BOOK DETAILS

Love Pour Over Me

Love Pour Over Me

by Denise Turney

ASIN: B007MC0Z2C

Publisher eBookIt.com

Published in Romance/Sports, Romance/Multicultural, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Romance, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

$3.03

Love Pour Over Me, a story about restored love amid heart wrenching contrasts, recounts Raymond Clarke’s tumultuous, yet triumphant life experiences. Just when Raymond thought he was free from his alcoholic father, he finds himself pulled into an unresolved murder.

Sample Chapter

It was Friday afternoon, June 15, 1984. Raymond Clarke lay across his bed. An empty bowl of popcorn was on the floor. Snacking did little to ease his excitement. In less than three hours his year round efforts to prove himself deserving of unwavering acclaim would be validated in front of hundreds of his classmates. Tonight was his high school graduation, the day he had dreamed about for weeks. He knew his grades were high enough to earn him academic honors. Even more than his grades were his athletic achievements. He hadn’t been beaten in a track race in three years; he won the state half mile and mile runs for the last six years, since he was in middle school. People would cheer wildly for him tonight.

The television was turned up loud. “Carl Lewis threatens to break Bob Beamon’s historic long jump record at the Olympic Trials in Los Angeles this weekend,” an ESPN sportscaster announced. “Beamon’s record has stood for sixteen years. Lewis . . . “

Raymond got so caught up in the mention of the upcoming Olympic Games that he didn’t hear the front door open.

“Ray,” his father Malcolm shouted as soon as he entered the house.

“What?” Raymond leaped off his bed and hurried into the living room. “Dad?”

“What? Boy, if you don’t get your junk--”

Raymond watched his father wave his hand over the sofa, the place where he’d thrown his sports bag as soon as he got home from graduation practice at school.

“Get this sports crap up,” Malcolm growled.

Silence filled the house.

Raymond grabbed his sports bag, carried it into his bedroom and tossed it across his bed.

His father exited the living room and entered the kitchen. Like a dark shadow, frustrations from spending ten hours working at a drab automobile plant where he drilled leather seats into one Ford Mustang after another while his line supervisor stood at his shoulder and barked, “Focus, Malcolm. Get your production up,” followed him there. It was in the furrow of his brow and in the pinch of his lip. “Ray.”

Raymond cursed beneath his breath before he left his bedroom and hurried into the living room. Seconds later he stood in the kitchen’s open doorway.

He watched his father toss an envelope on the table. “Letter from Baker came in the mail. Something about you getting some awards when—“ He reached to the center of the kitchen table for a bottle of Steel Fervor. He’d stopped hiding the alcohol when Raymond turned five. The alcohol looked like liquid gold. Felt that way to Malcolm too. “you graduate tonight.”

Malcolm took a long swig of the whiskey and squinted against the burn. He tried to laugh but only coughed up spleen. “You’re probably the only kid in the whole school who got a letter like this. Everybody up at Baker knows nobody cares about you. Letter said they thought I’d want to let all your relatives know you’re getting some awards so they’d come out and support you.”

Again Malcolm worked at laughter, but instead coughed a dry, scratchy cough that went long and raw through his throat. “We both know ain’t nobody going to be there but me and your sorry ass. Don’t mean nothing anyhow. They’re just giving these diplomas and awards away now days.” On his way out of the kitchen, bottle in hand, he shoved the letter against Raymond’s chest.

Raymond listened to his father’s footsteps go heavy up the back stairs while he stood alone in the kitchen. When the footsteps became a whisper, he looked down at the letter. It was printed on good stationery, the kind Baker High School only used for special occasions. Didn’t matter though. Raymond took the letter and ripped it once, twice, three times --- over and over again --- until it was only shreds of paper, then he walked to the tall kitchen wastebasket next to the gas stove and dropped the bits inside.

“Ray.”

He froze. From the sound of his father’s voice, he knew he was at the top of the stairs.

“Give me that letter, so I’ll remember to go to your graduation tonight.”

Raymond twisted his mouth at the foulness of the request, the absolute absurdity of it. He didn’t answer. Instead he turned and walked back inside his bedroom. He grabbed his house keys and headed outside. At the edge of the walkway, he heard his father shout, “Ray.”

Raymond didn’t turn around. He walked down the tree lined sidewalk the way he’d learned to walk since Kindergarten – with his head down. He stepped over raised cracks in the worn sidewalk, turned away from boarded windows of two empty dilapidated buildings and told himself the neighborhood was just like his father – old, useless, unforgiving and hard.

EXCERPT TWO

It was eight o’clock. Raymond told himself not to but he turned partway and glanced over his shoulder. It was as if he’d suddenly been plagued with dementia, because he forgot the years of abuse heaped upon him with Malcolm’s calloused hands. He wanted Malcolm to walk through the convention center doors sober and real proud like. He wanted Malcolm to be glad to call him his son.

“To the students, as I call out your name, please stand and make your way onto the stage.” Principal Jones flipped through a stack of stapled papers then he pushed his mouth close to the microphone and said slowly, “Sharon Appleseed.”

A loud round of applause, whistling and “way to gos” pierced the air. It went on like that for more than an hour, until all but two students had received a diploma – Raymond and Janice Thompson, a bright sixteen year old who sat in a wheelchair due to spina bifida.

