Jacqueline C. Thomas - Romance Novelist

McKinley Park

McKinley Park is Coming Back!

by 2 Comments

I think each writer holds a special place in their heart for the characters they write. When you are a romance writer, you also hold a special place for the relationship you write. Out of all of the romance novels I’ve written up to this point, I hold Ben and Rachel’s story nearest to my heart. I am continually touched by Ben’s gentleness towards Rachel. I get swept away everytime I go back to reference something in it, and realize three chapters later that I am still reading it.

The other day as I was sitting in traffic I was thinking about this story and how much I love it. I know for many who read it, the ending left a sour note. It was the first time as a writer where I took some real heat for the original ending. I’ve often imagined what their lives would’ve looked like if the book had ended differently. As I sat parked in traffic, and my imagination running wild I had a moment of clarity. Why not release McKinley Park as an actual book, fully edited and ….. WITH A TRUE HAPPY ENDING?

I bounced this idea off of my husband. He is my most honest critic and can be absolutely ruthless in his feedback, which is why I value it so highly. He asked me why I had not done it yet. It was one of those simple things that was sitting right in front of me, that I had not recognized. Even if I am the only who ever enjoys this story of true love and triumph in a book form, it will have been so worth it.

I have spent the past few weeks combing through the manuscript, changing and tweaking small things based on all of the amazing feedback I received as I published it back in 2019. I cannot adequately express my gratitude to all of you who read it each week and were honest in your feedback. While I may not have agreed with all of the feedback, I certainly did listen. In addition to taking in the comments, I have went through and given it the copy edit it deserves. I want to thank my fellow writing community member from Twitter, Joe Garland, for all of the early help with editing, thank you Joe!

Aside from getting to live in the book again, my MOST favorite part of writing, where I am completely engrossed in the world and characters, I got to write Rachel and Ben’s HAPPY ENDING!!! Yep, you read that right. While I may not agree completely that romance must have a happily ever after to be considered romance (we can argue about that later) I did recognize the need for one here. I think a lot of the readers really felt cheated by the ending and for that I am sorry. The happy ending will appear in the book format only.

It is my hope that by self publishing Rachel and Ben’s story more people will have the opportunity to fall in love with their love story too. I’ll keep you all posted on the progress of self-publishing this novel, my first published novel. I plan to launch it on Amazon where Quarantine Stories was published as well.

Again, thank you to all of you who read it back in 2019 and I hope you’ll all stay tuned for the launch!

A Spot for Inspiration

by Leave a Comment

A roadside seafood restaurant in Malibu.

I was walking on the shore just two short weeks ago along the Malibu coast in California, at my happiest to be in such a gorgeous place. As I walked, the surf tickling my toes, and the waves crashed on the rocks, I glanced over at the large beach homes that hugged the coast. I was struck with a spark, an idea…inspiration. An idea came to me for a book, a really good idea. I’ve been thinking about the idea ever since, but the idea of inspiration and place has also been on my mind.

Meanwhile, I have made what feels, like a massive career transition within those past two weeks as well. I left my former job and took a job in Chicago. I don’t live in the city, I reside within the commuter-belt, albeit a very far edge. So last week, I grabbed my high heels and stepped into my new life, doing a job that I have worked an entire career to get to. I won’t lie, it feels good, no great, to be here. I also know that although I have “made it” to this level, my work must be worthy for now and for forwarding advancement.

As exciting as this transition is, my new opportunity has put back downtown Chicago again. Chicago is my home city. When I travel the world and people ask me where I am from, I reply, “I’m from Chicago,” even though I don’t actually reside within the city. The first day as I stepped off of the commuter train, out of the station,  and out onto the street, I thought about all of those who came before me and all of those who will come after me. Then I thought about my characters, doing the same thing I am doing, going about their daily lives in this amazing city.

So much of my work is set in Chicago, because it is the city that I love, and it is the city that I know. As I was walking to catch the train home yesterday, I walked in the exact footsteps where Ben and Rachel from McKinley Park had their first date. I imagined them walking under the EL on the hot summer night. I couldn’t help but smile, genuinely smile. I am sure the others on the street if they even noticed wondered why this crazy woman wore a big smile but I didn’t care. As I walked further, my newest book has a scene set in the State Street Macy’s, I thought of the two characters as I walked past. Chicago is a rich setting, and I think it is why I use it so much in my work.

