You know how you have to do some things for family you’d rather not? Like attending your third graduation ceremony in a single May because your cousin’s oldest is graduating? That’s how I felt about this deleted scene from A Riddle in the Lonesome October.
Family is a critical part of my Rae Riley Mysteries series. To make my amateur sleuth Rae and her relatives seem realistic to readers, I include facts or scenes that occur in the experience of real families. October is a hard moth for Rae’s family. Her father Mal lost his father Reuel and his wife Em in that month. Both of them died young and unexpectedly. Since Rae’s family lives in the county where both of them are buried, it makes sense for the family to visit the cemetery in memorial in the month they died. So I wrote this scene:
****
A sheet of seamless gray clouds sealed off the sun. When I pulled into the parking lot, a lot more cars filled in spots than I was expecting. Was there a meeting at the church?
Getting out of the cab, I knocked our church off the list of places to hunt for the treasure, despite its connection to the Armstrongs. It sat on a ridge, not in “the Valley of the Shadow”.
The wind slapped my cheeks with moist air as I hiked down the slope. All of my immediate family, except for Hank, were stationed by the two graves. A horde of other relatives mingled with them–Aunt Lily, Claire and her son and two daughters, Jesse, assorted other grandkids of Aunt Lily. Grandpa Reuel’s brother, Uncle Cal, stood between Aunt Lily and his latest wife. Three of his kids had come with him as well a couple of grand–
I stopped on the slope halfway down from the parking lot.
Where was Walter?
Dad looked up to me. Shoving on a small smile, I put some energy in my step as joined my family.
My brothers sat small pots of mums on their mom’s grave, and then Jeanine, Dad, and Carrie did the same for their father’s. Aunt Lily and Uncle Cal each had bouquets of fall flowers. Gram stood back, touching and twisting the beaded bracelets on her wrists, which I’d finally realized a few months ago, after seeing enough family photographs, were made from the beaded headband Grandpa Reuel almost always wore as an adult.
No one said a word.
The damp breeze brushed by us, sighing in the maple trees lining the edge of the cemetery.
Dad crouched beside his wife’s grave and pulled a few microscopic weeds. No graves were as well decorated or maintained as the ones for our family. The areas around the headstones for Emery, Grandpa Reuel, Gram’s parents, and Great-Grandma Jean–Walter’s first, third, and fifth wife–were immaculate.
Rusty stepped back by Gram, his hands jammed in the pockets of his sweat jacket.
She rubbed his back. “Your mom is so proud of you three boys.”
“And she can see us, right?” Micah put his arm along Dad’s shoulder.
“I think so,” said Gram. “I think the people who loved us don’t forget us when they go to Heaven. I don’t think Heaven would be perfect for everyone if they couldn’t know what their loved ones back here were doing.”
Lifting my head, I pushed back a few strands of hair. “I’ve wondered about that. It’s a nice theory.”
Leaves murmured in the wind and the bright red berries on the honeysuckle bushes rattled.
Jeanine and Carrie sniffed. Amber put her arms around her mom and rested her head on Jeanine’s shoulder. Coral was as blank as ever. Micah draped himself over Dad’s back as he remained squatted by the grave. Rusty took a shaky breath as Gram put an arm around Aunt Lily’s shoulders and linked her other arm with Uncle Cal’s.
Rubbing his temple, Aaron tilted his head to one side. “I don’t think, Gram, you can make an experiment to prove your theory.”
Carrie busted out with a laugh, and it traveled through the family.
Standing with Micah on his back, Dad said, “We’d better get home. Who’s staying for supper?”
The conversation lasted awhile as relatives sorted out who wanted to stay, who thought they were inconveniencing Gram, and who knew they weren’t.
Once we started back up to the parking lot, Dad put his arm around me while supporting Micah. He squeezed my shoulders. “How’s my girl?”
Squashing my depression, I hugged him around his waist. “Always better when I’m with family.” Since we were ahead of the train of relatives, I whispered, “Why isn’t Walter here?”
“He always disappears before the anniversary of Dad’s death. He probably left right after he talked to you yesterday. He’ll be back tomorrow or the day after.”
“You don’t know where he is?” Getting a better grip on Dad’s shirt, Micah leaned further over his shoulder.
“No. He never says where he goes. Jeanine, Carrie, and I always offer to spend the day with him, but he always turns us down.” He sighed. “I wish he wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he’s so sad that he doesn’t want to be with people.”
“He’d be less sad if he was with family.”
“That’s the truth.” I gave Dad another squeeze.
*****
I think the scene works well by itself, but it didn’t really fit the rest of the novel. And I had to include characters who have nothing to do with the story, but since they are siblings or nieces or nephews of Reuel, it would be weird if they weren’t present.
So I axed the scene. But since Reuel and Em’s deaths play a role in the novel, I had to come up with a reason for the family to skip the graveside memorial. In the opening chapters, Rae’s uncle Hank suffers a life-threatening riding accident. So I used that traumatic event to my advantage.
*****
I sat still. “Are we going to the cemetery tomorrow?”
He [Mal] shook his head. “Jeanine said her nerves aren’t up to visiting the graves. I’m not sure Carrie’s up for it either.” He huffed a sigh. “I’m not all that certain about myself.”
… Dad said, “We’ll wait until—well, maybe until Hank can come with us.”
I nodded. “It wouldn’t seem right to have a family event without him.”
His swift glance showed he agreed.
*****
So I was able to cut a scene that didn’t aid the overall storytelling but still got across what a close family Rae belongs to.
What do you think of the scene? Should I have tried to keep it or was deleting it a good choice?
Here are prompts for inspiring scenes.
