Sunburn

By Elaine Waldron

Helena Saunders has not fallen in love since she was sixteen, not since defying her father by dating Timmy. When her father dies of a heart attack and Timmy moves away, she blames herself for her father's death. She won't let herself get romantically involved and becomes a librarian, until a mysterious stranger appears on her doorstep one evening, wanting to rent out the back room.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaine Waldron
• Release date: Jan 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458119605

Elaine Waldron

Elaine Waldron began her career as a novelist with Publish America, publishing her first two books with them. Aside from her novels, she has had numerous short stories published in various magazines and anthologies, such as Amazing Journeys and Trail of Indiscretion, winning best story based on cover art for issue #4. She was a newspaper journalist earlier on in her career, but shortly after leaving the newspaper, she began selling her short stories.Her favorite authors are: L.J. Smith, Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer, Jack Engelhard, and John W. Cassell. She enjoys Shakespeare and her favorite poet is Rainer Maria Rilke, and she mostly reads and listens to his works in German.She is an advocate for preserving our planet, believes in God, and recycles. Loves animals and has two cats.

Book preview

Sunburn

Revised Edition

Elaine Waldron

Copyright 2010 by Sandra Elaine Waldron

Smashwords Edition

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A Symes-Mobberley House eBook

Table of Contents:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

One:

Somewhere northeast of Fort Irwin and south of Death Valley a great disc-shaped starship descended slowly and silently into the Mojave Desert. A lone sidewinder in search of his nocturnal meal stopped in his path, raised his graceful head high, flicked out his forked tongue and tasted ozone. A blinding blue light hurt the rattlesnake’s eyes. He immediately shifted the direction of his search, something snakes never do, and left a swirling trail in the sandy terrain as he sped off into the night.

Smoothly, steadily, the starship descended, until the silver bottom was ten feet from the desert floor. It stopped, motionless. From what appeared a solid bottom, a cylinder of intense yellow light shot down, lasting a few seconds before disappearing, leaving in its stead a tall, stately, towheaded male humanoid. Resting at his side was a navy blue bag, similar to a soldier’s duffel bag. It contained his clothes for his new home.

The alien walked mile after mile, barely noticing the relentless heat of the August sun, for he had traveled from the fifth planet of a binary star system where -- not one -- but two suns warmed his world.

Their main star, Solto, a white dwarf, had steadily robbed the atmosphere of the giant Cante, until it had undergone tremendous thermonuclear reaction and flared into a brilliant nova. His world, along with the entire system of fifteen planets, was destroyed.

Yontu scientists had known for some time it was coming, and they had taken great efforts to prepare for the people, but only a handful could be saved.

The few remaining women and children who hadn’t perished from the extreme temperatures were supposed to have been sent to the closest solar system suitable for life, while the men stayed behind to save what they could of their dying culture. Only, something went wrong. There were too many delays, too much red tape -- as Earth-men would say -- and by the time the women and children were aboard, it was too late. The ship was caught in a solar flare and disintegrated in seconds.

The surviving males decided to spread out through the universe. It was a gamble, but it seemed the only alternative, the only way to save their kind. They were a proud race, too proud to die.

They had to survive!

Thirty-year-old Helena Saunders stared out her bedroom window at the blowing, swirling sand; another dust storm was ruining a summer day. Ugh! She spit, slammed down the window, and an ugly frown of distaste came to her otherwise pleasant face. How she hated this dry, dead place. She failed to understand how her older sister, Kathy, and Kathy’s husband, Frank, could love such a sandy, hot place as Odessa, Texas. Time and time again she had tried to convince them that moving away would be the best thing they could ever do. Frank wouldn’t hear of it. He loved the dry heat and the grit, said it made men out of boys. Helena always reminded him that she was neither man nor boy. He had been born and raised here, and he would die here. Kathy wasn’t going to leave her husband just because little sister didn’t like the climate.

Frank’s family before him, already embarrassingly wealthy from oil investments, had purchased several sections of land and built condos, apartment buildings, and a number of houses, leaving them to Frank when they passed on.

Helena wasn’t sure of the worth of all the property. And that wasn’t mentioning the fact that they often rented the extra bedroom down the hall from Helena’s to roustabouts passing through.

Frank was like that. They definitely didn’t need to rent the room, but he had a lot of friends in the oil fields, and he enjoyed getting to know new friends, said renting the room out was a good way of doing just that.

