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The Sunshine Trilogy

Marc is a retired automotive professional who started writing later in life. The Sunshine Machine is his first novel and part of a trilogy with a prequel and sequel in the works. When Marc is not writing he enjoys playing acoustic guitar, hiking trails in the Adirondacks, reading and spending time with his family. Marc is a graduate of the school of Architecture and Environmental Design from the State University of New York at Buffalo. and resides in Buffalo with his wife, Kathi. Growing up in the household of ABUELA GUADALUPE, a native American woman and a single parent mother, molds FRANCESCA into a young woman of conflicted thoughts about sexuality and self. Her mother, SORPRESA DA RIMINI, a flower child of the sixties, offers little support to her maturation and Abuela Guadalupe provides only mythical native tales of the “The First People” to school her in feminine sexuality and identity. From an early age she discerns that she is different, supported by the fact that she has a mysterious birthmark on her hand. Abuela Guadalupe insists that it is a sign of her wolf spirit, which affirms strength and vision. Others see the birthmark as a curse and bad luck. Francesca’s halcyon teen years are interrupted by the untimely death of her mother, Sorpresa. At her mother’s funeral she meets the patriarch of the Da Rimini family; GUIDO DA RIMINI. She is surprised to learn he is her grandfather and requests that she return to the family; The Da Rimini family her mother was banished from years earlier, because of her illegitimate pregnancy. She accepts the patriarch’s proposal but later pays a heavy price, when she is raped by her cousin; ROBERTO “Robbie” DELGADO. Francesca's troubles are far from over . . .

Marc M. Minnick · Realistic

Not enough ratings

60 Chs

Chapter 11: The Morning After

Francesca awoke to the sound of a loud television coming from the downstairs living room. She pushed herself with bruised forearms up in a cross-legged sitting position. Her wrists buckled under her own weight and she hurt everywhere. She threw off the blankets that partially covered her and saw she was naked. She pulled herself from the disheveled mess, wrapped a bed sheet around her torso and shuffled to the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror and couldn't believe what she saw. Her left eye was swollen, and her lower lip was cracked with clotted dry blood. There was bruising and chafing on her inner thighs and her breasts were reddened with small bite marks, she inhaled with disgust, then sobbed uncontrollably. She vividly recalled the horror and helplessness on Karl's face. The thought of Robbie and those boys doing to her what they did caused a wave of nausea, that made her vomit. Why did he do this to her? Aunt Estefania would be returning home soon from her forty-eight-hour shift at the hospital and would want to know what happened. Francesca thought to tell her, but then dismissed the thought immediately. She could hear in her head, Estefania espousing that, she was just like her mother, she got what she deserved. She had to leave, and she had to leave now.

Francesca packed as many as her things she could and called a cab to take her to the bus station. At the bus station she waited and watched the small black and white TV in the corner. She went over in her mind repeatedly as to what she could have done differently to prevent the attack. Ultimately, she concluded that there was nothing she could have done. At some point in time it was inevitable, she hated Robbie more than ever for what he did to her; an emotion totally foreign to her that she now embraced with ardent conviction.

As she waited, buses came and went and what seemed like forever, bus sixteen to Lompoc arrived ten minutes late. She boarded the bus and sat in the rear, hoping she wouldnt be recognized. She peered out the window and fingered her Abalone medallion, remembering the day Abuela said, when in times of trouble, it would bring her strength. She vowed she would never take it off and rubbed it repeatedly until her thumb and finger chafed.

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