One sour grape, p.1
One Sour Grape, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
One Sour Grape
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Looking around for her dad, Ava spotted still cuffed. She didn’t see the gun-toting babysitter. Maybe they took her to mental hospital. And the little crop-duster pixy flew off too. Ava sat up and snuggled into her blanky. When something sparkly caught her eye, her head jerked in the direction of it and there like a nightlight at the end of the couch sat her jewelry box. Did she open it again? Would her gross talking doll still be in there asking her to kiss him? Yick, hence the reason she cut the heads from dolls. Useless.
So, if anyone bothered to ask her what happened this time, did she go for the truth? Tell them, a little pixy farted sprinkles on Harper and made her pass out, or she had her very own Jack in the box? Even Ava had a hard time believing it. And then there was Zeus. A god. With wings that only she seemed to be able to see. Everyone saw the man, not the otherworldly features he possessed, which in the eyes of the law made him look flat out crazy. And if Zeus were bonkers where did this leave Ava? She clamped her eyes closed praying when she opened them the box would be gone, she’d be back home in bed being tucked in by both her parents, and her brother would be hiding under her bed kicking her mattress trying to annoy her.
One Sour Grape
by
Jaclyn Tracey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
One Sour Grape
COPYRIGHT © 2023 by Jaclyn Tracey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Jennifer Greeff
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2023
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-5124-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-5125-4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my Grandees ~ Noah, Ethan, Hadley and Logan. My four musketeers, thank you for keeping me young at heart, smiling, dreaming and on my toes. I love you guys more.
To my Editor, Callie Lynn Wolfe~ You are my own personal version of Spellcheck, the Copyright Police, and one woman I value as my sister from another mother. Thank you for being you and allowing me and my muses to keep you awake nights.
Chapter One
Looking Up at The Clouds
The Solar Eclipse earlier in the afternoon left Ava Gabriel awestruck, as in jaw dropped, eyes wide, stars exploding within them. For this special event her mom went all out preparing a picnic for the family in the meadow. She even used the good linen, so this had to be a big deal. Ava wasn’t sure who was more excited, her mom or her. Ava’s dad passed out solar filtering sunglasses to view Selene and Helios tango through the sky. And dance they did, the moon with the sun and Ava with her family. The power of the universe spilled over Ava in spine-tingling euphoria. Cows wouldn’t be the only creatures jumping over the moon tonight.
Today topped her charts in the best day ever category. She hadn’t had this much energy in months. Her hair took on a life of its own as it floated in the air without static electricity. Her little brother, Ayden, pointed and laughed at her.
“Aves, you look wild.”
Ava tapped his head, giggling. “You think you look any better?” Hearing that he gingerly touched his head and fled for the house with a shocked look on his face. Ava’s mom always said, ‘Doesn’t matter the size of a god. Vanity will always be bigger.’ He proved her point.
Once the total blackout passed the vistas’ wavy patterns afterwards reminded Ava of ribbon candy, the fragile Christmas treat that the moment your teeth crunched into it, a wicked mess ensued. For her, this occurrence, the eclipse, toppled Christmas, even more so once she found out Santa was nothing more than a poser.
Biggest letdown ever.
He could, ho, ho, ho all the way to you know where for all she cared.
How could her parents lie to her? About someone so important? What other fake stories had they knowingly filled her mind with? Was the tooth fairy about to get yanked out of the line up? Or Cupid pierced by his own arrow come Valentine’s Day? Was true love doomed? She couldn’t think that far ahead. Boys! She wouldn’t mind pinging Ayden with an arrow or two.
After dinner Ava jumped into her jammies, slid on her pink and yellow polka dotted galoshes, and proceeded to drag her sleeping bag and pillow outside through the tall grass into the field. She’d promised to be on her best behavior tomorrow if she could lay outside tonight to watch a meteor shower. The sky seemed limitless this week between the eclipse and meteor show.
Sprawled out on her sleeping bag watching the lightning bugs brighten everything and listening to crickets chirping, Ava had one wish, that her parents and brother would come out and keep her company. It was sort of spooky out here all alone and other than today, arguing seemed to be the only activity her parents did together. On the cusp of turning six, Ava noticed everything, like more and more the babysitter seemed to always be here and her mom, not so much.
Stargazing, planetariums, constellations, Ava lived for it. The stars carried her wishes farther than any seedling from a dandelion could ever drift. It’s how she skirted around reality, to be a kid and dream instead of having nightmares chasing her through the day, listening to her mother’s muffled cries in the shower begging the gods to save Ava. That pretty much freaked her out because no one was telling her anything about her situation. Not knowing things made her nuts.
