The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.
Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.
For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.
Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.
Chapter 49
At 4:30 Thursday morning I was more eager to crawl out of bed and start my day than I had been in a long time. I think it was because it was finally Thanksgiving and Wayne was coming. My eagerness was diluted when I remembered there would only be two of us to share the fully-traditional meal I had planned. I still hadn’t decided if I would tell him I hadn’t cooked a thing, that I had bought the complete meal from Pirates Cove in old downtown Boaz. A private meal, alone with the man I had recently shared two passionate kisses on the patio just outside my back door, should have been enough to buoy me above the most treacherous ocean, but it hadn’t. As I walked to The Thread, all I could think about was yesterday’s surprise classroom visit from Cindy, and Cullie’s scheduled first-visit tonight at the home of her father, the adorable Ryan Radford. My sarcasm was up and active even before the first hint of daylight.
Someway, maybe because of my hallway prayer petitioning God to help me focus on my fiction writing, over the ninety minutes, I was able to create an impressive chapter for Real Justice. Stella was inching closer and closer to discovering the true threat the Jaybirds posed to her well-being. One scene depicted her budding relationship with Aiden Walker, the pastor of First United Baptist Church. What started as a once a month meeting at the newspaper to discuss the church’s ads and marketing plans, had accelerated into a once per week rendezvous at a wilderness cabin outside Cherry Log, a small unincorporated rural town ten miles northeast of Ellijay. What was still unclear to Stella was how much of Aiden’s pillow-talk she could believe. The man was an enigma to say the least. He both loved and deplored the other four members of his secret club. But, the thing Stella found most baffling was how, almost in the same breath, after their lovemaking, he would pray for God’s forgiveness and verbalize, “we still on for next week?” The second scene of my chapter, one that seemed to sprout so easily, dealt with the growing threat from Nancy Fletcher, Noah Fletcher’s wife. The more I brainstormed and wrote, the more I descended into a dark ethereal world. I was surprised at the peace I found the more I wrote about Nancy’s intensifying anger over something untrue, Stella’s intent to steal her husband. Again, once again, I had this eerie feeling I was bouncing around in a world where fact was fiction and fiction was fact.
As I exited The Thread, Cindy returned, the thought of Cindy, yesterday, sitting across my desk in my little office at school. She had shown up at 10:30 a.m., the beginning of my planning period. I will never forget her first statement. “Half of me hates you. The other half loves you. I’m in the struggle of my life to determine which side wins. I wanted you to know this. I also want to ask you to try, try real hard this time, to keep a promise I’m asking you to make. Think of it as another chance to be my friend. I’m asking you to promise you won’t try to save me ever again, like you did when you broke your promise and told Steve my secret. Let me sink or swim by my own choices and actions. Can you do that?”
Looking back, I wish that I had not agreed. How can one honestly promise her best friend she won’t interfere ever, even if it is to save her friend’s life? That promise was so fucking stupid, just as insane as including the clip of Patrick Wilkins in the back of mine and Cindy’s van, on the altered videotape I had given Warren Tillman at Wells Fargo Bank. It was probably stupid enough to have switched out the tape to begin with. But, I now feared the Flaming Five were gloating in their good fortune. I had given them a virtual confession that I was responsible for the disappearance of the criminal asshole Wilkins. My stupidity was driving me straight to prison.
As I walked into the kitchen, I was still confused over the one other thing Cindy had said. Something about the many calls she had discovered on her cell phone that occurred after her altercation with Paula and while she was in the hospital. Cindy knew they were made and received by Steve. I recalled that Steve had told me he had left his cell phone at home. There were no voice-mail messages but only two phone numbers and she didn’t know whose they were.
If this wasn’t bad enough to lock down my mindset before breakfast, my concern for the most important person in my life did the trick. As I poured my second thermos of coffee, I again swung a big stick at my head. I was the idiot who had agreed, if Cullie agreed, for Ryan to have a first-visit with our daughter, as he had put it. I had been both surprised and hurt that Cullie had elected to spend Thanksgiving afternoon at the home of Ryan and Karla Radford. Hurt, because it felt like a betrayal. Why wouldn’t Cullie hate Ryan as much as I did? It seemed only normal that she felt as I did about my father, the man I never met, the one man out of five who had helped create me but whom I would never know.
