Felicia Denise's Blog, page 37
July 9, 2018
#MondayBlog Humor in Suspense
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Do you know someone who’s serious all the time?
You know the type you tell a joke or a funny story then they feel compelled to break it down, analyze it and explain the rationale?
Yeah, those people.
Author E. B. White once said, “Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”
My older brother was like that from the ages of twenty-five to forty.
Everything was a debate, discussion, or monologue. Even when I believed a conversation was over, he’d come back with more supporting facts or data. It was exhausting being around him.
We had seven other siblings, and when the rest of us were busy with the shenanigans and tomfoolery, big brother was always the ice-cold bucket of water tossed on the fun. We called him “The Pope” and no, we’re not Catholic.
I was a member of the wedding party when he got married at twenty-five (to a woman with a great sense of humor). Then he moved to the east coast, I moved to the west coast, and we met up at our parents’ once a year in the Midwest.
It worked.
I’m not sure what caused it, but something happened as he approached forty which made him dust off the dull and polish up his sense of humor. Suddenly, he found the humor in even the most morose situations.
We all exhaled and sighed in relief. Even our mom and he’s her favorite.
Life is serious.
But life is also funny, and it’s the humor that gets us through the serious, bad times.
Humor diffuses situations and lightens moments, and in those moments we often find clarity.
Humor is different things to different people. One person might dissolve into a fit of laughter over a joke or humorous situation while another might say, “I don’t get it.” The opportunity for humor was there even if it didn’t work for everyone.
It’s the same way with books.
No two people read the same book. We’re all different, so, we approach books with different mindsets. Two people can love the same book but for different reasons. A person can love a book so much they want the entire human race to read it while another can hate it with a passion intense as ten flaming suns. They want to burn the book, bury the ashes, salt the ground, and never speak of it again.
People are funny that way.
But most can agree a book must contain certain things to hold their interest, make them care, and inspire them to read on.
Developed characters with personalities – they don’t have to be liked (it helps) but readers should be on their side.
Conflict – and it should be believable
Pacing – the story cannot drag but readers don’t want to be rushed through scenes either.
A developed storyline or plot – what makes the reader care?
Satisfying conclusion or HEA – aliens are defeated, the world is saved, good guy gets the girl.
For me, there also must be humor.
I’m not referring to laugh-out-loud, thigh-slapping humor, although in some genres like Romantic Comedy, that’s what is expected.
Rhetoric or hyperbole can be used to create humor, or the irony of the current situation can be humorous but it needs to be in the story because it’s real.
The fun-loving, loyal sidekick takes a bullet for the story’s protagonist. During his death scene, he motions for his buddy to lean in close and whispers, “You know I was supposed to be off today, right?”
He still dies, it’s still sad, but it’s not depressing.
Who reads to get depressed?
In the midst of serial crimes, brutal beatings, and missing persons, I will find a way to insert humor.
Because art imitates life.
“Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.”
George Bernard Shaw
©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
Camp NaNo Update #8
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Reading time – 1 min, 10 sec.
~~~
Character development—or lack of—can make or break any story.
And just as the protagonist must be fleshed out so does the antagonist.
We may or may not like the antagonist.
They could be truly evil, intent on destroying the very fiber of goodness.
Or their actions could be a defense mechanism in place because of a tortured past or traumatic event.
It doesn’t matter. They’re standing in the way of the protagonist’s HEA or causing them harm, so someone must deal them with.
But shouldn’t we know at least some of what is driving them?
No one wants to destroy good just for the hell of it. I mean… it’s good! Doesn’t everyone like good? What happened to our character to make good bad for them? What was the trauma that built a wall around them? Were they betrayed by some they trusted? Loved?
I addressed some of these things with the villain in Sins of the Mother. I didn’t have the time or opportunity to go too deep with him, but I found out about his history. While I may not understand why he commits the crimes he does, I believe I understand how he got that way.
And I want to save him.
But much like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Erik in The Phantom of the Opera, the fate of my antagonist is sealed from birth. While he doesn’t have a physical or facial deformity, his soul is deformed and his mind, fractured. By the time I meet him, he is unredeemable.
I have to let go and allow him to play his part in my protagonist’s journey.
But I don’t have to like it.
©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
~~~
Day 8 word count – 16101
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July 8, 2018
Camp NaNo Update #7
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Camp NaNoWriMo’s week one is done and gone!
How did you do?
I’m happy with where I’ve landed, just still in shock I’m writing suspense. Wasn’t I supposed to be writing romance? Well, that never happened.
Check out the board! I’ve got Act 2:1 completed!
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Act 2:1 is the most difficult because that’s where all the mystery and unknown elements leave everyone scratching their heads. (Me, included!)
