Gavin Goode by David B. Seaburn Genre: Literary Fiction
“I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I think I died today.” So begins the complex and mysterious journey of Gavin Goode and his family. What happened to Gavin and why? What secrets will emerge along the way? Frankie, his wife and a dress store owner, feels guilty, but why? His son, Ryan, who owns an ice cream parlor, and daughter-in-law, Jenna, who is a bank manager, are expecting their first baby. How will this trauma affect them? And what of Rosemary, Frankie’s best friend? Or Ben Hillman and eleven year old, Christopher? How are they implicated in the events that unfold around Gavin’s misfortune? This is a story of despair and hope, dreams and reality, uncertainty and faith,humor, secrecy, forgiveness and beginnings. As in his previous novels, David B. Seaburn demonstrates his in-depth understanding of the human experience and his storytelling mastery. Goodreads * Amazon
In 2010 I retired after having been the director of a public school based free family counseling center. Prior to that I was an Assistant Professor of Psychiatry and Family Medicine at the University of Rochester Medical Center for almost twenty years. During my tenure there I taught in a Family Medicine Residency Program, practiced Medical Family Therapy and was the Director of a Family Therapy Training Program. In addition to this I am a retired Presbyterian minister, having graduated from seminary (Boston University) in 1975. I served a church full-time from 1975-1981 before entering the mental health field permanently. I am married; we have two adult daughters and two wonderful granddaughters. My educational background includes two master’s degrees and a PhD. Most of my career was as an assistant professor of psychiatry and family medicine at the University of Rochester Medical Center. There I wrote two professional books and over 65 papers and book chapters. In addition to long fiction, I write personal essays, many of which have been published in the Psychotherapy Networker magazine. I also write a blog, “Going Out Not Knowing,” for Psychology Today magazine (http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/going-out-not-knowing). Website * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Excerpt 2 Chapter 9 Gavin Goode Gavin’s wife Frankie arrives in the Emergency Room.
When Frankie starts screaming, emergency room nurses fly at her from every angle,
trying to calm her, trying to keep her quiet.
“Gavin!”
“That’s okay, that’s okay.”
But it isn’t okay. “Gavin! Gavin! Gavin!”
“Please Mrs. Goode,” says one nurse, her face grey and hard.
“Gavin!”
“Mrs. Goode, you must…” But Frankie can’t hear the nurses. She feels her own throat
vibrating; there is tautness in her neck, but she can’t even hear her own cries. She cranes her
body to look behind the trauma bay curtain just as they are whisking Gavin away to the OR. She
sees his hand dangling. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. She wants to touch him. She
watches and watches as he rolls away, hoping that he will sit up, confused about where he is, and
say “What the hell is going on here?” She’d call his name—“Gavin!”—and he would run to her,
apologizing for the inconvenience—“Tell me you didn’t rush home for this”— and she would
laugh and say it didn’t matter.
But he is gone. Frankie looks in every direction, not knowing what to do…
Dr. Azziz points to the chairs and then pulls one up for himself.
“We have finished the surgery. There was a large clot causing extreme pressure on your
husband’s brain.” Then he says bullet, bullet, bullet and bullet, bullet. She doesn’t know why he
keeps saying that word. It offends her; makes her feel violated. Ryan asks question after
question, but all she hears is bullet, bullet, bullet. Why does he keep talking about this? Why is
he holding her arm like she’s a little girl about to be escorted somewhere she doesn’t want to go?
She decides not to listen, not to hear anything more even though he keeps saying things. How
can someone with such a kind face talk about something so vile? His eyes are dark and warm.
His teeth, white. His mustache, groomed. She likes the sound of his voice, resonant, yet soft,
even melodic. How can he spew such lies? What is he up to? Dr. Azziz lets go of her arm and
stands. He smiles down at her and his mouth moves again. Then he walks away. She watches
him until he disappears around a corner. She mutters, “Bullet.”
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