First Scene. Introduces protagonist, antagonist, setting and major conflict.
Chapter One
Dirk Kleparoth threw the Chevy pick-up into park, making Mara’s head lurch on her neck. He jerked his chin toward the house with the pink door across the street. “7485. That’s it.”
Mara nibbled on a fingernail and stared at the new three-bedroom bungalow, identical to all its neighbors, save the pink trim.
“Do you need me to wait, or…?” Dirk ran a thick palm over the roof of his brush cut. “I should probably get back, eh.”
“Oh no. You go home to your boys. I imagine we’ll have tea.” But Mara stayed in the passenger seat, “I’ll take the bus home.”
“Well, did you want to go meet her? Or should we just go to A&W, get a burger?” He placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I don’t really get why you’re doing this, Mara.”
Marasol Adkins turned to look into his green eyes and smile. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for twenty-four years.”
“She probably won’t even know you. You haven’t seen her since she was a baby, right?”
“Yes. But I have a feeling. I was a mother to her after our mom died.”
“Well. Don’t get your hopes up, eh.” He reached across her, pushed the door open, then handed her an umbrella. “Take this. Storm’s coming.”
“It’ll have passed by the time I’m ready to leave. See you at work tomorrow.” Mara got out, then stood behind a lamp post, which failed to hide her big body. She just needed a moment to collect herself, take in the lay of the land. The neighborhood’s tidy lawns sloped to a boulevard where young ash and maple trees were tethered to their support against the coming winds and the brutal winter they’d carry. Mara shivered and gripped the strap of her fringed bag, telling herself to just go on over and give that pink door a solid rap.
Still she waited, one of her braids between her lips.
The family appeared well off; a new 1965 Ford Country Squire station wagon sat in their driveway. On their lawn, two robins twittered, and Mara could smell the lilac blooms that framed the pink door from where she stood.
A clap of thunder made her jump and get moving. She glanced at the wide prairie sky, bright blue, save the blot of angry clouds to the west, and hurried over. She hated storms.
“Yes?” The woman who opened the door had a hand on her very pregnant belly and a toddler attached to her leg.
Looking into eyes she hadn’t seen in over two decades, Mara forgot all her words for a moment. When she finally remembered some, they fell out in a blurt: “I think you’re my sister.”
The woman gasped and took a step back. “You. You’re the one who followed us home from Woodward’s the other day.” She had the same dark hair and eyes, same long nose and high cheekbones as Mara, but was shorter, rounder. She pulled her daughter to her. “Nadine, stand behind me. What do you want?” Her voice carried panic.
“I didn’t think you’d seen me. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mara held a supplicating palm out. “You’re Dorothy, right? I’m Marasol Adkins, Mara. Er, Marasol Griffith. I’m pretty sure you’re my sister. You were taken when you were just a baby…” The sun seared like a branding iron. Perspiration ran under her arms despite the extra layer of Arrid Extra Dry she’d applied.
Dorothy narrowed her eyes at Mara. The door might be open, but her sister still stood behind a wall.
In a rush, Mara explained how she’d seen Dorothy with her daughter looking at gloves on $1.49 Day at Woodward’s and she knew her with the sureness of gravity. She was a replica of their mother. It had been such a shock. Edmonton was not that big, but she’d never run into her before. So, of course, she followed them home. “I didn’t want to lose you again,” she lowered her voice: “I’ve been missing you for twenty-four years. Since I was twelve.”
“Why didn’t you just come on over, say hello?”
“Well, I was so surprised, and I wanted to, you know, prepare.” Mara lifted her shoulders in a small shrug and looked down at her home-made outfit which she’d selected with care. The red polka dots on her mini skirt paired with the forest green blouse and white peter-pan collar now seemed not so much reassuring, but outlandish. She’d tied teal ropes around the ends of her braids, and she held them for a moment, then coughed on nothing. When she looked up to see Dorothy scowling at a polka dot.
“Mommy. Who is this lady?” Nadine pulled at her mother’s skirt.
“She’s my sister.”
“Yes!” Mara smiled and relaxed her arms, ready for an embrace. “And your mother, kind of, after our mother died. Since I was so much older.”
“Nadine, go play.” The woman’s gaze hardened like cement. “It’s true. They adopted me out. What kind of family gives someone away?”
“What’s adopted, Mommy.” Nadine had not gone to play.
“It was my fault, somehow. I don’t quite remember all the details …” An unsettling hum filled Mara’s ears.
“Well, whatever the reason. Apparently, I wasn’t worth keeping—” She held her hand up when Mara tried to speak. “Anyway, thanks for coming by.” She patted her tummy, “As you can see, I have my hands full here, and I’m not feeling well these days. You must know what it’s like. Don’t you have a family?”
“No, well. I did have a son, but….he’s, he’s gone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. That is awful. But a husband?”
“I was married.”
“Oh no, you’re a widow?”
“Um, no actually, we divorced.” Mara watched as Dorothy’s expression made the usual migration from sympathetic to critical.
“Oh. I see. You’re a divorcee,” she sniffed.
“Yes, but, years ago,” Mara hurried to change the subject, right the wrong course this conversation now traveled on. “I thought we could be sisters again, you know? Go for coffee, shopping…”
“A woman’s job is to keep the family together. At least, that’s what our minister says.”
“But it wasn’t my—”
“Besides. You can’t scare a person half to death, then just come knocking on her door. Barging into someone’s life.”
“But, we have the same parents. We’re family.”
“Well, I’m sure what you’re saying is true – we do look alike, but your family clearly didn’t want me. I have my own parents, or at least did, and I’m making my own family, as you can see. So.” Dorothy stepped back into her house and started to close the door.
Mara looked around for an excuse to linger. “Wait, are those boxes? Are you moving?” From somewhere inside the house, a telephone rang.
“Telephone,” yelled Nadine.
“Yes, I know,” said her mother. “I really need to get that. Thanks for coming —”
“But what about —” Mara words bumped up against the closing pink door. She stood for a moment and numbly raised her hand at Nadine when the little girl waved at her through the front room window.
Mara stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, haunted by the image of Dorothy shielding her daughter from her. Dirk had called it. She doesn’t want to get to know me. And why should she? It looks like she’s been doing fine without you, has her life in order, look at those lilacs, for god’s sake. Not like you. You’re no good at family. All you’ve ever done is lose them or send them away – your husband, your sister and brother, your son. Maybe deep down, she even remembers it was all your fault.
The rumble of thunder was closer and sent cold down Mara’s spine. The drone of running water filled her ears again, drowning out the birdsong. Her breath quickened and her mouth dried up. Mara slapped her leg, hoping the pain would distract her from the coming storm. She started to run, wishing she’d taken Dirk’s umbrella.
By the time the bus arrived, she was drenched, her fringed leather bag ruined, her braids dripping, her thick mascara halfway down her face. She deposited her twenty cents and left large wet footprints all the way to her seat. As she stared glumly out the window, she thought of the inside of Dorothy’s house, and the boxes that were piled up. Were they about to move away and out of Mara’s life again?
Chapter One.docx