That’s not saying Act 2:2 will be a piece of cake but thank goodness for revisions!
Remember, this began as a piece of flash fiction back in March, And, YES, I know… 41K is not considered flash fiction anywhere in the cosmos. The story kept growing and growing, and when I said, “I don’t want to do this anymore,” the characters grabbed me and said, “Oh, you’re doing it!”
What? Your characters don’t talk to you?
Weird.
Okay! Last Sunday I posted the working cover for Sins of the Mother—this week, the synopsis!
~~~
A serial rapist is terrorizing Marbury, his victims all elderly women over seventy.
With her husband off on a business trip, fifty-three-year-old Sally Bennett is home alone, making plans for their wedding anniversary bash.
That is until the former Army medic has to fill in for a coworker at Angels Assist Care Agency and spend the night with a seventy-year-old client, Graciela Ramirez.
Gary Sievers is seething with rage—fifty years’ worth.
At last free of the monster who kept him imprisoned since birth, Gary sets out into a world he’s seen only through the Internet, allowing his anger to spill free a little at a time.
He’s invisible to the world, his existence known about by only a handful and most of them are long since dead. But his crimes are growing… and making headlines.
Gary wants the life stolen from him, he wants to find the twin brother he never knew existed, and he wants revenge on the woman responsible for it all.
The captive has become the monster looking for his own twisted brand of justice.
©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved.
~~~
FYI—I wrote the synopsis about ten days before Camp Nano began and it has since changed but I’m not rewriting it… yet.
Next week, an excerpt!
Have a great week two! Happy writing!
Day 7 word count – 14461
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Song Lyric Sunday | “Think of Me” from ‘Phantom of the Opera'” (2004 Film)
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Song Lyric Sunday was created by Helen Vahdati from This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time. For complete rules or to join in the fun, click here.
The theme for Song Lyric Sunday this week is “think.”
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I just had to be patient and bide my time. 
July 7, 2018
Camp NaNo Update #6
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I knew it was going to happen, just not this soon.
There’s always a character I didn’t plan on… or even knew, who shows up and plants themselves in the story.
This time, there were TWO and they couldn’t be more different.
A nineteen-year-old girl and an old man in his eighties.
Don’t quote me on this but the girl might be a ghost.
The old dude is just plain ornery… and a criminal.
What’s bizarre is how well they fit into the story. Which means someone else needs to leave. It’s getting crowded in Marbury, Pennsylvania.
Geeze, do I have to commit another murder?
Stay tuned.
~~~
The first week of Camp NaNoWriMo is coming to an end. It’s been a good week. Looking forward to next week. I’m dying to know how some problems get resolved!
Day 6 word count – 12, 050.
#52weeks52stories “oyster crackers & lemonade”
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#52weeks52stories – Week 27
Word prompt – cold medicine
Word count – 2777
~~~
“I said I’m not going, and that’s the end of it, old woman.”
Willie Crawford plunked down in his worn recliner and crossed his arms across his chest.
“Call me old woman one more time. I dare you.”
Wanda Crawford stood with arms akimbo glaring down at him.
He waved her off. “Oh, Wanda you know what I mean. We’ve been married forty-seven years. I’m old too.
“You got that right.”
He smirked at her and picked up the television remote.
“Don’t you dare turn that on.”
“Wanda—“
“I mean it. We’re old, not dead yet, Willie. What’s wrong with driving down to town for a nice lunch and a quick shopping trip?”
“I hate shopping.”
“But you love to eat.”
Willie dropped the remote onto the coffee table. “Why do we have to go anywhere? We have everything we need right here at home.”
“You know what I have, Willie? I have your laundry to do, your meals to cook, and the back of your head to stare at while you watch yet another movie marathon of westerns.”
“Oh, what a horrible life you have, Wanda. Shame on me.”
“Don’t be an ass, Willie. Not that you can help yourself.”
She stomped off into the kitchen and Willie knew he’d crossed a line. He followed her to make things right… without having to leave the house.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to get on your bad side, honest.”
Wanda didn’t respond. She stood at the kitchen counter, her back to him.
“Come on, baby, don’t ignore me. I just don’t see anything wrong with enjoying retirement doing the things I like.”
She turned her head toward him.
“Doing the things you like? That wasn’t the plan, remember? Twenty years ago, we said when the kids were all on their own, we’d sell this place, buy a small bungalow and garden a little. Maybe travel and see some of this country.” She looked away. “We both retired four years ago and we’re still here in the hot-as-blazes Nevada desert… thirty minutes from the nearest decent town and four hours away from our children. And for what? So you can sit in that chair I should have thrown out a decade ago and watch yet another retrospective on how the west was won.”
