My Novel: Chapter 2

Running:

I skipped running (I mean walking) today. I believe in days of rest. But I did run a few days ago. A kind of glide/run/slide sort of movement from one end of the house to the other to try to catch my ringing phone before the caller hung up. It's so annoying to set my phone down and get clear across the house only to hear it ring. About face! Run! Or glide/shuffle/slide without jarring anything.

Writing:

I can't believe I'm actually reading one of my novels again, and tweaking it here and there, and posting it on my blog. Strange times ten! But I'm happy to share. Nearly three years ago I experienced several hard hits at nearly the same time. The final blows knocked out much of my writing desires. But true loves seldom die. They eventually resurface. I've had many more blows since then, but I've survived. And with it, I've chosen to share one of my novels just because. Because I enjoyed writing it--creating characters and a plot, and because I simply want to.

I've chosen this photo today because of the story of  survival of this sunny little wildflower. I found it huddled against a huge granite boulder in my backyard--a rock that sucked in warmth each day and dispensed what it stored during bitter cold nights. What isn't shown is the evidence of death and decay surrounding the bloom--withered grass waiting for deep snow, weary leaves piled and ready to burn, a murky sky threatening to drizzle. During the depths of late fall, in one little nook, summer still bloomed. 

* I've grown to love the characters in my book as I've come to know them. That being said, none of them, along with their names, descriptions, characteristics, etc. in any way are related to real live human beings that I know or have known or who I know to have breathed on this earth. People, places, events, conversations, etc. in this novel are all a work of fiction formed in my mind and in no way resemble anyone I know, or situations in my or your life, so please don't misconstrue them as such. (That covers that little piece of disclaimer info 100% accurately!)

Secrets at Midnight

Chapter 2           

Leaning back on her heels, Jenn surveyed the disaster she’d created in the name of order. Usually putting things in certain places worked, but tonight screamed backfired! In all the hurry to sort and stash she’d ended up with three piles of chaos, each sanely labeled, but also each out of control as they cascaded excess around them. The task had appeared easier in her mind before she started and she hadn’t even tackled her bedroom yet. One more day of this craziness might get her committed. She had to pause and recoup before someone fetched her in a padded wagon.

There were no empty boxes to grab from the garage or the basement to easily stack things in, so Jenn scouted for huge trash bags with draw strings to manage the disaster. One bag she crammed with outgrown and outdated shoes and clothing, useful but less than perfect bedding, and assorted toys with marks that wouldn’t wash off or missing parts. She cinched the top shut and dragged it out the front door to her waiting car trunk. She popped it open and wedged the load destined to good will inside and shoved the trunk closed. Someone would benefit from her donation—things nicer than most people gave away.

Next came sorting the pile destined for proper storage—first off the missing Christmas stocking that no one found before St. Nick—she chuckled, that was her husband’s real name—arrived. Little Katie was barely a year old then and had no idea she had to live with a make-do stocking too small to hold the booty bestowed upon her. It was crazy what Jenn had found out of place in her always more than tidy house. Hair bows under sofa cushions, a baby bib, snow pants Katie never wore and outgrew because the Colorado ski vacation she didn’t really want to take was cancelled (much to her delight). Hey, there was her missing scarf with tasseled fringe! Now she remembered Katie dancing with it wrapped around her chubby waist. Sometimes a toddler proved basically unmanageable, and always found the cleverest hiding spots.

With Katie tucked in bed for the night and ten thousand steps later after many back and forth, and up and down, and into and out of the garage, Jenn deposited the last lost, misplaced item she’d uncovered. Now onto the last and most dreaded pile: trash. This bag was the only one properly under control. She peeked inside. Yep, she still wanted to toss out the stupid toy that bit her baby’s finger and required five minutes of compression and a bandaid. And she’d given up hope on the quilt her friend made her when Katie was born that met with a freak accident with chocolate and a cleaning solution.

