Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When my mother found out she was pregnant, she didn’t immediately tell my father. She said she didn’t want to ruin his life. He was in his third year at Coastal Carolina on a baseball scholarship with dreams of making it to the big leagues someday. But the real reason was that she was afraid. Afraid of how he’d react. Afraid of him leaving her.

            The two began dating the summer before his junior year of college. My father’s parents didn’t particularly like my mother. One glance at her promiscuous garments and the floral tattoo on her wrist, and they assumed she wasn’t good enough for their baby boy. Little did he know at the time they were right. At first, he tried to ignore the harsh comments. Brush them off as though they didn’t affect him even though they were building a fire of rage inside him. One night, he became fed up with how they treated her and the burning flames inside of him burst.

            My mother was having another one of her episodes. Feelings of hopeless despair and worthlessness once again consumed her mind. Clutching the bottle, she drank and drank until not a drop remained.  Her eyes were bloodshot and her breath reeked of hard liquor. Not knowing what else to do, she somehow meandered down the street and banged loudly on my grandparents’ door. With a string of luck, my father was the one fidgeting with the knob.

            “Jules, what are you doing here?” he whispered after creaking open the worn, wooden door. It was a quarter after one and his parents were asleep. He could see the dried tears on her cheeks and inhaled the overpowering aroma of alcohol on her breath. “Let’s get you inside,” he murmured placing her arm around his neck, practically carrying her into the kitchen.

            Pulling out a chair, slowly so it wouldn’t skid across the linoleum and wake his parents, he sat my mother down, and got her a tall glass of ice cold water. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he insisted grabbing her by the hand.

            My mother’s eyes were dull. She appeared lifeless. Like her soul had vanished from her body and now all that was left was mundane and robotic movements. Shakily, she lifted the glass of water to her mouth and began to take small sips. My father sat patiently, stroking her long fingers and rubbing the top of her thigh. Clearing her throat, she went to position the glass where she had picked it up, however, she misjudged the placement of the table and the glass fell to floor, shattering into a million pieces. It was only a matter of seconds before my grandparents awoke and discovered the mess.

            “What the hell is she doing here?” his father inquired furiously. The crease in his forehead was incredibly prevalent as he glared at his son. “Is she drunk?”

            “I’m taking care of her,” snapped my father carefully directing her towards the windowsill to avoid the shards of glass covering the floor.

            “Get her out of my house,” he demanded walking closer to his son. My grandfather was a towering six foot three. Former military veteran, now working night shifts lifting and moving boxes in a manufacturing warehouse. No one dared pick a fight with him. Coercion was certainly not a weakness.

            “What?” probed my father, actually defending my mother for a change.

            “I said get that worthless, drunk b***h out of my goddamn house” he said blatantly while crossing his arms. My father was infuriated. To everyone’s surprise, he performed the boldest act he had ever done in his life. With all of his strength he geared up, and punched my grandfather square in the nose. Blood began to pour out and the bruise was already forming.

            Wiping away the blood running down his chin, my grandfather shouted, “Get the f**k out of my house and take that useless w***e with you.” My grandmother stared in disbelief. Uneasiness flooded the room. That must’ve been the first time anyone stood up to my grandfather. Moving deliberately slow, my father grabbed my mother’s hand, and led her down the hall and out the door. That was the last time he ever spoke to them. Apparently, someone saw his mother visiting his grave a few years back, but who the hell knows if that’s true or not.

            With a blank expression on his face, my father guided my dear intoxicated mother home. He couldn’t believe what just happened. What on earth provoked him in sticking up for this girl instead of abiding by what his family believed? Either way, he felt empowered. Laying my mother down in her warm bed, he sat by her side and stroked those messy blonde curls that he loved so much.

            “Vinnie,” she whispered with her eyes closed and her voice shaky.

            “Yes?”

            She inhaled slowly and then exhaled. With her eyes still closed, she murmured, “I’m pregnant.”

            My father didn’t say anything. He just crawled in bed beside her, kissed my mother’s forehead, and watched her sleep. Only one thing kept crossing his mind. How much he loved her.

…

            Everything happens for a reason. At least that’s what I believe. I mean, if my father hadn’t stood up to my grandfather, would I even be here today? I guess you could argue that I still would be, considering my mother slept around more than she should have, and that my presence was eventually inevitable. But I wouldn’t be the same person without him.

