webnovel

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 · 現実
レビュー数が足りません
60 Chs

Chapter 44: Paved with Good Intentions

The road to Albuquerque along route forty is high desert plains with a great expanse of flat prairie, north and south of the highway. As I drove, to the east the Sandia mountains rose like gentle giants from their slumber. The city lights glistened like Christmas ornaments at the base of the mountains. Blue, red and white dotted the landscape. White lights were like morning stars, disappearing, only to reappear. Colors and shapes melded into a tableau of contrasting images.

Joey slept beside me. It was time to wake him.

"Joey wake up!”

Joey rubbed his eyes and straightened in his seat.

“Are we there yet?” he asked.

"Almost, peel your eyes for Broadway boulevard. We’re looking for the Whispering Pines.” I replied.

Yawning, he drawled "It’s Desert Winds, dude, not Whispering Pines!”