Kathy and Frank were Helena’s only living relatives, and she, shy from birth, didn’t have the spirit to move away on her own. She stayed and suffered.

According to the digital clock on the nightstand it was a quarter ‘till eight. Now, she had to hurry to open the library doors by eight. Working wasn’t something Helena had to do. She wanted to. Frank would have gladly supported her, but she would have never felt right about it. Besides, just because Kathy had married into money, it didn’t mean that she would.

Frank believed in physical work, like regular folks, repairing plumbing, and wiring, whatever was necessary on the apartments and houses or condos. He simply wasn’t the type to sit back and let someone else do it. What’s more, he dressed and acted like anyone else. That was what Helena liked best about her brother-in-law. The home definitely revealed his personality. Though large, the house was quite ordinary. It was warm where a person could feel more than comfortable, not have to worry about scratching up the furniture or dirtying the carpet. Yes, it was comfortable -- except for the heat and sand outside.

Gray-headed Mrs. Peters flared a scornful look at Helena over her wire-framed glasses. Helena hadn’t been in time to unlock the doors, and Peters had to do it. That was a definite no-no.

Of course, Helena thought, it doesn’t matter to the old hag that I haven’t missed one day of work in the ten years I’ve been here.

She never takes things like that into consideration. If it weren’t for my love of books, I would have quit this place long before now. She despised Peters almost as much as she hated the sand. The woman could be, was, so narrow-minded.

Just then, a big gust of wind caught the glass door Helena had failed to secure, blowing in visible amounts of yellow sand across the library’s black and white marbled tile.

Peters frowned in her most unbecoming way and, peering over her ugly glasses again, said, You’ll have to get the broom, now. Can’t leave that mess on the floor. Everyone will be grinding it into the tiles as they come in.

Helena rarely swore, but today just wasn’t her day. Shit! she scowled under her breath.

You say something? the old woman asked, while studying a newspaper.

No, Helena lied and headed for the storage room in the back where the broom and dustpan were. Just clearing my throat.

Look at this! Peters exclaimed to Helena, who was back now.

Huh? Helena inched the grit into the green plastic dustpan, then into the wastebasket by the old woman’s desk, knowing full well Peters would rather she dump it into the basket in the storage room.

Not seeming to notice, the old woman pointed a bony finger at the headline. ASHES OF WOMAN FOUND IN CARLSBAD.

Says here … no evidence of fire was found near the ashes, but the body was totally consumed, disintegrated into fine powder when they tried to clean it up.

Goodness! Spontaneous combustion, I bet.

Peters continued, All that was left was a red sandal. It wasn’t burnt at all. Sheriff says he’s never seen anything like it in all his days with the department.

Helena hovered over Mrs. Peters’ shoulder, Would make you think twice.

Seems the shoe belonged to a young woman who’s been missing from a club since Friday night. Her boyfriend, a Mr. Jim Lee, says he and his girl had an argument, and she left with some big fellow he’d never laid eyes on before. Anyway, no one’s seen the girl, this Nancy Fuller, since … not alive.

Peters’ glasses slid to the end of her nose. She shoved them back up with a bony finger. Strange.

Are they positive the ashes are this Nancy’s?

Must be. The boyfriend identified the shoe. Said he bought the sandals for the girl only a few days before.

Maybe the boyfriend did it, Helena suggested.

Nope. Says here that more than one witness saw the young woman leave the club with this tall man. No one’s seen him since.

Oh well, Helena sighed and shrugged. Terrible things happen all the time.

Indeed they do. This story bothers me, though. Can’t put my finger on what exactly, but it is mysterious. She realized Helena had disappeared among the books, so she put the paper down and waited on a young redheaded woman who was ready to check out her books.

Helena thought no more of the newspaper story and went on about her work, putting away books, dusting shelves and sweeping the floor countless times, as the relentless wind blew the sand in every time someone opened the door. She would be very glad when the day was finished. Without a doubt, she was looking forward to the weekend.

A new batch of books had come in, several of which looked promising. They were science fiction and horror. Helena’s favorite genres. After she catalogued them and made cards, she checked two out for herself to read over the weekend.

Kathy and Frank were going bowling after supper, and there wasn’t anything on television she cared for. She would just settle down to a good book and enjoy the evening alone.

Bidding Mrs. Peters a quick good-bye, Helena, books in arms, started for home. The wind had died. She was thankful for that. She could even see what was left of the fading sunset, beautiful streaks of orange and red. Soon it would be dark. She just wanted to get home. A familiar red Ford pickup, engine purring low, eased up alongside her.