Her father was her rock. He encouraged Ava’s enthusiasm for knowledge. He bought books on all the constellations and every night they read one together. It was their thing. Ava knew the history behind every deity and how the constellations got their names. Draco had to be her favorite because honestly who didn’t love the little pyromaniacs. Dragons—she wanted one but the closest she ever got to a dragon was dodging dragonflies in the hay field. Not something she could boast about when she went into first grade while the other kids would be crowing about their summer travels. Maybe she could tame a squadron of them or maybe she’d watched too much television…the thought made her laugh until reality set in. Ava’s only excursion out of her hometown happened to be a trip to the hospital. Not exactly bragging rights.
She’d been waiting for the eclipse and meteor show ever since her last trip to the infirmary. Covered in bruises, with no rhythm or reason, she had to spend a few nights in the smelly building for tests. Her dad spent the nights hogging the bed to keep her company. One morning, busy getting poked, Ava focused on the meteorologist on television telling her to mark tonight on the calendar for the astral show of the century and so she did, instead of all the blood draining from her arm. Her dad? Smelling salts were being stuffed under his nose after he passed out.
Tonight, the moon illuminated the world from Ava’s vantage. The horizon bustled with brilliance, and she was more than ready for some razzle-dazzle. One good thing to look forward to because tomorrow there were more needles to try to find out why she was still getting giant purple blotches all over her and why she woke up tired and seemingly in a different spot each time after falling asleep exhausted. Her dad always kidded around telling her she had teleportation powers getting her from the couch to her bed, even though Ava knew it was her dad lugging her up the stairs because he’d accidentally wacked her head on the door frame a few times jarring her from her slumber.
Tomorrow also marked Ava’s sixth birthday. Some birthday. A short sigh fizzled out to space. Tomorrow there would be no party. There would be no clowns. She wanted them to scare her brother. God knew she owed him.
And the absolute worst part of tomorrow, there would be no cake, which sadly meant no frosting, the best part of the entire day.
Instead, there would be a long, hot car ride to the hospital jammed in the back seat of the car with Ayden. At least she wouldn’t get stuck with the babysitter tomorrow. The girl creeped her out, always had a sideways sti
nk eye aimed at her, or a malign whisper in her irritable voice taunting, ‘Boarding school’, whatever that meant. Her brother’s life goals were eating, making loud farts, burping the alphabet, and playing magic tricks. His favorite? Hiding a frog in her bed, hence the need for clowns.
Once at the hospital, there would be a ward full of little kids all fighting for their lives, with bags of medicine hung on poles following them better than their shadows, that is, when they were strong enough to get out of bed and hit the hallways. Birthdays. She needed to celebrate this one like a goddess in case it ended up being her last.
****
From my pedestal
Stood at the altar, one leg bouncing, palms slick with sweat, I took in a deep breath hoping to take the pre-wedding jitters down a notch while I waited for the first glimpse of my beloved as she took her sweet time promenading down the aisle.
The rising cadence one would expect at the chariot races rose from the crowd as my lady entered the arena. Music filled the void as my blood pooled in my feet. Problem being, it, my blood, wasn’t coming back up. Lightheadedness and chest pain followed.
Some twit, that would be my son, Hymenaeus-God of weddings, and the original wedding hymn, switched the tunes. We were now subject to the funeral march instead of the wedding trek. My neck snapped to my left. As if on some unforeseen cue all my groomsmen donned sunglasses at the exact same time.
“Tell me this is a joke,” I demanded.
One of the men mumbled, “The joke brother, is on you if you go through with this.”
I raised my voice above the music, “I’m changing my will, son.”
“Love you too, Dad!” The stinking kid played on with more enthusiasm.
My neck craned to get a better view of my lady, whispers and jeers filled my head. Unfortunately, for me, my height did not match that of my family and friends, so I remained clueless as to why. Each man in my wedding party resembled great red oaks, me a sapling. With the guests all stood vying to catch a glimpse of my bride, I had the perfect view of everyone’s backsides, not that I mind. Some are rather sexy. “I cannot see her,” sounded rather desperate. I gave the best puppy-eyed plea to my best man, my dearest friend, who by fate, would also be my half-brother, Apollo. He nudged the next man in line, Thor, my wingman—literally, and beloved comrade in shenanigans.
“Give him a lift so he can see what he’s getting himself into.” Apollo’s tone sounded more suited for a divorce instead of matrimony.
Thor gave a very subtle shake of his head no, so shrewd in fact, I nearly missed it. Sunglasses slid down his nose. Thor’s ridiculous blue eyes widened when he knew I noticed.
“Really,” Thor whispered, “I’m doing you a favor.” His sunglasses were shoved back into place, his shoulders went back, and his chest shoved forward showing off his physique. I sucked in my gut. Didn’t really help.
“You look ridiculous, Thor.”
“Thor doesn’t look anywhere near as ridiculous as the bride,” my half-sister Artemis bellowed from the opposite side of the alter. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
My voice as tendered as I could, I growled, “What don’t I want to see?”
