I decided to make the prologue of Miracle at Santa Anita a standalone short story. It's a snapshot of a day in the life of one of the lead characters. It's all backstory, so it could function as a prologue. However, taking it away has no effect on the overall story. I like the idea of publishing it as a self-contained story here. I also welcome feedback, so please let me know of any areas that can be improved (I'm sure there are many).
October 30, 1963
Hannah traced a figure eight in the dust with her black
patent shoes as she sat in the swing. People filed in and out of the house,
some with food and others with flowers and bottles of liquor. They gave her
sympathetic looks from a distance. No one wanted to smother her. Like her
mother Carolyn, she possessed a fierce independence. Unlike her mother, she
could take a deep breath and pretend those people were stick figures.
The navy blue dress was not her choice. She wanted the cream
colored dress her mother bought for her on their trip to Bloomingdales a month
ago. The tags were still attached. Her aunt believed navy to be more
appropriate for a funeral. She didn’t know how much Carolyn loved the new dress.
She stiffened when she recalled her aunt Jane’s hostility.
“Why aren’t you crying?” Jane asked, dabbing her eyes
between short sips of wine.
“I’m always crying, whether you can see it or not,” said
Hannah.
Jane grabbed the entire bottle of wine and said, “There’s
something really wrong with you” before retreating to the patio.
Hannah clenched teeth when she thought about her drunken
aunt. A cab arrived and a dark-headed man wearing a suit and aviator sunglasses
emerged. He corralled a little girl with auburn tresses over to Hannah. She
climbed into the swing next to her. “Daddy, push me,” she pleaded. He pushed
her until she was able to propel herself into the sky. Hannah yearned for that
kind of innocence.
He looked at Hannah and said, “How are you doing
sweetheart?”
It was really the first time that day someone addressed her.
Maybe it was her standoffishness or her resemblance to the shattered woman in
the casket. They hovered around her father like he was the child. A speck of dust flew into Hannah’s eye at
that moment. She pawed at it as if that would knock it out.
“Blink honey, just blink. It will come out.”
She followed his instructions and everything was fine. She
wondered why everything couldn’t be that simple.
“How long will you be here?” she asked.
He removed his sunglasses as his daughter Marty kept swinging,
her auburn hair whipping around in the breeze. His eyes looked sunken in and
rimmed with dark circles.
“I told your dad we’d stay for a week. How would you feel
about going to Coney Island tomorrow with us?”
She craved normalcy, but she wasn’t sure an amusement park
was what she needed. The high-pitched
neigh of a horse reminded her that she needed to tend to the stables. The chaos
of the last four days had left them a little neglected and Hannah felt a pang
of guilt for it.
“Thank you very much, but I need to stay here and help out.
The stables need to be cleaned and I really need to ride Hershey. I haven’t
been on her since this whole thing happened.”
Mark inspected his sunglasses and took a handkerchief out of
his pocket to polished them until they glistened in the sunlight.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” he said.
She hopped off the swing and said, “We can talk at the
stables” and before he could object, she took off. Mark cursed to himself and
collected his daughter.
Hannah stopped in front of Hershey’s stall. The mare stuck
her head out of the stall when Hannah arrived and she lowered it so the girl
could feed her the carrots she had in her pocket. Mark and Marty arrived before the last carrot
was gone. Mark steered Hannah over to a bale of hay while Marty made a beeline
for the tack room with a coloring book and crayons in hand.
“You might want to sit down honey,” he said.
She knew him well enough to know that he had news and it
wasn’t good. He was her godfather, and a good man. Sometimes she wished he was
her father.
“Your dad is selling the farm. He just can’t take it. Your
mom was the heartbeat of this place and without her. . .”
Hannah’s throat tightened and her numb heart took a shot of
disbelief. She never thought he would sell so soon.
“He doesn’t want you to ride anymore.”
“What?” Now she felt nauseous. He couldn’t keep her from
something that was integral to her existence. Riding was in her blood. She
looked at her chocolate colored mare and it occurred to her that Hershey would
be sold out from under her. The tears came and she leaned on Mark until her
ducts were fully dried out.
“You’re welcome to ride anytime you come visit us. I offered
to buy Hershey, but your dad said your neighbor already offered. Makes more
geographical sense anyway. “
“When are you and Marty flying home?
“Probably tomorrow. The Coney Island trip was your father’s
idea. You should take the day to spend here.”
Hannah and Marty sat in the swing on the front porch.
Despite their three-year age difference, Hannah didn’t mind spending time with
her. It was like having a little sister with no strings attached. Mark joined them even though he should have
been in bed. They watched the realtor put the For Sale sign by the road. Hannah
shuddered when she thought of living anywhere else.
The flameless pumpkins saddened Hannah. Halloween was her
mother’s favorite holiday and she put more effort into it than Christmas or any
other holiday. No less than five jack-o-lanterns inhabited the open space of
the porch, albeit minus the inner glow that made their features spooky.
Halloween was her mother’s favorite holiday and those pumpkins were her
masterpieces. She never did anything halfway. One was a witch and another was a
pirate. Even her Jack Kennedy bore
enough of a resemblance to the commander-in-chief. A single un-carved pumpkin
was for Hannah and her Cinderella obsession. Carolyn devoted hours to sewing
the glittery blue gown. Hannah couldn’t look at it without crying, so it stayed
in the closet with the Bloomingdales dress.
Hannah turned her eyes towards her pumpkin and wished it
would turn into a carriage to take her to a world where a drunken driver hadn’t
killed her mother. She closed her eyes as if she could will that to
happen. The creaky sound of the front
door opening brought her back to Earth. Her father strode out with a nearly
finished bottle of Jim Beam. He took in the remainder and flung the bottle off
the side of the porch. His tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes frightened
Hannah. She inched herself closer to Mark, who glared at his old friend with a
ferocity she had never seen. Mike picked up one of the pumpkins and flung it into
the yard.
“No goddamn trick or treaters coming here,” he muttered.
He proceeded to pitch every somber pumpkin off the porch
before storming off inside and slamming the door shut. Marty nudged her father.
“Daddy?”
“Yes honey?”
“What happened?”
“Mr. Mike is having a really hard time.”
Hannah blinked and tried to erase what she had seen. The
tears fought their way out and she broke down in sobs. Her magical pumpkin lay
in ruin about a foot away from the realtor’s sign. Mark hugged her like she was
his own child and let her cry it out.
She took several deep breaths and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief
he gave her.
“I think I will go with you all tomorrow. I don’t want to be
here.”
