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With July coming to a close, we are now past the halfway point of the year. Although the year may be halfway through, my dreams… well, they’re still unfolding.

Five years ago, I set a personal goal to finish my book. (More like self-imposed deadline as my girlfriend calls it, because she knows my need to commit)

Three years ago I was really determined.

Two years ago? Same goal.

Last year? Yep, you guessed it. I’m still writing. Polishing. Editing.

Here’s what I learned. . . Dreams don’t have expiration dates. Delay doesn’t mean defeat ~ Thank you sis for saying that! Because, sometimes, the best things – the real things that matter take time to grow. I learned the hard way that I needed to be patient with me.

My wonderful editor shared the importance of adhering to the contract I made with my reader: Write the story for them and give them Your BEST Work! Those words resonate with me whenever I write.

The story I’ve been working on-My Story isn’t just words on a page. It’s my heart. My hope and my prayer is that maybe, just maybe, someone out there will read it and feel seen, understood, or simply reminded, you’re not alone in longing, in waiting, or in longing for love.

Today, I want to share a small piece of my work-in-progress with you. This is real, raw, and still developing. At the same time, it’s filled with love.

This is the first chapter of my novel The Brown Eyes of Avon: The Perfect Daughter. A story about family, love, loss, the ache of unfinished dreams, determination, and hope.

Here’s a sneak peek of my Heart — The Perfect Daughter

Desiree held the wooden bowl of eggshells over the garbage disposal. Her hands trembled. Some things can’t be fixed – a crack in the heart, the loss of a loved one, forgotten promises.

Terry nudged her gently with the frying pan in hand. She tucked her elbow into her side and glanced at him, biting her lower lip. How long had she been standing there, lost in thought? Did he notice her deep in thought?

“It’s starting to smell good in here. Admit it,” he said, bobbing his head as he passed by.

Desiree gave him the side eye and a reluctant smile. He was in a good mood, better than last night, when he tossed and turned, wrapped tightly in the comforter. His smile told a different story this morning, and that mattered more. No need to burden him with her thoughts. Besides, he knew how to make her forget the weight of the world, at least for a little while.

“You’re right,” she replied.

Terry knew his way around the kitchen. A retired Marine Corps Sergeant turned acclaimed chef, he had traded his uniform for an apron. The kitchen smelled like a doughnut shop with coffee brewing and buttermilk biscuits warming in the oven. Desiree set a platter of bacon and sausage patties on the counter, watching him dance in front of the stove, waving a metal whisk.

Sunday breakfast in the Bailey household was nearly complete.

“Where is everybody?” Terry asked, looking over his shoulder at the stairs while stirring his sweet potato pancake mix with a slower rhythm. “I know they smell the bacon.”

Desiree handed him the cinnamon. “You okay? You seemed a little restless last night.”

“I’m fine. Just trying to get closer to you.”

“Always the macho man,” she said, pinching his bicep. “Anyway, Kendal called. She’s bringing a surprise for breakfast.”

Kendal was Desiree’s daughter from a previous relationship. The social butterfly, still trying to find her place in the world. Terry had taught her how to ride a bike, tie her shoes, and escorted her to the father-daughter dance. At twenty-four, she still had a lot of growing to do.

Terry raised a brow. “Guess that’s her way of apologizing, huh?”

“It’s been two weeks since she’s been home. You know Kendal. She has to show she’s a big girl and able to manage her finances all on her own.”

“Finally. She took my advice about saving money. I believe in teaching responsibility.”

“And let the record show Daddy. You did,” Desiree interrupted while nudging him. “Now do me a favor.”

“I’m listening.”

“Please don’t bring it up when she gets here. She learned her lesson, okay?”

“But, I asked her to meet at Denny’s to talk about it. She wanted to fix it herself. Guess all that training made her just like me. Maybe even a little stubborn,” he said, half-smiling.

Desiree crossed her arms with the look. “Be nice. She’s been working hard. I’m glad she’s coming.”

Descending footsteps echoed as Teresa entered holding the side of her multicolored sundress, grinning.

“Daddy! I smelled food and came right down. Why didn’t you wait for me?” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes. “Afraid I’d show you up?”

Teresa, Terry’s daughter – his twin, from a previous marriage and a year younger than Kendal, arrived late last night after work. She was supposed to help Terry cook breakfast. He started without her. Typical. Teresa loved getting under his skin about his culinary skills. She inherited his sarcasm and mannerisms, which often led to playful headbutting.

Terry bumped her with his hip. “Really? I’m the one who went to school. Taught the class, if you will. Now back up and let the master work.”

He scooped pancakes onto a plate. “Please, no applause. Save it for after you taste them. You’ll be hooked.”

“Yes, Father. You are the best,” Teresa said, mocking him, knowing the title always made him shake his fist.

Kendal leaned against the doorway, perfectly timed. “Heyyy Family.”

“Let the master do his work!” Desiree chimed in. “I’m hungry, and it smells delicious.”

Terry bowed dramatically. “Thank you. At least someone appreciates my skills.”

“Dez always takes your side,” Teresa grumbled.

“I take your side- When your right,” Desiree said, pinching Teresa’s side.

Desiree exchanged a warm glance with Terry. In the past, she worried Teresa hadn’t fully accepted another woman in her father’s life. But they got along, and when the Bailey clan were together, you would never guess they weren’t all biological siblings. That’s the way Terry and Desiree liked it.

