Teaser Tuesday: #WIPfire: COULD BE WORSE

Yesterday's Links: The In Case You Missed it Edition

Tuesday seems like as good a day as any to do some #WIPfire-ing. A little self-indulgent, perhaps, but I feel like sharing today. It's a wedding and a funeral. More specifically, a wedding with a funeral flashback courtesy our protagonist, Graylyn Stephens.

Mock-up cover, for fun and inspiration

For reference, here's the twitter pitch for my unpublished manuscript, COULD BE WORSE:

An unlucky quality assurance rep, tired of landing in pot holes & hospital beds, turns to x-sports to prove her bad luck is gone for good.

Amyson is nothing if not a hopelessly corny romantic. The snow-draped conifers wear white just for her. She makes her entrance up the milky walkway as guests sit in fabric-covered metal chairs on either side, open to the biting breezes. Natural pine fragrance tickles my nose, and fresh air fills my thirsty lungs. I almost forget the cold.

A sweet bridal smile graces Amyson’s face. Completing the moment, two men on either side of her release ivory-winged doves, which I am fairly certain are taking the opportunity to escape their handlers and fly south for the winter. They rise up, up, up, vanishing into the last snowfall of the season.

Standing fourth down in a line of bridesmaids, I shiver through the organ music. (Really, how did they get that pipe organ out here?) But when the vows begin, I listen faithfully and force my bare arms to stay still at my sides. Amyson holds the lily bouquet to her heart, frail arms covered in white gloves up to her bicep, white faux fur trimming the sleeves so that no space remains exposed. The same trim curves round her neck, topped with pearls that glow in the winter sun. She is the princess of the forest. A dark, snow-covered veil of trees spreads out at her back forever. I won’t say I feel like one of her subjects. I mean, at least I am not sitting on the metal chairs. At the very least I am a member of her inner circle.

Jeff does sit, squirming on a metal chair in the fifth row back. I find his eyes and lift my eyebrows to him. My unspoken question is answered with a wrinkle of his nose and a wink. He’s taking his discomfort with good humor.

As Henderson and my sister exchange magical, binding words on this March morning, I wish I could say my heart flutters or that I suddenly become open again to adventure and romance. In spite of the adventures I’ve already had in the past two days, my heart feels tighter than ever. I can feel myself cocooning.

Jeff came to the wedding on a whim, almost on a dare. I see it in his eyes sometimes, this playfulness that promises only reckless endangerment. What have I gotten myself into? When we go back to Chicago, him to his busy law firm and me to the Classifieds, will I be forgotten? Am I his vacation from a life he means to continue without me?

This is why my mom said never to attend a wedding with a casual date. It brings up thoughts and feelings of commitment prematurely. And that can ruin a good thing before it has a chance to get off the ground.

Get off the ground. Perhaps that’s a bad metaphor for a couple who jumped out of an airplane on their first date.

I have to remind myself I barely know Jeff, all our talk of years-in-a-day notwithstanding.

The expression of peace and wholeness on Amyson’s face tugs at my tightly closed heart. Shivers run up my arms. Her breezy happiness touches parts of my soul that haven’t been aired out in a decade.


The luncheon passes in a blur of old friends and distant relatives whom I haven’t seen since my parents’ funeral. Just seeing their faces brings back the darkness of that week:

Amyson has locked herself in her room again, refusing to see anybody but me. It’s more than awkward facing my great aunt and uncle, strangers to me, and answering their questions, bearing their unsolicited advice as they judge every action I take on my parents’ behalf. I know I’m doing something wrong, forgetting some crucial bit of etiquette in funeral planning. To own the truth, I don’t care a bit.

“You need to have the flowers sent to the reception hall after the graveside service, so people can take them home,” Aunt Lisa says.

“Okay,” I say, wiping cracker crumbs from the kitchen counter. I’ve already seen the out-of-date will and my parents’ accounts, and I know this will be our last week living in our house. Funeral flowers are the last thing on my mind.

“Leave the poor girl alone, Lisa,” Uncle Fate tells her. “We’re here to help in any way you need it, Gray.”

“It’s Lyn,” I snap. “And we’re fine. I can take care of everything.” I know he’s trying to be kind, but I can’t bear sympathy from strangers who seem to think they have a say in what happens to my parents’ bodies. Bodies. Ashes.

“You don’t have to do everything, child,” Uncle Fate protests. “That’s why we’re here. You’re young. You’ve barely begun school. We can take Amy in until she’s an adult.”

“No!” My forehead feels hot. I wipe it with the back of my hand and shake the crumbs from the rag into a spotless sink. I’ve been cleaning nonstop since…

“Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about this,” Aunt Lisa says. “We can come back in a week.”