“It’s called, ‘The Old West: They Wore White Hats: The Good Guys.’”
Wanda picked up a pen and scribbled on her notepad. “Today. Tomorrow it will be, “The Old West: Bad Guys: Guns, Guns, Guns.” What’s next? “The Old West: When Men Were Men, Women Were Few, and the Cattle Were Nervous?”
“Now isn’t that a fine way for my wife to talk?”
Wanda clutched at her chest, feigning shock. “You do know that I’m your wife. At least I know your brain still works. Mostly.” She continued writing.
Willie let the jibe pass while trying to look over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”
“It’s called a shopping list.”
“Look, Wanda. I apologized, but I’m not going into town.”
She tore the sheet from the pad and grabbed her handbag from the kitchen table.
“No, you’re not. I’m going alone.”
“Aww, c’mon, honey. You know I don’t like you traveling these roads alone.”
“Then come with me.”
“That’s blackmail.”
Wanda strode past him to the door leading to the garage. “No, Willie. It’s not. See you later.”
He bristled. Why was she so stubborn? She was probably standing in the garage waiting for him to come running. Well, he wasn’t going to. She couldn’t trick…
Willie was startled from his thoughts when he heard the Suburban’s engine roar to life.
Dammit! She was leaving!
He raced through the side door just as Wanda put the SUV in reverse.
“Wanda Jean! Wanda Jean!”
She lowered the passenger door window. “What?”
“You always have to have things your way, don’t you?”
“Willie, the last time I got my way was 1994 when we painted the house blue instead of that puke pea-soup green you wanted. See you in a couple of hours.”
She eased the truck out of the garage and backed down the driveway.
Frustrated, Willie ran after her, approaching the truck on the driver side.
“Wanda Jean!”
She stopped again, this time lowering her window.
“Why do you keep yelling my name?”
“I want you to stop this.” He held out his hands. “Look, I’m not calling you old, but you’re too old to travel these old dusty roads alone.”
“Maybe I am, Willie. But I’m also too young to sit at home day after day waiting for death.”
He flinched.
“We’re fortunate, Willie. We have our health and our right minds—well, I have my mind—and the means to live comfortably.”
“And we’re comfortable here, right?”
“You are, Willie Crawford. But some days… most days, I feel like I die a little. Just like this town.”
“Oh, stop getting all dramatic, Wanda Jean.”
“Willie, why won’t you ever admit it? Thirty years ago, Hemming was something else. A real family community. But things change. All the kids grew up, moved away for college and better jobs. And they never came back, Willie.”
“All the kids left, but parents… grandparents—we’re still here.”
“Not the smart ones. They followed their kids or moved to retirement communities with more amenities than dusty pastures and rusted out tractors.”
“This would be paradise to some folks, Wanda.”
“We should have left after we retired.”
Willie didn’t want to have the moving argument again. He wanted his wife to park the truck so they could both go back inside.
“We’re salt of the earth people, Wanda. This is where we belong.”
“You say we when you mean you.” She glared at her husband. “It’s not always about you, Willie Crawford.”
Removing her foot from the brake, Wanda continued down the driveway. Willie walked alongside the truck until she backed into the road.
A part of Willie Crawford knew his wife was right, yet he still couldn’t reconcile with selling the home he spent his life working for and moving away. Willie didn’t handle change well.
Wanda put the vehicle in drive.
“Since you’re determined to go, stay out of Shuyster’s. Cal Beeman’s always flirting with you.”
Wanda scoffed. “He’s just a nice man. No one wants me. I’m an old woman, remember?”
The words stung Willie’s ears. He was such a fool sometimes.
“Yeah, but you’re my old woman.” He spirits rose when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
“And would you bring back some of those oyster crackers I like? And some of that bottled lemonade?”
“Nope.”
Willie’s mouth hung open as the smile that had been forming on Wanda’s lips turned into an evil sneer.
“But I will bring back some Spam.”
She floored the SUV and left him standing there in a cloud of dust and sand.
Damn woman!
Willie hated Spam. He’d had more than his fill during his military days and vowed never to eat it again.
However, he knew when Spam appeared at the dinner table Wanda Crawford was fed up.
Willie walked up the driveway, glancing down Kess Road, knowing the cloud of dust was his wife.
He went straight to the kitchen and made two turkey sandwiches. He added two bananas and a bottle of beer to his meal.
Willie knew he had to fill his stomach because he had no doubt Spam was on Wanda’s shopping list.
~~~
Jolted awake, Willie sat up straight, scrubbing his hand down his face.
“That you, Wanda?”
Getting no response, Willie stood and stretched, and headed for the kitchen to see how much Spam Wanda brought home. He’d just reached the doorway of the darkened kitchen when the front doorbell chimed.
