The Reservoir

Status: Complete 85,000 words; on submission to agents.

Chapter One

I’ll be the first to admit it.  I’m a hopeless romantic.

  I long to be the girl sporting the letterman jacket of my true love, my soul mate.  I’ve always been the first to cry at a movie or commercial.  You know those goofy commercials that were designed to hit premenstrual girls and menopausal women right in the heart?  Advertising.  It gets me every time.  I may not rush out to buy the product, but I certainly remember those sixty second commercial breaks during my favorite TV show.

 It isn’t just television that gets to me.  When I was little, my mother rented a movie she loved as a kid- ET, The Extra Terrestrial.  It was a big deal to spend time together and I remember the event vividly.  About halfway through the movie, ET was dying…I sobbed so hard I blew snot bubbles.  When he recovered, and returned to his home planet, I only cried harder.  I guess I didn’t know which was worse, death or loneliness. 

That question still plagues me. 

*

It was difficult to see anything beyond the thick mist that carpeted the ground, the fog so dense you could reach out and swirl it with your hands.  Sirens blared and flashing lights behind me lit up the scene.  I longed for the blackness of the night and the blurred vision of the fog instead.  With the lights alternating from red to blue, I strained to see the true color of the mark on the roadside.  I reached down and touched it, then drew my hand to my nose.  I knew what it was immediately.  Blood. 

Along the shoulder of the road, shattered glass sparkled in the moonlight, the whirling lights from the ambulance changing their color in a strobe-like pattern.    Paramedics raced by with a stretcher and I willed myself not to watch them.  My eyes didn’t obey.  One of them tripped on a large piece of metal laying on the grassy shoulder.  He stumbled, rubbed his leg briefly and ran into the woods, branches and shrubbery catching on his clothes.   The paramedics stopped just short of a giant oak tree that was nearly destroyed beyond recognition, a large gash revealing the lighter color of the fleshy wood, pieces of metal contorted and twisted around the trunk.  Only the Jaws of Life would be able to rip apart the vehicle that kept the bodies trapped inside, upside down at the base of the tree.  Survivors were unlikely. 

Instead of pulling people out of the car, the rescue workers lifted a body from the grass, apparently thrown during impact. My stomach churned at the thought of death.  The smell of it.  I covered my mouth to hold back the bile that inched its way up my throat, burning like a fever in my head.  My eyes stung as tears crept to the corners.  I had never seen anything so horrific in all my life.  I fell to my knees and sobbed.

It was the emotion throbbing in my chest that woke me.

I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest, rocking. “It’s just a dream…” I whispered, feeling the warm breath leave my mouth.  “Just another…..stupid….horrible, dream.”  It was obvious that my words were not convincing to my mother, who was now standing in the doorway, her figure silhouetted against the light from the hall.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Sure.” 

Mother sat on my bed and put her arm around me.  “I heard your sobbing all the way in my room.  Bad dream again?”

I nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I understand.”  She reached to turn on the lamp at my bedside.  She blinked a few times, apparently allowing her eyes to adjust to the light, then walked to my desk and pulled a book from the shelf.  “Why don’t you read and I’ll fix you some tea.”  Mother often selected books for me on nights like these.  When I was little, she would read them to me.  Thankfully, I’ve outgrown that now. 

“I think I’ll pass on the tea.”  I held the book close to my face and flipped through the pages.  “But thanks for checking on me.”

I was still too upset to settle back into a dreamless state, so I hoped Mother was right.  Maybe reading some classic literature would lull me enough to close my eyes once again.

  We were both wrong.  I should have taken out my history book instead. 

Disclosure

I must give credit to the beautiful photo above to my dear friend, William Rodden.  And yes, this is the very reservoir that was the inspiration for the setting of my book.  It is the Ashokan Reservoir, located just 90 miles outside of NYC in Olive Bridge/Shokan N.Y.

Thanks

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention all the people who showed their support during my journey...First and foremost my family;  my husband, Jay,my beautiful daughters and my mother, Roxanne.  Many thanks to Karron, M.A. Putman, Shelena Shorts, Bill Sullivan, CaseyW, JennyE, Yvette, Maralee, Vonna, Ckaz, Cindy, and anyone else who read, edited, critiqued and supported the writing of this novel.  You all are the greatest!