Principal Jones sang Janice’s praises. Hers had been a stellar academic career right from the start. “She’s earned her way onto the Honor Roll every year since the Seventh Grade. She was voted to Girls State by our finest instructors. She has won three presidential academic citations. And,” Principal Jones laughed, “I’m sure her parents appreciate this most. She has earned a full scholarship to Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia.” Principal Jones’ hand went out. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he beamed, “Please stand and congratulate the Class of 1984’s Salutatorian, Janice Thompson.”

Janice pushed the wheelchair toward the stage and everyone stood and applauded wildly. Amid the swell of noise and the sea of people, Raymond looked over his shoulder and searched every face for Malcolm. His gaze darted in a crazed fashion.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was his friend, Paul. They sat next to each other. “Yo, Man, is your pops coming?”

Raymond turned away from Paul, faced the stage and stood tall, head up, shoulders back.

When Paul tapped him again, he jerked his shoulders hard and shrugged him off.

The auditorium grew quiet.

“And now, it’s time for us to bestow the top honor.” Principal Jones smiled before he said, “This young man has earned high commendations academically and athletically.”

In short intervals, Paul, several members of the track team and Raymond’s high school track coach turned and looked to the back of the auditorium toward the entrance doors. They prayed for Malcolm to show.

“Damn,” Paul muttered when he turned around and faced the stage for the eighth time. He bumped shoulders with the guy who stood next to him. “That asshole ain’t coming.” He lowered his head and his voice. “Ray’s pops ain’t coming.”

“This young man has earned All-City, All-County, All-State and top national honors in cross-country and track and field. In fact, twice he’s been listed as the top high school miler in the country by Sports Illustrated and Track and Field News. He has earned four Presidential academic citations. He’s been on the Honor Roll since the Seventh Grade.” Principal Jones scanned the auditorium for Malcolm. When he didn’t see him, he spoke slower and started to make things up in the hopes that time would become Raymond’s friend.

“I remember when he first came to Baker. He was a scared young man, but not anymore.” He pursed his lips and gave Raymond a nod. “He’s ready to take advantage of the full scholarship his achievements have gained him.” Principal Jones glanced at the doors.

A few students and several parents squirmed in their seats. Some people glanced at their watches as if to say “Come on”.

“He has maintained a 4.0 grade point average since the ninth grade. He hasn’t missed a day of school since the third grade.” The doors demanded his attention again, but no one came through them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please congratulate Baker High School’s Class of 1984 Valedictorian, Raymond Clarke.”

Paul clapped until his hands stung. A few students stood in their seats and hollered out, “Go, Ray!” Before long a chant went up. All the students pumped their fists in the air and shouted, “Ray-mond! Ray-mond!”

Raymond’s heart beat wildly in his chest. He clamped his teeth down against his bottom lip and jailed the rising emotion. He extended his hand when he neared Principal Jones’ side.

“Well done,” Principal Jones told him as he handed him his diploma. He patted Raymond’s back. “You did a fine job, Son.” He shook his head, “A fine job.”

The chain lock was on the front door when Raymond got home that night. He jiggled the chain and tried to get it to slide open. When that didn’t work he walked to the back of the house and tried to open the rear door, the one leading to the backyard. He cursed as he realized a chain lock was on the back door as well. Then he looked for an opening. He was in luck. The kitchen window was ajar just enough to allow him entry. He grunted and pushed up. The screen didn’t even bang when it landed in the sink. He crawled through the window like a thief.

When he reached the stairs, he saw a flicker of light coming from the second floor. “Dad,” he called out softly, then louder as he made his way up the stairs. “Dad.”

A newly pressed blue striped suit coat hung across the chair in the corner of his father’s bedroom. The television was turned down so low it sounded like it was humming.

“Dad?”

The bed was empty, covers bunched together near the foot. The shade to the room’s one lamp was tilted as if someone had punched it.

“Dad?”

Raymond walked across the hall. He started to scream. “Dad?” He ran back down the stairs. “Dad?” he screamed as he made his way through the house.

He saw the shadow, curled and bent like an old man, at his bed’s edge. Silence was his escort into his own room.

Malcolm stood slowly. His body leaned right, from his shoulders to his ankles. His hands were clenched. His eyes were slits. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. His hands, then his arms and legs quaked. He took heavy Frankenstein-like steps toward Raymond. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

When no more than a few inches separated them, Raymond saw the red in his father’s eyes.

Malcolm stepped forward again, and this time, Raymond stepped back. He prepared to duck. “Tell you what?” he stammered. Fear had gone into his body. He felt like, instead of blood, electricity was coursing through his veins.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What? What, Dad?” Raymond screamed. “Tell you what?”

Continues...

Excerpted from "Love Pour Over Me" by Denise Turney. Copyright © 2012 by Denise Turney. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Denise Turney

Denise Turney

Denise Turney (www.chistell.com) is a professional speaker and writer who brings more than thirty years of book, newspaper, magazine, radio and business speaking and writing to a project. She has been listed in various entertainment and business directories, including industry leaders such as Who’s Who, 100 Most Admired African American Women and Crosswalk. Denise Turney’s works have appeared in Parade, Essence, Ebony, Madame Noire, We The People, The Trenton Times, The Pittsburgh Quarterly and Obsidian II.

View full Profile of Denise Turney

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