Wayne arrived at 4:30 p.m. We had planned on him arriving a couple of hours earlier but, as usual, something had come up at work and he had to go to Guntersville. Our meal was excellent. Wayne slathered on the compliments over everything. He particularly liked how I used just a little extra sage in my cornbread dressing. After nearly an hour of expressing his thanks and how wonderfully blessed he was of finding such a wonderful woman who can cook a carrot cake as good as his mother, I could no longer live my lie. By now we were seated on the couch in the den. I confessed and told him if I had cooked our meal he would probably already be at home laying across his bed with a queasy stomach. The eternally kind and respectful Wayne had reached for my hand and stood us both in front of the fireplace, in front of the fire that he had built when he arrived, and gently pressed his lips into mine. “You are still a wonderfully gifted woman. Most any woman can learn to cook, given sufficient effort, but only one in a zillion can draw me in to a story and hold me for four hundred pages and then, when the tale had ended, make me want more.” Wayne had impressed me. He had finished reading my first and only book, Out of the Darkness.
The heat became unbearable. The heat from the fireplace. I cast away all inhibitions, took his hand, and pulled him away from the fire’s intense heat. I led him to my bedroom and the passion that erupted between us was just as hot as the fireplace, but totally bearable. After ten minutes of standing beside my bed and exchanging kisses like I never had with anyone, Wayne, the kind, respectful, and shy Wayne, unbuttoned my blouse. I helped him with my bra and pants. He didn’t offer any help with his clothes allowing me to take my time. Our serious march towards our first sexual union was interrupted only by his request we turn down my covers. Apparently, the gorgeously beautiful and well-equipped Wayne was more comfortable and confident beneath the sheets. I no doubt acquiesced.
His shyness vanished as we lay side-by-side kissing passionately and exploring each other’s bodies. I was so happy that he loved foreplay. He also knew how to bring me to the perfect moment, to the place I hadn’t experienced since Colton, hell, never. Even though Wayne was surprisingly enduring, it wasn’t enough, even though our mutual climax surpassed every love scene I’d ever experienced through the written word. As we lay on our backs side by side I was dreaming about and hoping for Wayne’s quick recovery, when my cell phone in the den rang. I normally had it set to vibrate but with Cullie’s visit I didn’t want to take any chance I might miss her call.
At first, I stayed in bed. I even rolled on top of Wayne and told him how wonderful he was and how I didn’t want our time to end. No doubt I wasn’t fully convincing. He undoubtedly sensed my anxiousness and said, “it was even more wonderful for me and I want more and more of your love, but don’t you think you might want to check your phone. It might be an important call.” The kind and respectful Wayne had been so attentive during our Thanksgiving meal as I had described to him Cullie’s visit across town. I was glad he hadn’t asked any questions about mine and Ryan’s relationship fifteen years earlier.
By the time I reached the den and my phone I knew it was Cullie. Call it a mother’s intuition. Her voice-mail message was clear. “Mom, please come get me. Ryan and Karla have been nice, but I hate Riley Radford. Please, please come now.” I returned her call and promised I was on my way.
Wayne rode with me and offered assurance Cullie and Riley would find a way to work out their differences. I wanted to agree but could not think of anyone except Alysa and Cullie and what should have been happening right now. Cullie and I should be at Cindy and Steve’s with all three of their children eating a wonderful meal, not store-bought, but one painstakingly prepared by as good a cook as I had ever seen. Cindy, my dear Cindy, now a widow, now missing the near-perfect husband who was now dead because of me.
Cullie wouldn’t talk on our way home. It might have been because of Wayne, even though it seemed she worshiped him. As soon as I parked beside the patio, Cullie fled into the house. It was only then that I saw the envelope taped to the back door. It was from Cindy. I wasn’t positive when she had brought it. On our rush to go pick up Cullie I could have missed it. She might have brought it while Wayne and I were making love. Had she knocked? Had she thought I had refused to come to the door? I walked into the kitchen and lay the letter on the bar. The last thing I wanted was for Wayne to learn something about the woman he had just made love to and who he thought was one in a zillion. I would read it later. Right now, the man of my dreams was rekindling the fire and wanting me to come engulf him in my arms. At least that’s what I hoped he was thinking.
Before I was halfway to him, he reached in his back pocket for his damn cell phone. No doubt it had vibrated. And, no doubt, it wasn’t good for me. “I have to go back to Guntersville. Same issue. Baby, I’m sorry. I’ll call as soon as I can. Maybe we can share another slice of that carrot cake when I return. Okay?”
After Wayne left, I opened Cindy’s letter and sat down across from the fireplace. “Katie, my life is over. Steve was my world. I know I have three beautiful children, but I will never be what they need. There is such a void in my life. And, I have hurt you so badly. I’m sorry for all the hateful things I have said. I wish there was some way I could make you know how much I love you and have enjoyed our friendship. It’s been real. I have one other request: I am asking for another promise. If something were to happen to me, would you take care of my kids? They love you like a mother. I know this is a lot to ask. If the worst happened to me, I want to know I have taken care of things. You are named both executor and primary beneficiary in my new will. Everything I own will go to you in trust for my kids. This includes my share of the money at Wells Fargo Bank. I love you and I know you are promising me that you will do what I’m requesting. Again, I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I will never forget all the wonderful times we’ve had at school. Now, there’s something I must deal with. Our six red apples project is not yet finished.”
