Glory pulled the worn afghan around her legs, legs that were currently tucked next to her aching backside, and settled into her favorite chair, in the corner of her quiet room. The steam from the oversized cup of coffee was wafting straight up her nose. As she sniffed in the heavenly aroma, tears coursed down her cheeks. You can't count on anything in this world turning out exactly like you plan, except your coffee, Glory thought to herself.
Pete had left the night before, in a cloud of anger and hurt . Glory could still see the disappointment shimmering in his eyes that last time he'd looked at her. All of their years together, in fact all of their lives that they'd spent side by side, minus those four years when she'd gone off and ruined almost everything, had pretty much disintegrated when he walked through her door and found her in the arms of another man.
Since they'd been no taller than carrot stalks, Pete had been her near constant companion. They'd learned to swim in the little crick that ran right behind Granny Grace's field, stolen pecans from Ol' Mr. Cratcher's yard, and talked about everything under the moon. Pete was the first boy she'd ever kissed, and everyone around had been so sure that he'd slip a ring on her finger right after graduation. Of course, nobody had counted on Glory taking off in the middle of the night, much like her own momma had done eighteen years before, and heading up North to go to college.
She'd been gone for four years. Four long years of living away from Brimstone. No Granny Grace's wisdom dished out with bowls of steaming greens, no wiseass cracks about not really being Southern, no Pete with all of his expectations and promises of forever. Just four years in which she'd lived in a place so foreign to her soul she might as well have been on another planet.
For four years, she'd tried to hide her accent, that thick drawl that some people associated with stupid. She'd put away all of her favorite sayings, bottled up every ounce of Southern that she could, and tried to fit in to the place of her birth. She even tried to enjoy the food, though God's angels only knew why those people thought gravy came from jars.
Alice couldn't have felt more out of place in Wonderland than Glory had felt during those years. If it hadn't been for meeting Jackson Edward Hastings the Third, Glory might have just come running home to Pete. Her story might have been different.
But she had met Jack. She'd loved him, in a way that she'd never even known love could be. He was like the other half of her very own self, the half that she'd always been missing. Jack was a sunrise over the cotton fields on a quiet late summer morning, full of fire and bursting with the promise of a brand new day. Jack was the only person she'd ever truly considered testing the powers of the Baker Family Curse on. She had been fairly sure that he'd be strong enough, man enough, to stomp that ol' curse into the ground, smash it faster than the fireflies Glory had squished in her fat fingers as a kid.
Of course, in the true way of Fickle Fate, Jack had disappeared from her life in the same way that every other man had disappeared from the life of every other Baker woman for the last few generations. One day he was there, in all of his splendor. The next day her world came crashing down right around her ears. Just like her world was crashing right now.
Lost in heavy thoughts and feeling like she was drowning in a river of pain more potent than her Uncle Tommy's strong cider, Glory didn't hear the front door to her house open. She didn't see the figure standing in the doorway of her quiet room, staring at her from faded denim eyes that were the same color as the stonewashed jeans she was wearing. When she finally realized she wasn't alone, she raised her tear-stained face and her mouth dropped open almost to her chest.
"Well damn, Glory. Shut yer mouth before you catch a mess of flies. And get up of yer butt and come hug me. I'm tired as a dog, haven't seen you in month of Sundays, and I'm hopin to high Heaven you've got something stronger than coffee in this house."
Glory shut her mouth, looked straight into that face, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. She slowly set down her coffee, pushed aside the afghan, gingerly straightened her legs, rose to her feet and crossed the room. She stopped two steps from the arms that had been flung wide open for her and took a deep breath.
"I don't know why in God's acres you're here, but you need to get the hell out of my house. Right. Now." Glory started shaking, with either rage or fear. She wasn't quite sure which. Maybe a little bit of both.
"Now Glory, is that any way to talk to your Momma?"
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3 comments:
OK - Poor Pete, a LOT can happen in four years (four days even).
Hello Momma.
But . . . when can we know about THE GUY?
Glad you are home safe, and it was WONDERFUL to meet you.
Marcia in OK
I'm not too sure about this scene. I think it's going to be cut. There's too much thinking and not enough action. In the whole story, it serves as in introduction to Momma, and I like that. But as a stand-alone, it needs some work. I need to go back and strengthen it a lot. Too much backstory or infodump here, I feel.
However, the idea of posting five scenes led me to some problems. I wanted the five scenes to be a representative sampling of the main people in Glory's life. I wanted to give a taste of each of the people, and show how Glory reacts and interacts with each of them. That's why I haven't posted anything more about "The Guy" yet. I thought about posting a scene from his POV, but decided that I really wanted to focus on Glory and the people around her, how she sees them and how she thinks they see her.
The scene I've chosen for tomorrow is much nearer to the end of the book. In the four act style, tomorrow's scene would be at the end of the third act, and the final turning point. That's why I've taken the liberty of removing a few (very small) phrases. I don't want to give everything away.
This is good, dee. You need some thinking sometimes. It looks to me as if your other scenes are very strong on dialogue and action, and sometimes it's good to let the reader rest a minute and get absorbed in the character's thoughts, if you will. Especially if they're well-written and evocative, as this is.
Not that I'm an expert, that's just what I felt when reading through the scenes. This one really stood out.
I'm a dialogue person myself, but in the revisions, my editor and agent will both tell me: Look, we need to know more of your character's thoughts here. Slow it down long enough to give us that.
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