I’d only ever seen one picture of my mother. She was turned to her left, leaning against a fence post and stroking the crest of a horse I had never seen before. Ruby red boots and faded jeans, crimson plaid shirt with a matching cowboy hat. She looked no more than fifteen years old. But what I remember most is the beautiful blonde braid falling perfectly down her back and the bright smile stretching from cheek to cheek. I wondered if the smile was fake.

I can still remember those early mornings when I would tug on my grandmother’s button down shirt and practically beg her to braid my hair so that I could look like my mommy. She’d sit me down on a wooden stool in front of the hall mirror so that I could see my reflection. Twisting my blond curls into position, she’d tell me how much I reminded her of my mother. The hair, the eyes, the nose. Everything. I didn’t know it then, but I came to realize she missed my mother more than she led on.

I spent my childhood days carelessly. Running wild in the wind with not a worry in the world. That’s how it should be, and I’m forever grateful that my grandmother kept those secrets from me for as long as she did. When the sun would finally sink below the horizon and the stars danced into the night sky, I’d come home with my braid a raggedy muddle of knots and loops and she’d smile. She’d say that although I looked identical to my mother, my wild personality was a spitting image of my father. And no one could ever take that part away from me.

As I sit in bed this morning, stripping myself of Noah’s jacket, I wonder what the reason was for that kiss last night. Noah and I were friends, that’s it. Plain and simple. Why the hell did he cross that barrier with me? We never had any romantic feelings. At least I didn’t. But for some reason, I couldn’t get the smell of rosewood out of my head. I needed to see him.

“You awake?” It was Caleb knocking on the door of the guest room that I had been residing in for the past few weeks.

“Yeah, one second,” I shouted rushing over to my dresser and stuffing Noah’s jacket underneath the layers of baggy sweatshirts and old tee shirts. I bolted over to the door and opened it finding the familiar face of the boy who I used to call my best friend. My boyfriend. My first true love. His eyes met mine.

“We’re headed to church. Did you want to come with us?”

“No thanks,” I responded politely. He nodded as if he psychically knew what I was going to say. Well, he probably did for that matter. I always said no. I still hated church.

I watched him turn and walk down the hallway, then the stairs. I counted the steps until he reached the bottom. Fourteen.

Despite living in the same house, Caleb and I had hardly spoken to one another. Half of his life was consumed with studying. He had been taking a few courses at a local community college before attending a university in the fall. The other half was constant involvement with his church.  From Bible studies to service projects, his faith was his companion. Since I had no interest in either subject, it was hard to find something to talk about. Dinner was about the only time we muttered a word to one another. And that was just insignificant small talk that no one really cared about.

Most of the time, I didn’t leave my room. Occasionally, Caleb’s mother would peek her head in and see if I was still breathing. She always found that funny, and I’d chuckle along just so that she’d be satisfied and leave. Don’t get me wrong, I was incredibly grateful for them offering me this room, and I helped out around the house as much as I could with washing dishes or folding laundry. But, I enjoyed my alone time. It was peaceful. Gave me a chance to sit down and actually think for a change. And with all that has happened to me recently, Caleb’s family never really questioned me.

Wandering back into the guest room, I surveyed the area. It was nothing special. A queen bed stood directly across from the door with a plain white comforter like the ones you’d find in fancy hotels. On the left, there was the nightstand and a tall chest of five drawers made out of aspen and a full length mirror stood directly next to it. On the right, a small desk was positioned adjacent to the bed, and a floor lamp rested in the corner of the room. Other than that, it was bare except for one picture which was mounted just above the bed. It was a landscape illustrating an old farmhouse surrounded by trees of changing colors and fallen leaves scattered along the path leading to God knows where. Whenever I look at it, I think of Noah. I imagine it’s the same house he had lived in for most of his life back in Iowa. The house where his father taught him how to take down a buck with one shot of a rifle. The house where his mother would cook him breakfast each morning and tuck him into bed each night. The house where his baby sister was born, who taught him to always protect the ones you love. The house that taught him what a home is.

I needed to see him. I couldn’t bear another moment without knowing why he had kissed me. As soon as I heard the car pull out of the driveway, I practically sprinted down the stairs, grabbed my keys, and bolted out the door.

