My Graduate School Writing Sample

First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband Mark, my friend Amelia from Little Thoughts About Books (http://littlethoughtsaboutbooks.blogspot.com/), and all who have helped or cheered me on as I agonized over my grad school submission (Mom, Dad, Katie, Karli, Nancy, Aunt Lorrie... the list goes on and on). It really meant a lot to me.
Thanks also to those who wrote letters on my behalf, and to those of you who have been following my blog even though I haven't posted anything new! I have been neglecting to review books and share my glorious knowledge (ha ha) due to all of the exciting things I've done lately-- the BELS exam on September 14 and this submission due tomorrow. I'm so honored that, of all the things you could have been doing online, you've decided to come to my page and spend some time with me.
Thank you.

I've finished my submission and I sent copies to three "readers," four if you could Amelia who saved my sanity when I said, "She's a total bitch-- how can I make her more likeable?!" Well, according to the hubby, I nailed it this time. I can't wait to share it with you. As always, all of my writing is fair game just as any of the other books I've reviewed and have written either positively or negatively about. Please feel free to leave your comments or share your insights. I've got an awesome ending planned for this, so I can't wait to see how it works out. And, of course, SOON I'LL GET TO MEET OUR HEROOO!!! God, I love romance novels, and I'm so excited that I'm going to be applying to a graduate school that understands and celebrates the need for them. Yes, I said need. To be honest, the world could use a little less cynicism and a lot more imagination, love, and fairy tales. Reading books and being able to create one myself is just such an incredible adventure. I am so excited to be able to share one of my visions with you.

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!!!!


SYNOPSIS
When Sara Mayberry, an airline executive out of Los Angeles, comes home to find that her father died under suspicious circumstances while undergoing heart surgery, she is determined to find out how such a thing could have happened. Estranged from her family for the last five years, Sara is completely out-of-touch with her father’s unsettling medical history and the imminent bankruptcy of the family furniture business. Resolved to mend her broken relationships with her mother and sister, Sara decides to stay in Parkesburg, Pennsylvania, and overhaul the family business to once again make it a profitable and thriving venture. Sara soon realizes that there is more to her father’s death than first meets the eye, and as she works to rebuild the business—and by association, the town of Parkesburg —strange things begin happening to destroy her progress. With the broken pieces of Sara’s life finally beginning to come together in a career she loves and a romance she’s been waiting her whole life for, she will fight for the business and for the town that she ran away from years ago, and learn that nothing is ever truly what it seems.


Chapter 1
“Sara, I need the files sent to United; they should have been there hours ago. What is the problem?” Dave Miles, head of Securities and Sara’s boss, asked as soon as she answered her phone.
Sara Mayberry slammed the door of her rental car and walked through the high-rise parking garage to the line of elevators, juggling the phone to her ear as she fumbled with the large bouquet of flowers. She hated it when Linda called out, which felt like every time they had an important project, and Alyssa from Purchasing filled in. Sara had left the files with detailed instructions on Linda’s desk, and then sent a longer email to Alyssa explaining everything while she had waited for her plane to taxi in. Apparently, Alyssa must have dropped the ball and now Sara was getting reamed for it. Again.
“I don’t know why they weren’t sent, Dave—I am in Pennsylvania for the rest of the week. I asked Linda to take care of it before I left; she’s out so Alyssa was supposed to be working on it.”
She shook her head at Dave’s next question, her long dark hair flicking over her shoulder as she jammed the button for the elevator three times, hard.
“I sent you an email detailing our role in the conflict with American. Legal will be sending letters out this week to the passengers involved,” Sara said. Dave asked another question, one that Sara had already answered in the email. Clearly he didn’t read it. She rolled her eyes but answered anyway. “No, I didn’t talk to Sunny personally. I’ll have to make the call when I’m back in town.” After a few more questions, Sara disconnected and tossed the phone in her new Gucci handbag, a present to herself for her thirtieth birthday. She took a deep, cleansing breath and pressed the elevator button once again, more gently this time.
She just needed to get through the weekend, and then she would be back in L.A. and able to put everything back together at work. Just three days. She could do this.
The thought prompted her to reach into the side compartment of her purse and dig out the roll of Tums that she bought specifically for this trip.
At first, Sara thought that working as the Director of Securities for Los Angeles World Airports was an incredible opportunity and one that couldn’t have come at a better time. She was a graduate of Cornell with thousands of dollars in student loans for a business degree that she hadn’t wanted. Now that she had it, though, where better than L.A.—which was as far as she could possibly be from anyone who knew her or her family—to begin a new career and earn her own way?
Sara’s phone beeped with a new message as the elevator in front of her nosily slid open. She gave the elevator a dubious glance before cautiously stepping in and pressing her floor. The message was from her little sister Cate, who had been in the hospital overnight.
Room 5386. Cardiology. Fourth door on your right past the nurses’ station.
Sara ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach as she memorized the room number and once again put her phone away.
As the elevator brought her down, Sara tried to decide what she would say to her father when she saw him again. It was hard to pinpoint the exact time they decided to stop speaking to one another; it had happened so gradually over the past five years that it was difficult to say. Phone calls both ways had become briefer and less frequent than they had ever before, most notably over the last two years. Her cross-country move had been a devastating blow to her family who had lived in Pennsylvania for generations and couldn’t understand why she wanted to move. Only her father knew the real reason why, though they had never discussed it again.
She only hoped that he had kept his promise and didn’t tell her mother.
Sara rubbed the palm of her hand over her breastbone in an attempt to calm her escalating nerves. She had grown apart from everyone, especially Cate, who for so long had been the one constant ray of sunshine in Sara’s life and the only one whom Sara really missed. It had been a long time since they had spent any time together. But Sara wanted to change that, and there was no better time to start than this weekend, now that her father was doing well and she had a few days off to spend with her family and long-lost friends.
 