“We won’t be here in a week,” I say. “I’m taking Amyson to my apartment in the city. We can’t afford to keep the house, and I already have the apartment anyway. Amyson needs me right now, not…” I trail off. It’s a miracle my frazzled mind retains any semblance of courtesy, but I stop myself before I say outright what I’m thinking. WE DON’T NEED YOU. GO AWAY.

Despite my restraint, my great aunt and uncle get the point. They’re gone the day after the funeral, flowers in hand. I hate them for leaving my parents’ funeral with a souvenir, a memento, like we were a stop on their tour of the Great Lakes. I hate them for offering to help when nothing anybody could do would ever make it right. I hate them for abandoning me to go it alone. Totally alone.

I knock on Amyson’s door. “Sweetie, please open up. Everybody’s gone. I need to see your face. Please.”

Her sniffles pause, and for a moment I think she might just open the door and let me in. Then a whimper takes over where the sniffles left off, and she’s muffling her sobs into the pillow once more. I turn around and sink to the floor, the door at my back.

Whipping out my cell phone, I dial the only number I know will bring my baby sister back to me. I call Charlie.

And the Countdown to Launch Begins...

You've probably already heard about it from Lindsay (aka Isabella) on her lovely blog. Or maybe you've seen the ominous tweets. (Okay, those two words just do not go together. Twitter, you couldn't think of a scarier word for 140-character remarks?)

Back to the suspense.

You've probably heard about it from Lindsay (aka Isabella) on her lovely blog. Or maybe you've seen the ominous remarks in 140 characters or less.

But nothing could prepare you for.

*high pitched thriller noises* Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun!

OPERATION AWESOME

That's right. Operation Awesome is coming. You can't stop it.

Might as well embrace it.

I'm seeing mysterious contests and not-so-mysterious literary rock star interviews in your future.

But only if you follow along at Operation Awesome.

I am such a dork. But you really will love it! Check it out!

Heartbreak: a glimpse at my WIP

Gabe

Sweet Sixteen

The park gazebo sparkled with strings of icicle lights, white light against white paint. In fading daylight, the effect was charming. I wiped the sweat off my nose, scrambling off the ladder to reach my phone in time. Suits and summer don’t mix well. Sara’s “Never Without You” ringtone was almost through, and I ached to hear her voice again.

“Hey birthday girl, where are you?” I smiled into my phone.

“Hi babe, we’re at Prue’s house. She just finished my hair for tonight.”

A five-foot string of lights slipped off its nail and sagged, breaking my concentration. “Great, sweetie. I’m just about done with your surprise. Can I pick you up in fifteen minutes?”

“Umm, sure.” Even distracted by faulty decorations, I heard the waver in her voice.

“Is everything alright, Starlight?”

“Yeah,” she said, too fast, her voice higher than usual.

I chalked it up to nerves. It’d been two years since we first saw each other at the Fall Fair—a cheesy first meeting in line at the Ferris wheel. To be honest, I was only standing there because of a stupid dare. Brody bet I wouldn’t toss my drink from the top. Juvenile, I know, but we were fifteen back then. Sara was a year younger, but always more sophisticated.

Brody got his ten bucks, and I got Sara.

Two years later we still hadn’t kissed…I mean, not really kissed. Her parents were super strict. She wasn’t even allowed to date, technically, but we found ways around that. Tonight the sneaking ended. She was sixteen now, old enough to hold hands in public, go on full-fledged dates, and call me boyfriend—even in front of her regimented parents.

“Don’t worry,” I almost whispered. “Everything will be perfect. First, your surprise. Then, the party will really start. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Me, too,” she said. The line went dead.

That was sudden. Maybe I’m making her nervous with all the build-up to her surprise. I shrugged it off and got back to work. The errant lights back in place, I stood back to survey my art.

Several of the swooping lights looped lower than the rest.

I’m a musician, not an artist.

It still looked awesome against the coming darkness. Sara will be blown away.

After a quick call to Brody to check on the status of the rock band we hired, I stopped by my house to pick up my clarinet. Dorky, I know, but Sara thought it was cool. Granted, her reasoning was a little off (“It sounds just like a saxophone.”), but at least she didn’t think I was a dork for playing in the woodwinds section.

Prue’s house was the only purple house on the block.

“It’s lavender, Gabe,” she insisted when I pointed this out years ago.

“Okay, Prue. Whatever floats your boat.”

Prue never liked me much, but Brody wasn’t bonkers about Sara, either. We weren’t dating each other’s friends, so it wasn’t usually an issue.

Before I could knock, the door swung open. Prue, Tara, and Sara stood waiting in Three-Musketeers formation, smiling except for Sara.

“Hello, ladies. Might I borrow fair Sara for an hour?” I winked at her friends, who rolled their eyes at my sentence structure.

Cheerleaders. Sara was one of them, but I didn’t hold it against her. She, at least, knew charm when she heard it.

