Let Me Tell You a Story, Part 1

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Since I didn't teach this summer, I've had time to do some long-overdue de-cluttering of not only surfaces, but drawers and files as well. In one file drawer, I came across a folder I'd all but forgotten about.

The first three chapters of a sequel to Casting the First Stone.

Wait, my loyal readers are saying. Didn't I already read that?

Yes. And no. If you read Chasing a Second Chance, you read the official sequel. What I found in a fat, yellow file folder was the first three chapters of a first pass at a sequel, written long before I was invested in a sequel, but just after I'd finished Casting the First Stone. 

Apparently the characters wouldn't leave me alone then either.

The chapters made it through my critique group, which means the file includes pages with notes from friends whose lives have taken them in different directions, away from our meetings. Though they're no longer a part of our group, I still take their comments seriously so, as I share this story with you, their comments will make the end product stronger, as usual.

As I put the finishing touches on the third and final book in the MAC (Marita/Angel/Charli) series, it seems appropriate to spend some time talking about those ladies and their friends. So, inspired by Barnes and Noble's Serial Reads, I decided to share the unfinished story here (complete with edits inspired by my critique group) until I run out of material (unlike Barnes and Noble). 

There are differences between this draft and Chasing a Second Chance. If you catch one (and some are obvious!), post it in the comments on my Facebook page. The first person to post each difference will be entered into a drawing to win a Kindle copy of Courting Peace, the final book in the series. 

And so, without further ado, the (mostly) uncut, definitely untitled, first draft of my sequel to Casting the First Stone.

Angel Alessio looked down at the tiny, blue-blanket-wrapped bundle that lay wiggling in her arms, his face cherry red. She brushed hot tears off her face and kissed him on the forehead, then lay back against the pillows propped up at the head of her hospital bed, adjusting the slant for the third time in ten minutes. 

"Okay, Adam. Why can't I make you stop crying? Isn't that something mommies are supposed to be able to do?"

"Here, honey. I'll take him." Nurse Ramona pulled Adam from Angel's arms before she could protest. Tall and substantial, Nurse Ramona had kept Angel well-stocked with ice chips and pillows during her thirty-six hour labor, and always seemed to be there when Angel needed her. Angel wondered if she ever went home. 

"Why won't he stop crying? And why can't I swaddle him as tightly as you can?"

Swaddle. It was a funny word and, whenever Angel said it, she thought about baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes. Angel frowned. Mary hadn't needed Nurse Ramona to bail her out.

The nurse finished wrapping Adam in his blanket, then picked him up. "Honey, when you've worked in Labor and Delivery for seventeen years, then we'll compare swaddling skills. Right now, you need to worry less and sleep more. This little man is bound to keep you on your toes when you get him home, so you need to get your rest while you can."

Angel eyed Adam, quiet now, his eyes half-closed. She'd wanted this little boy more than anything in the world. It hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't know what to do with him when he arrived. 

"And stop your fretting." Ramona tucked Angel's covers around her with the same efficiency she'd used to swaddle Adam. "You have so much love for this little boy that you'll have him all figured out in no time." 

Ramona bustled toward the door, Adam asleep in her arms. She flipped off the light switch as she headed out of the room. "Sweet dreams, Adam's mama," she whispered.

Angel heard her humming softly as she headed down the hall to the nursery.