" he asked.

"First, let me say that I have no idea who this is from. It was delivered over lunch by a private delivery service with no sender name on the receipt. I need for you to come around to my side of the desk so you can see what's inside. I'd tell you, but I think you're just going to have to see it for yourself." Once Brad made his way around to Faith's side of the desk, she stood up, unclasped the latch, and lifted the top. Faith watched Brad's face as he peered in the box. His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack, which was a look she had not witnessed on his face in 15 years of working with him.

"Holy shit. Are those human bones?"

Welcome To "Snippet" Sunday

Each Sunday one member of our group will be posting a little "snippet" of their writing. I am going to launch Snippet Sunday with a copy of the one-page that I prepared for a writer's conference I attended last September.

A one-page is a sheet that you can easily present to an agent or editor that gives a brief summary of your novel. Think of it as what would appear on the back of your book cover.

Healing Springs

To embrace her future Jackie Stevenson must forgive her past. That is, if she can survive it.

Jackie Stevenson is on the run from her abusive ex-husband, a Chicago police officer. Nick will stop at nothing, including murder, in order to find Jackie. Not only did Jackie humiliate him by leaving him, when she left she took with her information that he desperately needs.

When Jackie's car breaks down in the small town of Healing Springs, Virginia, she is immediately welcomed by the town's friendly citizens. One person she wants nothing to do with is Blake Carson. Jackie instinctively knows he's a cop, and to her all cops are dangerous.

Blake is taken instantly with Healing Springs's new arrival. Problem is, Jackie turns down all his attempts to get to know her better. A former police officer, blake is curious to find out just what she may be hiding, so he starts an investigation.

What he uncovers releases a chain of events that could prove deadly for both of them.