The elevator doors slid open into the waiting room of Southern Pennsylvania Medical Center, and as Sara passed through the nearly empty room with its sickly potted trees, she became instantly on alert. Southern Pennsylvania Medical Center had been the only hospital close enough to send an ambulance when her father felt the telltale pressure in his chest, and although Sara was thankful that they had managed to save her father’s life, she decided that as soon as he was capable of moving she was getting him transferred to a real city hospital like the University of Pennsylvania. Somewhere they at least bothered to water the plants, she thought, pausing to collect her visitor’s pass.
The click of her heels echoed in the deserted hallway of the cardiac wing, and for a moment she wondered if she had made a wrong turn. She felt her heart start to pick up speed as she passed the first door, then the second, both dark and empty. Where is everyone? she thought, resisting the urge to recheck her phone. Ahead she saw a nurse dressed in scrubs featuring Woodstock, Snoopy’s sidekick from the Peanuts comic strip. Cartoon scrubs in a hospital? Sara thought, watching the nurse walk to a room across the hall with a pile of blankets in her arms. Wait. Was that the fourth door?
Sara turned her head to be sure she had only passed two rooms. She finally heard the low murmur of voices as she passed the nurses’ station and came up to the third room, which was also empty. She heard a muffled sob and, dropping the flowers, she raced to the next open doorway.
Two nurses and a doctor were in her father’s room, leaning over his bed, hands moving quickly as they frantically worked on him. An alarm was ringing, the shrill noise loud in the quiet wing. Her mother was sitting in a chair by the window facing the bed, holding her sister tightly as she sobbed. Silent tears ran down Cate’s cheeks when she saw Sara standing in the doorway. Another nurse came in, moving Sara out of the way to check the computer set up by her father’s bed. She looked up at the screens and realized belatedly that she hadn’t heard the heartbeat monitor. Where it was supposed to be was nothing but a flat blue line. A minute later, the doctor left the room without a word, leaving them with the nurses who went to console her mother and sister.
Her father was dead.
 