She took my arm and looked back at her friends with a strange mixture of regret and excitement. “See you guys at the party.”

“Good luck,” Tara called after her. Prue elbowed her in the shoulder. “What?” Tara whined, rubbing her arm.

I didn’t comment to Sara about her bizarre choice in friends. Tonight was all about making her feel like a goddess.

“So what’s my surprise?” she asked once we were on the road.

I shook my head. “Like I’m going to blow it when we’re two blocks away.”

“That close?” Her blue eyes widened just a little, and I could almost see her stomach flutter. I couldn’t imagine what made her so nervous, but I guessed the sixteenth birthday was kind of like the wedding day—anticipated from childhood, played out with Barbies, all that weird girl stuff.

I reached over the gear stick and squeezed her manicured hands. “You look beautiful tonight, Starlight. You always look beautiful. Tonight I’m gonna make you feel like a princess.”

She smiled. “Gabe, I have to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot, kid. I’m all ears.”

Her hand weaseled out of mine, and she stared at the dim road ahead.

“What’s wrong, Sara?” She used to love it when I called her kid, but maybe turning sixteen changed that.

For a long minute, she said nothing, but her face bent in earnest concentration over something. “Uh, nothing,” she finally muttered. “Just nervous about the party.”

“Well, hey, it’s just gonna be close friends. Your parents are even coming. I guess they don’t hate me as much as I thought.” I grinned, trying to quell her anxieties with a look. If only it were that easy.

“My parents?” she sputtered. “What possessed you to invite them?”

I pulled into the parking lot, trying to think of some way to answer this sudden hostility. Sara had never yelled at me before.

“Obviously, I made a mistake,” I apologized immediately. My eyes darted up again at the sound of her gasp.

“Oh my gosh, Gabe. You didn’t have to…”

My smile returned as I watched her take in the sight of the lit gazebo. “Starlight for my Starlight,” I whispered, then got out to open her door.    

My extended hand went unnoticed for what felt like forever. “Sara?”

When she looked up at me, her face streaked with tears. Black makeup ran from her eyes across her perfect skin, threatening the white dress.

I retrieved some Kleenex from the glove box and gently dabbed the stains from her cheeks.

“I hope those are tears of joy.”

But then there was a sob from her lips that didn’t go away. It kept building. I reached for her, guiding her to the benches, my clarinet clasped firmly in my other hand. There was absolutely nothing I could do about her tears. They were coming too fast.

Stick to the plan. It was all I could do. The low, slow melody of “Never Without You” waltzed from my instrument as she sat beside me, quieting.

My eyes closed as the sweetest part of the song played through my mind. I knew she was thinking of those words, too, feeling what I felt.

Never far,

We dance on

Holding tight

To this song

Stars twinkle

Celebrate

We become

One heartbeat.

Never far,

We become

One heartbeat.

At the end of the last long note, I opened my eyes, setting the instrument down beside me on the bench. But my smile evaporated as my gaze came to rest on Sara’s face.  

She glared at me.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” she asked, every word tense through her teeth. There was nothing lovely about the way her reddened, black-smeared eyes flashed now.

The stupid faulty light strand slipped off its nail again, an echo of my heart’s downward motion, and I gulped at thin air, struggling to reconcile her reaction with my actions. “I’m sorry. I-I-I thought this was what you wanted. What did I do wrong?”

Eyes closed and head bowed, her frame trembled with emotion, and even I could tell it wasn’t the good kind. There were a million ways I imagined her responding to my song: smiles, kisses. Nostalgic tears, maybe. Anger and disgust were nowhere on my list.

Her eyes continued to avoid mine. “It’s over, Gabe.”

The light in the gazebo dimmed. The air held stock-still. The easy breeze that played with Sara’s hair two seconds ago vanished.

I sat still, too stunned to speak.

Her voice filled the empty air instead. “Look, don’t…I can’t stay chained to one person anymore. My parents expect me to date other people. I mean, we’ve been together so long, I don’t even know who I am anymore. With Tara and Prue, I’m one person. With you, I’m just Starlight, this perfect picture of a girlfriend you made up sometime between the Ferris Wheel and this godforsaken gazebo. I’m sorry, but we’re not soul mates. And I can’t waste anymore of my teen years acting the part somebody else made up for me.”

I’m sure my jaw dropped, but I don’t recall exactly what my face did after that. All I knew was Sara dumped me. Her scripted break-up speech crashed into the lingering glow of my love song, and by the time the band showed up—and our friends started arriving at the park—I was long gone.

My tie and suit jacket lay balled up in the corner behind my bedroom door, atop my sealed clarinet case.

“Gabriel? Home so soon?”

I slammed the door before my mom’s feet hit the stairs. No way was she going see me like this. Nobody would. Not now, and not ever.