by Dan Dembiczak
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (February 16, 2014)
Amazon Paperback Link
File Size: 3472 KB
Print Length: 193 pages
Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1493742590
Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
Amazon Kindle Link
Imperfect Paradise tells a story of internal awakening and delivers a powerful message about hope, happiness, and finding your place in the world. A classic romance with a contemporary twist, it is sure to appeal to fans of modern, liberating fiction.
For thirty-two-year-old Sarah Chizeck, marriage was not an option, but an expectation. She was raised to believe that a woman’s main focus is to get married and start a family, and she put everything on hold to accomplish this goal.
When she finally marries her boyfriend of five years, Michael—a smart, successful and charismatic dream—her family is ecstatic; but is Sarah? Underneath Sarah’s smiles, feelings begin to surface.
Sarah’s career and personal interests were not all she put on hold to pursue marriage. She also put her feelings on the backburner and buried her emotions. When she reluctantly goes to Hawai’i for her honeymoon, the raw beauty of where she is and who she is surrounded by drudges up passions, and she is both pleased and alarmed by the sensory experiences she encounters.
Terrified by her attraction to a handsome young concierge, Sarah is forced to confront her emotional state, as well as emotions she previously ignored, and she ultimately comes to surprising revelations about her upbringing, marriage, and future.
This is a beautiful room, I think—one that I’m sure has been filled many times over with passion and promise. I especially love this writing desk by the television— simple, stately, sophisticated. I look down at the hotel stationery and consider writing it all down instead. It would be easier, but only in the short term. Instead, I rip a sheet off and fold it twice before tucking it in the pocket of my shirt. Souvenir.
With the exception of recent events, it can honestly be said that I always do the right thing. I mail my taxes in early March. I never put tampons in the toilet. I even tip my dry cleaner. It’s this history of perfect behavior that led me to this island. But now the cranks and wheels that once kept me moving in the right direction are broken. I am veering off to the roads of frightening exposure. The skin on my face is raw—the plaster dried and chiseled away.
There is a nice breeze reminding me where I still am, this place of dolphins and dreams. He’ll be here soon; I know it. Just hold on a few more minutes. I think about the lotion in the bathroom. Should I go get it? Then, I could sit at this perfect vanity and moisturize to make the moment more pleasant. Pleasant. There’s nothing wrong with the word, really. Who wouldn’t want a pleasant cup of tea or a pleasant weekend in the mountains? Or pleasant conversation?
I want to call my sister to tell her what’s going on, about my decision. This needs to be mine, though. I open the drawer of the desk, expecting to see a Bible radiating judgment. Instead, there are flyers for exciting activities like scuba diving, swimming with manta rays, zip line tours, botanical gardens, even lunch at a vanilla farm. I see the faces of beaming children and their loving parents. The cruise with the water slide and cocktails might be fun, I think. I close the drawer and wait.
Where the hell is he? He said only nine holes. Maybe the train isn’t working. Yes, there is a train in our hotel. It’s a theme park, actually. For the rich and responsible. It’s not like I’m not used to waiting. I’d order a tray of pastries if my craving for sugar hadn’t suddenly disappeared. I bet, if I do something ridiculous, he’ll fly right through the door. I could change into my bikini and attempt the hula. Or I could order an adult movie. Or empty the minibar. I can see his face. His gleaming white teeth, that smart smile. I feel his stubble against my shoulder when we embrace. I taste the sweat on his neck. Suddenly, I long for the familiar. I want to be in my frayed pajamas and Berkeley sweatshirt watching Home & Garden Television and not talking. I want to look up and notice something new about him.
I smell pancakes coated in coconut. Breakfast is served late into the afternoon at the resort. I wonder what I’ll have tomorrow for breakfast. Or the next day. What will it taste like? Will I prepare it myself? Or maybe I’ll skip it entirely again.