Inspirational Women's Fiction Sampler

by April Geremia

Sammy stepped off the age-weary school bus and was met by the thing he hated most in the entire world—an empty house. Again. He glanced nervously toward the cliff, shrugged his backpack from his lanky arms and flung it onto the front porch. He headed down the dirt path that led to the orange grove, scuffing his green Keds and the hem of his blue jeans along the way.

  School was finally out for the summer—a fact that immensely satisfied him. He and his mom moved here three years ago when he was halfway through the second grade, and although he hadn’t been too excited about it at first, he’d learned to appreciate life in the yellow house. But things in the house weren’t the same as they were in Rendiciòn, the village at the base of the mountain. While at home, he felt comfortable—as long as his mom was in a good mood, but the village always felt tense, ripe with disagreements about the way things should be. The odd mix of old and new created a constant source of battles in the community: crusty old fishermen with cell phones and their resentful wives who still did their laundry in large wooden tubs behind their houses. The younger villager’s refusal to wear plaids and stripes together alongside the older folk’s derision about their vanity. Modern, brightly painted road signs that would mysteriously disappear overnight, only to resurface the next day as an exotically colorful bonfire surrounded by the old men cheering at yet another hindrance to progress.

  At times, it seemed as if the fiercely differing desires of the masses would boil over and erupt, but so far the townspeople had managed to keep it buried under the surface. But it was there, Sammy sensed it every time he went to town. Underneath the villager’s forced smiles and handshakes festered the outward pushing of the old against the new. Of progress verses sameness.

  And the smells. While at first repugnant, they’d grown on Sammy. The smell of the too-small fish rotting in the sun after being caught and later discarded mingled with the fragrant scent of ripening oranges that clung to everything in the village.

  But mostly, Sammy stayed at home. He liked the slow pace that made him feel as if he could breathe for the first time since his dad died. It would be the perfect life if his mom hadn’t gone off the deep end.

  Sammy entered the grove, found his lucky tree and began his daily search for the perfect orange. He felt each orange along the branches as he did every day after school. This one’s not ripe enough, the color’s a little off on this one, bugs are on this one, and then… ah yes, he spotted the perfect one. Sammy carefully plucked it and slid down the trunk to the ground beneath the orange laden branches. Poking his thumbnail into the top of the fruit, he peeled away the soft skin. He’d picked a good one—juice slid down his chin as he bit into the orange. Chewing contently, he sighed deeply.

  Summer was here, and he had a monumental task ahead of him.

  A few weeks ago, he began to hear the rumors about the cliff. At first he didn’t believe it—his mom would never do anything so dumb. But one day he saw it for himself. The school bus had taken a detour that day because a hard rain had washed away the regular road.

  It had looked as if she were flying. Her arms stretched upwards, and she was so close to the edge he couldn’t see the ground underneath her feet. As the school bus rolled by that gray and misty day, everything seemed to move in painstakingly slow motion. Sammy had looked out the smudged window in helpless terror as his mother seemed to decide whether she would live or die. It was in that moment his summer mission came into focus: He’d learn about the God his father tried to tell him about before he died. Maybe then he’d understand how life could be so messed up.

  But there was a problem. His mom didn’t allow him to talk about God, so he couldn’t ask any questions about Him. But something inside of Sammy urged him to pursue this elusive God. Partly because of the way his dad had been so peaceful even as he laid dying in his bed, but also because the ache inside him for something good and happy and pure was so strong that he would do just about anything to satisfy it. That, and the fact that his dad seemed so sure.

  “Sammy,” his dad had said, pushing away the soup he delivered to him moments earlier. He hadn’t eaten in days. “There’s more to life than this, son. When I die, I’m going to Heaven to be with God.”

  “Can I come with you?” Sammy asked quickly.

  His dad shook his head. “It’s not your time, yet. But if you put your trust in God, I’ll meet you there one day.”