Willie glanced into the kitchen once more before answering the door.
“That better not be Wanda playing guest again.”
He yanked open the door, but it wasn’t Wanda. Sheriff Chet Austin filled the doorway. Willie noticed Chet’s deputy, Harris Nelson standing next to the squad car in his driveway.
“Hey, Chet. What brings you to my door? I’ve been home all day and have broken no laws.”
The pained expression on the lawman’s face made Willie’s chuckle die in his throat.
“No, Willie. It’s Wanda—“
“Wanda? What did she do? You know what? She left here speeding—mad at me. Did you pull her over? Oh, God, please tell me she didn’t have an accident—“
The sheriff was abrupt. “Willie, there’s been a shooting. You need to come with us.”
Willie froze.
“Shooting? What does a shooting have to do with me? Where’s Wanda? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going—“
“It’s Wanda, Willie.”
Willie Crawford slumped against the door-frame. The sheriff reached out to hold him up, but Willie steadied himself.
“C-Chet… where? Where, Chet? What happened and where’s my wife?”
“At the strip mall in town. Some meth-head smashed a case in Dollar General, shoved a shelf full of cold medicines in a bag and ran out the store. The assistant manager ran after him. He yells at the guy to stop and the fool pulls out a handgun and shoots behind him. A bullet struck the assistant manager in the head. He died instantly. From what witnesses said, Wanda was climbing up into her truck. A bullet hit her in the chest.”
Willie locked his elbows, bracing himself against the door. “Where’s my wife, Chet? Is… she… “
“No, Willie, Wanda’s still with us, but it isn’t good. You have to come with us now.”
~~~
Sheriff Austin pulled up next to Wanda’s Suburban in the strip mall parking lot.
“This isn’t a good idea, Willie. You should have waited at the hospital for the victim’s advocate. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Staring straight ahead, Willie’s voice was flat, void of emotion. “I’m not the victim, Chet. W-Wanda… was. I can’t leave her truck sitting here like this. She wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t like it one bit. You said the crime scene investigation was done so I’m taking it home.”
The grieving man reached for the door handle.
“Then stay with me a while, Willie. At least until some of your kids get here. We can get a bite to eat and talk. Or not talk.”
Willie sagged deep in the seat. “I thank you for your kindness, Chet. I appreciate it. But you have a job to do and nothing will bring Wanda back.” His voice broke on the last word. Willie bit into his lower lip, steeling himself. “Pasadena’s less than five hours away. Junior’s always driving like he was on fire. Now, with his mama… well, I’m sure they’re past the halfway mark.”
He opened the door and stepped out before the sheriff could respond. When he reached back inside to grab the bag containing his wife’s personal belonging, Chet grabbed his arm.
“I’m so sorry, Willie. Wanda was a nice lady. Please know we’re taking that lil punk into Vegas tomorrow. He’ll be arraigned for double murder with special circumstances. He’ll never see the light of day again.”
“He’s some kid strung out on meth who tried to steal the stuff to make more. Harris told me the kid still doesn’t understand he killed two people today. If he sits in jail for two lifetimes, he’ll never know what he’s taken from me and that young man’s family.”
Willie grabbed the bag and shut the door, not looking back at his old classmate. He dug around in the bag until his hand felt the small Magic 8 ball keyring. He stared at the keyring then shook his head, refusing to allow memories to crowd his mind.
Pressing the door fob, Willie approached the driver-side door and froze.
Parking lot lights illuminated the area enough for Willie to see what remained of the sheriff department’s investigation.
Arrows and distance markers were etched into the pavement. Willie’s broken heart pounded in his chest when he realized the dark circles outlined in chalk was blood.
Wanda’s blood.
He gripped the door handle, yanked the door open wide and threw himself up into his wife’s truck. Slamming the door, Willie leaned his head against the steering wheel to calm his rapid breathing. But Wanda’s presence overwhelmed him.
The scent of her favorite white citrus body crème filled the vehicle. The purple seat covers and floor mats reminded him of her near-obsession with the color.
He touched the small cube hanging from the rearview mirror. It was filled with photos of the two of them from last year’s harvest festival.
Wanda hated harvest festival. She didn’t see the point since no one had harvested anything but dust in fifteen years.
But Willie loved the festival, and she went because of him.
She was always doing something for him.
Willie’s jaws tightened as he clenched his fists and punched the steering wheel over and over.
“Why did you have to go out, Wanda? Why couldn’t you stay with me?” Perspiration trickled down his temples. He raised his head and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, God, Wanda. Why couldn’t you stay with me?”
The lump in his throat made swallowing difficult. As bile churned in his stomach seeking an exit, sharp, stabbing pains filled his chest. Now drenched in sweat, Willie knew he was having a heart attack. He leaned back in the seat and waited for death to take him.