I am a firm believer that place directly impacts not just where a story is set but the writer too. I remarked to my husband while we were in LA a few weeks ago, that one would almost have to reside in LA for an extended period of time to accurately write the area. Sure writing a trope of LA is easy, but if you really wanted to richly set a work there… In my opinion, you’d have to go there and stay for some time. For reference, when I mean LA, I am talking about the greater LA area. It is so vastly different from the coast, to Anaheim, to Santa Anna and into the mountains, you’d have to be there to accurately describe the setting.

This past fall I took a trip for a long girls weekend down to New Orleans. At the time I was reading the book Fat Tuesday by Sandra Brown, which is set there. I picked up the book before I travelled thinking it would be interesting to read a book about a place I had never been and was soon to travel to. The experience of reading a book set in downtown New Orleans, while walking the streets the characters had, was a decadent experience. There was so much more to see, hear, smell, taste that added a rich velvety layer of complexity to Brown’s story. Granted I can’t travel to every book setting but the experience stuck with me.

When I first started writing romance, then reading it – yeah I know I got that backwards, but it’s the way it happened, I read a series by Christine Feehan. The setting for some of the stories were set in the bayous and swamps in Lousiana, as a home base for the characters. I read an interview with her about her research for the books, and she talked about spending time there for the purposes of book research. She discussed how the beauty of place resonated with her. When I read her books set in the bayou, they felt detailed in a way that you know she had been there. She describes place so well, and I would argue that the place in itself was an inspiration and a character in the series.

The more I write the more I learn. It used to annoy me to no end when writers would drone on about “the process.” I naively thought to myself, just sit down and write. How time has a way of teaching each of us. Place is important, whether reading or writing, it matters. I get it now. I am grateful to walk in the setting of my own work every day now.

My Writing Year of 2019

by Leave a Comment

 

This has been an interesting year writing-wise. I came into 2019 having just finished three completed novels, in fact, I finished the last one on December 22nd of 2018. I came into the year on a creative hot-streak! There was a lot of change for me personally last year too, a career change, followed by another one in short succession. I would’ve thought that change would’ve stifled the creative process but it didn’t. I couldn’t write fast enough. The creative juices were flowing, they were overflowing!

I came into this year without any expectations for writing, other than, I would continue to write. With six completed works under my belt I wanted to change direction, I wanted to find an agent. As I read everything I could get my hands on about finding an agent, one thing that became clear was that I needed to build a platform- hence the birth of this website. I set to crafting the perfect query letter and all I can say is I had a lot to learn, and probably still do if I am being honest. I put my head down, got to researching and started querying. Let me just say for those of you who have never done this- it is rough.

My writing comes from somewhere deep inside of me. That being said, when I reach out to an agent for representation, I am putting my work out there, and it is no longer mine and mine alone. I have to be open to changes that will come to the story and the characters along the way, it is no longer my own fiefdom, that is terrifying. There is also the emotional response of hoping it’s good enough and that my writing isn’t a joke. Bottom line, querying is an emotional landmine, but that being said, it is a necessary process. So far, querying has had its ups and downs but it has also helped me grow as a person. I have had to learn to handle rejection in a way that I never have before- it’s humbling but good. As 2019 rolls to a close, I am still currently seeking representation, but I am not deterred. I am emboldened to keep going. I believe through and through that, I have to work for the things I want in life.

Aside from querying, I did write this year. I wrote McKinley Park and published it a chapter at a time on this very blog. In fact, it was this blog that prompted the completion of McKinley Park. As I wrote on the McKinley Park page, I had started the story awhile back but had gotten stuck and had shelved it. I knew if I said I would finish it here on the blog, that the public pressure would force me to complete it. I was right! Writing a book and publishing it a chapter at a time, in a new genre, what could go wrong? McKinley Park stretched my skills as a writer. It also made me kill my darlings! Don’t worry, I won’t share any spoilers, for those who haven’t read it. This was an amazing exercise as a writer! Thank you to all of you who read along!

