By Zoe McCarthy
CHAPTER ONE
Summer leaned over and zipped the backpack that lay beneath the dashboard. The zipper caught and she fought to free the edge of canvas stuck in its teeth. [Deleting this paragraph would give you a stronger beginning. You’d just have to rephrase the next two sentences so we know we’re in Summer’s head.]
Pablo stomped the gas pedal and the van surged forward.
She jerked her head up, just missing the dashboard. “What’s wrong?”
“Truck on our tail.”
She twisted to see out the back window while groping for her seatbelt. A white truck was on top of them, its horn blaring. The van swerved. She let the seatbelt go and threw her hands against the dashboard. The belt snapped back under her armpit.
“Maybe you should stop. See what they want.”
Pablo checked the rearview mirror. “I think they want the van.”
“What?”
“For drug trafficking. Policía do not stop church vans. Hold on, I am going to try to lose them.”
Pablo wrenched the wheel. The van careened off the highway onto a side road and hit a pothole, popping Summer like popcorn against the roof.
She gripped the dashboard and spun her head toward the back, a salty, metallic taste permeating her mouth. The truck was still with them. She turned to the front. Another pothole. She rose and fell, air whooshing from her lungs. Blood spattered her arms.
A thud from behind. A jolt.
The ravine—too close. “Pablo! Rock!”
Pablo yanked the wheel. The van swerved, caught a piece of the rock, and soared. The nose plummeted and crashed into the far side of the ravine. {Her body sailed through glass, her arm scraping along the loose seatbelt until her hand snagged the belt, dislocating her shoulder and rotating her body. Her temple slammed into a rock.}
[All in all, the bracketed section has too many details. While it helps us picture what’s going on, it isn’t realistic. Everything would happen so fast, she wouldn’t be aware of her arm scraping along the seatbelt, or even her shoulder being dislocated. Her awareness of her temple slamming into the rock is questionable. Maybe end with her body sailing through the glass. (Opinions, readers?)]
Silence. [Not necessary. Who’s hearing the silence? Well, you know what I mean.]
***
Sunny followed Art out of the empty bar into the crisp autumn air. She finished counting her tips under the security spotlight while he locked the door to The Night Out. She looked up as he reached a hand back toward her, palm up. She stuffed the roll of bills into her purse, extracted her car keys, and dropped them into his hand. It had turned cold while she’d been stuck in the smoky bar. She pulled the lapels of her jean jacket together and hurried after Art to the Ford Fiesta. He opened the driver’s door and then held up the dangling keys.
“Thanks, Art, you’re my knight in shining armor.” She took the proffered keys.
“What, no tip?”
“Sorry, Charlie, I need every penny for next semester’s expenses.” She slid into the driver’s seat.
“You think you can make a career of this decorating thing, huh?”
“Just a couple of more courses until I have my interior decorating certificate.” [Caution. This kind of read like an info dump.]
“My advice. Don’t quit your night job.” Art shut the door and raised a hand in farewell.
Sunny mouthed her thanks and started the engine. She pulled out onto the deserted road.
She slapped the steering wheel. [combine the previous two sentences.] “Yes!”
The two back-to-back shifts had been worth it. She’d be able to register for Perfect Baths and Lighting Techniques for Your Home.
She rolled the window down a couple of inches to air the smoke from her hair and clothes. In spite of the cool air rippling her hair, she yawned. She couldn’t wait to get into bed.
She parked in the short driveway next to her two-bedroom house. She let herself in the door leading into the kitchen [not really necessary] and was welcomed by the blinking light on the answering machine. That was one ancient item she’d gladly replace when she was established in the home decorating business. She’d get a cell phone with all the latest services. It’d be a necessity.
She dumped her purse and keys on the kitchen table and glanced at the answering machine. Maybe her messages could wait until morning. But if her one client, Mrs. Donahue, had selected the fabric for her slipcover, she’d want to start her day early. She punched the answering machine’s playback button on her way to the refrigerator. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was in dire need of a glass of milk.
The machine beeped. “Hey, babe. Okay, you’ve had five days to miss me and change your mind. I don’t think you want to throw away a good thing so easily. The guys and me will stop by The Night Out tomorrow night after the drag races, and we can kiss and make up.”
Empty-handed, Sunny let the refrigerator door drift shut. Hadn’t she made herself clear? Her spine shrunk an inch, most likely from the weight of the bowling ball in her stomach. This was exactly why she shouldn’t have broken her rule to never date the men who frequented The Night Out.