But it wasn’t a heart attack and death never came for Willie Crawford, and he was grateful. As his body worked to calm itself, Willie remembered his children racing from California to be with him. To say goodbye to their mother. He wouldn’t want them to have to deal with so much death.
He started the truck and went home.
~~~
After the garage door closed, Willie sat in the Suburban feeling every one of his seventy years.
He glanced at the side door, knowing he could not prolong this, and opened the truck door. Willie grabbed the bag holding Wanda’s things from the passenger seat and for the first time noticed Wanda’s hand-sewn canvas shopping bag on the floor.
He turned away, planning to leave it in the truck and couldn’t.
Reaching over, Willie grabbed the canvas bag, slid his arm the looped handles and allowed it to slide up in arm.
His gait was unsteady. His wife’s bags coupled with the emotional weight of grief and fatigue caused Willie to lumber all the way to the kitchen table.
Dropping everything on the kitchen table, Willie Crawford leaned on the table with both hands to steady himself and catch his breath.
He raised his head and listened. The stillness of his home made Willie uncomfortable and for the first time in thirty-two years, he hated the house. This was the last place he wanted to be.
Without Wanda.
The sharp stabbing pains returned to his chest and Willie fell into the chair next to him. He raked a hand through his thick gray hair, pulling it on the ends.
“Why was I so stubborn? I knew she wanted to move. Why was I so determined to stay?”
“It’s not always about you, Willie Crawford.”
The words rang in his ears even though Wanda said them hours before.
Guilt and shame bore down on Willie and he leaned on both elbows on the table. Wanda was unhappy… because of him. She left home upset… because of him.
His eyes brimmed with tears and Willie swiped them away with his hand. He didn’t deserve to cry. Had he been a good husband, he would have taken Wanda to lunch. It would have been a long lunch with his wife teasing him for having two desserts.
She would never have been in the strip mall parking lot.
Willie didn’t know how he’d go on… how he would live with himself. She was the love of his life. Had he told her that recently? Did Wanda know how much he loved her?
He looked at the bags on the table. They shouldn’t be here without Wanda. He shouldn’t be here without Wanda.
Willie reached out, his fingers stroking the canvas shopping bag.
Wanda hated plastic shopping bags and made canvas bags for quick, small trips to the store.
He pulled the bag to him as melancholy and humor struck him at the same time.
Spam. Wanda was true to her word.
He popped the snap and reached into the bag to remove the offensive mystery meat.
But it wasn’t Spam.
Guttural moans began deep in Willie’s chest and filled the kitchen. His hands shook as he removed the bag’s contents—a package of oyster crackers and two bottles of lemonade.
Images from Google
©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights, Reserved
July 6, 2018
Guard her soul or open her heart?
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Olivia Chandler believed shunning personal relationships was her best defense to guarding her emotionally battered soul and never being hurt again.
Could she be wrong?
Add to
PreOrder coming soon!
~~~~~
Find out the back story.
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“In the Best Interest of the Child”
Camp NaNo Update #5
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Plot twists are funny.
I was in a writing group with a guy who methodically planned out every nuance of his WIP… especially the plot twists.
Sometimes, they worked. Still looking forward to reading his space opera.
He knew plot twists and I were strangers who ran into each other at the coffee shop in the wee hours of the night so I was used to his teasing emails and messages of, “Got plot twist?”
Because my response was always, “Nope”, until it wasn’t.
So, when I stumbled out of bed, scribbling on a pad like a crazy woman, the mister was like, “Let me guess… you found your plot twist?”
Oh, yeah!
And the plot thickens!
~~~
Day 5 – 1771 additional words added to current WIP (Sins of the Mother).
July 5, 2018
Camp NaNo Update #4
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As I said in my #MondayBlog, Sins of the Mother started out as a flash piece for the #52weeks52stories writing challenge.
Since the posts are weekly and done from word prompts, there’s very little outlining done beyond a story sketch for continuity.
Protagonist Sally Bennett is the generic every-woman. Loving wife and mother. Dedicated employee. Compassionate and caring friend.
She’s so sweet she makes my teeth ring.
Yet, every week as this story unfolded, I couldn’t find a way to pour a little vinegar on her. After all, she was attacked and almost killed… by her husband.
Or was it him?
Since the attack, she’s passed out three times, thrown up three times, and been hospitalized.
As this mutated piece of flash makes the journey to novel-form, Sally’s suffering gets edgier as she tires of being the victim.
Lead detective, Gavin Marks, already has his hands full with the serial rapist case. He has no leads and no ideas which way to proceed.
Now an unidentified dead body has been added to his caseload, and it came with no clues.