Writing-wise things were humming along, I was querying, writing McKinley Park and then everything ground to a halt for an unexpected and life-changing surgery. After surgery, it seemed that all of my bandwidth was used just keeping my professional and student life going, and at times I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. What I did not expect, nor prepare for was the emotional cost of my operation. It was like a grenade going off in the middle of my life, I feel like I am still picking pieces of emotional shrapnel out of my skin. For most creative people who have been through a life-changing event, they can tell you, your creativity takes a hit too. I wasn’t prepared for that either.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to write. I tried to force it, and that did not go well. I was terrified that I had somehow broken that special creative part of myself. Then one night I dreamt about all of the characters I had created and as woo-woo as this sounds, I felt like they were encouraging me to try again. I knew that creatively I couldn’t start something new, I wasn’t there yet, so I rewrote my first book- the project that made me fall in love with writing. I thought this would be an easier lift, as I didn’t really have to create much, the world was built, and the characters were there… Again, I was mistaken. Rewriting is HARD, but it was exactly what I needed to get back on my feet. Like a muscle that had atrophied, my rewrite started off slowly and then as time went on, my writing got stronger.

As November came around and NaNoWriMo kicked off, I tackled it with the same enveloping enthusiasm that I always had. I love Nano, but between school, work, and a renewed querying effort, I just didn’t have the bandwidth- something had to give. I refused to look at the truth of the situation, I could do a few things really well, or all of the things I was trying to accomplish poorly. Querying demands your very best, you can’t phone that in, neither can you do a half-assed job working on your Master’s degree. To top it all off, what started as a great idea for my Nano, fizzled and then eventually came to a grinding halt. The story just didn’t work. I had another idea on the back burner and I enthusiastically set to work on that, and the writing went well but I simply just did not have the bandwidth. Recognizing my own limitations, I stepped back from Nano for the first time ever. That was painful.

With the end of the year less than a month away, I have started another project! One evening while I was driving home from work I had an idea for another novel. This wasn’t a moment, where I thought to myself “oh that’s an interesting idea,” no this was a sledgehammer of an idea, more like “WRITE ME NOW OR I WILL CUT YOU!” The force in which the idea came was powerful. It was welcome! It was my inspiration, roaring to life! So I’ve started writing this book, with Joe and Noelle and I am telling their story. I don’t know exactly where it goes yet but I have a pretty good idea. Do you want to know what the best part is? I am having fun writing again! Even more important, the feeling that writing is a necessary part of my life is back! I could not be happier to get started with this. If you are asking yourself, about the bandwidth thing dear reader, all I can say is two words Christmas break. I am on Christmas break from grad school, I now have the bandwidth to dedicate all of me to this project and I could not be happier.

My hopes for the next year is to find an agent for The Lake Michigan Affair and to continue writing. I am excited about the possibilities a new year brings! I am also grateful for the good and difficult times this past year has brought. Life is a learning experience, and I have learned a lot this year!

What’s Next for McKinley Park

by Leave a Comment

 

I am assuming, hopefully that if you choose to read this blog post that you read some or all of McKinley Park. If my assumption is correct, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart! I was overwhelmed in the best possible way by all of the constructive feedback I received while I was writing it and afterwards. Siting here “finished” with it, the flaws glare at me. It makes me think of my elementary school art teacher, Mr. Brignoni. He was an older Italian man who professed that the first mark you made on the paper was what was intended all along. I can see him now with his salt and pepper moustache, saying, “no, Jackie, that is how it was meant to be.”

While writing is an artistic expression, Mr. Brignoni’s ethos does not fit here. Revisions and rewrites are part of the process. I wrote and published McKinley Park pretty much as I went along, except for the last few chapters which were written in one sitting. The work as it stands now is rough, not just grammatically but developmentally as well. I am so grateful to those who reached out along the way to help me correct as I went, especially you Terry. To a certain extent, publishing a book a chapter at a time has its challenges, and as McKinley Park sits now, they are visible.

