Here are my STORIES
“Human life is fiction’s only theme” - Eudora Welty
EXCERPT FROM MY NOVEL: AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER
CHAPTER SEVEN: A GAME OF SCRABBLE
Jennifer and Peter had been talking nonstop since Peter had stepped off the train. But just as they were finishing dessert, silence descended upon the room, making the hot, muggy air even more oppressive. Jennifer glanced at Peter as he gazed pensively at his wine glass. She peeked over at Richard, who was staring straight ahead, his chin supported by his folded hands. The dark circles under his half-closed eyes made him look so weary that Jennifer thought he might fall asleep at any moment. What had he done during the day to tire himself out? Her thoughts wandered back to several hours earlier.
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EXCERPT FROM MY NOVEL: AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER
CHAPTER SIX: THE SONG OF A WHIP-POOR-WILL
Late afternoon had always been Richard and Jennifer’s favorite time of day at the cottage. They both loved the hours when the sun lowered over the hills beyond the lake and its yellow rays glistened on the water. The wind would die down, the air would become still, and the quiet would be like a benediction for the day.
On this day, however, the beginning of Labor Day weekend, with dusk drawing near, there was no sense of peace at the cottage. Jennifer and Richard had hardly spoken a word to each other in a week. When they had found it necessary to speak, it had been only in terse fragments.
The drive to the cottage was usually an exciting time, full of anticipation and excitement. But now, especially without Heidi chattering away in the backseat, the silence had become more strained with every passing mile.
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THE TRUTH IS
Joey Mills stood with one foot remaining on the door sill of his car and stared at the Meadow Pond Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. He shivered when a gust of wind scattered dry leaves across the parking lot. He hesitantly closed the car door, ran his fingers through his prematurely graying hair, straightened his tie twice and walked toward the glass entrance door.
The lobby was decorated for Thanksgiving and the scent of pumpkin spice candles permeated the air. Joey felt a headache coming on as he approached a young woman behind the reception counter. Without saying a word, she peered up from texting on her phone with long, pink fingernails and regarded him with immediate boredom.
“I’m here to see my father. His name is Ed Mills. Could you tell me what room he’s in?”
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TOUCH THE SKY
Susan Wood’s mother, Violet, still lived in the house that had been Susan’s childhood home. When Susan visited, she usually didn’t give any thought to the memories stored in the rooms of the old Sears kit house, but on this day she did. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she walked up the steps to the backdoor carrying a grocery bag. She gazed across the backyard at the rusted swing set where she and her younger sister, Amy, used to play Touch the Sky by going up as high as they could. For a moment, Susan was tempted to sit on one of the blue belts and see how high up she could make it now that she was middle-aged. But then, a drop of rain struck her cheek and trickled down her face to her chin. So instead, she balanced the bag on her hip, reached into her coat pocket for the housekey, opened the back door and walked into the kitchen.
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EXCERPT FROM MY NOVEL: AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER
CHAPTER FIVE: SWEET GOLDEN HONEY
It never took long for Richard to become impatient when waiting for Jennifer to get ready to go out. But this evening he was glad for the chance to sit on the living room couch and think things over. As he did, he realized he had been over-reacting for the past few days. He chuckled softly at what he now saw as his foolishness. Bringing Heidi to Fillmore College today hadn’t been as important as he had made it out to be. If it had been, Jennifer would have been upset with him the moment he walked into the kitchen. She had been a little tired, but that was only to be expected. Everything was fine.
He stretched out on the couch and made himself more comfortable. They had been married for over twenty years. She had long known about his quirks. She had hers, too. Everyone has quirks. But they had come to accept each other for what they were. And Heidi? She was too busy tonight making new friends to give her father so much as a passing thought. He had wasted a couple of days worrying over nothing.
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JUST KIDDING
Scents of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon, chocolate and powdered sugar wafted through Sammy's Café. Sara Davis worked briskly among the tables, just as she had every day for almost ten years. Her smile masked the fatigue of another sleepless night in an unhappy marriage. She exchanged greetings with her friends Eric and Nancy, a young couple married four months ago.
Mike Norris and Bill Hudson sat facing each other at their customary table. A nearby window framed a maple tree with yellow leaves burnished by the morning sun. Bill peered into his coffee cup as though trying to remember something. Mike ran his finger across the rim of his coffee cup.
A man who had been reading a newspaper folded it, put his glasses into a leather case, and placed a five dollar bill under his coffee cup. He waved to Sara, who acknowledged his usual generosity with a flirtatious wink.
As the man turned to leave, he bumped into Harold Blackmore. This was easy enough to do; when Harold had played high school football 50 years ago many said he would end up playing in the NFL. And he might have if he hadn’t blown out his knee in the final game of his senior year. Harold gave the man a pat on the back that could have been either a good natured greeting or a warning for him to watch his step. He didn’t notice the man’s puzzled look nor would he have cared if he had. Harold Blackmore never worried about what people thought of him.
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UNCLE MITCH IS OUT OF TOWN
Michael Scott sat on the couch in his Connecticut condo after coming back from a 12-mile Saturday afternoon run. He sipped from a bottle of water as the lingering effects of a runner’s high began to subside. He was still in his running shorts and his favorite sweatshirt, the one with cut-off sleeves, as he watched his favorite team, the Red Sox, play the Yankees at Fenway Park in the next to the last game of the regular season. A Red Sox three-game lead a week ago had shrunk to one game and they were down 4-2 in the bottom of the eighth. With runners on second and third and two outs, the Yankee pitcher shook off a sign from the catcher, nodded, wound up and released the ball.
Just then, there was loud and rapid knocking at the front door. Before Michael could jump to his feet, the door flew open and a man in his late sixties with a wild look in his eyes burst into his living room.
“Do you mind if I come in?” shouted the man. He was dressed in a disheveled beige sports coat and wore a loosely knotted navy-blue tie. His houndstooth fedora was askew, giving him a frantic appearance made all the more noticeable by his beet red face. Without waiting for a reply, the man proceeded over to Michael’s couch and flopped down on it with a loud grunt.
If you would like to read the rest of this story, let me know in an email to davidjamesmaddennewsletter.com and I will send it to you. Thanks for your interest!