This doesn’t sit well with the former military investigator and decorated officer. He shuns giving orders from his office in favor of being an active member of the investigation.
Gavin only wishes they knew what they are investigating.
The attack on Sally and the rapist terrorizing Marbury—are they connected? The lack of information will lead Gavin and his team in a direction no one could have predicted.
~~~
I’m having fun with this WIP.
Except for the murderer.
I feel bad for him. Kind of.
But is he also the serial rapist?
When I find out I’ll let you know.
#TBT “The Meet”
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In honor of Throwback Thursday, we go back to In the Best Interest of the Child and the day Olivia Chandler and Bruce Bellamy meet.
~~~
“Turn right in 1500 feet. Your destination will be on the left. 18569 Kilmer Lane.” Olivia was glad she had keyed the Bellamy’s address into her GPS system since fatigue from a rather busy and emotional morning had overtaken Rena right after Olivia entered the freeway. Several times during the forty-five-minute drive the sleeping child cried out. Olivia didn’t know if pain or fear were the cause, but it made her uneasy, regardless.
Four months ago, Rena was living a normal life, no doubt trying to talk her parents into a cellphone and a Facebook account. Now her mother was gone, she had no idea how her father was, and she had pain every day to remind her of those things. Olivia wondered if she’d had any time to mourn. Did anyone hold her and let her cry? Was she allowed to at least express how much she missed her mom?.
It wasn’t lost on Olivia that the two times Rena had mentioned her mom that morning, both were of her death. There were no memories of bedtime stories, birthday parties or preparing meals together. Her injuries kept her from attending Irene Averest’s funeral. Olivia doubted anyone even gave her an obituary from the service.
Olivia made more mental notes of things to look into about Rena’s case when she saw 18569 up ahead. She slowed in front of the brick colonial home and put the car in park, not believing what she was seeing. And the hits just keep on coming. The home so resembled her own, she would bet the same firm designed them. She remembered all the trips to the architect’s office while their home was being built. In her mind, she saw Curious George books and a set of The Bible Story Books. A gumball machine? In the corner? She was sure there had been one.
Olivia snapped out her memories when she saw movement at the side of the house. Making sure Rena was still sleeping, she exited her vehicle, following the sidewalk to the driveway where a flatbed tow truck came into view. A large, burly, dark-haired man was winching a late model Mercedes up onto the flatbed. Nearby, a far shorter man stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, obviously not happy.
As she got closer, Olivia believed the shorter man to be near her age, even though a head full of curly black hair gave him a more youthful appearance. Olivia smiled as she passed the tow truck driver, noticing how his eyes lingered on her hips. The shorter man didn’t seem to notice her until she was right in front of him, and he started as though coming out of a trance. “Hello. Can I help you?” Olivia widened her smile.
“Hello. I’m looking for the Bellamy residence.” He regarded her warily.
“I’m Courtney Bellamy. What can I do for you?” She stuck out her right hand.
“Mr. Bellamy, I’m Olivia Chandler, Rena’s court-appointed attorney. It’s nice to meet you.” Courtney Bellamy visibly relaxed.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Chandler. My wife, Marissa, mentioned you were meeting with Rena today. We can chat shortly, I just have to see when this guy will have my car up and running.” He spoke the last part of the sentence in a raised voice, making sure the tow truck driver heard him.
The driver pulled a face in his direction.
“C’mon, Court! I don’t even know what’s wrong with it. How can I tell you when it will be fixed?”
“There is way too much going on in this family for us to depend on one car, Bruce. There will be whining, tears and harsh words… and my wife will be upset too!”
Olivia and Bruce both laughed out loud at Courtney’s snarky comment.
“Let me get it back to the shop and find the problem. If it’s not a quick fix, I have a loaner vehicle you can use until yours is ready. Deal?” Courtney pumped his fist in the air.
“This is why you’re my favorite mechanic! I love you, man!” Bruce guffawed.
“No. I’m your favorite mechanic because I’m your cousin and give you family discounts!”
“Well, there’s that too,” Courtney quipped.
Reaching for the side door entrance, Courtney Bellamy addressed Olivia.
“Forgive me, Ms. Chandler. Would you like to have a seat inside while I wrap this up?”
“Please, it’s Olivia. And actually, I have a sleeping Rena in my car out front.”
“Oh! I thought the medical shuttle was bringing her home. And call me Courtney.”
“That was the initial plan, but she was getting tired, and I didn’t want her to have to sit and wait not knowing how long the shuttle would take to get to her. Bringing her myself was easier.”
“How kind of you. Let me grab her chair, and I’ll meet you out front.”
“Sounds good.” Olivia turned and started back down the driveway.” Courtney threw one last taunt at his cousin.
