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****Barbara Talor Sissel’s Tell No One is #49 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where
the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC)
focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction
writer wrote that specific excerpt. All INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links
are at the end of this piece.
Name of fiction work? And were there other
names you considered that you would like to share with us? Tell
No One. First and only title, which
is unusual.
Fiction genre? Ex science fiction, short story, fantasy novella, romance, drama, crime, plays, flash fiction, historical, comedy, movie script, screenplay, etc. And how many pages long? Domestic suspense/Family drama
Has this been published? And it is totally fine if the answer is no. If yes, what publisher and what publication date? Lake Union Publishing, May 14, 2019
Fiction genre? Ex science fiction, short story, fantasy novella, romance, drama, crime, plays, flash fiction, historical, comedy, movie script, screenplay, etc. And how many pages long? Domestic suspense/Family drama
Has this been published? And it is totally fine if the answer is no. If yes, what publisher and what publication date? Lake Union Publishing, May 14, 2019
Where did you do most of your writing
for this fiction work?And please describe in detail. And can you please
include a photo? As I worked on this novel I was living in my garage/office/potting-shed
area and building my cottage, the Bee, at the same time. So I started out
working in the garage and by the time I was into final edits, I had moved into
the Bee and I begun to work in my office/potting shed. I hope the photograph
makes it clear.
What were your writing habits while
writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write
in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I work on a
Mac. I’ve tried switching to my laptop but my habit with the Mac is so
engrained the words just don’t seem to flow as well. I have made a habit of
working first thing in the morning, aiming for four hours then exercise and
lunch. Sometimes I come back in the afternoon if the words/story are pressing
me to return to it. Otherwise I focus on marketing or something else. I bring a
cup of black coffee with me when I start but that’s it. The only thing I listen
to is a recording of the ocean. The sound plays in the background in an endless
loop, and it contains subliminal messages of encouragement.
What is the summary of this specific fiction work? As children, Caroline and Harris never met, yet they called the same man
father; both suffered when he abandoned them without a backward glance. Years
later when Caroline is compelled by family circumstance to search for him, she
soon uncovers clues that among other possibilities suggest her dad was involved
in the cover-up of a high-stakes college football recruiting scam. In her growing
fear that foul play was the cause of her father’s disappearance she’s driven to
contact Harris, her father's protégé and favored stepson, the boy she’s hated
from childhood. As a high school baseball coach with a beautiful wife and two
sons, Harris appears to have the perfect life. But in fact he’s balanced on a
high wire, struggling to hold onto a devastating secret that's slowly chewing
him up from the inside. Little do he and Caroline know they're set on a
collision course with the truth, or that once revealed, it will prove life
shattering. This is a story that
questions our beliefs about justice and forgiveness and whether there is a
point at which they cannot be reconciled.
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you? And
can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific
excerpt? My journey with this story began
with wondering how anyone deals with it when a family member vanishes. As I
began to imagine the circumstances, the family dynamics came to life. Our
parental relationships can be so difficult. As a child it’s hard to understand
why our parents acted in the ways they did. As adults we might look for answers
little knowing the chain of events we’re setting into motion can become
explosive in a heartbeat.
Please include the excerpt and include
page numbers as reference. The excerpt can be as short or as long as you
prefer. For the excerpt, I’ve chosen the opening 7 pages that set up the mystery.
TELL NO ONE
Caroline – Sunday, January 7
It was seeing
the house that unhinged her. After all these years she hadn’t expected it would
look so familiar, so endearing. Memories came, images, sights, the sound of old
laughter unspooling across the surface of her mind, cinematic, painful in their
beauty. She could nearly see her dad, football tucked under his arm, dodging,
feinting a path toward the designated goal—the old thick-trunked Douglas fir
was still there at the right edge of the broad expanse of lawn, brown now in
the dead of winter.
On the flight up
from Houston she had imagined a thousand scenarios, planned any number of
speeches she might make. But now she doubted the wisdom of the impulse that had
brought her. She ought to have called ahead, given some warning.
It’s a fool’s errand, Caroline, her
mother’s voice whispered through her brain.
She rang the
doorbell and her heart seized in unexpected delight when the opening notes of
the Tillman State University fight song pealed and faded. If her dad were here,
if she were still the little girl she’d been when they’d last come, he’d grin
and tell her to do it again. And again. He’d be laughing when Coach Kelly
opened the door. Coach had always acted as if he were annoyed, but then he’d
lean out the door and push the button himself. He’d always had such mischief in
his eyes.
