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Ch 2.2 – Luke’s pov

 

Fate knew how to make a man suffer. It wasn’t enough that Luke had sacrificed his pride nearly sprinting out of the nursing home. Or that he’d managed to get his mug in the paper, again, after rescuing his rascal-of-a-nephew from traffic. But now, fate

RH: who is it? Who wants him to replay his past? A bit more detail? wanted him to replay his past, everything he’d spent the past five years hiding from.

            Couldn’t the world just leave him alone?

            (Apparently not.) RH: Suggest deleting this. The previous sentence sets it up for the reader well.

            Luke stood at the window, cupping his (DELETE: microwaved,) lukewarm coffee, listening to the rain pellet the roof of his NPS office. Outside, the torrent turned the parking lot into an ocean, although it had given his F-150 pickup a decent bathing, scouring the red clay and pine needles from the wheel wells. RH: Excellent way to show the area without saying the state or town. The price of living on a dirt road back in the hills.

Overhead lightning veined the steel gray sky and mist capped Roan Mountain. No wonder he hadn’t been able to receive cell service, even after he’d emerged from his mountain cabin. Seven messages beeped when his phone came to life – two from his sister, one from an unknown and three from Greg. Clearly, being a hermit had it advantages. Like, not having people pry into his life. He couldn’t believe he’d let Ruthann talk him out of fishing in the Watauga, or even — thanks to the thunderstorm — reading one of the books stacked by his stone fireplace, and into the insane idea of letting some reporter interview him for the VFW Viewfinder, Tennessee edition. What was her name? Katie? Kimmy? Karen?

            Not like he would seriously consider turning his back a chance to support the real heroes in the world, but having his privacy invaded with not only a rehashing of his nephew’s rescue, but the rescue five years ago that landed him on the front pages of newspapers and magazines across the nation.  Was it really called a rescue mission if a man got his best friend killed? 

It didn’t matter.  Even this media blurb made him ever so grateful that he lived off the grid, without telephone, or electricity. Thanks, he liked the stone age. But, RH: the word but appears close together thanks, but, then starting the next sentence with but. Reads awkward. despite Kathy’s, or Kacey’s article agenda, RH: what is the agenda? To pry into his life? he’d had full intentions of turning the interview over on its end, focus it instead on his father, on the medals the old man won, and finally honor him for his courage.

            It was the least he could do after all his father had done for him.

            Besides, he didn’t know how much longer he could spin the lies behind Captain Luke Alexander, without having the truth break free.

            He watched a forest service truck pull up, splashing through the puddles. Cooper Hale emerged, pulling up the green hood of his slicker as he ran inside.

            The office shook as he shut the door behind him. The guy had the grace of a black bear, and the girth to match it. RH: LOL!

“Like to drown me out there,” he said, shooting a glance at Luke. “What ‘er you doing here? I thought you had the weekend off.”

            “I’m meeting someone.” Luke took a sip of coffee, made a face. “This stuff is awful.”

            “Did you make a new pot?”  Cooper shrugged out of his jacket, hung it up, and ran a hand through his recently mowed black hair. He walked over to the pot, the coffee more sludge than liquid, picked it up and made a face.

            “No. I microwaved it.” RH: This is a Rachelism, but can you give us more of Lucas than nope? He sounds mad at the bear-man for no reason. Can he say something like. “No, I microwaved yesterday’s dregs.” He sound more tender and we also get the picture of the coffee situation.

            “Then it’s yesterday’s dregs.” Coop poured it out. “I’ve been checking the service roads. So far, the Doe River hasn’t washed out any roads, but it’s getting nasty out there.” RH: What is “the Doe?” SMW: A river

            Luke walked over to the sink, threw out his coffee.  He hoped not.  He couldn’t take another round of scrutiny. Not when it meant seeing Carl’s bloodied, tortured body in his nightmares, again.  Or that if little Luis.  RH: I get he’s not thrilled about the interview, but why is he so angry about it? He did agree. Coop had no idea of what? How nasty it is out there? I think Luke’s feelings come from some place deeper than an interview. Can you give us a hint of that here?  SMW:  I don’t want to give away too much here – so while I’m still refining this, I am trying to build on the information I gave away last chapter. 