Noah lived about eight blocks away. I knew I probably shouldn’t have shown up to his house without calling first, but I couldn’t imagine talking to him without seeing those beautiful blue eyes and the lips that landed on mine. My pace was quick and the walk was short, so it took less than ten minutes to arrive at his front porch. As I walked up the steps, I noticed the golden daffodils planted in the soil below the white trimmed railing of his house. Daffodils were my grandmother’s favorite. I approached the door, however, just as my hand grazed the outer panel, I realized I had no clue what I was going to say to him when he opened that door. My fingertips traced the outline of the panels as I tried brainstorming ideas, but nothing came to mind. It felt as though all the wires in my head suddenly shut down and I couldn’t even generate a single thought. My mind was in a daze and without even realizing it, my knuckles were knocking on the wooden door. Biting my lip, I took a step back praying that no one would answer the door. I debated running, but before I could even act on my thoughts, the door swung open and there a figure stood.

“Well hello there Charlie. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi Mr. Wellman,” I responded, relieved that it wasn’t Noah.

“I certainly didn’t expect to see you,” he stated sounding rather eager. I hadn’t been here in over a month. Not since the fishing trip. Immediately, he opened the door and began walking back towards the kitchen. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” I responded politely. As much as I didn’t want to be in Noah’s house with his father, I couldn’t exactly oppose the invitation. Mr. Wellman was a successful business man. I think Noah mentioned once that he was the chief executive officer at the company he worked for. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but all I know is that he makes a large amount of money, and he’s the one who fires other employees. Basically, he had no choice but to be intimidating. He simply didn’t care what others thought nor did he take no for an answer, and I’ve known him long enough to understand that I might as well just do as he says.

“How have things been going?” he asked solemnly sitting down on one of the bar stools next to the island of their kitchen. Everyone in town knew of my grandmother. Things like that weren’t easy to hide in a small town. Headlines were plastered with a death when it occurred because it was such a rarity. It was no big secret that I was alone.

“Everything’s fine,” I replied without even thinking about it. That response had become almost instinctual for me. If I began to tell anyone how I was really feeling, I’d be placed in a mental institution. And they’d all look at me with such disdain, thinking I was nothing but a replica of my mother.

Since both her and my father grew up here, everyone knew about my history. In fact, the entire town knew about my past before I even did. And that still gets to me sometimes. No wonder they always looked at me with such pity in their eyes and talked to me with such apologetic tones. I hated that everyone tried to express sympathy towards me.

            …

The night after my mother confessed that she was pregnant to my father, he went back to his house. Climbing onto the roof and crawling into the open window was a hassle, but he managed to fall into his old room with only a scrape to his knee. His jeans became soaked with blood, but the adrenaline didn’t allow him to even notice. It was around three in the morning and he figured his parents would both be sleeping and that he’d have just enough time to gather some necessities and leave once and for all. He rummaged through the cluttered mess, frantically trying to pack his suitcase as efficiently as possible. When he had effectively managed to shove his garments and toiletries into the bag, he gripped the edge of his bed and sat down. This was the first time he took a deep breath and actually thought rationally about the situation. He laid down on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan, watching the blades rotate clockwise in a hypnotic motion. For a moment he closed his drowsy eyes. Was he really going to do this? Lose everything that he had going for himself? Leave once and for all? He took another deep breath, and as he slowly sat up and regained his vision he saw the silhouette and recognized her immediately. They both stared at one another in the darkness. Without even saying a word, it was obvious that they were connecting on a deeper level.

“Go with her,” she commanded. Her voice was flat. Unemotional. Yet he knew she was on the verge of tears. Standing up, he watched her from a distance. She made no movements. He inhaled, held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled. Vaguely, he could see the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “Vinnie, go,” she repeated, trying to maintain her steady tone.

Without allowing another moment to pass he headed towards the safe placed in the back of his closet. His hands shook as he attempted to turn the dial on the combination lock and after three or four tries, he finally prodded the door open. He removed all of the money he had saved in there which totaled just over two thousand dollars. Anxiously, he began shoving all of the money in the front pocket of his suitcase. His mother remained in the doorway, watching her baby boy. When all of his belongings were packed, there was nothing left to do but go.