She stiffened at
the sound of steps approaching from the inside, becoming acutely aware of her
mouth, dry as a bone, her heart fluttering, the smallest of bird wings. The
door opened; a white-haired man peered out. His gaze, magnified by the lenses
of his glasses, was cloudy, unsure.
She had thought
herself prepared for the change in Coach Kelly that would be inevitable after
more than thirty years. But this . . . no . . . He would be in his seventies
now, but he looked much older and so frail, when in her memory he was huge,
such a presence, a bear in her mind like her dad. It was everything she could
do not to react; it took all she had to make herself smile. “Hi,” she said, and
it was such a perky syllable. “You probably don’t remember me, but my dad and I
used to come visit you a lot during football season back in the nineteen
eighties. He was Garrett Hoffman, went by Hoff? I’m—”
“Caroline? Is it
really you?”
“Yes.” She felt
relieved and gratified that he seemed to remember her, but when he turned from
her, calling out, “Jace, she’s here,” she was a bit dismayed. She hadn’t
counted on anyone else being here, certainly not Coach Kelly’s son, whom she
hadn’t seen since they were kids.
“Caroline.” Jace greeted her smoothly, coming
alongside his father. They were both tall, well built men. Coach Kelly was
gaunt now, but Caroline could still see something of the cute guy in Jace’s
grown up self. He still had a puckish look with his upturned nose and pointed
jaw. He was taller than she remembered, and wider through the shoulders but
still muscled, although age was softening him. He was like his dad, and her
own: built to play football.
Coach Kelly
widened the door. “My goodness, I didn’t believe Jace when he said you were on
your way here.”
“How did you
know?” she asked Jace.
“Alexa, the
trainer you spoke to at Tillman State, called me.”
“Really?” Alexa
hadn’t been at all forthcoming when she had spoken to the trainer a half hour
ago in the athletic office at Tillman State University, yet she’d called Jace
to alert him to Caroline’s presence? No wonder he’d beaten her here—it was
sheer luck that Caroline had ultimately found the Kelly house. She’d known the
neighborhood and the street, but not even providing those details had inspired
the trainer to give Caroline the exact address. She’d said school policy
prevented her from giving out personal information.
“Come on in
here, young lady.” Coach Kelly widened the door. “Let me get a look at you.”
Caroline stepped
inside the wide, paneled entry hall, reveling in the details of her
surroundings that only moments before had been figments in her mind. There was
the painting, an original Leroy Neiman, hanging over the marble-topped table on
her left; the same narrow Persian runner in shades of blue, red and yellow was
under her feet. Even the smell of wood burning, the fainter underscore of gas
heat, was evocative of the past.
“Let me take
your coat,” Coach Kelly said.
She slipped her
arms out of her black wool blazer, feeling half in a daze.
He hung it
inside the closet. He took her purse and laid it on the seat of the prettily
carved French chair beside the entry table, and as he straightened he said it again,
that he couldn’t believe it. “Little Caroline Hoffman all grown up and come to
visit again after all these years.”
“It’s Corbett,
Caroline Corbett now.” She tugged unnecessarily on the cuffs of her
long-sleeved sweater.
“Well, of
course. You’re married, a long time by now, I imagine. Do you have children?”
She started to
answer. “A daughter, Nina—”
“Come into the
library where it’s warm. I’ve got a fire going in there.” He led the way, down
the hall.
Caroline
followed him, and Jace fell in behind her. “Why are you here?” he asked her,
and while his tone wasn’t quite hostile, neither was it welcoming. But possibly
he was annoyed, rightfully so, that she hadn’t called first.
“I’m guessing
this isn’t a social visit—”
“I’m sorry.” She
shot Jace a glance over her shoulder. “It was rude of me not to let you know I
was coming—”
“Don’t think
twice about it,” the coach said. “We’re glad to see you, aren’t we, Jace?” He
stood back, allowing her to enter the library first, and once she was inside
the cozy book-lined room, she was immediately transported to the past. She
could see her dad sitting in the old winged armchair, one of two pulled near
the fireplace. She could hear his laughter, the resonant timbre of his voice …
the memory of him was alive now here in this room, unsettling and hurtful. It
made her ache.
She shouldn’t
have waited so long to look for him.
What if he’d
died? That very real possibility was the one that most worried and frightened
her. But if he hadn’t, if he was living, how would her father greet her? With
warmth like Coach Kelly? Or was he still angry with her as she had been all
those years ago with him? Would she have to endure his rejection once more? Her
heart fisted at the thought. It made her want to run for the door, forgetting the
critical circumstances that had brought her. Turning to the fire, she stretched
her hands toward it. She had always thought there would be time to put things
right. She knew now that wasn’t true.