So what’s next? Well, last week I came across a tweet from the romance book reviewer, Jamie Green form the New York Times. She put a call out for indie authors who had published online to submit their books for possible review. I shared the tweet out right away to those fellow romance authors who had romance books out there. I didn’t think about it for myself. The Lake Michigan Affair, for which I am seeking representation is not self-published, I prefer to go the traditional route with it. Driving home Friday afternoon, an idea struck. What if I had McKinley Park copyedited and did a full revisional rewrite, self published it as a full book, and submitted it?

I really thought about this, much to my husband’s annoyance. I had always heard that if you were seeking the traditional publishing route that self-publishing was a no go. I don’t want to do anything to hurt my chances for The Lake Michigan Affair and the other works I have unpublished. My husband, who’s opinion I value, advised against it. The next day I asked my sister who is an author and an indie-published pro, what she thought of the idea. She said, “Do It!” Hmmm, complete opposite opinions. So what does any self-respecting Y’er do, ask the internet of course? So I posed the question to the Twitter Writing Community, publish or don’t. I was surprised that overwhelming responses that said to do it. I still continued to think about it.

With NanoWriMo approaching, which I have done for the past three years and love, and the thought of a rewrite for McKinley Park, the writing plate feels a bit heavy. So right now I am thinking about how to juggle a new project and McKinley Park. Or Nano or do I focus on my rewrite only? If I did a rewrite, I would most likely pull McKinley Park down from my site but that is also a lot of content gone off of the site. Hmmmm, more questions. I am not sure what the right answer is here. I know it is a long shot that McKinley park would be chosen to be reviewed, but on the miracle that it was, making its debut in the New York Times would be a life-changing moment for me. Like my sister said, “what do you have to lose? It’s the New York Times, Jack, your dream, go for it!”

So that is where this sits as of now. I am still unsure of taking the chance. What would you do reader? Let me know in the comments below.

When the Words Aren’t There

by 2 Comments

(Cheers to the words!)

 

The first book I ever wrote, I dreamt. I mulled over the idea of writing it into a book for a day or two, then sat down and did it. I wrote the first book in a week, or at least the first full draft that week. The whole experience was lifechanging for me, as cliche as that sounds, it is true. I knew writing was something that I would do for the rest of my life. I am very blessed not to have a shortage of creative people in my life, and I remember them talking from time to time how creativity wasn’t flowing, and their process was stilted. I remember thinking to myself how ridiculous this sounded… Then karma laughed.

From the first book on, I have never stopped writing. The words have always flowed out of me pretty easily; the inspiration was there. Sure, I’ve had difficulties with sections of every piece I have ever written, but these were manageable hurdles. I am the sort of person that when I set my mind to something and commit, that’s it, I’m not done until I have accomplished what I set out to. “Arse in chair,” is what we say in our house when it comes to writing, meaning sit your butt in the chair and just write, no excuses. Sounds simple enough.. again karma laughed.

Last May, I ran into some health issues, and the scare of a lifetime thus far, yet I kept writing, it saw me through. I poured all of my nervous energy into McKinley Park, letting myself fall into Rachel and Ben’s world. Writing was a haven and comfort as I nervously waited for test results. I was also raising my two children, one who has special needs, working a full-time and sometimes demanding job, and completing my Master’s degree in public relations, but no matter what, I kept writing. My test results came back, and although I was in the clear, I still needed significant surgery, life-altering surgery.

I don’t know anyone who likes surgery, but I hate it. The anaesthesia makes me violently ill for days, but there was no way around it. So the surgery was scheduled; meanwhile my most challenging course of my graduate career kicked off at the same time, a statistics course disguised as a research course. I am not a numbers person; I am a letters woman. I knew with surgery and this course, which I was not going to defer, that I was going to have to put writing on hold for a while. I finished up McKinley Park and stopped writing. It was the weirdest sensation not to be building a world for two people to fall in love in. There was this nagging feeling like I was forgetting something. I suppress the urge to write, knowing that school, work, and healing were going to take all of the bandwidth that I had.

