Originally from Winnipeg, Diana now resides in Campbell River, British Columbia, and enjoys meeting with her fellow writers twice a month. She’s written a stage play, some short stories and many poems. She’s had a poem published in the UK journal Dreamcatcher. A short story was published in Escape, an anthology put out by Peregrin publishers in 2012. She self-published her debut novel, A Cry From The Deep in October, 2014, and also hopes to publish soon, her baba’s story, No Time For Tears, that takes place between 1915-1929 in what is now Ukraine, as well as another novel that takes place on a psych. ward in the 70s. Together with her husband, Robert, Diana has been fortunate to travel extensively throughout North America, South America, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. They have two children and three grandchildren. Her links are below.
An excerpt - A Cry From The Deep.
Chapter Two
Catherine’s view from the airplane, with
its endless sky and ocean, triggered thoughts of God and purpose in life. As a
child, she believed He was somewhere in heaven, and her guardian angel floated
in His realm. That all changed when she learned about other religions. And then,
with 9/11, there were more questions, but she still believed in something
bigger than herself, something that guided people on some unknown path, for
some unknown purpose. She wondered if what she was doing was part of a greater
plan.
Three
weeks earlier, Catherine had been a contented lavender grower. Well, not
completely contented, but pretty good, considering. She frowned as she thought
of how soon she’d be meeting Hennesey, a man she despised. From everything
she’d read on the Internet, she knew it would take all her resources just to be
civil. If these events were not directed by some divine being, then what was
this all about?
Distracted
by Alex’s fidgeting, she checked her daughter’s seat belt. They were about to
land. Catherine hated take-offs and landings, and having a bouncy child by her
side didn’t make flying any easier. It hadn’t bothered her when she was in her
twenties, but after reading an article that cited the large number of crashes
at airports, her body tightened minutes before take-off or landing.
Alex
peered out the window. “Mama, I can see the boats.”
Catherine
scanned the earth below as the plane flew over a marina. Somewhere down there
was Hennesey’s boat.
“Maybe
he’ll give us a ride,” said Alex.
Catherine frowned. Why had she agreed
to this? Everything pointed to disaster.
~~~
The Golden Eye, the ultimate in diving
boats, was tied up at the far end of the dock. Alex was already running ahead.
“Alex, wait!”
Catherine caught up with her. “Slow down. The
dock might be slippery.”
Alex slowed to a turtle’s pace.
“Very funny. Would you just stop
for a minute? I want to take some photos from this angle.”
They were still some distance, but
Catherine could see a man hosing down the
Golden Eye’s deck. She fastened her long lens onto her Nikon camera and
zoomed in on him. She’d have recognized Hennesey anywhere from the press he’d
received. He was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, worn loose over his creased khaki
pants. The passing years had not been kind; his modest paunch and thinning hair
reminded her of Jack Nicholson in his fifties. She snapped a few pictures—one
of him with a water hose in his hand and another of him picking up some diving
gear.
As they approached the Golden Eye, a woman with ebony skin and
a mass of black, kinky hair pulled back in a pony-tail came up from the galley
below. She looked about thirty and was dressed in a lime-green halter top and purple
capris too tight for her broad hips. When she spotted Catherine, she said
something to Hennesey.
Hennesey came forward from the aft
and said gruffly, loud enough for Catherine to hear, “They sent a woman.” If
he’d intended to be off-putting from the start, he was certainly successful.
The woman stuck her hand out over
the side of the boat and said, “You must be Catherine. I’m Joy. We talked on
the phone.”
Catherine smiled and shook her
hand. Hennesey had been out the time she called or perhaps, pretending to be
out. “He didn’t know I was coming?”
Joy smiled at her and then at
Hennesey. “I didn’t tell 'im. He has this thing 'bout women on boats.”
“But you…?” asked Catherine.
“I live with 'im,” said Joy.
“Besides, I’m a cook, not a diver. Climb aboard. I’ll show ya around.”
“This is my daughter, Alex.”
“Well, how d’you do, Alex?” Joy
turned to Hennesey. “Are you just gonna stand there?” Grumbling, Hennesey
reached over the side and swung Alex on board.
The boat’s port side was positioned
about six inches from the dock and rocked with each passing boat. As Catherine
was about to take Hennesey’s hand to climb over the gunwale, she glimpsed the
water between the vessel and the dock. Suddenly dizzy, Catherine closed her
eyes to calm her nerves.