I reread her letter three times. I could reach only two conclusions. And, both were clear. Cindy was anticipating her death, and she intended to do everything she could to mete out revenge on the Faking Five.
Cullie finally came out of her room at 10:00 p.m. She had calmed herself enough to talk. How openly I wasn’t sure. It seemed that after a rather pleasant Thanksgiving meal, Riley had asked Cullie to hangout in her bedroom. This is where she verbally attacked Cullie for ruining her world. “Now, I doubt my life will ever be the same. Daddy will dote over half of his affections on you and push me down to living like an average girl.” Cullie also shared how Riley accused me of fabricating the whole story, that of her father being Cullie’s father. She said Riley had said, “your mother is just a fucking whore and got what she was after. There was never any rape. Next thing we’ll know is her Stella girl will be fucking Aiden Walker in Cherry Log, Georgia.”
I’m not sure I heard anything else Cullie said. She could easily recognize when I entered the zone, as she called it. She knew it was a world beyond her world, one I often chose to enter and one I just as often had to be forced into. This time was one of the later. How in the hell did Riley Radford know about Stella and Aiden and their ventures to Cherry Log? The only other person in the world who knew about this other than me was Cindy. Yesterday, when she had dropped by my office, during a few minutes while we returned to a semblance of our previous normalcy, I had shared with her what my imagination was prompting me to write in the Real Justice project. I doubt Cindy would have told anyone. I wasn’t even sure she had been listening to me close enough to relay these facts. In my gut, I knew that Cindy had not divulged my writing intentions. I also knew that none of the five creative writing teams had included any such detail in any of their outlines. It had been my responsibility all along to create and write scenes that dealt with Stella’s interactions with the five Jaybirds. The only logical conclusion was that Riley had overheard yesterday’s conversation with Cindy. Hell, Riley couldn’t have looked over my shoulder this morning in The Thread as I had described the Cherry Log scene.
It was after midnight before I went to bed. I had finally given up on reaching Cindy by phone. My belief and desire that Wayne would return for another slice of cake had prevented me from driving over to her house. If Cindy did not return my call by morning, I would drive over before going to school. At 4:15 a.m., I learned I wouldn’t need to do that.
Alysa called fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to ring. She sounded concerned. She was only semi-panicked. She was not frantic. “Katie, mother has been arrested. She just called and wanted me to call you.”
“Oh baby, what’s happened? Where is she?” I said, wondering what in the hell Cindy had done to get arrested.
“She’s at Boaz City Jail. You won’t believe this, but she was arrested for drunk driving.”
“Oh my gosh. Cindy doesn’t drink. Does she?” I asked.
“No, never. She would pitch a fit if Daddy drank one beer. She wouldn’t even let him bring it into the house. Of course, Daddy probably only drank four or five beers per year. Always after an extraordinary day of fishing.” I was amazed at Alysa. She had astounded me and the crowd at her father’s funeral. As controlled, professional, entertaining as a Sandra Bullock would be in a similar scene on the big screen. Now, here she was, again not acting, but living like the young woman any mother would covet. Cindy wasn’t leading the badly damaged family, but the fifteen-year-old Alysa was.
“Okay, don’t worry. I’ll go now, and I’ll call you later. Why don’t you and Anita and Alton stay home from school today.”
By ten minutes before five I was sitting with a semi-conscious Cindy in a private interrogation room at the Boaz City Jail. At first, she wouldn’t say much, just that after she couldn’t find me she had written the letter and taped it to my door. Then, she had bought a six pack of beer and driven to Nanny’s place, now my place, on Bruce Road and had sat for hours. She said she had drank a little over two beers and was feeling a buzz for the first time in her life. I kept asking her why she had done this since she had never drunk. She kept shaking her head and saying, “I hope I killed him, I hope I killed him.” As I completed my third attempt to persuade her to explain what she was talking about the jailer came in and said my time was up. As he removed Cindy from the room I heard him say, “my shift just ended, and I still haven’t fingerprinted you.”
I sat back down, but not until my mind flashed a picture of a 2005 tan-colored Nissan van across my eyes. The van was super small, or the outline of a thumb-print was super big. I wasn’t sure which. Either way, I felt someone had pushed me over the edge of Noccalula Falls and I was tumbling towards a certain death.
The Pencil-Driven Life 