He glanced at her. She was motionless, but the tears began streaming down her face. Walking over slowly with his head down, he placed his arms around her body. Her skin was cold to the touch and sent a shiver down my father’s spine. There they remained for multiple minutes. Holding one another in each other’s arms. No words were spoken. Just the sound of silence flooded the room.

Finally, he distanced himself and turned his head. He didn’t want his mother to see him cry. She took his hand in her own. He could feel her fingernails scratching at the back of his hand. She used to do this when he was just a little boy to sooth him to sleep. Shutting his eyes, he imagined he was younger again. Letting his hand fall to his side, she stepped back and removed the ring from her left finger. It was the same diamond my grandfather had given her on their wedding day. Not a day in her life had she taken off that ring. Without saying a word, she placed it in the palm of my father’s hand and closed his fingers around it.

He looked into her eyes. Her beautiful somber eyes. A tear fell from his own as he wiped the tears trickling down her pretty face. A kiss on the cheek, and he was gone. My grandmother closed her eyes, and leaned against his bedroom wall listening to his engine roar, and the truck’s rumble becoming nothing but a distant memory. She lingered around his room for only a moment and sat down on his bed, staring out the window. The full moon drifted across the night sky, and the cold wind continued to blow through the open window. Nothing more than a broken hearted soul remained.

My father arrived at my mother’s house minutes later and let himself inside. He found her lying in her bed in the same position he had left her in. Carrying my mother into the passenger seat of his beat up old truck, he laid her down on the back seat. She opened her eyes only for a moment to see my father’s face and contentedly closed them again. He buckled her in place, and carefully rested her head on a pillow propped up against the side window. Rushing back inside, he packed a bag with a few of her belongings making sure not to leave anything behind that had significant value to her. Once he believed he had everything they needed, he started the ignition and allowed the truck to roll slowly out of her driveway. Gazing back, he saw the light on in my grandmother’s room and the silhouette appearing in the window. She had been watching the whole time. He took another deep breath, looked both ways, and backed out of my mother’s driveway. Adrenaline replaced the feeling of guilt as he drove far, far away.

             …

“Noah’s here, if you wanted to see him,” said Mr. Wellman, attempting to lighten the mood.

“No, that’s alright,” I started to say, but before I could finish the last word, he was already calling his son’s name. My heart started throbbing inside my chest. I heard his door slam, and his feet thud down the stairs. My breath quickened, and I feared for what would happen when I saw him. I thought about running out of their house, but my feet were cemented to the kitchen floor. As I heard him reach the bottom of the steps, I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach.

He turned the corner, holding onto the railing, and our eyes met. Two pairs of blue eyes looking into each others. He stopped dead in his tracks, and his jaw dropped. I could feel my cheeks burning up.

“Charlie,” he stuttered, “What are you doing here?” His voice was wobbly, and I could tell that he was embarrassed.

“She stopped by, and I figured she would want to see you,” his father stated. His expression was genuinely confused, but he assumed we were just kids being kids, and he strolled over to the kitchen sink and began cleaning the dishes.

“Want to go for a walk?” I suggested casually, biting my lip and trying to end the uncomfortable feeling in the air. He nodded.

It was awkward. We walked side by side for almost two blocks without saying a word. Neither of us knew how to break the silence or what to even say to each other. My pace was slightly slower than his. I believe he was anxious. Finally, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed my hand. Tighter than he ever had before.

“Why didn’t you ever give me a chance?” he asked, staring into my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Charlie, are you serious?” he questioned furiously. He broke our eye contact and shifted his gaze to the sidewalk, kicking a rock with his right foot.

 I thought about it. Had I really never given him a chance? I never thought of him as more than a friend. He never made a move on me either. Was this my fault? It couldn’t be. We were friends. That’s it. Plain and simple. Now I was angry. Certainly, if he had wanted to make a move on me, he could have.

“Don’t put the blame on me,” I retorted harshly. “If you had wanted to be more than friends, you could’ve told me.” I retracted my hand from his grasp, and crossed my arms. How could he have the nerve to guilt me into thinking this was my fault? This was unbelievable. His gaze was back on me, but only for a moment. He shook his head.

 “I knew I never should’ve kissed you last night,” he muttered under his breath and walked away. I stood there, watching him go. It was like a rerun of last night all over again, only this time I hoped he didn’t turn back. When he was finally out of my sight, I turned and began walking in the opposite direction, wondering why I even bothered to show up in the first place.