            “Hey, is that your coat ringing?” Cooper asked as he pulled out a coffee filter.

            Luke glanced at his own still soggy rain slicker, hanging on the hook next to Cooper’s. “Probably. I don’t know why I got HAVE a cell phone. People can find you everywhere.”

            Cooper gave a harsh laugh. “Oh yeah, I know your celebrity status is a real pain. It’s so hard to have women writing to you from around the nation, offering their hand in marriage, and what not.” He raised an eyebrow at Luke and grinned. RH: Why is he saying this? Why would he say “women?” Maybe refine this? “Oh yeah, like people are tracking you down from the ends of the earth.” Or something.  SMW: No, I think it’s women – you know how sudden heroes get letters from women. 

            Luke gave him a narrowed-eye glare.

            Cooper laughed, measuring out the coffee. “It’s not like you’re actually participating in the twenty-first century, Daniel Boone. Do you even know how to answer it?” He gestured toward the still buzzing phone. RH: LOL! Good.

            Luke ignored the phone, . “Funny.  It’s probably Greg he left me three voice mails, and he’s called me twice more without leaving a message.” RH: I thought Luke was answering his phone and Coop was the last one with the coffee pot.

            “Your cousin Greg? Old Budweiser? I still remember when he played middle linebacker. He hit like a bulldozer. How’s he doing?” RH: Good!

            “He’s some hotshot in Hollywood. I don’t know how a good ole boy like Greg hooked up with the movie start industry, but apparently, he still likes to get me into trouble. He’s probably calling about our annual fishing trip – “

            “Didn’t he bring out a couple of sissy actors last time?”

            “Yep. Nearly got us all killed. They made a camp fire, nearly set the Cherokee forest ablaze.”

            Cooper reloaded the coffee and filter into the machine. “Didn’t they lie about hanging the bear bag?”

            Luke reached into the pocket of his jacket, hit the ignore button for the call to go to voice mail.  “Um hmm. I caught a black bear rooting through our shore lunch batter. RH: What is lunch batter? SMW: It’s sort of this fish batter mix…any fisherman would know.  J But this is a good example of staying in character with defining something, even if the reader doesn’t know.  I will explain later, however, in a subsequent chapter, through Kenzie’s pov.   We finally had to hike out a day early because one of the genius’s snagged a hook on his ear.”

            “Ouch.”

            “Oh, yeah. He was screaming about his pretty face, Greg was trying to keep him calm. I wanted to dump them both into the river.”

 Luke stared back out the window at the deluge of rain.  “I don’t think I’ll be answering Greg’s messages, thanks.” RH: Seems like a long conversation to go on will a phone was ringing. Can Luke be answering while talking?  No, he’s not going to answer.  But I moved up his action. 

             Cooper scanned the bulletin board for the day’s weather reports, and other USDA updates. “So, who are you waiting for?”

            “Some reporter with the VFW – I can’t remember her name. Evidently, she couldn’t find me, so she called my sister. Caught my name in the article in the Voice.”

            “Captain Luke Alexander to the rescue, saving cats and small children.” Cooper grinned at him as the coffee maker gurgled.

“Funny. What was I supposed to do? Let the kid get flattened by a semi?” RH: Good. But we need this information earlier.  Why?  We already saw the scene in a previous chapter?  I’m not sure I understand..?

“Of course not. I’m just saying that even a redneck like me can figure out this reporter isn’t just interested in an interview, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at Luke. “Another reason to stop hiding in the woods, pal. Your non-existent social life.”

            Luke shot him a please, don’t, but Cooper clearly still possessed the ability to out blitz him, honed during their high school football days.

            “Last time I saw you at a social event was last year’s First Baptist annual Sunday School picnic. With…hey, how about that – your sister.”

            “Back off, Coop. I don’t need any help meeting women.”

            “Women? How about one woman?”

            Luke sat down at his desk, opened his computer and started a game of spider solitaire.

            After a moment, Cooper picked up on his silence and sat down at his own computer. “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt you to engage in a little female companionship.” He chased his words with a wink.

            Luke shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve known near ‘bout every girl in the county since birth, and frankly, that’s too much information for all of us. If I ever meet anyone, it would have to be someone who didn’t know me. A fresh start.”

