Novel Journey Critiques ~ Week 5

Read what our suggestions are, see if you agree or disagree. If we're off, leave a comment letting us know.

Our suggestions are just that SUGGESTIONS. The author will be wise to use discernment and pick up what works for him/her and ignore what doesn't. We're not above learning. We sometimes don't agree with one another's critiques of our work. Sometimes we debate, but ninety-five percent of the time or better, we have learned to trust each other.

We've each been edited/critiqued by professional editors, best-selling authors, etc. and no one has been tougher on us than us. Our hope is that not only this author who bravely subbed his/her work will benefit, but that some folks reading the critique will be able to apply our suggestions to their own work.
Our critique code is as follows:
( ) = suggest deleting
[ ] = sugges adding
** = comments
gws=goes without saying
rue=resist the urge to explain
im= internal monologue

Original Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

Honor McKee looked up into her best friend’s glaring brown eyes. No one did peeved quite like Vicki Kauffman: hands on her hips, head tilted, brows lifted as if she expected an answer, and she expected it now.

Thankfully, the timer buzzed, offering Honor an excuse to concentrate on her baking. She opened the oven door and squinted into the rushing heat carrying the delicious aroma of chocolate chip cookies into the room. She grabbed an oven mitt and took out the pan.

From the scent alone, Honor knew her cookies were perfectly baked. She set the tray on the counter and began taking them up. She loved making cookies. The routine was as important to her as the broad smiles welcoming her when she walked into a room with them.

The last cookie tore as the spatula slid under it. With the tenderness a mother would show a child’s scraped knee, Honor held it in place and gently nudged it onto the wax paper.

“Hel-looo?” Vicki waved her hand in front of Honor’s eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

Honor didn’t want to hear Vicki’s ramblings about yet another romantic prospect. Her day had been discouraging enough.

She’d run into Bitsy Carpenter downtown, juggling two bags and as many children clinging to her legs. Her oldest son pushed a stroller with a sleeping Number Four in it. A chatterbox from high school, Bitsy went on and on about her children’s accomplishments, her dreadfully busy husband, and her “Well, life is just so demanding with so many kids, isn’t it?”

And the topper to Honor’s morning? The “Oh, I’m so sorry, Onnie, I didn’t mean...” that tumbled out of Bitsy’s mouth and drifted to a stammering halt. But, of course, Bitsy did mean. And her look of pity made Honor want to scream.

She’d gone home instead to a leaking washing machine and a sopping wet floor in her laundry room. She’d gathered her hair into a ponytail and spent the better part of an hour cleaning up, just in time for Cybil Barrett’s call about her five kids.

“Thanks so much for watching my children after school, Honor. Their Uncle Jake is home again, after nine years of living in Maine, bless his heart, and he promised to pick Chrissy up at your place at four. I’ll round up the others about four-thirty. All right?”

Of course, it was all right. Honor’s home had become a holding cell for children wanting her cookies with milk after school, and Honor loved having them there.

Vicki’s face appeared not two inches from Honor’s. “You’re ignoring me.”

Honor rolled her eyes. “Somebody has to.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I know you’re pestering me.” Honor wiped the pan, picked up a spoon and started scooping out balls of dough.

“Since when is looking out for my best friend pestering?”

“Since when have I needed looking out for?”

“Since you’re...” Vicki’s hasty words stopped.

Honor tensed. Don’t say it, she silently begged. Not out loud. The words would become too real and too hurtful.

Without taking her eyes off the dough dropping onto the cookie sheet, she said, “The timer behind you, Vicki. I’m almost finished with this batch. Set it for twelve minutes.”

Honor heard the swish of the dial followed by soft ticking.

Vicki sighed. “At least be happy about the prospect.”

“You’re happy. That’s enough for me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Honor opened the oven door and slid in the pan. “You’re wasting your talents on me, Vicki.

Surely there’s another single woman you can haunt with fresh meat. Besides,” Honor sniffed, “I know too much about Jake Barrett.”

“That’s an advantage, knowing his parents so well. Have you seen him? He’s been back three days now.”

Honor resented the hope bracketing Vicki’s words. Hope had given Honor nothing but two very public broken engagements. At this point in her life, all she wanted was to be left alone, to live an inconspicuous and quiet life as a family counselor. Obviously, having a husband and children was simply not God’s plan for her life. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

Vicki reached for her glass of tea. “How long has it been since his wife and son died?”

“Almost two years now, but it could have happened yesterday, the way Wilma says he holds onto it.” Honor walked to the sink and washed her hands.

“Did they ever identify the man driving the car?”

“No.”

“It’s time for Jake to move on,” Vicki declared, scooping up a wad of cookie dough and stuffing it into her mouth before Honor could swat her hand away. Licking her finger, Vicki frowned at her. “Why did he move back? Has Wilma said?”

“To heal, to find himself. To try to get the gruesome pictures of his family burned beyond recognition out of his soul. Wilma doesn’t know. He’s just finally home, and she’s thrilled. You should see her face when she talks about Jake. You’d think he’s her only child.”

Vicki nodded. “When one’s hurting, he may as well be.”

“It’s Wednesday.” Honor dried her hands and dropped the towel on the counter. “I need to call Wilma and see if she still wants me to come over for dinner and church.”

“If?” Vicki grunted. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

When Vicki turned to the sink, Honor noticed the sunlight streaming through the window added gold highlights to her friend’s short red hair. Her tall thin figure would be called classic in the fashion world. “Too many open wounds, Vicki. I don’t want to intrude.”

“As if.” Vicki picked up the towel and wiped her hands. “You’ve been like a daughter to Wilma and John Barrett for years. Intrude doesn’t come to mind when they think of you. Besides, Wednesday is your special time with both of them.”

“Not anymore, with Jake home. Anyway, I’ll be right back.” Honor walked out of the kitchen, then popped her head back in. “Don’t eat my cookie dough while I’m gone.”