Sara marched through the doors of the administrative offices on the first floor and, without a second glance for the gray-haired secretary, flung open the door with Susan L. White, MD, written on the plaque outside.
“I’m calling my lawyer and suing this hospital for malpractice,” Sara said, slamming the office door closed behind her. The woman started at her entrance, and slowly removed the glasses she had been wearing as she turned to her.
“Excuse me? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”
Dr. White was older than Sara, and she could see the intelligence in the eyes of her round face. She turned her chair to face Sara and clasped her hands loosely on the desk, obscuring the view of a bulging belly protruding from underneath the white coat that was now hanging open. For some reason the sight of a woman older than her, pregnant, threw her off the edge. Her father would never see her pregnant, would never hold his grandchild. She fought the tears and stepped up to Dr. White’s desk.
“My father just flatlined in your cardiac department due to malpractice, and I intend to sue this hospital for negligence. He was alive, the surgery went well. They won’t give us more information so I’m going to get a subpoena for you to turn over his files.”
“And you are?”
“Sara Mayberry.”
“Ah, of course,” she said, turning back to her computer. “Dr. Patel called and asked for me to review your father’s case. It’s a very unusual situation, Ms. Mayberry. Please, sit down.”
Sara sat in one of the matching leather arm chairs facing her desk and, for the first time, noticed the sparse décor and piles of papers arranged around the desk and on the bookcases. It felt more like the office of a crusty, old detective, not a mother-to-be, and certainly not like anything she had been expecting after watching House and Grey’s Anatomy.
Dr. White worked on her computer while Sara sat in silence, the multiple shocks from the day still playing in the back of her mind. She pushed it out—the tears, the questions, Dr. Patel’s cagey look as he excused himself from the room, leaving Sara, Cate, and their mother with her father’s body. She closed her eyes and practiced the exercise her therapist had taught her: She saw herself walk to her special closet and dust off a plain white shoe box from the top shelf. She opened the lid and emptied all of her negative thoughts, emotions, and stress. She put the lid back on, replaced the box, and turned out the light. With her emotions safely locked away, she opened her eyes to face the doctor once again.
Dr. White was staring intently at the computer, clicking the mouse, and then placed a call to her secretary Phyllis—whom Sara could only assume was the woman she blew past—and asked her to bring in the files she had just printed.
When Phyllis walked in holding a pile of papers, Dr. White motioned toward her.
“Ms. Mayberry, this is everything we have about your father’s case; I’m giving it to you so that there is no need to subpoena the hospital or engage in a lawsuit. Please accept the hospital’s heartfelt sympathy for your loss.” She paused, and Sara looked up from the pile in her lap.
“Ms. Mayberry, do you know what meloxicam is?”
“No.”
“Meloxicam is a type of non-steroidal anti-inflammatory that can cause a fatal reaction in heart patients. Your father had been ill for some time, but refused testing or additional treatment until this most recent episode. What’s strange is that neither he nor your mother has any medications listed in our database. He had been admitted twice this year for incidents that occurred, and meloxicam was not prescribed nor listed as a current medication either time.”
Sara tried to hide the fact that the floor had just dropped out from under her feet. Why hadn’t anyone told her this wasn’t the first time he had been admitted? Dr. White appeared oblivious to her reaction as she continued.
“I don’t have the autopsy yet to confirm, but I suspect that your father has been ingesting meloxicam for several months now, which ultimately caused this reaction. Such a substance in the bloodstream while undergoing major surgery would be fatal.”
Sara finally found her voice.
“This substance you’re talking about—I know it’s not over-the-counter. How could he have been ingesting it for months without you knowing?”
Dr. White shook her head. “Your father’s primary physician or a specialist could have written him a prescription—it’s common for patients who present with pain or arthritis.”
“That’s impossible,” Sara replied, standing up to pace. “My father doesn’t have a primary care physician. Until this last year he has never been sick. I’m sure you would have been notified if in fact he was taking something like that—my mother has an excellent memory and I know she would have told you. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
Dr. White glanced back down at the papers on her desk. “I’m sorry, Ms. Mayberry, but that’s all the information I have at this time. As I’m sure you can understand, the hospital is not liable because the medication was not claimed; if we had known he was on meloxicam other measures would have been taken.” She opened a drawer and handed her a business card. “In case you need to reach me. But I will be sure to contact you as soon as we know more. And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Clearly dismissed, Sara nodded and left the hospital without waiting for her mother or Cate. As she climbed in her rental car, she focused on the one thing that she could do: she had to find that medication. It was impossible that her father was taking medication—any medication—willingly. Bill Mayberry was as stubborn as they got, and no matter what had been wrong with him, he never took a single pill. If her father had been taking a medication for a long period of time, he either didn’t know it or he was being forced to do it. And Sara was going to find out which it was.

---
A cell phone rang and was quickly answered by a man reading a newspaper in the waiting room at Southern Pennsylvania Medical Center. The caller relayed a brief message, to which the man responded in the affirmative. The next thing the caller said caused the man to fold his paper in half and pace to the far window where he couldn’t be overheard. He asked a few questions, and when he was satisfied with the responses, he pocketed his phone and left the hospital without a backward glance.
---