            “Good luck with that, pal, because last time I checked, there isn’t a woman this side of the Mississippi who hasn’t heard of the brave Captain Luke Alexander.” RH: Good! And funny.

            Yeah, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Luke moved a black eight onto a nine of hearts. Or, rather, everyone thought they knew him.

            No, they knew what the army told them. He freed an ace and moved it into an open position.

            The front door opened, the cold huff of rain scattered papers from the reception desk. . RH: Just a suggestion. If we’re in deep POV, we might assume Luke looks up. And the following paragraph shows us what he’s seeing. Maybe not give us all of his physical action but show us what he sees.  Good suggestion – let’s see how it works!

            Drenched to the bone, in her sodden white – was that leather? – jacket, wearing a pair of light blue suede boots, and designer jeans, a too-skinny woman stood in the doorway, a expression of what looked like annoyance on her face. Water dripped from the ends of her blonde hair, and mascara ran down sculpted cheeks from flashing blue eyes.. RH: What is dripping from her eyes?  Well, the mascara, but it was sort of unclear. “Okay, I made it.” 

RH: Thought: Is this the first thing she says? What are the men doing? Wouldn’t they jump up and take her wet coat? Offer her coffee? Then ask her what they could do for her?  Why?  She could be some tourist off the street.  And remember, she’s drenched.  She doesn’t look like herself. (or her photos). 

            Wearily, Luke  closed out his game. Pushed up from his seat. “I’m so sorry, I can’t remember your name –“

            She plunked a rather large, shiny red purse/suitcase onto the reception desk. RH: Thinking of her mind set, would she be a bit more high-n-mighty and assuming? “Who do you think I am? Aren’t you expecting me?”

OR, Luke is supposed to know the reporters name. Yes, but he can’t remember it… He would might say, “you must be¾” And Kenzie could interrupt. “Are you expecting someone else?”

            “Of course I am.  I’m glad you made it.” 

“Oh, me too.”  She  stripped off her coat, handed it to him. He barely caught it before it slipped to the floor.Under the jacket, she wore a low cut teal blue, sleeveless blouse, ruffles running up around her neck. A triple strand of what must be costume jewelry held an array of faux sapphires. Someone had come overdressed to the party, RH: LOL especially in comparison to his faded jeans and flannel shirt. Did she think this was New York?  RH: Hello is a great internal word for a woman, not so much for a man.  Although, when I was in Russia, I had a guy friend who would always say, “Zdrastia?”  Meaning, “Hello?”  So…maybe it’s cultural.  J

Someone needed to point out where they were on a map, sandwiched between Virginia and North Carolina, in the far east tip of Tennessee, an inch west from the Atlantic seaboard, smack dab in Smokey Mountain land. Land of bluegrass and honkytonk, not gems and fancy leather.

            “Is it always like this?” She tipped her head back, ran her hands down her hair, then tilted her head to the side, squeezing out the moisture onto the floor.

            Luke watched it puddle at her feet, still holding her fancy coat.

            “Oh, I can’t believe I’m out in public like this.” She shivered, head to toe. “And this place isn’t exactly easy to find. I was lost for an hour.”

            That accounted for the delay at least. But not the lack of apology.

            Still, Luke hung up her coat on a hook.

            “Oh, can you find a hanger? I hate having poke marks in my jacket collar.  And it wrecks the leather.”

            Cooper rose from his desk. “I’ll get one.”  He seemed to be hiding a smirk.

            “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Luke moved over to the machine, pulled down a mug from the cupboard. Checked it for residue.

            “Oh, yes. I’ll take a Venti sugar free vanilla latte with lite whip and an extra shot of vanilla. And, oh non-fat, please.” She rubbed her hands on her bare arms, now pebbled with gooseflesh. “And one of those butterscotch scones would be epic.”  RH: LOL

            Luke stared into the mug. “Um…I think we have some leftover blueberry cobbler? But I’m afraid we’re reduced to just plain old Folgers.”

            “Oh.” She lifted a shoulder. “I guess that’ll do. Thanks.” RH: What is the interior of the room? Fire place? Wood furniture? SMW: Good question, RH!  When I was writing this scene, I tried to find photos of the interior of a NPS office – and I didn’t succeed.  Ithink I’ll need to take a trip to our local office and write down what I see.  So –  in the meantime, I made a note in the reference files to remember to add more storyworld to this scene! 

