Everyone loves the Improv. Unfortunately, it gets buried in new posts long before the story ever reaches "The End". I'm experimenting with different ways to facilitate these, but in the meantime here's January's. If you feel inspired, wondering where it would have gone from here, please feel free to go ahead and add to it in the comments! (I'm kinda hoping you do because I'm dying to know what comes next.)
Enjoy!
January's Story Improv
Marianne sat in the green wicker chair with her mug of spiced cider warming her hands. The mountain breeze brought a few tendrils of hair swirling into her eyes. She tucked them back behind her ear and adjusted the collar of her heavy robe. Early mornings at the lake-front cabin had been her favorite time the last forty years, and today was no different. Though everything else in her life seemed to have changed overnight.
Lee Carver said...
Her sister Jessica's call over the Christmas season began a whirlwind. After the recipe swap, after the shared sadness that Dad wasn't with us this year, she made a strange comment. She had seen someone at the little tourist store in town that looked so much like Brandon. She had called his name. He looked up, smiled slightly, then nodded. "Sorry. You have me confused with someone else." Then he put down the carving of a deer and left without buying anything. My heart pounded with sudden hope. Brandon, alive and in Forest Glen? How could that be?
Marianne returned the warm drink to her reading table and picked up the yellowed paper clippings.
Brandon's death notice.
His obituary.
An article, complete with a quote from the police, explaining his death.
The proof was before her that Brandon was gone. Yet Jessica's story nagged at her.
The cider grew cold, but Marianne's resolve heightened. She was going to find out the truth, once and for all.
After setting up a date with Jessica for coffee at Tim Horton's, Marianne changed into a comfortable sapphire blue sweater and her tan slacks. She stared into the mirror. Her escape from the city hadn't improved her looks any. She still looked tired and drawn.
She yanked out the band that held her ragged ponytail,and ran a comb through her auburn bob. Why she'd kept her hair in the style and length Brandon preferred she wasn't sure. After all he was gone wasn't he? Marianne swallowed, her throat tight. And if he wasn't....
If he wasn't, why had he come back?
She grabbed her keys and purse, and headed for the kitchen. Just as she'd dumped some kibbles for Charlie and Dibs, she heard a car pull up in the drive. She brushed aside the curtain.
The police? What were they doing here?
5 comments:
Oooh, sounds a little freaky! LOL
Here's my addition:
A sharp rap on the door echoed through her tiny cabin and the sound sent chills scurrying up her spine. Quickly she let go of the curtains. She set down the bag of kibbles and sucked in a deep breath. A strand of hair fell across her features, escaping the ponytail and annoying her again. She exhaled, brushed at the hair and then marched from the kitchen to the front door. Deep breaths. That's all she needed. If she didn't look afraid, maybe they wouldn't guess what she'd done. What Brandon had done.
"Marianne McDermot?" The officer took his hat off and glanced behind her. He'd find nothing here. Not in the cabin.
"Yes."
"I'm officer Townsend. Could I ask you a few questions?" His smile made his warm, brown eyes crinkle around the edges.
"Is something wrong?" Any moment and her voice was going to betray her secrets. And Brandon's.
He ran his tongue along his upper teeth and let out a long sigh from his nose. "Well that depends...How long have you known Brandon Melton was alive?"
[ oooh, this is good! But I'm just going to sit back and see what you all do with it. I'm enjoying the ride. ;) ]
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob as she fought to stay upright.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Nothing's changed in the five years since you were last on my doorstep. Brandon'd dead--no matter how I wish differently."
Officer Townsend peered around her shoulder. "Mind if we come in?"
"Actually, I was just leaving."
He straightened and held her gaze, watching. "Maybe another time." He handed her his card. "We have reason to believe that Brandon may have faked his death. Call me if he tries to contact you."
"He won't. Because he's dead."
His hand didn't move until she took his card. Marianne watched them stroll to their car and back down her drive. She stood in the frigid breeze until they disappeared from sight. Then she slammed her door and raced to her room.
The yellow antique chair that once belonged to Brandon's grandmother sat in the corner. She dragged it to her closet, climbed up and stretched to reach the top shelf. Her fingers touched the cold metal box.
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