I made it through the surgery with relative ease, and I am grateful for it. I am usually a complications magnet, but things went smoothly. I was told that it was going to be painful, but I had, had two kids by C-section, one of which was 10lbs! I knew pain; I wasn’t scared. This was a whole other ball game, folks. I couldn’t write even if I wanted to. As the days at home dragged on, I wanted to write, but I knew I couldn’t, between being too tired, or hopped up on pain pill, and not in the good slightly unstable author way. (That’s a joke.) Then while I was home healing, the statistics course went from a difficulty setting of 6 out of 10 to a 10 out of 10. Have you ever tried to compute statistics while on heavy pain medication? Let me tell you; it is an experience, one that I never want to repeat.

Slowly my body got stronger, and I returned to work. The statistics course from hell ended and the next course in my graduate program started. I thought to myself that I was finally in a place where I could start writing again. McKinley Park was just about done being published; it felt like the right time to start something new. I was ready…. but where had the words gone? Where was the inspiration that had once come so easily? Reassuring myself that this would take time, I didn’t push, something in me knew not to push. I know I have mentioned it before, but I am not a patient woman. I try to be, but I know I am not. Inspiration was not happening fast enough for me.

Finally, I had a thread of an idea, and I sat down and started writing, only to pitter out two chapters in. It was forced; the words weren’t flowing as they had before. I let myself stop, something I never do. I knew this wasn’t the right idea for right now; I could always come back to it. I found myself missing writing, but not able to write creatively. One of my biggest pet peeves are those who are creative and drone on about process, I am the “arse in chair,” girl, yet here I was. Now what? If you miss it, then put your arse in the chair and start writing.

While I was preparing for and recovering from surgery, I also put my querying efforts for The Lake Michigan Affair on hold. I knew I did not have the bandwidth to give the querying process the time it required. I told myself to take the time not writing to focus my efforts here instead. That did not go well either. Deep down, I secretly wondered if I had broken this magical gift that had allowed me to write so effortlessly before. Had I suppressed the desire to write into complete dormancy?

The inspiration was not there, to accompany the words, even though I engaged in things that I knew would spark my creativity. Everything felt flat. I continued to push, to no avail. I was not one of the writers I had previously rolled my eyes at, as karma’s laughter was now a full side-aching, knee-slapping, tears down the face roar of laughter. I was not pleased.

Then the other night as I was laying in bed, I had the most surreal experience. It was almost like the characters I had written were all suddenly there, fresh, at the top of my mind. It felt like a hug from friends. There was something about it that was comforting and reassuring. I started to think about each of them and their stories. All of the other feelings about writing fell away, and it felt freeing. I fell asleep that night feeling like I had sat in my grandmother’s kitchen, that warm feeling of being loved. The next morning, still thinking about the experience from the night before I sat back and thought about the stories I had created.

My first book has a great story, but the writing was poor. It was the first thing I had ever written creatively at that point. I had planned to rewrite it last spring in California, on the coast where it takes place, but life had other plans. I told myself I would not revise it until I was on the coast. I wanted to be where the story took place. I opened the book in Scrivner and started picking at the first chapter, making corrections and reworking parts of it. Before I knew it, I was well into chapter 3. Those first characters I had ever created were there, welcoming me back. In the back of my head, I kept telling myself to stop; this was not when and where this project was supposed to get rewritten.

Finally, last night as I sat and rewrote/ edited further into the book, I told that inner voice to shut the hell up. Now is the time to rewrite this book, I knew  I needed the familiar, needed to see that even in my first attempt to write, I was capable. As I write this now, I am itching to dig back in and continue working on the book, the desire is there, and it feels great. Maybe this book is like writing with training-wheels until I am ready and steady enough to create from scratch again. Whatever it is, I am incredibly grateful and going with it.

McKinley Park: Chapter 26 (The Final Chapter)

by 4 Comments

“Ben go home. Go see the boys. You haven’t been home in days.” Marty said, looking at Ben who had not left the station since he had got back into the city.

“I am not going home until she comes home too. I already told you.”

“Ben, you’ve been here for two days when was the last time you showered, ate, or slept. You aren’t any good to her like this.”