  Sammy tried to pay attention to his words, but had trouble concentrating. His dad, so strong only months before, was now so skinny and kept having to catch his breath between sentences. Sammy wanted to pull him out of bed and take him to the backyard for a game of catch. But instead, he stared at the bluish-black half-moons under his eyes and tried to make sense of things. He felt afraid. Like something really bad was happening that he couldn’t stop.

  “Do only men go to Heaven?”

  His dad grinned and then winced with pain. “No son, everyone who knows Jesus gets to go.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sammy looked down. He didn’t think it was fair that his dad was moving to Heaven without them, and they wouldn’t be able to go with him until they met this Jesus person. He started to protest, but when he looked up, his dad’s eyes were closed. Maybe he’d fallen asleep again.

  Sammy waited for some time to speak, but his dad’s eyes stayed shut. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well...” he said impatiently. “Where is he?”

  “What?” his dad asked groggily.

  “Jesus. Where is he?”

  His dad kept his eyes closed, but managed to move his once strong hand over his. “He’s everywhere, son. All you have to do is seek him and God promises that you’ll find Him.”

  Well, it hadn’t been that easy. Sammy started in the living room, turning over every pillow and looking behind and underneath every chair, sofa and table in the room. Next, he searched the kitchen, dining room, bathrooms and the bedrooms one by one. Then, he went outside to the backyard, tripping over his and his dad’s baseball mitts making him that much more surly. He looked in every inch of the yard, including the tool shed which was strictly off-limits. After a long time of searching, Sammy felt frustrated.

  He huffed back to his dad’s room to tell him that this Jesus person may be everywhere, but he was definitely not in their house.

  In his haste, he didn’t notice the chaos until he stood in the middle of it. Strangers rushed around in the bedroom, all wearing the same blue shirts with badges on the front, and they all looked very serious. A big cart with wheels stood in the middle of his parent’s room, but he didn’t know what sat on top of it because a white sheet covered it. Only then did he notice—his daddy was gone.

  Sammy stood still while the people in blue whispered to his mom, who sat on the bed right where his dad had been the last time he saw him.

  “Mom?”

  No one heard him, or at least no one paid any attention to him.

  “Mom?” he said again, his voice cracking with the effort. “Where’s daddy?”

  This got a few looks from the people in blue, but when he searched their eyes, they quickly looked away. Two of the strangers pushed the cart with the white sheet past him in a hurry.

  His mom didn’t move, but sat on the bed staring at the cart as it went through the door.

  “Mom?”

  This time she looked at him, but didn’t seem to know who he was. He took a step closer. “It’s me, mom. Sammy. What’s wrong?”

  “Your father,” she whispered.

  The only remaining man in the room stepped toward his mom, spoke in soft tones that Sammy couldn’t hear and handed her something. He walked toward the door and when he was halfway there, he turned around went back to Sammy. The man rumpled his hair affectionately and silently walked out of the room.

  Sammy reached up and smoothed out his hair, never taking his eyes off his mom. He went to sit beside her. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she but the clock on the wall made all sorts of noise.

  Sammy looked at the bedside table. “He f
orgot his watch.”

  “What?”

  “Daddy forgot his watch. See? It’s right here.”

  His mom finally drew him in close with a sob. “He’s gone, Sammy. Your father’s gone.”

  “Where did he go? Did he already move to Heaven?”

  She sat there so long that Sammy thought maybe she hadn’t heard him. Then finally, “Yes, Sammy. Your father’s gone to Heaven.”

  The way she said the word made him think Heaven might not be such a nice place after all.

  But that day on the bus as Sammy remembered his dad’s words, he made a promise to him. He would look for Jesus again, and this time he’d find him so they could all be together again.

  And as he had strained to see the fading figure of his mother on the cliff, he made another promise to his dad: He wouldn’t leave her behind.

  In the grove, Sammy crammed the last of the orange into his mouth, wiped his hands on his jeans, and then reached into his pocket to pull out a well-worn piece of paper. As he looked at it, he had the feeling it would change everything. Summer’s here, he told himself. It’s time to be the man of the house.

  Chapter 3