Without looking, Helena knew it was Robert Garza. He’d want to go to the movies. Not tonight, Robert, she said, before the frustrated Hispanic could get the words out.

It’s a good movie, Lena, he insisted, never giving up without an argument. Your favorite genre. He still failed to interest her.

She liked Robert, but she was far from getting serious about him. He was good-looking, polite, and almost a gentleman, but he just, for reasons she wasn’t sure of, wasn’t her type. She wasn’t certain any man was.

Say you’ll go?

Not tonight.

It’s a space movie," he persisted.

She stopped walking and faced him. He had already braked the truck. "I’m sorry, Robert, but not this time. Not tonight! I would like to see it. Really. But right now, I’m simply not in the mood. You know I look forward to reading my books on Friday nights.

I have some new ones that I’m anxious to get into.

What? he teased, obviously trying to hide his disappointment. You’d rather read than date the best lookin’ roughneck in Odessa?

Robert -- please! Tomorrow night. I promise.

The look on his face told her that he had known she wouldn’t go before he asked. But Robert always had to try. Okay, Lena, you win. Saturday night is better than no date at all. You can’t blame a guy for trying…. Can I give you a lift home?

She smiled to herself. He could be so charming. You don’t give up, do you?

You know I don’t. He flashed his white teeth in a brilliant smile, then reached over and opened the door for her.

She stood, hesitating, for a moment.

Well?

All right. she dashed around the front of the truck and jumped in, slamming the door. It was silly accepting the ride when she only had a block to go, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was already a little upset with her, although he wasn’t one to admit it, for her refusing to go to the movies.

His big obsidian eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. She graciously reflected his smile. He took her home and let her out in front of the white picket fence.

Tomorrow night. Don’t forget! he called to her as she hopped out of the truck.

I won’t, she promised.

Kathy had her dark hair in pink curlers and was wearing a pink smock with white roses splayed all over, while she waltzed around the kitchen, hurrying to get supper out of the way. She and Frank were going bowling. She spoke a breathless, Hello, to Helena.

See you didn’t make it to the beauty parlor this afternoon -- Are we having hamburgers? Helena said all in one breath.

Yeah, Kathy answered, frowning as though aggravated with herself for not being more efficient. I’m in a hurry. Frank wants to pick Joe and Alice up on the way to Spills. Noticing the books her sister was holding, Kathy’s eyes flashed a hint of guilt.

Helena wasn’t going. She then shrugged, knowing it was Helena’s choosing to live the sheltered life. To relieve her own feelings of guilt, she asked, Sure you won’t come?

No. You know. Rather sit here and read. This is Friday. My well-deserved night for relaxation and reading.

You should be out having fun, Helena. Not sitting here with your dainty English nose stuck in a dusty old book.

They’re new, not dusty. Helena wondered how many times she would have to say it. Besides, to me, reading is fun!

Bullshit! You should be necking with Robert or some other dreamy guy.

As far as I am concerned, Robert is the only dreamy guy in Odessa or Midland. He may be the dreamiest, but he’s certainly not the sexiest, Kathy said with a grin, while biting down on a piece of lettuce. I take the former back. You shouldn’t be out necking; you should be married, chasing a couple of kids around.

Well, I don’t want kids unless I do get married, and I like Robert, but I don’t want to marry him.

Oh?

Guess that takes care of that. Besides, who needs sex, anyway? Not I. I’ve gone without this long. I can go a while longer.

Kathy shoved a plate of toasted buns on the table. You are absolutely hopeless, Helena. Everyone needs sex. Why … I’ll bet that even old Mrs. Peters has her fantasies…. And you mean to tell me that as long as you’ve been dating poor Robert, you’ve never had sex with him? She frowned dubiously. Come on, kiddo. This is your sister you’re talking to.

Never, Helena persisted.

You ladies talking about me again? Frank asked in his usual jovial mood, as he ambled into the kitchen with his red cotton shirt untucked and the bald spot on the crown of his head still shining from the shampooing it had just received.

No. But … come to think of it --

What’s wrong with me?

She stared at the sloppy way his pants hung. In some ways, you’re hopeless. To look at you, no one would ever suspect you have a dime to your name -- or brains.

He grabbed his belt and shifted up his pants. Better?

After you tuck your shirt in.

After I eat, he said, pulling out his chair at the end of the table and sitting down.

Helena moved her books to the buffet, and then took her place across from Kathy.