Ben knew this speech; he had given it many times himself to anxious family members of victims. To make matters worse his chief had heard about the interrogation in Michigan with Rhett and Ben had been placed on leave. He couldn’t work in an official capacity. Ben looked up at Marty, staring right through the bullshit.

“A nap at least? You can crash in the break room. I am not going anywhere; I will wake you if we hear anything. You have to get some sleep before you collapse.”

Ben nodded, he was so tired his vision was blurry, and his hand hurt like hell. He had it cast back at the hospital when he went to check in with the boys before heading back into the city. Becky had taken the boys back to Rachel’s and was staying with them. He could not go home and face the boys without the news that their mother had been found. Ben wanted to be where he had resources actually to help Rachel. He laid down on the old tweed couch in the break room. The sofa smelled, but Ben didn’t care, he was too tired to care. He closed his eyes and saying a silent prayer that Rachel was still alive and fighting. He fought off sleep but it overcame him and he slept deeply.

“Ben, wake up,” Marty said, shaking him awake.

Ben’s eyes shot open; it was completely dark outside. He had been out since evening.

“Did we find her?”

“We have the car. A traffic stop, they have the driver over at the 10th. He gave them an address.”

Ben shot upoff of the sofa.

“Where?”

“The FBI is the lead on this; we need to hang back, their orders.”

“What the fuck is the address, Marty?”

“413 Polk. Ben, we can’t go.” Marty shouted as Ben ran out of the office.

“Stephen Duke’s address.” Ben shouted back “Son of a bitch!”

Marty ran to follow Ben and caught up to him as Ben slid into the driver’s seat of their unmarked car.

“Maybe you should let me drive, man,” Marty said, as he got in on the passenger’s side.

Ben stepped on the gas and flipped the sirens before Marty had even finished closing the door.

“Slow down. You aren’t going to be any help to her if you’re wrapped around a pole. Ben, we don’t know if she’s even there.”

“She’s there.”

“How do you know?”

“She has to be.”

They rode in silence through the loop.

“Ben, I know you want to be there and you need to be there, but you are going to have to let the FBI run this. You go running in there like a crazed teenager; you are going to get people killed, lose your badge or get Rachel killed. You have got to calm down, man. I know..”

“You don’t have a fucking clue what this has been like. I promised her I would protect her.” Ben said as he cut Marty off.

“Ben, I would be a terrible friend and a worse partner if I didn’t bring this up. You know there is a chance that..” Marty paused.

“Stop. She is alive. I know she is. She’s a fighter. She’s strong.”

Ben switched off the siren when he got a few blocks away. The street looked erily quiet, the FBI had to be staking out the house. Ben drove two blocks past Polk street and parked the car on the street. Marty grabbed Ben’s arm.

“I can’t leave her in there, while the FBI sits around with their thumbs up their asses.”

“Ben.” Marty didn’t know what to say; he knew he’d be in the same position if it were his wife in that house. “Shit this is going to cost me my badge too, damn it.” Marty rubbed his forehead. “How do you want to play this?”

Ben patted his partner on the shoulder.

“Go, make sure the feds don’t shoot me but give me a head start okay?”

Marty let out a deep breath.

“Be careful; you can’t help her if you aren’t here anymore.”

Ben nodded. He got out of the car and shut the door quietly. It was around 11:30 pm and Ben was grateful for the darkness. He slipped through the abandoned lot and the yards behind the house as he crossed into to the back yard behind the Duke’s house. The house was dark. Ben walked up and pulled his gun as he walked to the back door. He expected it to be locked. He spun the knob, and to his surprise, it opened. People in this neighborhood did not leave their back door’s open. Ben stepped inside and left the lights off. He was still and listened for any signs of life in the house.

Meanwhile, Marty pulled around and spotted two undercover agents. He got out of this car and walked up to the driver’s window and introduced himself. He explained that Ben was in the house, which set off a flurry of phone calls.

“Just don’t shoot him, okay?”

Agent Yee came around the block on foot, “Are you guys fucking kidding me?”

“It’s his fiancé.”

