Deleted Scene from THE DARK DIVINE & Giveaway!

So there’s an old saying that a writer has to “kill all her darlings” in order to make a book the best it can be. This is definitely true. And definitely hard to do. It’s very painful when you’ve written something that you absolutely love, but then you realize that it doesn’t add to the story—or actually detracts from it. And then you have to cut it out!

Seriously, it really can feel like killing one of your babies (ok, not that extreme, but you get my point). There were a few scenes that got hacked while I was revising the THE DARK DIVINE—and all of them were ones I loved. But in honor of Mundie Mom’s B-day bash, I get to share one of those scenes with all of you!!

This scene was originally a TWO PAGE flashback from Chapter Four (when Grace meets Don Mooney for the first time) that after many edits was cut down to only a two paragraph description. I absolutely hated to see the whole thing go, but alas, my agent was right, it was bogging down the story.

But YAY, I now get to share it with you! I hope you enjoy.

Also, in honor of the b-day bash, I’m giving away a signed copy of THE DARK DIVINE and a bottle TDD nail polish to a random commenter on this post. (Nail polish can only be sent within the US, so if there's an international winner, nail polish will be substituted with TDD stickers.)

Now on to the deleted scene!

(Note: This scene is a flashback, so Grace is almost 12 years old.)


Five years ago

Jude and I (and that person whose name started with a “D” and ended in an “aniel”) were helping Dad clean up the sanctuary after services when a large man staggered through the chapel doors. He stomped down the aisle toward Dad who greeted him nicely even though the stranger was dressed in dirty clothes and reeked of something sour. But when Dad said, “How can I help you, friend?” and held his hand out to him, the man grabbed my father and pulled a tarnished knife to his throat.

“Give me money,” the man said. “I need money.”

I dropped the sweeper. The handle hit the offerings basket on a nearby pew. Dollar bills and coins spilled out around my feet. My stomach felt like it would do the same.

“Gracie,” my father said, calm and unwavering, “bring the offerings here.”

I shot a look at him.

He blinked and said, “Go ahead, Gracie. It’ll be okay.”

I scooped up the money in the basket and inched toward the giant man, eyeing the knife he held to my father’s pulsing throat. I wondered what that must have felt like—cold metal that burned your skin at the same time?

Jude and Daniel watched me from the corner. I wanted to be brave in front of them, but I shook so much the coins in the basket jangled as I walked.

As I got closer, the man’s sour stench made my eyes water. I blinked fast, not wanting anyone to think I was crying. I was not a crier, and Daniel would probably call me a baby if I started now. But more moisture pooled in my eyes, and I was too terrified to move my hand to wipe it away. What if the man took the knife away from my dad and held it to me?

And was it wrong that I felt relief when he didn’t?

“I’ll give you that money, and there’s a cash box in my office,” Dad said to the man. “But what will you do when that runs out? It’ll be gone in a week, and you will need more.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I can help you,” Dad said.

“Shut up. Ain’t nobody ever really wanted to help me.”

The man tried to reach for the money without losing hold of my father. His thick fingers stretched out for the basket in my hands, but he couldn’t reach it and I was frozen in my tracks.

“Move.” He pressed the knife into Dad’s skin to prod him forward.

“Think about it,” Dad said. “I can give you a fish, or I can teach you to fish.”

“Stop talking. There’s too much talking all the time. Everybody talks but nobody never does anything.”

“God doesn’t only talk. He cares about you.” Dad motioned for the man to look up at the stained glass window above the balcony. The light of the afternoon sun shone through the colored glass, illuminating the hundred-year-old depiction of Christ knocking on a wooden door. “I want to help you. He wants to help you.” A drop of blood rolled down my father’s neck but his voice didn’t falter. “Ask and ye shall receive. Knock and it shall be opened unto you.”

The man looked up at Christ. For the first time I could see the man’s droopy eyes were too large for his face and his shoulders slumped unevenly.

“You can take the money and leave. Or you can ask for help, and I will get you a job and a place to live.”

The man seemed to stare into Christ’s eyes. The knife slipped from his fingers. He clasped his hands over his face, and sobbing, sank to the ground. He pulled his knees into his chest like a giant baby. “Help me,” he said. “Help me.”

Dad fulfilled his promise and got Don Mooney a job stocking shelves at Day’s Market and rented out the small caretaker’s apartment behind the parish to him for only fifty dollars a month. It wasn’t long before Don became my father’s most devoted parishioner. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten the way we met him.

But I couldn’t.

He still made me shaky with fear and shame.

(Copyright Bree Despain 2010)