Did you ladies read about that pile of soot they found in Carlsbad? They think some poor girl got fried. S’morning’s paper, Frank said, as he smeared a tablespoon of mustard on a bun.

Helena gulped. How can you eat so much mustard? Her eyes watered simply from watching him.

Easy. I like it.

Kathy replied to Frank’s question, Yeah, I read it.

So did I. At the library this morning. Actually, Mrs. Peters read it to me.

Kathy shook out a dainty portion of catsup on her meat.

What I don’t understand is … how can someone be burned so completely that they are reduced to powder?

Frank speculated, They cremate people, don’t they?

Never thought of that. Still, she burned down to nothing.

Uh … huh, Frank mumbled with his mouth full.

They can’t find any trace of a fire anywhere else or anything to connect with her … except for the damn shoe.

Sandal, Helena corrected.

She left the bar with some blond fella. Big. Real tall.

Frank took a bite of his hamburger, decided it didn’t have enough mustard, opened the sandwich and laid on another spoonful.

Gads! Now, you’re making me sick, Kathy said.

I don’t tell you how to eat, do I?

No. But --

Shush then. I like a lot of mustard. And you know it.

Helena remarked, It’s a wonder you have a stomach.

I’ve a gut of iron, girl. If both of you don’t know that by now, you never will.

Kathy fluttered a hand in the air. Never mind, Sis. He’s not gonna change.

I wonder what happened to him, Kathy said.

To whom? Frank asked, assuming she meant him.

Not you, chili-gut. The tall, blond guy … in the newspaper. We were just talking about him.

Oh! That guy. He stuffed a potato chip into his already full mouth. Who knows? He shrugged. They haven’t found him. Maybe he’s dead, too?

Maybe.

I wonder…. No one heard Helena.

Oh well. Kathy rose from the table. We probably won’t ever find out.

The phone rang. Helena went to answer it. It was Joe Long, a long time bowling buddy of Frank’s. Helena waved the cordless at Frank from the hall. It’s for you, dear brother-in-law. Want it out here? Or in there?

Frank chucked the last of his burger in his mouth and went to take the call, relieving Helena of the beige phone.

Helena spoke to her sister, I’ll clean up the kitchen, Kathy, so you and Frank can get going.

Would you, Helena?

Sure. It’s Friday. Don’t have anything else to do…. And, you still have to do your hair. She couldn’t help grinning.

Drats! You’re right! Kathy felt the rollers with her fingers. I’d be halfway to the bowling alley before I would have thought about it. And, you know Frank, he probably wouldn’t even notice. She began yanking curlers out and placing them on the buffet.

"I wouldn’t doubt it, Helena giggled.

That was Joe, Frank said, after hanging up the phone on the charger.

We know. Helena gestured with a wedge of dill pickle she was crunching on.

He just wanted to make sure we don’t forget them.

Have we ever forgotten? Kathy asked.

Of course not. You know how Joe is.

I’m not sure, but he must be insecure.

That’s not nice, Kathy.

I didn’t mean for it to be. Just noting my observations.

Just get dressed, will you?

Back to top>>

Two:

There was a pale halo of light over the skyline of Odessa. The highway sign by the big rock Jake was resting on said it was ten miles to the city limits. He hoped to find lodging there; he was weary of his long journey.

Off to his left, was a primitive oil well; he guessed it to be about a thousand feet from the highway. He had passed many this day. This land was rich in the crude product. The people of this planet called Earth had not learned to harness the energy of their star properly. Such a shame, he thought. If they had the knowledge that was once of Yontu, this land

Reviews for Sunburn

[susandennis-139327 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Joey Goldman and the rest of the cast (well, the ones that lived anyway) from Florida Straits are back! I love them all so I was delighted to dive into this new adventure where Joey's father - the Godfather - decides to write his memoirs... other members of The Organization aren't real thrilled. Shames paints the most incredible detailed pictures. I'm going to try and hold off his next one Tropical Depression until it comes out in paperback in a couple of months... if I can.

[hagelstein_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

One of Shames' Key West novels featuring Bert the Shirt d'Ambrosia, known for his beautiful shirts and constipated chihuahua. Shames is adept at setting a scene and describing people and places. A "dull, coarse, and sluggish" mobster pays an unexpected visit to his non-mobster brother and stands "glutting the doorframe like a feed-lot steer." The sky over lower Manhattan is "the swirly, smeary white of paint that needed mixing." Shames creates characters that come alive and have staying power.