“I don’t care if it was the Pope himself,” Yee said.

Ben continued to make his way through the house as quietly as he could. He checked the rooms on the ground floor and then went to the back of the house to take the stairs up to the second floor. He stopped when he thought he heard a whimper. He froze and listened for it again. In his gut, he knew it was Rachel. It sounded like it was coming from below the kitchen. Ben opened the basement door. There was a dim light coming from somewhere in the basement. Ben crept down the stairs, careful to not make a sound. He stepped onto the poured cement floor and saw a door to a room in the back corner. The basement looked like your typical old, unfinished basement, complete with a washer and dryer and a workbench. Ben followed the noise. He walked up to the door, seeing a dim light coming from underneath. He bent down and got on all fours to see if he could see anyone standing in the room. There was only a mattress.

“Rachel?” Ben whispered. “Rachel, are you in there?”

Ben didn’t wait for her to answer. He stood up and opened the door slowly.

Rachel laid naked on a dirty mattress with her hands tied behind her back. She had bruises and cuts all over her. The sight of her took the air out of Ben’s lungs. He ran over to her and bent down. She recoiled, not realizing it was Ben.

“Rachel, it’s me, it’s Ben. You’re safe now. Look at me, honey.”

Ben reached out for her and she pulled further back, pressing her body tightly against the wall. He took off his flannel shirt and covered her with it.

“Rachel, honey, we have to out of here. Come on. Please give me your hand.”

As soon as Ben said, it a hail of gunfire broke out in the floors above. Rachel screamed, and Ben laid over her to protect her. Ben could hear footsteps above. They were going to have to get out of the basement if they stood a chance.

“Rachel, look at me. We have to get out of here now.”

“Ben?” Rachel asked, finally recognizing him.

“Yes, it’s me. Rachel, I am so sorry, I am so, so sorry!” Ben kissed her forehead repeated as he said it. “We have to go now. Do you think you can walk?”

“Untie me, please.” Ben could hear her trying to hold onto her sanity. He reached into his pocket and cut the zip-ties on her wrists. He pulled her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the center. She reached out and clung to him, as she began to sob. He held her tightly against him, she felt so small and frail in his arms. He never wanted to let go of her again but he knew that they had to get out of the basement, they were trapped down there.

“You’re safe. Come on, we have to go now. You’ve been so strong; I need you to be strong for a little while longer. Come on; I know you can do this.” Ben said softly, as he looked into her deep brown eyes.

Ben stood and helped Rachel to her feet. She was so weak her legs gave out from underneath her. Ben caught her before she fell. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the room, keeping his back close to the wall. He stayed close to the wall, as gunfire was still roaring up above. He walked up the stairs with his back along the wall. Rachel clung to him tightly.

“Honey, I have to put you down to check if the kitchen is clear. I will keep ahold of you, but you have to stay behind me. I won’t let you fall.”

Rachel nodded as Ben set her down, her feet landing on the top step of the basement stairs. The kitchen miraculously seemed to be clear. Ben took a deep breath as he scooped Rachel back up into his arms and walked quickly across the kitchen. He opened the back door, which was tricky with Rachel in his arms and his casted hand. He stepped out onto the back porch, Rachel hands dug into his shoulders as she clung to him. He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head as he started down the stairs. He heard a loud noise he couldn’t place and Rachel scream. Ben felt Rachel fall from his arms. The world went black.

 

After

 

The morning Rachel was to be discharged, Ben slept on a couch in her room.  It was still early when she slipped out of bed and shuffled across the linoleum floor. She bent down and wiped the hair from Ben’s forehead.  His eyes shot open.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“Because you are over here. Come climb in with me.”

“I’m okay. Come on I’ll tuck you back in.” Ben said as he sat up.

She stood back up, a little shaky on her feet. She held his hand as he helped her back into her bed and pulled his hand gently.

“Climb in with me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, look there’s enough room.” She patted the space in the bed next to her.

Ben climbed in and Rachel rolled onto her side to face him.

“Hold me.”

He pulled her body in close to him and nestled her head under his chin. He kissed the top of her head.

“Ben, I want to do something a crazy little today when we leave.”