            He handed her the full mug and she wrapped her fingers around it. “Oh, warm. I’m frozen to the bone.” 

            Luke watched her blow on her coffee. “Um, so where do you want to do this?”

            She looked up, raised an eyebrow. “I…I thought you would know.”

            Oh. Well, “How long do you think it’ll take?”

            She took a sip, made a face. Clearly the fresh batch wasn’t an improvement. “I guess I was thinking…maybe a month? I don’t know. Depends on how I feel.”

            How she…. “A whole month?”

            She nodded, wandering to the bulletin board, reading the weather reports, and other notices. . RH: What other action can she do? Nod doesn’t let us see her as well. Can she walk around the room? Peer over the desk to read papers?  “I mean, probably I’ll get bored by then. You know, I have a pretty full plate right now.”

            “Bored?” He set the coffee cup down without filling it. “I would hate for you to get bored.” Apparently, his story was older news that he’d thought.

            “Me too. Although frankly, after the excitement of the past couple weeks, I am ready for a little ho-hum.”

            Ho hum? A story about a month in a prison camp, a top-secret rescue of DEA agents, and the capture of one of the world’s darkest drugs lords, and that was ho-hum? RH: Why does he think this here? She’s talking about her life. Clearly Luke hasn’t been in a prison camp the last few weeks.  SMW:  Hmm…well, he’s thinking about the substance of the article…(since he thinks she’s a reporter).  Luke glanced at Cooper, who gave him an eyebrows up, you got yourself into this, message.

            Perfect.

            “Well, we wouldn’t want anything too exciting would we?” Luke shook his head, moved toward the conference room, hoping Miss Low Expectations would follow. Except, wasn’t this what he wanted? The world to forget?

            Which meant that maybe someday he would forget?

            Kenzie followed him, but instead of sitting in the chair, she sat on the oval conference table, her feet on the chair. Her purse, she’d left in the other room.

            She continued to clutch her coffee like a security blanket. She did look cold. The woman needed to look out her window before she got dressed for the day. RH: Also, is he expecting someone from New York? SMW:  Hmm, I ‘ll have to think about this… I think he thinks she’s from TN.  Surely she’d have dressed warmer. And, it’s the VFW paper. He might thing the reporter would’ve been more hippie/folksie/Greenwich Village.

            “So, what’s your first question?” Luke sat, folded his arms over his flannel shirt, stretching out his legs.

            Kinsey looked over at him. “I just want to make sure this isn’t going to be too invasive. I mean, I don’t need people following me, taking pictures, intruding into my life. You think you can handle that?”

            For crying out loud, it wasn’t like she was Woodward or Bernstein. She certainly wouldn’t find fame from interviewing a hero who’d squandered his own with prescription drugs. Or maybe she’d gloss over that part. “Oh, I think so. I don’t think anyone is even going to care.”

            She frowned. Opened her mouth, closed it. Then, “Well, I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say. I mean, I realize that it’s not big news anymore, but do think people will care. I mean, it’s not like people won’t find out.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? For people to find out?”

Her mouth opened in a sort of horror, as if he’d told her that she looked like a drowned rat. With freckles. Definitely with freckles. “I don’t know what you were told, but no, I don’t want anyone to know.” She got up from the table, put her coffee down. She appeared like she might be shaking. 

“Then why even come here? Why even meet with me?”

 “Because I thought you were trustworthy.” She tightened her jaw, as if sucking in a measure of control. Then, crisply, “I’m sorry this has been a terrible mistake. Clearly, you’re not the man people think you are.” RH: Can you show us crisply?  I think, in this case, since we “showed” in the previous sentence, “crisply” adds a tone to her body language that works here.

Well, that was the first thing out of her mouth that made sense.

She put her coffee down. “And this is terrible coffee.” RH: LOL. Great way to balance thought here. “And that was the second thing out of her mouth that made sense.” LOL! 