Reviews

[Mifa]

I must say Sarah, this chapter is much better than the first. The exposition is lesser and the dialogues gives the story a more concrete feel. But I should note that as good as you sense of description from the protagonists eyes are great, there is still something missing in terms of a very concrete setting.

Right now, it feels like the characters are floating in space. I am from Nigeria, so for me reading it, it should make sense that I get a sense of where and when the events of these happenings are taking place. Give more light to the description of your surrounding, let the readers eyes get accustomed to the environment were the characters exist in.

Also, I found the rumination of her parents life before her birth kinda distorting of the flow of the story. You brought in the scene where her father became rebellious and struck his father for her mothers sake and how he was thrown out, and just when that narrative is beginning to take shape, there's a jump to the present and then another sudden jump back to that moment again.

I would suggest that there be some kind of coherence with the way you write. The back and forth can easily start to be a push off, even for the most dedicated readers. And this is because like I said before, the exposition seems to be what's driving the story.

Anyway, this chapter aces the first by a long short. But a lot could still be done to make it better. I'm onto the next chapter. Again, I hope the trend of improvement continues. Good one thought. Keep writing.

[Sarah]

Thanks for the review. I started the chapter describing Charlie's parents to create a whole new perspective of her background. I wanted to create a break from Charlie's own life to build suspense and make the reader question more. I understand that the back and forth can be hard to follow at times, but I feel as though it creates an interesting contrast and background into why her parents are the way they are, and ultimately why Charlie is the way she is.

[Mifa]

I see. But I am quite certain, you could accomplish that in some other way, other than having to distort the flow. How about something in the her presence triggering a rumination that ushers in the background tale of her folks. Just a suggestion anyways? Good one though.

[Rebecca]

this chapter flowed more than the first one. interesting flashback of her mother's life. poignant writing. I thought she was with Caleb, and then you brought up Noah. It was a little confusing, I forget if Noah was in the first chapter.If I'm wrong, Im sorry, but there's a hole in it (the scene where Noah kissed Charlie). I liked the subplot of Caleb asking Charlie to go to church. great chapter.

[Marianne Rose]

I really enjoyed the background of Charlie's parents, and the easy way their story was told. What is happening in the present interrupts their story in an abrupt way though- I would have been fine even with a character symbol to separate these parts just to let me know that I'm in a different time now- otherwise it takes me a minute to shift gears and appreciate what's happening in the present. Jumping from past to present is tricky- even in movies- readers depend on cues to help us make transitions. The story in the present has some interest, but so much less depth. It seems almost trivial to watch the two friends having their awkward and uncomfortable moment, especially when they both seem to sulk and dramatize like young children. I feel so much more depth in Charlie and Noah than this last scene- their spat uses phrases that don't give us much about their characters- their words could belong to anyone. Personally, I'm much more intrigued with Charlie's background than Charlie and Noah's interchange- though I did like the exposition of Charlie's memories. You write beautifully- with such a smooth flowing description of events- with a little more work on structure of past and present, and some dialogue that is fresh and authentic, this would be an outstanding second chapter.

[Sarah]

Thank you for reviewing! I understand the frustration with past and present and I'll definitely work on making the transition smoother and easier to follow. But I promise there is more depth to these characters if you continue reading! I hope you continue to give it a chance!

[Marianne Rose]

I definitely will- it's hard to keep up! I have over 50 read requests, a full time job and my own writing that grabs my attention, so I will be reading your work slowly . . . But I will keep going, because I am drawn to Charlie's story, and she is already a real person in my mind, which says quite a lot about your writing.

[Sarah]

Thank you. That is a great compliment and I take it to heart!

[wordman]

well two chapters now,i really enjoyed your story. i can see a great book coming

[Sarah]

Thank you!

[wordman]

you are welcome !