The flapping flip flops grew louder. Terry and Desiree looked toward the foyer. Tia, the youngest, Terry and Desiree’s high school junior rushed in and wrapped her arms around her father.

“Daddy, you’re the best cook in the world!”

Terry bent down and kissed her forehead. “Thanks, baby.”

As the last of the pancake batter sizzled in butter, Donte tiptoed into the dining room, quietly dropping his backpack onto a chair. He glanced at Desiree with a finger over his lips, sneaking up behind Terry bobbing back and forth with the latest dance moves.

Donte was their only son and oldest child together. Eighteen and juggling an internship at GetGoing.com with a basketball scholarship from UNC. Terry and Desiree were proud. He chose not to follow Terry into the military, and thankfully, Terry supported him.

“Sorry I can’t stay,” Donte said, shrugging his shoulders. “Gotta meet Kevin.”

“Kevin can wait,” Terry said. “First, try my sweet potato pancakes.”

“You know I can make those too,” Donte replied, grabbing a pancake, wrapping it around a sausage, and drizzling syrup, while picking up his backpack. “Next family breakfast is on me.”

He kissed Desiree on the cheek and hugged Terry. “Bye, Mom. Thanks, Dad. Mmm. This is fire.”

“Bye Donte,” everyone yelled back.

“Mark my words,” Terry said, wagging the spatula. “Next one’s on him. No excuses.”

Desiree laid her chin on his shoulder. “He’s eighteen. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Terry muttered.

Family time in the Bailey household was sacred. Terry commanded respect. Desiree made it easy to model being his anchor. Their old-school values shaped their children.

“You sure you’re okay?” Desiree asked softly.

“I’m good. You should talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were mumbling in your sleep. You haven’t done that in a while.”

Mumbling. What had she said? Something was stirring under the surface, heavy, unresolved. The eggshells. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t throw them away. Now wasn’t the time.

Tia set the table. Terry blessed the food. Plates clinked and scraped until silence took over.

Terry scanned the table. “Wow. Empty plates. Silence. So, you liked the pancakes?” He scanned the table nodding. “Let’s see if Donte can top this.”

Desiree noticed his tone shift. She excused everyone from the table and watched them file out. Terry remained, looking out the window at the shed.

“I wonder,” he said, shaking his head.

“Wonder what?” she asked, wiping the table.

“Do you think our daughter would’ve ever left breakfast to hang out with a friend?”

Desiree tugged on his salt-and-pepper beard. “Probably not.”

“She would’ve had breakfast ready before we came downstairs.”

“I know.”

“She was supposed to carry on the family legacy,” he said, smiling faintly. “She would’ve made Donte stay.”

“Yes. She would’ve been direct. Like you.”

“Yeah. Just like me.” He pulled the apron over his head. “I’ll be back.”

He exited through the side door, heading toward the shed- his man cave. Everyone assumed he went there to tinker or reminisce. But Desiree knew better. Especially today.

She followed, pacing herself while stepping in his footprints.

Desiree stood in the doorway, arms folded. The shed had become a miniature office. A stained wooden desk held his notebooks, Iwo Jima paperweight, and pen holder. His Consulting certificate hung on the wall beside framed travel photos. His Culinary certificate stayed in the den. He liked to brag. The Marine blanket rested on the loveseat, with his Giants poster hung proudly behind it.

Staring. Remembering when he first begin shaving when they were teens. His gray was more pronounced. His eyes distant. He balled up a sheet of paper and tossed it.

“Care to share?” she asked.

He looked up. “Just writing.”

“Writing what?”

“A letter.”

The wastebasket was full. This wasn’t just a letter. “Need help? I’m good at brainstorming,” she said.

He shook his head. She didn’t press. She knew when to step back and wait. He needed space.

“You know,” he began, voice thick, “I’ve led teams, saved lives. But I can’t fill this void.”

“What void?”

“Having my firstborn here. Growing up with my traits,” he said, choking on the words.

Desiree embraced him, laying her head on his. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

“I don’t know what came over me. She’s just… been on my mind.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad at Donte. I just know in my heart of hearts, my baby girl would’ve been by my side today. She would’ve understood.”

“Yep. She would have.”

“She would’ve made an effort.”

“Yes. And you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you would have molded her into a mini-you.”

Terry smiled. “She would’ve hung on to every word of mine.”

“She really would’ve been the perfect daughter.”

“Yes,” Desiree whispered. “She would have.”

He lowered his head again. “She’ll never know how much I miss her.”

“We both do,” she said, holding him tight. “We’ll get through this. Somehow.”

 

 

Thank you for taking the time to read this small piece of my heart and peering into the small window of my story.

Some days, writing feels impossible. Other days, it feels like therapy. For those who know me, and walked beside me long enough, you know quitting was never in my vocabulary. It’s not how I’m built.

(*smile*)

I love writing. Every day I remind myself I’m still becoming. So are you. Here’s the thing– (Stole this line from my buddy Tony Shalhoub, Monk) It’s Mid-year, not mid-dream. I’m still writing, and I hope you’re still dreaming.

If you’ve ever chased a dream that feels like it’s taking forever, or if you’ve ever carried unfinished hopes in your heart, I’d love to hear from you.

I’m all about Love and Encouragement. We are imperfect people, writing our stories one page at a time. We’re in this together!

Feel free to leave me a comment, share your “mid-year/ mid-dream” moment, or simply take this as a gentle nudge to keep going.

Love,

Ms. Zipporah