(RH: Thinking again of his deep POV, we just need to see what he sees, feel what he feels. SMW: Yes, but sometimes he stared is sort of a showing of feelings, also – he’s gaping, amazed.  And sometimes we need a body movement in between thoughts.  I’ll see how it flows without it.  Was this some sort of trick to rile him into the truth? Did she think that by not caring, he’d lower his defenses, get rattled, maybe spill out something new? Sorry, but he knew the rules, thanks to the endless military briefing. “Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that, honey.” RH: Move the dialog up to the beginning of the graph so we get his response to her sooner. SMW:  In this case, I think it’s important to know WHY he says this before he says it because it’s rather rude, and we need to understand it, instead of form our opinion and then be talked out of it.  I think it works better to fortify his words, rather than apologize for them.

She rolled her eyes (RH: that’s her third frown.), let out what he’d interpret as a huff of disgust. “ (SMW:  overwriting – I say the same thing twice!) You made this horrible brew.” She picked up her coffee and walked back out into the foyer.  Dumped the coffee into the sink. She wiped her hands on her pants. “Fine. Listen, I don’t know what you were thinking, but I am not thrilled about hanging around with you, either. So let’s just go wherever the cabin is, and get it over with.”

 “What?” He shot a glance at Coop who watched the entire transaction with a sort of frown.  Luke would have expected a smirk, because apparently Coop’s suggestion that this so-called reporter didn’t have reporting on her agenda had merit.  “This was your idea! And frankly, I’m a little offended by it. I’m not sure what my sister told you, but I’m not…well, I’m not sure what you are insinuating, but whatever it is, I’m…not that type of guy.” RH: What? Does he think she means sex? I think his reaction to her comment “go to whatever cabin and get it over with” would come fast and quick. “What are you talking about?” I don’t think he’d be going over his conversation with Ruthann just yet.

She took a little intake of breath, like a pained gasp, and looked as if he’d slapped her. Her eyes even rimmed with moisture. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, excuse you. I think you need to leave, Miss,…”

“Grace,” she said, barely over a whisper. “Mackenzie Grace.” 

RH: More frowning.  Yeah, well, I like frowning!  J Was that her last name? He thought he remembered it being something more –

“Are you kidding me? You’re Mackenzie Grace?” Cooper stood up, and Luke turned as he hurried toward them both, his expression morphing from a sort of smirk to something akin to adoration. RH: Hey, wouldn’t Coop have recognized her?  Yes, but in my head, she’s sopping wet, and too unexpected for Coop to make that leap.  I mean, if Tom Cruise walked in, sopping wet, into your local NPS office, although he looked like him, you wouldn’t automatically think it was.  However, I do have Coop looking increasingly perplexed.   Although I reserve the right to be wrong here, after I read the piece through.  J What if Coop was trying to tell Luke but he kept shushing him. That would be funny.

His voice even grew soft, less growl, more purr. “What are you doing here, in Normandy?” He picked up a dry, insulated coat from one of the hooks and draped it around her shoulders. She pulled it around herself, and looked over at Luke as if he’d sold the family farm out from under her. Some sort of dangerous emotion simmered in her blue eyes, her blonde hair hung in wet, slightly drying coils. Her jaw tightened as if trying to keep her mouth from opening and devouring him.

He experienced a sort of queasy, raw feeling, not unlike the one he’d felt nearly five years ago, moments before everything exploded, as he watched little Luis approach the camp, a bag of so-called potatoes over his shoulder.

This was going to get ugly, fast.

“Yes, Mackenzie Grace, the movie star,” Cooper said, a sort of between-clenched-teeth-while-smiling stage whisper. “Haven’t you ever heard of Hayes O’Brien, 006?”

Kenzie continued to stare at him, something murderous now entering her eyes.

Luke shook his head, slowly. “Oh no…You don’t happen to know my cousin Greg, do you?”  RH: Remove the Uh. Makes him sound confused.

Her lips tightened to a tiny knot of fury.

            His coat pocket began to buzz.

            Cooper led Mackenzie back to the conference room. “Hey Luke, I think I’d get that, if I were you.”

 

Good!! Great scene as usual. We see the conflict with MacKenzie and Luke, and are drawn into their world.

 

Great comments by RH!!  I’m going to go through the amended scene, and I’ll post a clean RD later today or tomorrow.  I’m getting addicted to her great comments! 

 

I’m also going to start a Chapter 3 discussion at Voices – so, where do we go now?   We’ll start in Kenzie’s pov….

 

Every Voice counts!