Sara slammed the front door behind her and raced up the familiar stairs to her parents’ bedroom. It felt as if it had been empty for years, the way the pristine coverlet lay folded, the pillows carefully arranged on top. Her mother stayed at the hospital during her father’s surgery, and her father…
Sara cut off the thought, and instead moved toward the bedside table where she knew her father’s things were kept. She went through both drawers, not finding anything that mentioned the word meloxicam or looked as if it could have been the culprit. Her father, even at 60 years old, was the healthiest man she had ever known; the only medication in the drawer was a daily vitamin.
Knowing that her mother kept medications in a few other places, Sara didn’t linger over the mess she made in the bedroom, but went straight into the master bathroom. There were pills in the top drawer of the vanity, but there was nothing—no prescriptions, no pill bottles—nothing that could have caused what the doctor had described.
Sara let out a defeated sigh and looked up at her face in the mirror. Her mascara had run down her face, leaving black tearstains that ran down to her chin. She gasped and flicked on the hot water. When had she cried? Did anyone actually see her like this? She quickly washed her face and then grabbed her bag out of the bedroom. Medications forgotten, Sara carefully reapplied her makeup and smoothed her hair as a car pulled into the driveway. The front door opened, and she heard Cate call out her name.
“I’ll be right there,” she replied. Sara tossed the makeup back into her purse and started to clean up the mess she made of her mother’s vanity during her search. How strange it all was. The numerous hospital visits, her father supposedly taking medication, and—most of all—her mother clearly having no knowledge of it. Or, did she? Sara’s hand paused in midair at the thought. Could it be possible that her mother withheld that information from the hospital deliberately?
Sara laughed at herself and continued to clean up. Too many CSI Miami re-runs. There was no way that would ever happen. Her mother and father had been joined at the hip for the last forty years; she didn’t know a single couple who was happier or more devoted to one another than her parents were. It was absolutely inconceivable that her mother would be responsible or would have done anything to hurt her father in any way. Sara moved into the bedroom and started to straighten the contents of the top drawer when a note written in her father’s block handwriting caught her eye.
R. Tolson, 10/16 at 6:15- DiNardo’s. 
Sara nearly dropped the scrap of paper when she realized what it was. Ryan Toulson. It couldn’t be possible. Could it? If this actually happened, that meant that her father met with Ryan only three days ago for dinner at the nicest restaurant in Coatesville. Cate called her name again, so Sara pocketed the note and grabbed her things. Sara needed answers, and if anyone would know what the hell was going on around here, it would be her mother. 

Sara came down the stairs to see Cate in the kitchen wearing baggy sweatpants, the same long dark hair as Sara’s pulled into a ponytail as she stirred noodles into a pot of boiling water. The kitchen radio was tuned in to a country radio station, and Sara cringed at the hokey lyrics.
“Hey, where’s Mom?” Sara asked, pouring herself a glass of water from the jug in the refrigerator.
Cate didn’t answer. Sara walked over and stood beside her at the stove, and for the first time noticed Cate’s red-rimmed eyes and the tears that were still silently coursing down her cheeks. She put her arm around her little sister’s waist but, instead of returning her hug, Cate jerked away.
“Just stop it.”
“What?” Sara asked, turning to face her. “What’s your problem?”
“Where were you? We waited at the hospital for you so that you could say goodbye to Dad but you just left! If Mrs. Redmond hadn’t called to tell us a strange car pulled into the driveway and someone ran into the house we would never have known that you came back here!”
Fresh tears rolled down Cate’s cheeks, but instead of brushing them away she let them fall. Sara took her water and sat at the kitchen table, knowing better than anyone that Cate was inconsolable in a mood like this. So instead she answered her question with a question of her own.
“Do you know if Dad was on anything for arthritis or pain? Did he ever mention that he was taking something?”
Cate leveled her with a glare.
“You can’t seriously be asking that.”
“I know, I tried to tell the doctor but they’re convinced he was on something that caused the reaction.”
“When did you talk to the doctor?” Cate asked, turning to get a jar of pasta sauce out of one of the cabinets. Sara didn’t know how much she should tell Cate; at this point the only fact was that her father was dead and, as far as his daughters knew, they hadn’t been aware he was taking something that would have caused it.
She shrugged, then took another drink of water. “I went to talk to the Chief of Staff about the doctor—she told me that there was no reason to suspect malpractice.”
Sara held her breath, waiting for the next question, but Cate just nodded and spooned pasta into her bowl. She sat at the table with Sara and just stared at her bowl, her fork forgotten in her hand.
“Mom told me to drop her off at Uncle Richard’s. She said she had to call the church and make funeral arrangements, and Aunt Patty had gone through this so she would know what to do.”
Sara nodded, remembering the phone call she had gotten last year saying that her cousin Richie had been killed while on active duty in Somalia. She hadn’t been able to make it home for the funeral because of work, and Aunt Pat still wouldn’t forgive her for missing the service. She couldn’t even remember now what was so important that Dave wouldn’t give her the time off.
Cate started twirling the long strands of spaghetti on her fork and dropping the perfect circles, untouched, back into the bowl in front of her. Sara cleared her throat and shoved her water away.
“Is there any vodka in this house?” she asked, pushing up from the kitchen table.
Cate got up and dumped her spaghetti in the trash. “Follow me.”