In Which I Preview

I've been spending some time lately going over the story I wrote for last year's NaNoWriMo. I was kind of burned out after the month was over, but that's understandable. Fifty-thousand words in thirty days is a great feat to accomplish, especially for someone who works a full-time job and has other responsibilities around the home. I took some time off after I passed the 50k point, but haven't really made the time to start up again to finish the story until recently.

I've been wanting to share the story with all of you. You've all been very supportive of my efforts in writing, and I feel almost like I owe it to you to share what I've written. I've already divulged two sections of my story over at Fiction Five Hundred, but I thought I'd share another section today. It's a little somber for a Monday morning, but it'll have to do.

The name of the story is "The Liberty Key".

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Whenever Catherine and I had discussed our version of the American Dream, I imagined us buying a house much like Liberty. Something old, something with character and some flaws that needed improving. It was part of what captivated me so much when I first laid eyes on it. It was a physical representation of the house she and I had dreamt of. Yes, a family with one child and another on the way probably could fill the house better than I could by myself, but this was my way of staying true to the promises I made to Catherine.

A few months before her death, Catherine and I were talking of finding a realtor to begin looking at houses. We had a chunk of money stored away in our savings, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that Emily was outgrowing her tiny bedroom. We needed more space, and while we both felt like we were ready for something more, I was also pretty hesitant.

“I'm not sure if it's a good time in the housing market right now,” I had told her. “Maybe we should wait until we have a little more money saved up, and when the market stabilizes, we'll look for a house. I'm sure we can find a bigger apartment, so we can have some more space until we're more ready.”

“We're ready now, Spence,” Catherine said, placing her hand on mine. “We've been ready for a while now. We've just got to take the plunge. I don't want to live in another apartment. I want something that is ours.”

We were sitting at our tiny table in the kitchen, the television talking to itself in the living room. Emily had been put to bed an hour earlier, and it was just Catherine and I. This was the time of night that I looked forward to all day, but I always felt a twinge of guilt for feeling that way. I loved Emily with every shred of my being, but the time I had in the evenings with Catherine was vital to maintaining my sanity. 

“I want something that is ours, too,” I said. “Believe me, I'm tired of these same four walls. I'm tired of putting so much of our money towards something that belongs to someone else. I want a lawn, I want a driveway, I want a leaky basement. I want all of that, but I just don't think now is the right time.”

Catherine sighed. I could tell how badly she wanted to get out of our small apartment. There was nothing I wanted more than to be able to provide that for her, and it pained me to know that my apprehension about whether now was a good time or not was keeping that dream from being realized.

“If that's what you think, then okay. This is something we should only do if we're both on board, and if you think we need to wait, I can tough it out here for a little while longer. We'll give it some more time, and put some more money away, like you said.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I know how badly you want out of this place, but I do think we need to wait.”

“Yes, I'm sure. We'll give it a few more months." She raised one eyebrow quizzically. "How does six months sound?”

“Six months sounds great.”

She looked at me, her eyebrow slanting now to an expression of skepticism. “Do you promise?”

I smiled. “Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Hush up about that dying stuff. We'll have none of that. Now," she said, standing up, "kiss me before I decide to put up a fight about this.” She grasped my hand and pulled me in closer to her. I got up from my chair and kissed her, and tasted the strawberry-flavored lip balm that Emily had put on her lips earlier in the evening when they were playing. Her hair smelled wonderful and just like it always had from the moment I met her, an intoxicating mixture of her shampoo and the light perfume she wore.

Catherine walked around the table and wrapped her arms around my back, reaching up with one hand to my neck. She pulled my head down a bit and licked the bottom of my ear in the way that she used to that drove me crazy.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

And so we did. Quietly, frantically, passionately on the kitchen floor.

Unknown to us, our second child was conceived that night. 

Catherine would die two months later.

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Again, a somber way to start the week.

Happy Monday, folks.