Summary:
Amos Carter has a choice to make when he comes across the bloody young man on the side of the road: exact revenge or lay aside a lifetime of hurt and pain. His final decision forever alters both his own life and the life of the young man. “Leaving Samaria” takes the parable of the Good Samaritan and reboots it in the Deep South of the 1960s.
Sample:
Terry James mashed the accelerator to the floor, begging the '47 Chevy's engine for just a little
extra horsepower. With a grin he watched the speedometer edge past 60, proving his old man
wrong about this rust bucket. Terry leaned back in the truck's tattered seat, savoring the sting
of the wind in his eyes as it whipped through the open windows. For years "Old Lou" had been
nothing but a farm truck, a mule to putter through the back pastures with a bed full of fence
posts and barbed wire. But not today. In Terry's mind, this was a Ford Galaxy, fire truck red,
with an engine that roared like a lion that refused to be tamed. The dirt road unraveling below
his tires was an asphalt track crowded with other racers, just like in the picture show Red Line
7000.
A bang erupted from under the hood and interrupted Terry's fantasy. For one panicked heart
beat Terry thought the truck was about to conk out, but the engine picked up with a fresh roar.
Terry relaxed his white knuckles on the steering wheel and picked up his fantasy again, this
time with Lena Fisher from third period history sitting beside him, her blonde hair whipping
around a dazzling smile and adoring eyes. A thick plume of dust chased the truck, rising up like
a rooster tail, as Terry steered the truck around potholes. At this breakneck speed, however,
it was impossible to miss them all and Terry bounced out of his seat as the truck hit another
deep rut. Terry was 11 when his father had first scooted over in the front seat and allowed him
to drive through the back pasture. He'd just about stripped the gears on his first couple of tries,
but it didn't take long to get the hang out of it.
By the time he was 13, Terry was begging to take the truck to town. Old Lou was a piece of junk, but it would have impressed the pants off his city friends to see him driving. Each request was firmly squashed by his father, though, and that dream had fizzled into a smoldering pile of adolescent resentment. Until today. Grandma was suddenly taken sick and Father and Mother were needed in Beulah, several hours away and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. It had taken every ounce of Terry's willpower to not grin like a fool through Father's stern list of instructions and chores. He'd almost forgotten not to add Old Lou to the list, but Father remembered on the way out the door.
"I'm serious about that," Father said, one hand fixed on the doorknob.
Terry replied with his most sincere "yes sir." But as soon as Father's Buick was a speck on the
horizon, Terry had jumped into the truck's cab. Terry felt a twinge of guilt as he recalled the
conversation. Well, this'll be my last drive, Terry vowed to himself. What the old man doesn't
know won't kill him.
Terry spotted the bent pine up ahead that signaled the turn off to the road home was about five
minutes away. A wide bend in the road filled Terry's windshield and he eased the truck into the
turn, inertia pushing his shoulder hard into the door. It only took a second for Terry to realize he
was going too fast, but it was one second too late. The truck fishtailed left, bald tires sliding on
the gravel. Terry yanked the wheel to the right as the truck dropped into a shallow ditch, but he
had already lost all control. The truck tipped onto two wheels, then rolled, flinging Terry through
the passenger window. Terry had a brief sensation of flying, then the earth came rushing up to
catch him. The world went black.
Amos Carter struggled to ignore the painful lump in his throat, but it didn't stop the tears from
stinging the corners of his eyes. The wide boulevard in front of him blurred and he wiped the
tears away with the back of his hand.
"Foolish old man," he muttered. "Getting all worked up over nothin'."
Amos slowed his Oldsmobile to a stop under the ample shade of a magnolia tree and put the
car in park, turned it off. The engine's sudden silence amplified the sounds of summer in the
South: the purr of a distant lawnmower, the skree of locusts overhead. Amos let loose a shaky
breath and swatted at another tear. He closed his eyes and listened to the boys' hateful words
echoing in his head. Amos had heard those words spoken so many times, but it didn't diminish
the sting. If anything, they just built on a lifetime of hurt. Amos opened his eyes and looked
down at his hands folded in his lap. Black like fresh coffee on top, pale palms on the underside.
They looked small, powerless. Amos sighed, turned over the engine and eased his car away
from the curb. He should have known this would be the reward for finally showing some courage.
http://www.amazon.com/Leaving-Samaria-ebook/dp/B009B1B3I2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1349557977&sr=1-1&keywords=Leaving+Samaria
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