“Bruce, if you put one scratch on my baby, I’m calling your mother!”
“And if you call my mother, I will call YOUR mother and tell her who really broke the garage window when we were kids.”
Courtney gasped.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Stay away from my mother, and I’ll stay away from yours.” He caught Olivia’s eye as she passed and winked. She laughed at the easy banter of the cousins, and just for a second wondered what it was like to have someone in your life who had known you all of your life.
Hearing her name being called just as she reached the sidewalk, Olivia turned to see Bruce jogging towards her. He stopped, only after he had more than invaded her personal space. He was taller than she first thought. Her three-inch heels put her at an even five foot, ten inches, and she still had to take a step back and raise her head to see his face. His light brown eyes had an amused glint to match the devilish smirk on his clean-shaven face. His collar-length dark brown hair was curly, though not as much as Courtney’s, and had the beginnings of grey at the temples much like her own.
“Forgive me if I’m being forward, Ms. Chandler, but I wanted to give you my business card. I own Bellamy’s over on Mason. If you ever need anything… um, for your car… call me. She reached for the card. “Anything… at all.”
The man was shameless. Olivia couldn’t help but grin.
“Call me Olivia and thank you. That’s nice of you.” Glancing at the card in her hand, a realization dawned on her. “Wait. You’re that Bellamy? Bellamy Motorsports of “We have twelve locations to serve you in Hennepin and Olmstead counties?”
His face turned on the most amazing shade of red.
“Guess you’ve seen our commercials, huh?”
She laughed as she backed towards her car.
“Yes. A time or two… or twelve. The commercials never mentioned you were so… hands on.” His eyes widened, but she pointed at the tow truck and continued before he could respond. “The boss answering service calls?”
He slid his hands into his back pockets and cocked his head to the side.
“Okay, you got me. But Court won’t let anyone else touch his Precious. I was with him the day he bought her, but I’m not sure who owns whom? Marissa always teases him by telling him she’s leaving and he can have the house, but she’s taking the kid and the car. He nearly has a heart attack.”
She reached her car and noticed Rena was still sleeping. There was no sign of Courtney at the front door yet. She heard movement behind her and noticed Bruce had taken two steps in her direction.
“I didn’t see a ring. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Involved?”
“No.”
“Do you want to be?” Olivia tried without success not to laugh.
“You’re not the shy type, are you Bruce?”
“Nope. But I’m not this forward either.” Suddenly serious, he continued. “It’s just not every day I meet a woman I’m so drawn to… this is the first time it’s ever happened.” The sincerity in his voice caused her pulse to race.
“I’m flattered, Bruce.” He started to say something else, but a sudden noise drew their attention to the front door as Courtney backed the wheelchair down the one step entrance, then turned and headed towards Olivia’s car.
“Olivia?”
She glanced in Bruce’s direction, but looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze. “Olivia?”
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze.
“Call me.”
She smiled and gave him a single nod. His attention made her feel light-headed, but she knew she’d never call him. She couldn’t. He seemed like the type of man who wanted all or nothing… and nothing was all she had.
Courtney brought the wheelchair to a stop in front of her. “Cinderella’s carriage has arrived. Shall we wake her?”
Olivia moved to the car door as she unlocked it with the remote. She reached in to unfasten Rena’s seat-belt but caught the banter between the cousins.
“Bruce, go fix my car.”
“Shut it, Court!”
“I’m nominating your house for Thanksgiving dinner this year!”
“And I’ll nominate yours for Christmas dinner! And I’ll insist great-aunt Mae bring her dogs… all four of them!”
“You’re an evil man, Bellamy.”
“We share DNA, Bellamy.”
If Olivia didn’t know they were grown men, she would have sworn they were seventh graders. Rena stirred and looked around, confused.
“Hey, angel. You’re home.” Still disoriented, Rena tried to sit upright. She cried out in obvious pain and gripped Olivia’s arm. “It’s okay, angel! It’s okay, I got you! Just breathe through it. C’mon, now. Breathe.” Olivia took her own advice and took two deep breaths to calm herself. She couldn’t comfort the child if she needed comfort herself.
“Olivia?” She looked back at Courtney. “She’s as light as a feather, but that cast adds weight. Step back and I’ll transfer her to the chair.” Rena still held Olivia’s arm, but her grip was loosening.
“You okay, angel? Mr. Bellamy wants to transfer you to the chair. You’ll feel better once you can stretch out in your bed, okay?” Rena nodded, and Olivia stepped back out of the way to give Courtney room to transfer her to the chair. She could feel Bruce’s eyes on her but refused to look at him. Her face grew hot, and she felt awkward and out of place. Her resolve was weakening, and she was about to look in his direction when a green minivan pulled up behind her car.
