This will be a future snippet of my finished, first novel. It’s simply too big…too long….and I am editing.
By creating this page, I hold myself accountable to press forward in the task. I must tighten the narrative, edit the unnecessary and expand the thin areas needed to fully understand Grace. Encouragement and coaching from a variety of people who also believe it is a story worth sharing propels and compels me.
Grace Franklin Pierce is my protagonist. She is a remarkable woman and you will want to hear her story. This is a fragment of her story, the catalyst that exposes the truth and begins her journey to reconcile and finally heal wounds so well concealed even Grace lives oblivious to their existence and their influence on her life.
Excerpt from Breaking Grace:
Hurricane Cristobal downed the main electrical trunk leading out this westward artery. The towering, steel girders erected by Florida Power & Light once stood like gigantic soldiers, sentries for the new developments in west Dade, but they now lay in crumpled heaps like the fallen on a battle field. Their monstrous cables snapped free during the storm lay like piles of metal spaghetti noodles along the roadside. In the immediate hours after the hurricane, when the wind had died down, some of the cables had maintained live current. There had been four fatalities of people trying to drive over the cables in a desperate effort to escape the devastation. In response, the power company had turned off the grid for the southeastern region.
Driving west towards her home with the windows rolled down, sweat trickle down her sides from her armpits. Dr. Grace Pierce lifted the front band of the drab green military t-shirt over her face and wiped away the sweat. Rank and filthy, she was eager to get home and get clean.
Even past seven, the sun hovered brightly to the west. She drove into the glare; daylight savings times gave them light past nine. Long ago, with foresight and at great expense, Henry included a massive generator in their home construction. Grace now gave thanks because she craved a long hot shower after the day she’d had at the medical tents. Unlike many in their development, their home weathered the battering of Hurricane Cristobal with minimal damage and that generator ran the fridge and the hot water heater. Hurricane Cristobal was a wicked storm system that stalled offshore unexpectedly, gathered strength, wobbled and plowed right over the Turkey Point nuclear power plant. Fortunately, the reactors were unharmed but the same could not be said of the neighborhoods downwind. The destruction was massive.
With a generator powering their house, the Pierce family elected to stay. Her husband Henry had a Robinson Crusoe approach; he focused on getting the house repaired. With a partial collapse of the double garage door. wind pushed into the house through the kitchen and exited through the chimney. That absurd, impractical, authentic fireplace sparked the only argument between she and Henry during the design and construction of the house. Grace thought it was ridiculous. Henry claimed a lifelong dream to have a real, wood burning fireplace. He insisted on the romantic opportunities for their lovemaking. For the record, they had never made love in the living room. nor in the kitchen, the family room, her study or even in the pool.
Slowing as she approached the intersection, the powerless traffic light dangled sideways like a loose tooth hanging on a thin filament. Grace checked for oncoming traffic and rolled through the intersection. Reconsidering the fireplace, Grace frowned. Fifteen years living in this house and sex in front of that fireplace remained mythic. They dug and poured the pool ten years ago but never went skinny dipping much less had sex in the pool. Relegated conveniently to the bedroom with an occasional quickie in the shower, sex was predictable and easy. Henry’s needs for intimacy fit neatly between the Tonight Show and Dave Letterman.
Today Grace felt bone tired. As an Army reservist activated in anticipation of the storm system, she staffed the makeshift medical unit in the aftermath of Cristobal. Since she was also an emergency medicine physician at the largest trauma center in the state, her skills expedited triage. She spent today assessing people who had gone without medications or much food for days. People with dehydration or minor trauma received treatment in the field while Life Flight airlifted one guy with a chainsaw injury to his leg. She attended that guy’s injured brother at the tent; he had a large but superficial laceration on his flank. He lost his balance and fell while trying to avoid being cut in half by the chainsaw. The two brothers attacked the fallen tree bisecting the roof of their house with chainsaws. Their miscalculation was standing upon on the tree and cutting under their own feet. She attributed their stupidity to adrenaline, the desperate need for survival and the madcap drive to rebuild some kind of shelter from the fragments of their home.
She pulled into their driveway, cut the engine and immediately smelled the grilling meat. She just wanted to dive into the pool; she was so sticky and filthy. Jacob, her youngest son came running around the side of the house.
“Mom, we’re having steaks for dinner. I love steak!” He plowed into her, practically knocking her off her feet. She loved his exuberant greetings but now that he weighed over 100lbs and he felt like a linebacker. She never asked him to stop; rather, she learned to brace herself. She adored the physicality she had with both her boys. She hip checked Jacob and they walked around the back of the house. She waved to Henry who stood in front of the grill with music blaring over the sound system. Elijah came and hugged her.
“Hey mom, how was it there today? We saw the Life Flight come and go. Anyone we know?”
“No, it was quieter today except for that evac. The ice trucks were the bigger attraction. It got crazy when they showed up. I think all the major injuries have been addressed, so I doubt that they will need me there much longer especially since medical school is sending the residents to volunteer.”
“Does that mean we have to go back to school?”
She laughed and tousled his curly brown hair, “Elijah, your school’s totally damaged. You won’t be going back there. I don’t really know what will happen with school. Not a priority honestly.” She kissed his cheek and it registered how much he had grown this summer. “Let me go in and shower.”
She turned and headed into the house pausing in the hallway leading into the dining room. She removed her Rosary from her front pocket and hung it on the frame that held her sons’ christening certificates. She removed her wallet from her back pocket along with her switchblade, sitting them with her car keys on the kitchen counter. She’d left her satellite phone charging in the car. The master bedroom was still boarded up and dark, so she walked to the kitchen sink and washed her face. Using a paper towel to dry off, she stepped back from the sink and watched the three men in her life romp around the pool deck. Turning to toss the paper towels in the trash, she felt a crushing pain rip through her left shoulder. The force of the blow buckled her to her knees. Before she could hit the tile floor, her flailed arm was in a vice grip that slammed her back into the wall. The blunt force to the back of her head blinded her momentarily. The bones grinding in her shoulder made the bile rise in her throat. Her military issue side arm was yanked roughly from its holster. In a haze of pain, she felt the smelly breath of the assailant against her face.
“Stay awake doc.”
He smelled like tar, sweat and stale cigarette smoke. Again he pulled forcefully on Grace’s arm in a sadistic tango, twirling her around so he stood behind her. His body was pressed up against her while he pulled her left arm backwards. She felt the hand gun press under her chin. The pain and fear caused her to shriek as a violent wave of nausea rose up. Just as she started to wretch, Elijah came through the sliding glass door and entered the kitchen. Instantly alert, she feared for her son.
There was a second intruder standing between her and the doorway. His billy club connected flat across Elijah’s solar plexus, crumpling him to the floor gasping for air. She screamed at the wiry, jittery man to stop, hoping to keep Elijah from getting struck across the back of his skull. The large man that held her pressed the muzzle so hard against her neck, she felt as if she might pass out. As the billy club descended, Henry came flying into the kitchen with Jacob at his heels. Henry wore an apron over his cargo shorts and had grilling tongs in his hand. The billy club slammed into Henry’s shoulder and he went to the ground beside Elijah. Elijah managed to grab Jacob and pulled him close. The man that had her pinned pointed her gun at Henry and she regained full consciousness.
And there they were, she held by a violent man, who gripped her so tightly she might as well be staked to the ground. The rest of her family was kneeling on the floor at gun point.
Both of these men were as highs as kites.
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