Another of my groomsmen, and another half-brother, Hercules, scratched his ear and then with uneasy fingers played with his overgrown mustache-goatee. The sides being so long he could have braided them. Full of brawn and balls, the eight-foot giant looks silly. He grew the peach-fuzz for today. Tomorrow we will be cropping it out of all photos, probably from the neck up.
The hulky man leaned into me, budging Thor and Apollo back a step. “Think Earth’s version of Lady Godiva, yet not quite eye-candy. More radioactive.”
I demanded, “Pick me up!” Thor obliged. Aghast, my voice rose. “Apollo! What in heavens did you do to her?”
“She stated she wanted to outshine the sun for you this day, dear brother. I granted her this boon. Be careful what you wish for.”
As if I’ve never been told this before.
Hermes flit to me, removed his shades, gawked a second, before quickly donning the glasses back on his face and remarking, “She looks like a cross between the golden egg the goose dumped and a true vampire’s ill-fated demise.”
I shot back, “And what are you supposed to look like, Fly-boy? Nice hair.” Hermes wore the opposite of a Mohawk. Bald straight down the center of his knobby skull, with a red frizzy ponytail sticking out each side. Even his nose was red. I have the original clown posse beside me. No one other than me is taking this ceremony seriously.
On the opposite side of the isle, Artemis conspired with my beloved’s other attendants, my half-sister, Athena and beside her, Aphrodite, mother to my kid I just cut from my will. Her loser ex-husband, Hephaestus, watched her the way a serial killer scoped out his next victim. The man totally unnerves me. His eyes are bloodshot, he is teeming with perspiration and flies are swarming him. Our wedding guests have removed themselves from his personal space. After Aphrodite removed her sunglasses, her silvery eyes appeared as if she’d captured a few twinkling stars. The goddess would always outshine my bride no matter how much gold dust the princess caked on but looks aren’t everything. Integrity, compassion, honesty, and a sense of humor are what any man wishes for. Looks would be the icing on the cake.
I love icing. Pity there will be none.
As I dangled from Thor’s mighty grasp, jaw clenched, I squinted as our gazes met. My bride is blindingly burnished. I now get the shades. I’ve never seen her like this, and dare I say I never wish to again. A scowl crept onto my mug. I fought it. Piss poor poker player here.
She saw my first reaction—the one all brides base the rest of their eternal years of bliss upon. If they see us gush, we have a chance. If they see us gag, as I might have, chances are good I’ll be in the doghouse with Cerberus tonight, who at this very moment is very busy sniffing and growling at her.
There’s a tune in my head from days of old, something about not touching this, as the artist flits across the dance floor in genie pants. I’m silently cracking up. I have a vague suspicion today isn’t going to go as planned.
“Stop laughing, Dion. She’ll kill you later, if there is a later,” Apollo whispered. Apparently, I am not as stealthy as I imagined.
The bride’s silky locks have been woven into what I can only describe as a bramble nest. Not the look I expected. Arrowheads, made from sprigs of asteroids pop out from different angles throughout the updo. The contrast is probably lethal. She looks as if she is prepared to do battle. My brow wiggles in anticipation. I should pace myself for tonight. Maybe cut back on the wine a bit.
Pfft! Let us not forget who I am. God of grapes and good times followed by memory lapses and hangovers.
We, the bride and I, are opposites to the end of the galaxy. We both know how to turn heads—people follow her and look in the opposite direction when I enter a room.
“Seen enough?” Thor asked, not even straining a muscle to keep me held above the crowd.
“Never!” I lied, while my eyes pleaded with Thor to drop me. And drop me he did. Apollo caught me before I toppled over sideways. Guests would assume I’d had too much wine. I don’t believe I’ve had enough!
I lowered my voice and elbowed my half-brother’s side. “What did you slather all over her, Apollo? Will Cerberus be okay? One of his thick heads just licked her leg. Her flesh is erupting faster than it takes you to satisfy yourself.”
“The fact you care more of the dog than your bride says volumes of your truest desires,” he mumbled through a snicker. “Never mind that, look.” Apollo pointed to my head. “Brother, your crown. Your grapes are literally shriveling up the closer she gets to you. We told you this union would have consequences.”
My line of vision went to the ground. Raisins were hastily being carted off by tiny scorpion-like scavengers. I despise those things—raisins that is. They are the culmination of waste and ruin.
Thor added his two cents, “Can you say bad omen?”
I glared at him sideways.
“What? I’m stating the obvious, Dion.”
Apollo added, “Your lady will be miserable before nightfall. You’ll spend your first night scratching her instead of sating your itch. And what is up with the headpiece? She nicks you with that, Dionysus, it could be the kiss of death.” Apollo fidgeted with his muttonchops he had so thoughtfully grown for this day. He saw me staring at them and commented, “You are just jealous.”