Bruce clapped his hands together.
“Oh yeah! The fun is really about to start.”
Olivia could tell he was enjoying the moment and glanced back to the minivan not knowing what to expect. A plump woman exited the van and rushed towards them. She was short – maybe five-feet in height – and African-American with a mass of hair worn in a long, natural, wavy style. Though plump, her hourglass shape was more than obvious. She wore little makeup, and she didn’t need too. Her full lips and smooth brown skin were enhanced by large expressive eyes that right now were filled with worry.
“What happened? Is everything all right?” Just as she reached Olivia’s car, Courtney raised Rena into his arms, pivoted, and placed her into the wheelchair. The woman glanced from face to face waiting for an answer. She threw a quick wave in Bruce’s direction, and he returned it.
Olivia smiled at her while Courtney leaned over Rena’s chair and kissed the woman on the cheek.
“Hi, Honey. This is Rena’s attorney, Olivia Chandler, and she bought the munchkin home. Olivia, this is my wife, Marissa.”
She took Olivia’s outstretched hand in both of hers and squeezed.
“Oh yes. We spoke on the phone. So nice to meet you. And thank you for seeing her home.” She patted Rena’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “Hey Munchkin. Did you hit all your markers in therapy today?” Rena nodded.
“All except the steps. I could only do two.” Marissa stepped behind her chair and started towards the front door.
“That’s still good. Remember last week you could only do one? Progress, munchkin, progress.” She stopped suddenly and turned around. “Courtney, what are you doing here?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I live here.”
Bruce, Rena, and Olivia all snickered.
Marissa pursed her lips.
“It’s the middle of the day, Courtney.” He started.
“Oh! Geeze, yes. So much happening at once. The school called me. Brian has a low-grade fever and an upset stomach. He’s up in his room. The school nurse said she had called you first but didn’t get an answer. I figured you were still with your mom at the dialysis center.”
“They were short staffed today so Mom got a late start on her treatment.” She glanced up at the house. I told that boy to go easy on the chili con carne last night. He never listens, and this always happens.” She nodded her head in Bruce’s direction. “And why is Bigfoot here?”
The laugh escaped Olivia’s mouth before she could suppress it. These people were nuts… and she loved it. Bruce shot a glance at her and mouthed the word “traitor.”
“After I got Bri settled inside, I was going to return to the office, and my car wouldn’t start. I called Bruce to come over and diagnose the problem, but… she’s really sick. He has to take her in.” Courtney Bellamy looked as though tears might be a real possibility. Marissa turned her head and covered her mouth to hide the grin. She looked back and addressed Olivia.
“Please excuse our family, Olivia. We’re not usually this scatterbrained and dysfunctional. And we usually care more about our sick children than our sick cars.” Before Olivia could tell her they were all just fine, Bruce chimed in.
“Look up ‘dysfunctional’ in Webster’s and you’ll find our family portrait.” Marissa popped a clenched fist on one hip and shot back.
“Don’t you have little children to scare or people to annoy?”
“Yes, and here I am!”
“Problem child!”
“Diva!”
“Yeti!”
“Smurfette!”
Olivia heard someone join her in the laughter, but when she glanced at Courtney, his eyes were full of love and fixed on his wife. Olivia stepped around Marissa and looked down at Rena, who had dissolved into a fit of laughter. She clutched her bag of snacks with one hand and her stomach with the other. Olivia’s heart melted at the sight. She noticed Courtney step behind his wife, sliding his hand around her waist.
Rena was still laughing when he said, “Once they get started, they won’t stop until Rena laughs.” He kissed his wife behind the ear while giving the thumbs up to his cousin.
Olivia was taken aback. Most of what she’d just witnessed was a performance for Rena’s benefit. She was so glad she had not prejudged these people and admonished herself for any negative thoughts she may have had about them.
These were good, loving people who were just living life. Parents and kids get sick and cars break down, but it didn’t distract them enough they didn’t have time for a little girl who was… at least for now… an orphan. Although Olivia was sure the Bellamys and Averests must have had a strong friendship for Courtney and Marissa to take Rena in, she knew this family would help any child in need.
Olivia followed as Marissa pushed Rena into the house, but something made her stop and look over in Bruce’s direction. He was still standing there, hands in pockets, focused on her. Shaking her head, she smiled at him, which caused him to throw a big toothy grin back at her.
Marissa had cleared the doorway and Courtney held the door for Olivia. When she walked past him, he touched her arm lightly and said, “He’s a good guy.”
Her face heated again, but she was rescued when she heard Marissa call out to her to follow her voice to get to Rena’s room.
©2016 Felicia Denise, All rights Reserved
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