When she opened them after a few
moments, Hennesey said with a puzzled look, “Are you coming?”
Frowning, she took his hand and
climbed over. As she crossed the water, the terror of falling in gripped her
like a vise.
She must have blanched, because
Hennesey said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She hated lying,
but she hated exposing her fear more. “The meal on the flight wasn’t great, and
we came straight from the airport.”
“Mama, you said the food was good.”
“I meant good for airplane food.”
Catherine rolled her eyes, suggesting that Alex had got it all wrong.
Alex shook her head. “Whatever.”
Joy laughed. “Well, if you two want
to get started, I’ll show this minx 'round.” Joy took Alex’s hand as if they’d
been friends for life. “I may even have an ice cream for you.”
Alex’s eyes grew round. “You have
ice cream on the boat?”
“You betcha. We love our sweets.
Can’t ya tell by lookin’ at our bellies?”
Catherine took an immediate liking
to Joy. With her on board, the assignment might not be so bad.
~~~
Hennesey’s office, a short walk from the marina, was
on the second level of a small business mall. Piles of books on shipwrecks,
navigation, and ocean climates sat on a couple of old wooden chairs, and near
them, an ashtray full of cigarette butts revealed an addictive personality.
Various papers were strewn on his oak desk and a black phone, a bygone of
earlier days, rested on a dusty window ledge overlooking the marina. And on the
wall, several photos of Hennesey on the Golden Eye vied for attention with a
map of the world showing various diving sites marked by colored pins.
Hennesey pushed aside some papers
on his desk and took out a metal box from a filing cabinet behind him. He used
a key from the chain he wore under his shirt to open the box, revealing a
package wrapped in green silk. He carefully unwrapped it to expose a gold mask
about two hands wide, its features simply executed. It was small, but it
reminded Catherine of pieces by Henry Moore, a British sculptor who’d used
relics from ancient and primitive cultures as inspiration.
She
bent down to have a closer look. “It’s exquisite.”
“Inca gold. Worth close to five
hundred thousand dollars.”
“And you keep it in a filing
cabinet?”
“Not usually. I’m expecting a
customer later.”
She was surprised he was showing it
to her. Perhaps, he wanted to impress her. “Where did you find this?”
He grinned. “If I tell you, will
you cross your heart and spit you won’t tell anyone?”
“On second thought, maybe I don’t
want to know.”
He shook his head as he polished
the mask with the cloth. “You people have so much morality oozing from your
pores, it’s a wonder you’re able to do any work at all.”
She could’ve told him he was an
asshole, that she knew he blew a hole in the ocean and was taken to court for
dredging a coral reef and killing sea grass, but she said none of this. She
didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
Instead, she said, “We all have
opinions. It’s what makes the world go round.”
“You can keep your fucking
opinions. If someone isn’t screaming about the fucking cultural heritage,
they’re screaming about the fucking environment. They scream about everything.
The last time it was about sea grass, as if there wasn’t enough of it anyway.
It’s like lawns, it keeps growing.”
“That’s not what I read.”
“See, the media twists everything.”
She looked him in the eye. “One
reporter called you an arrogant son of a bitch, a diver who thinks he’s above
the law.”
Hennesey guffawed. “I’ve been
called worse. What do you believe?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m leaning
toward the media.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be.”
He rewrapped the gold mask, put it
back in its box and returned it to the filing cabinet. He locked it and
returned the key to its hiding place under his shirt. “So, Frank tells me he
wants you for this dive. I find that curious.”
“Why?”
“I did a little background checking
of my own. I know about your break from diving and why. Want you to know, I’m
no goddamned babysitter.”
She snorted. “You worry about your
end, I’ll take care of mine.”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted as he said
it.
She hadn’t meant to
reply with such a bite, but his attitude, complete with mocking grin, got the
best of her. Why was she even considering going? Her instincts were advising
her to run. She hadn’t come on board the project yet, and already he was under
her skin. The media had one thing right. He was an arrogant asshole.
Thank you Diana for sharing part of your intriguing story. I look forward to reading the entire novel. I'm sure she would appreciate your comments.
You can discover more about this talented writer by visiting her website - www.dianastevan.com
Next week, you can help me with a new short story. I will be posting a first draft, unedited sample of a story I am considering for a novel someday in the future. Let me know your thoughts.
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