With room to load in a little more, Jenn dragged the black bag into the hallway and emptied the wastebasket from the bathroom into it—a sure sign she’d never dream of sorting through what lay beneath. The wastebasket hidden behind her bedskirt in the master bedroom was dumped next, depositing a few stained tissues from late night tears when she missed Nick.

With one hand balancing a vase of wilted flowers ready to drop faded petals, Jenn grabbed the trash bag and hauled it into the kitchen. She added deceased roses from Nick before scanning the countertop. Intent on ridding her home of the three piles of sort, keep and toss littering her living room for two days now, Jenn had done something very un-Jenn-like in her kitchen: skipped cleaning up after super. Apparently pushing midnight  wasn’t too late to remedy the situation.

Dishes flew into the sink with lightning speed, a milk carton crumpled in her hands and was shoved into the bag, and so were a couple paper towels that wiped up the splatters of milk that hit the floor during crushing. The empty cardboard roll was next. She ran scalding hot water and suds rose in the sink. She washed the countertops so clean Katie could lick them during breakfast if she chose, which occasionally she did.

Last, an empty baked bean can sailed across the kitchen and thunked into the discarded paper towel roll reigning as king at the top of the trash. Momentarily it paused before tumbling to the floor and spewing crimson splatters in a wide arc. It rolled under the kitchen table to die.

Jenn Washington had never been able to hit her mark. Tonight proved what she’d known her whole life. She crossed the room and picked up the can and shoved it into the bulging trash bag. Tossing the wet dishcloth toward the sticky mess and seeing it land in the general vicinity, she gave herself two points for getting it simi-close. She’d clean the floor after visiting the garbage container outside, but first she opened the fridge and collected everything approaching an expiration date. She found a bottle of spaghetti sauce that would be perfect for dipping sauce for bread sticks if she had made them three days ago, a bag of salad greens browning around the edges and threatening to juice themselves if forgotten, a donut Katie had shoved in the back for later and a half eaten sandwich crusting around the edges. Not much really, but a little more than the full bag could easily hold.

If Nick were home he’d muscle the last items in and cinch it closed, but tonight Jenn was alone and Mr. Washington was in the heart of Chicago wheeling and dealing and accruing accounts that kept the power on, the water running and the garbage truck stopping at the end of her driveway every week. Which was good, she decided.

Half open, half shut, Jenn dragged the bag packed with disgusting things toward the back door where her innocent bare foot encountered the bean mess she’d postponed cleaning up. Sticky red goo oozed between her toes, bubbling like something from an old horror flick.

“This can’t be happening to me. All I want is a clean house tonight before I go to bed! I don’t want to get up and see or smell yesterday. Am I asking too much?” No one heard, of course. She released a frustrated sigh and awkwardly hobbled—heels down, toes up—toward the door.

The lock wouldn’t budge. The metal contraption, grinding in agony for weeks now, had frozen —seized up solid in a mean-spirited keep-really-bad-guys-out-and-disgusting-trash-inside mode. Balancing the bag with her thigh, Jenn fought the stubborn lock, wiggling, twisting and banging. Nothing helped. As usual, without her husband in town she’d deliver the fix-it list to Matt. He’d grin like a movie star posing with a shiny new tool for some commercial that made women drool and hand over money, and hardly break a sweat as he replaced the lock. Dear, sweet Matt who always flew to her rescue (minus a cape) would save the world and earn the badge of honor Nick should claim.

Another bang on the lock hurt her palm. Ten more wouldn’t demolish the contraption, but the alternate route to the trash can—through the living room and across the front yard—wasn’t an option. Because it seemed luck wasn’t on her side at the moment, something horrid would spill out and she’d spot-clean carpet or de-litter the yard by moonlight.

Nick—always MIA when needed, Jenn thought. After more banging mixed with death threats the lock released and Jenn triumphantly yanked the door open. She danced victory steps for accomplishing something amazing without calling Matt. The trash wiggled in rhythm and nearly toppled, but once more, Jenn saved the day. All alone. And that hurt.