“When Jace told
me you were coming, I got out an album of photos—”
“I doubt she
came to look at old pictures,” Jace said.
Caroline shot a
questioning glance at him.
“I’m concerned
he’ll wear himself out,” Jace said, but Caroline sensed there was more to it,
that he wanted her gone. Tension coiled heavily in her stomach.
“I’m not a
child, Jace.” Coach Kelly picked up a leather-bound book that was probably
close to three inches thick. “There are all kinds of pictures in here of you
and your dad and Jace from when you were kids.”
Caroline hadn’t
expected this, that they would sit down and visit, and from the tight look on
Jace’s face, neither had he. But possibly he was only concerned for his dad.
Coach Kelly did look almost feverish now with anticipation and a longing she
recognized. Her mother could get the same expression. Out of the blue she might
say: Do you remember when we. . . ? She
had recently confessed that as she got older she experienced the odd moment
when the past seemed more alive to her than the present. Sometimes, when her
mom related some memory, Caroline detected notes of remorse in her tone, but
she never pressed her to explain. The past was bad country, a half submerged
battleground. Even Caroline didn’t know where all the landmines were buried.
“Pull that chair
over,” Coach Kelly instructed.
She did as he
asked, dragging the wing chair nearest to her closer to its mate, thinking he
was probably lonely. Last she knew he’d been a widower, having lost his wife to
cancer when Jace was seven. Caroline had shared that with Jace—the loss of a
parent at a young age. Not in the same way. Neither of Caroline’s parents had
died, but when she was five they had divorced. Her dad’s absence from her
day-to-day life had felt irrevocable. Her mom had retreated then, too, into a cave
of grief. In the aftermath Caroline had left bowls of cereal beside her mom’s
bed. She’d learned not to ask when her daddy was coming home. Her saving grace
then had been the weekends she’d spent with her dad at his sister’s, her
beloved Aunt Lanie’s house. By Sunday, though, dread at having to return home
to her mom would set in. Squatted on the porch steps after her dad dropped her
off, watching him drive away, she’d whisper, Come back, come back, come back, as if his return—her family’s
restoration to their once-upon-a-time life—were a matter of asking, or begging,
or any words at all.
Coach Kelly
turned the pages of the album, pointing out photos of various players he’d
coached through the years. “I still hear from some of them,” he said. “You remember
this guy, don’t you? Brick Coleman?”
“Sure do,”
Caroline said. Brick was one of her dad’s most successful recruiting stories,
one of the handful of his discoveries who’d gone on to play pro.
“Dad’s been
ill.” Jace circled to the window and came back. “He tires easily—”
“Oh, I’m sorry
to hear that—” Caroline began.
“I’m fine.”
Coach Kelly shot Jace a hard glance. “I had a stroke a while back, and now Jace
has turned into old Mother Hubbard.” He
shifted the photo album on his knees. “Brick lives here in town, did you know?
His uncle does, too. The three of us still get together from time to time.
They’re on TSU’s Board of Trustees.”
The coach went
on. And on. Caroline uncrossed and recrossed her knees barely able to pay
attention. Do you know where my dad is?
Have you seen him? Where can I find him? The various ways to pose the
question she’d come here to ask rattled through her brain, an endless cycle.
Coach Kelly
turned another page. “Ah, look at this one,” he said tapping a photo that had
been taken in the yard outside his front door. “Do you remember the year your
dad brought you to homecoming? That mum, just look at the size.”
“Do you ever hear
from him? My dad?” She couldn’t hold her query inside a moment longer.
“Do you
know where he is?”
Were there any deletions from this
excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your
marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. I work in Word so changes made are
incorporated as I go. Suffice to say there were tons of deletions and many
versions of this opening chapter.
Other works you have published? Tell No One is my 10th
novel. Others are in chronological order beginning with the first: The
Last Innocent Hour, The Ninth Step, The Volunteer, Evidence
of Life, Safekeeping, Crooked Little Lies, Faultlines,
The
Truth We Bury, and What Lies Below.Anything you would like to add? Yes, my thanks for this opportunity to chat about my work.
Born in Honolulu, Hawaii, Barbara Taylor Sissel was
raised in various locations across the Midwest and once lived on the grounds of
a first offender prison facility, where her experience interacting with the
inmates, their families and the people who worked with them, made a profound
impression and provided her with a unique insight into the circumstances of the
crimes that were committed and the often surprising ways the justice system
moved to deal with them.
An avid gardener, Barbara has two sons and lives on
a farm in the Texas Hill Country, outside Austin.
Bookbub
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Tell No
One
