Long Odds: A Showing Hearts Novel
by Melissa Asleson
This
is a story of deception, lust, fear, loss, rebuilding and healing. Only
being in her early twenties, Averyana Chambers has a very deluded view
of the world. After four years away at college, it is time to return and
face the dark secrets that lie within the walls of her childhood home.
Her brain and heart are constantly at war, and Avery just wants to find a
balance. Avery has never gambled, especially not with her heart. Things
are never what they seem and uncovering the truth is always a little to
late in Avery's world. How much tragedy can she stand before she gets
completely lost in despair?
White
roses. I both hate and find them intriguing at the same time. The first
white rose I ever received was when my grandfather died. I was seven
years old playing with my dolls under a giant oak tree at the cemetery
while the grave-side service commenced. A man with a large rough hand
gives me a long-stemmed white rose. His deep voice instructed me to give
it to my mother for him. I looked up only to see the outline of a large
dark-haired man, his back to the sun. I stood up to question him,
curious why he didn’t do it himself when he quickly backed away. I stood
there watching him disappear into the packed parking lot. After the
service, my mother found me. I had resumed playing with my dolls. When I
handed her the rose and told her about the man, she quickly ran to the
parking lot. She was frantically looking for the man that I could only
describe to her as a big with scarred hands and black hair. When she
returned she was shaking me, demanding answers of whom and where the man
went. My distressed father stepped in when I had no more information to
offer and relieved me of my mom’s irrational behavior. After my
grandfather had died, she was never quite the same.
The second time I received a single white rose was a similar experience,
but this time the man didn’t speak. I was an eighteen year old saying
my last respects to my parents at the same cemetery. The man was
standing back watching me with a single long-stemmed white rose. I could
feel his eyes on me the whole service. He was in a dark suit and
sunglasses. I remember that he had a very distinct nose. It had been
broken several times, and he had a raised scar that was above his right
eye. He had handed the rose to me with a sad smirk before my aunt
ushered me towards the limo. I have often wondered over the years if it
was the same man. They didn’t seem to have anything in common in my
memory of when I was seven, except for a single white rose. Since then,
I’ve received white roses on my birthday every year for the last four
years.
Today, however, is not my birthday. I look at the arrangement of two
dozen long stem roses in a heavy crystal vase. The smell alone evokes so
many emotions. The distinct, sweet smell reminds me of very happy
memories of my grandparents’ home. They had a vast variety of roses. My
grandmother loved them. On the other hand, it reminds me of death,
sorrow and the people I miss desperately, especially right now. I just
stare at the tiny white envelope with my name inscribed in the middle.
This is the first time I have gotten an envelope of any kind. I am
almost afraid to see what may lie inside.
We get to experience Averyana from her perspective and through her twenty-three year old eyes. There is an innocence that guides her through all these new experiences. Her intelligence shines as she discovers how to accept her mistakes, learn from them, and still present herself as a professional woman. Her innate sense of what is right guides her. Her memories haunt her. Together, they steer her through the life she inherited as her birthright - with a few unforeseen obstacles.
Hello,
I'm Melissa I love books and I am a very amateur writer. I started
writing because both my parents were diagnosed with cancer within months
of each other. I had moved back home to take care of my mother the
sicker of the two and I found it hard to read, the emotions were deeper
than I want to go at the time. So I stopped reading for a while. My
cousin suggested that I write a letter to cancer to let out my
frustrations, it turned into something else completely, I was able to
escape and write my own story. Thus far I have a two part series
published. My first two books are funny and light-hearted. The current
work in progress is darker and deeper than I have gone.
Interesting facts about me; I am fluent in profanity and proud of it. I
drink way too much wine. I have more shoes than storage room for them.
More makeup and crazy jewelry than I should have, but I love it all. I
will never turn down a shopping trip of any kind. My family and friends
are the most important people in my life. I love horses and just about
anything purple. I have a usual fondness for the smell of Pine-Sol. I
believe music heals. I shamelessly love to dance and sing along wherever
or whenever the music provokes me to do so. The next aspiration for me
is to be featured in Inked magazine (I have a tattoo addiction as well).
I love to engage people and I will talk to anyone, anytime. I pride
myself being open-minded, I occasionally ask blunt and inappropriate
questions because I am so eager to learn about things I am not familiar
with. I am fascinated by the human condition. All of my inspirations
come from my real life experiences, people I have met, and music. I
often wonder what kind of grief caused a sad song to be written, what
events caused an angry song to be written and the circumstances of a
love song.
I grew up in an extremely small and judgmental town. Everybody knew your
business, sometimes before you even did. From a young age my parents
instilled in me that it was better to be disliked for who you really
are, than admired for who you are not. That is a virtue I live by today,
I don't pretend to be something or someone I am not for anyone-anytime.
The people I surround myself with are the people who really understand
me, they walk in with me, when everyone else walks out. They may be a
group of few, but less is definitely more in this case. They are all
precious to me.
Lastly, but no less important, I hope to engage my readers to laugh,
possibly cry and become a little aroused. I know that I was lead down
this path for a reason, so I will graciously follow it to wherever it
leads me. I plan on letting me fingers fly across the keys as long as
the opportunity allows. I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoyed
writing and sharing them. Thank you to every reader that has or will
ever take a chance on me.
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