Sunday Excerpt - Smothered

One archetype character in most romances is the "best friend" of the female protagonist. She often takes the form of a sister, best friend, co-worker, or even a mother, but I wanted to be a little different with Annie's BFF, so I made it a gay man, Jason. Here's a little tidbit from a scene where he shows himself to be the friend she needs:

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Annie fought back a sneeze as the smells of mildew, dust, and alcohol assaulted her nose. She shouldn't have been surprised, since her mom had been an accomplished drinker, and the house had sat empty for a year since her death. Sunlight sliced through the curtained windows in dusty blades of gold, lighting up the sitting room to their left, but leaving the hallway ahead of them shadowed and dark. Stairs rose to the left, carpeted with a red-patterned runner, leading up to the second floor. Annie led Jason down the corridor, peeking in the dining room, living room, den, and kitchen before stopping at the end of the hall.

Despite the smell, the interior was cool, as Annie had convinced her mother to install a central air conditioner during her last year. It had made her mother's final, bed-ridden days less painful, she thought, though her mother had never admitted it.

"No one home," she said. "Just furniture covered in sheets, some moving boxes, and dust."

Jason moved around her, his nose wrinkled. "And mice. I think I just stepped in their poop."

"You're such a girl," she told him, walking back the way they'd come.

"You should try it sometime," he said. "You might hold onto a guy."

She was about to wheel on him when the front door opened and the foreman peeked in. He looked like a child peeking into his parents' bedroom, wide-eyed and nervous. Apparently, he was a simple man from a farm, too.

"The men said you must go upstairs," he said, pointing. "Madre Muerta was there."

Then he disappeared like a mouse from the kitty's lair.

Annie sighed and put her foot on the steps. She paused, turned to Jason, and laughed. "We could run out like they did and scare them."

"Then who's going to carry all your furniture upstairs?" her friend quipped. "I know you sure won't do it. And that leaves me, so get up there and talk to your mom's ghost or whatever you need to do. Those sweaty men need to finish their job."

Annie chuckled and climbed the stairs, their wood complaining with every step. The house had been built in 1913, so some creaks were to be expected. Still, Annie knew each step's whiny voice, having grown up listening to them whenever her mother stumbled up to bed. They'd grown quieter, as if afraid now that her mother had died, or perhaps no longer protesting as much.

The upstairs hallway had four doors. On the left stood doors to the second and third bedrooms, with the second bathroom in between. On the right, the door to the master bedroom suite sat open, dusty light spilling out into the hallway from the tall window on the street-facing wall. Closing her eyes—a habit she'd acquired as a little girl who wasn't supposed to see inside that room—Annie tugged the door closed, letting out a breath she'd been unaware of holding.

Jason looked at her like she'd gone crazy, but she ignored him. He didn't understand. Couldn't.

"I closed that before the movers showed up," she told Jason. "One of them must have opened it after I told them not to. Remind me to yell at them."

"Oh, leave the poor men alone," Jason chided. "What harm is there in looking?"

No, he definitely didn't understand.

She peeked in the first bedroom on her left, the one where the movers had been stacking her things. The patterned wallpaper her brother had favored as a boy would have to go, sunlight having faded its hues, its corners peeling. Annie had managed to talk herself into taking the room, as it was a little bigger than her old space. She told herself that if she couldn't quite make herself take over her mother's old room, she at least deserved more than she'd had growing up. She was a successful marketing specialist now, not a frightened, bashful little girl, and Daniel had no claim on the house—Annie did.

Other than boxes and furniture, the room was empty, as was the second bathroom, with its outdated green toilet, matching sink, and shower. She liked the old, cracked subway tiles in that bathroom, and made a mental note to keep them when having the bathroom renovated. The room smelled of mold and had no heater vent, making it cold during the rough Denver winters, but she still couldn't make herself use the more modern master bath.

The third bedroom, at the end of the hall, held her paintings and boxes of art supplies, all stacked and piled like puppies dumped at the pound. The portrait of her mother had been covered again, but Annie had to shrug off the feeling that even through the thick, rough canvas, her mother somehow watched her, those cold eyes piercing material and flesh to see inside her heart.

Satisfied those three rooms held no supernatural threats, Annie took a deep breath, screwing up her courage, and faced the door to the master bedroom. Its cool, mahogany surface gleamed in the dim light of the hallway, showing a faint, twisted reflection of her face. She wondered how the door had remained so polished and shiny during the year since her mother died, but had not even completed the thought when something clattered on the hardwood floor inside. She jumped, grabbing Jason's shoulder for support. Her friend raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Annie gripped the chilly metal of the brass doorknob and eased the door open, peering through the growing opening. She felt like a little girl again, peeking inside the mysterious room, forbidden to both her and Daniel, fearing she might find her mother glaring back at her, ready to deal a slap or at least a sharp reprimand.

Something rushed at her on the floor, darting for the opening with a skittering sound. She jumped back, feeling stupid the instant she recognized the mouse. It dashed into the hallway and down the steps, leaving Annie panting like she'd run a marathon.

Jason laughed. "We probably shouldn't tell the men they were scared of a tiny mouse. Their machismo might cause some hurt feelings."

"Probably not," she said. "I'm hoping they'll finish this job just to avoid looking more frightened than a woman."

"You're a devious one," Jason said with a wink.

Annie hesitated at the door, her heart pounding, breath quickened. It had been a year since she'd gone inside, since her mother lay dying in the large, king bed. It seemed like an invisible force field blocked the door, pushing against her ever so gently, growing stronger the closer she came to entering, coalescing into an almost solid barrier that she couldn't force herself to step across.

"She's gone, Annie," Jason said, touching her shoulder. "It's all right."