Always after Nick kissed her good-bye and left with his duffle in his hand, emptiness crept into her soul. Tonight she’d stuffed a thousand items into one bag or another, all encased in some kind of memory that included or excluded him, and the ache had plunged deeper. The moment he left normal living occurred strictly on the surface: get up, go to work, take care of Katie, tell everyone life was perfect if asked, go to bed, start over the next morning with an overly-rehearsed picture-perfect smile.

Jenn’s world revolved around Nick—along with Katie—and she hated envisioning him returning only to find her angry because he hadn’t fixed a stupid lock he hadn’t realized was going rogue.

For better and for worse, she reminded herself as she reached to flip on the porch light. This moment wasn’t honeymoon-happy, but it couldn’t possibly get worse.

Pop.

Light blazed ten shades brighter for a split second before the backyard plunged into utter darkness. The light bulb had given up the ghost. Just one more thing on her growing “Rotten Day” list. Nearly every hour had been stacked with witnesses to disprove her charmed existence. Disasters at work, in her kitchen, in her bank account, and then her computer went haywire. Along came Monica—Matt’s beautiful and beyond perfect wife—the only person on earth who couldn’t possibly figure out anything electronic, but somehow did. Monica probably skipped all the way home to inform Matt she’d delivered a miracle. That alone made Jenn seethe.

Through it all, Nick hadn’t been around to save the day. And where would he be when she crashed in bed tonight?—not within kissing distance.

In the blackness Jenn summoned her favorite vision of her marriage—two lovebirds cooing beak to beak. Along with Katie, her husband was the best thing she’d ever experienced, but tonight nudged the limits of dream world, and introduced discontent.

Fighting resentment, Jenn cheerfully called over her shoulder, “Hey babe, be a sweetheart and bring me a sixty-watter,” as if Nick would magically appear. No one responded. Pretending sometimes carried enough momentum to push her over dismal mountains, but tonight is wasn’t more than a nudge that might—just might if her luck improved—keep her from falling over the cliff of loneliness.

On tippy-toes Jenn stretched to unscrew the lifeless bulb. Tiny wires tinkled inside, confirming its death. She added it to the bag and stepped into darkness.

Crash.

The light bulb shattered on the back step. Hopping like she’d stepped into a bed of fire ants, Jenn snatched the toppling trash bag, preventing another crisis. In the dim moonlight tiny glass shards sparkled like stardust, but no fairy godmother appeared to magically swish the danger away. Faking wouldn’t help—she’d already used up a week’s quota that evening. She needed a broom and dustpan and a truckload of optimism. 

Wishing she could fast-forward her life past this moment, Jenn ventured off the porch dragging unwanted garbage. Destination: the giant container crouching in shadows beyond the gate. She’d literally and mentally dump everything undesirable—oh, yes she would, she vowed—before racing back inside to indulge in a triple-dose of healing chocolate ice cream drenched in enough hot fudge to fill a bathtub.

 End Chapter 2

Once again, I'm requesting that you please leave a tiny note in the comments for me. If you hate a character's name, go ahead and tell me. If you want to know what they look like, say so! If you think I should add the season or temperature, let me know. (By the way, it's early June, Texas, and warm, but you'll figure that out soon enough. Remember, Jenn is barefoot and you might have discovered she's not exactly fond of snow--remember her comment about a ski trip?) Not knowing right away is part of reading and writing.

 Can't wait for chapter 3? Well, you'll have to. Hurry on back, ya'll.

If you missed the first chapter, please go to the next older post. I hope to eventually get this whole blog thing figured out so you can go from chapter to chapter easily, but until then, hang in there with me and enjoy the story!

Please be considerate and law abiding and realize that this story is copyrighted. I own the copy write. No part may be copied (hand, electronic, or in any other way) without my written consent. If you need to contact me, please comment.