The machine beeped again.
Now how was she going to get rid of Dusty? Computer geek or out-of-work construction worker like Dusty, several dates and they thought they owned you. [Is Dusty both things? Or is she thinking of a past relationship? It’s not quite clear to me.]
“It’s mom.”
Sunny froze. Was that her mother’s voice? She sounded like someone had died.
“No matter how late it is when you get in, call me.”
She reached for the portable phone and punched in the familiar sequence of numbers.
“Mom?”
“Oh, Sunny, I need you to come over.”
“Mom, what’s happened?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“It’s Summer.”
Sunny’s gaze shifted to the refrigerator where a sunflower magnet held her older sister’s high school graduation picture. “You got a letter?”
“I…got a letter.”
“That’s terrific news.” Why wasn’t her mother rejoicing? That’s what they’d been waiting for.
“It’s not from Summer. Come over, honey.”
Sunny’s heart pounded. “What about Summer, Mom?”
“She’s…gone.”
“Gone, like in gone from the mission?”
Her mother’s voice broke. “She’s dead.”
Sunny sank to the rug in front of the sink. “Oh, Mom, are you sure?”
“The letter is from a priest at the mission. Oh, Sunny this is too much.” [That’s three “ohs”. They might be justified in this situation, but you still need to be careful or you’ll sound melodramatic.]
“Hold on Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.” She dropped the phone on the counter and grabbed her keys on her way out.
Sunny maneuvered the empty streets to the middle-class side of their Southside Richmond neighborhood. Lights from TV’s flickered in several windows along the way. How could people still be up at 2:30 A.M. mundanely watching TV while her sister was dead? Summer couldn’t be dead. Something that horrible couldn’t happen while people were doing normal things, like sleeping or watching TV.
She pulled the Fiesta into the driveway of her childhood home.
“Mom, I’m here.” The screened door squeaked. She made sure it didn’t bang shut behind her.
“I’m in the den.”
Sunny found her mother dressed in a frumpy bathrobe sitting on the sofa with her legs pulled up to one side and stacks of photos surrounding her. She was staring at a photo in her hand. When Sunny approached, her mother gave her a tear-stained smile and turned the photo to face Sunny. Six-year-old Sunny and seven-year-old Summer grinned up at her. They held watermelon slices under their chins, their blond hair sticking to their juice-covered cheeks.
Sunny collapsed to the sofa, spilling a stack of photos to the floor. She held her mother tightly, her tears flowing while her mother patted her head and made little shushing sounds into her hair.
Sunny drew away and swiped tears from her face. “What happened to Summer?”
Gertrude handed her a tissue and then picked up a sheet of paper from the end table. [Personally, I’d prefer “her mother” to Gertrude.] “Here’s the letter I received from a priest in Costa Rica. It’s five weeks old. Did you know she was in Costa Rica? No, I guess you didn’t. Nobody knew where she was. I got the letter around noon today. The mailman comes at noon. I guess you knew that, too, but I didn’t want you to hear about this at work.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sunny stored her mother’s ramblings to examine later. This wasn’t the moment to try to determine grief or meltdown. She took the letter from her mother’s trembling hand and started skimming the words.
Gertrude put her hand on Sunny’s. “Read it aloud, honey. Maybe if I hear it, I’ll believe it.”
Sunny swallowed and read:
“Dear Mrs. Knight,
I am grieved to write you the sad news that Summer was killed when the van she was riding in went off the road into a deep ravine. I am hoping you will come here. There are some unusual circumstances concerning the accident. There is also little Anna. I am thinking you will want to come for her.”
Sunny looked at her mother.
Gertrude’s red face crumpled and she nodded her head. “She had a daughter, honey. I have a grandbaby, and you have a niece.”
Sunny stared at the tiny smudge of mascara below her mother’s eye that somehow hadn’t been removed by one of the many soggy tissues piling up on the coffee table. Then it sunk in. Summer had a baby. Curious, her gaze fell back to the letter.
“We all mourn Summer’s death. She was a true sister in Christ and helped many people in the village. I am sorry this is how you must hear of her death. We have no telephones here in the mountain village. I send directions on how best to get here from San José. It is a two-day journey, first by bus and then by mule. I am very sorry for your loss. I pray God comforts you and blesses you with a safe journey here.
In Christ’s service,
Father Martinez”
[One formatting issue—if she’s reading it out loud, does it need to be indented and set apart from the rest of the text? ]
The beginning shows promise. A mix of excitement, mystery, and personal issues.
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