“We can do whatever you want.”

“I want to marry you today.”

“What? Why today? Wouldn’t you rather wait until you are more healed?”

“No, today is the first day I will be strong enough to marry you. Just the boys, and me, and you, and a preacher. I just held onto that while I was captive and promised myself that I would marry you as soon as I was able. That is what I was fighting for, to be with you.”

“Rachel, will you marry me today, at the farmhouse, with our boys there?”

Rachel began to cry, this time, happy tears.

“Yes, Ben Carter I will marry you at your farmhouse today.”

Suddenly, it was afternoon as Rachel walked out onto the back porch with Tommy at her side to give her away. The air was crisp, and the leaves just began to change, on a beautiful autumn day as the sun started to set  She walked the ten feet where Ben stood next to the local reverend, as a small group of family and friends had gathered to see Ben and Rachel marry. They exchanged vows as the boys looked on happily.

 

Rachel shot up in bed, in a pool of sweat, her nightdress soaked through. It was cruel to dream things like that, and she hated herself for it. To be so happy and then to wake up to reality, alone. Everything in her body craved Ben’s touch, his presence, but he had died that night, the night he came to rescued her. A bullet had hit him in the head and had killed him instantly. Six months had passed since that awful night. Rachel put her hand over her mouth; she didn’t want the boys to hear her sobbing. Felix, Ben’s cat, jumped up onto the bed and nudged her. She grabbed ahold of the cat and held onto him. This was going to be another sleepless night for Rachel, just one of many she cried through since Ben had died.

Life had changed drastically for Rachel, with Rhett and Andrew behind bars. The FBI had busted the poker game. There were 104 arrests; two prostitution rings broken up, an illegal trafficking operation stopped and the largest drug bust in Chicago history, all as a result of the poker game in Jim Danwood’s garage. Everyone was shocked by the ways the poker game weaved a web of crime through the city. The city had awarded Ben the Police Medal, the Chicago Police Department’s highest honor. While Rachel began to work through all of the trauma she had endured.

Rachel sold her house on Lilac Lane; she couldn’t live across the street from Ben’s house. His brothers had sold his house as well.  It was too painful to stay there for her. She had rented a townhouse out near Becky in Oswego, and had set to making a new life for her and the boys. They took Ben’s death hard too. Rachel had found a good family therapist, and they were all working through Ben’s death, and her kidnapping. Ben’s death was a broken promise of happiness for them as well.

Rachel got up out of bed and walked over to the record player it, and the one record she kept were the only things of Ben’s that she had asked for. The boys insiseted the they take Felix and Ben’s older brother Joel was happy to let the boys have the cat. The one record she had asked for was the one they had danced to in Ben’s office. She turned the knob as the turntable began to spin and she gently picked up the needle setting it in the right spot. The music begain, but she kept the volume low, not to wake the boys. The warm voice radiated from the player as sat on the bed listening to the song waft through the room, instantly transported back to Ben’s office. If she focused really hard she could almost smell him.

Startled she heard a knock at the door, she perked up and wiped the tears off of her cheeks.

“Come in.” She cleared her throat.

Evan walked in.

“Why are you up, buddy?” She asked as she reached out for him.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

“Are you missing Ben again, Mom?”

“I am sweetie. How about you?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about how he took care of us in the hospital when you were gone. He was really nice to us.”

“He loved you, boys, very much.”

“Mom are we going to be okay?”

“What do you mean sweetie?”

“Will the bad guys ever come back?”

“No, they won’t ever come back. Ben may have left, but he did what he promised you boys, he made sure those bad men would never come back to hurt any of us.”

Evan reached out and hugged Rachel.

“You need to get back to bed sweetie, it’s late, and you have school in the morning. Come on; I’ll tuck you back in.”

Rachel stood to walk Evan back to bed. She took two steps but didn’t hear him behind her, so she turned around to look at him.

“Mom want to dance?” Evan held out his hand. “We have this good music.”

Rachel let out a little chuckle as she took Evan’s hand.  She gave him his first slow dance in her bedroom, to the Etta James song that had meant so much to her.