[Christopher Miller]

Since I didn't realize until this chapter that Noah and Caleb were separate people, I'll say that could be elucidated better in the first chapter. Noah isn't named as he's introduced, only as the boy whose eyes could command any girl to fall in love with him. Then she mentions the day that she fell in love with Caleb. As I skimmed back over chapter 1 (and please take the fact that I found that worth doing as a compliment) I see that you only mention Noah's name twice; after the fishing trip (and I remember wondering 'what trip, who is Noah') and when she wakes with his jacket.
Now that I'm clear on that, I am interested to see where things go with the three of them.
This could do with a proofread, I think. Aside from some scattered typos, you mention that her father never spoke to his parents again, but he speaks briefly to his mother later that night.
I meant to compliment you on this before, but the way you describes your character's actions makes it very clear that you really get into their heads (or let them take over yours) and it makes it a real pleasure to read your work.

[Sarah]

I didn't mention Noah's name because I wanted that element of surprise from the reader. Also it was the last time her father had spoken to his mother. He didn't speak during that encounter, only she had. But thank you for your review. I really appreciate it. I do indeed get into the minds of my characters and they do tend to take over my own mind. It helps me portray who they are as individuals and how they develop throughout the story.

[Lorry]

"like her soul had vanished from her body"...Superb description, reverberates in this addled mind of mine. says so much more than the immediate thought of a simple description, this was a scared, confused and frightened woman trying to deal with the harsh realities that life throws at us and well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I felt that fear from within your description. That is the beauty of writing, you can be leafing through the pages, then BAM, one subtle description can change the dynamics of what you were thinking. Being honest, and possibly politically incorrect, we judge too quickly and only see the foolishness of others predicaments, but to them and all involved, it isn't only a game changer, but a life changer.....so kudos on the "bringing the reader in" aspect of giving the story such depth so early on... (can you tell I'm not into long, strung out books that never end? :))
Such a beautiful image of father, knowing his duty is to protect, not interfere, and being man enough to put aside his own personal values to the predicament he finds himself in. (can you tell that I read a page at a time then comment, then go back to the story? Yeah, hope it's not to annoying for you. I am easily distracted so apologise in advance for causing any....Oh look, a butterfly) :)
The writer/character makes a valid point when she says "everything happens for a reason." As the reader, I totally get this from my own personal viewpoint, but it is such a simple saying that it's importance is somehow diluted in the whole scheme of things. Here is a person, trying to validate her being, albeit in a piece of fiction, yet she somehow strikes a chord with the reader that yet again, we judge too easily. Just saying, this is a lesson we should sometimes remind ourselves not to forget. Kudos once again for that.
Good old Gran, giving her grandchild the childhood she deserves, as best she can, shielsing her from the stupidity of adultness...Grans are flippin' awesome :)
I think you hit a very observant point, with what until now, is immersed in a very young girls life, that they done their best to show what a home was. Just that simple statement is more than the sum of its parts. To the reader, it could be just another line to read, but it somehow envelops and expands on the point of the telling of the story in the first place, what it is actually like to be that fictional character. The fact that you have managed so early on in the story to define the whole point of writing in such a simple sentence, says more of your ability as a writer than even, and I am assuming here, so apologies,...the writer may be aware of. I only say that in the hope that the writer understands the connections made between the write and the reality of the write, if you know what I mean. Why people connect to a certain piece can be complex and varied, but you, as the writer have managed to subtly nudge the perspective in the direction it is intended to go, effortlessly, so again, kudos.
"was obvious that they were connecting on a deeper level." Sometimes words are so unnecessary, don't you find? :)
When she placed that ring in his hand after taking it off for the first time, you convey perfectly the meaning of family. Time, the ever constant, stops and takes its bow, in the moment where only feeling and emotion live.
And reality bites...No more being caught in the whirlwind of what the character is going through, but the harsh realities of what we sometimes forget, how it affects others. Such a simple, yet strong ending to this chapter, with the promise of more to follow. Great job so far at grabbing my/ the readers attention. Can't wait to read more. :)

[Sarah]

Thanks again for the kind review. I love how you delve into parts that I had thought not so important and bring out a whole new meaning that I hadn't even intended. It will really help me as I continue this story and when I go back to revise. I appreciate all of your kind words and hope you enjoy the next few chapters!

[Lorry]

You're very welcome. And please don't think for a second that I am trying to tell the singer what to sing, far from it, you just have a talent for using just the right amount of words, with just the right amount of wonder that keeps the reader reading, and that anything other than what you intended is just my addled mind getting ahead of the story.
I had never even thought of the term "perfectly paced" before reading your work, so in my head at least, you have just invented a new genre. Yay you :)