PROLOGUE

      Harv sees Lani in the fog, her dancer's gait carrying her across the grassy slope toward

  him.

       She is close enough now to touch, the rounded white headstones framing her long brown

  hair and navy-blue eyes.

       Those eyes scald him with accusation:  he never said good-bye.  His last words were, in

  fact, ugly, slashing at her like sabers to make her run away from the danger.

       "They were lies!" he shouts, and her eyes are ink running on wet paper.

       He reaches out to pull her to him and stroke her hair, her cheek, but the fog swirls her

  away and he is alone.


                                                                      CHAPTER ONE

       The mascara I didn't wash off before I went to bed has glued my eyelashes together.  It

  takes a minute to get my eyes open.

        I have been rolling around all night and now I am tangled in my waist-length brown hair.

        Dawn peeks in orange strips around the venetian blinds.

        I close my eyes again and wander into a dream I'd had when the war was a dragon

  devouring villages, rice paddies, American soldiers.  A flame-edged dream of hurling

  body parts.  A leg hits me in the chest and I tumble onto a muddy path under a high canopy

  of tropical green.  I open my mouth to scream but I see a soldier in olive drab walking ahead

  of me, black and big enough to fill the path and cast a shadow in the shadow-glutted jungle,

  his mud-caked boots squelching in mold-ringed muck.

       "Hey!" I shout, getting up and running after him.

       He doesn't answer.

       We trudge on in green half-light.

       The jungle is an oven, steaming air blistering my throat with each breath.  Sweat runs in

  rivers down my forehead, my back, my legs.  Dark damp splotches spread across my fatigues

  and that godforsaken mud sucks at my boots.

       Sure could use a cigarette.

       "Harv!" I call to the soldier.

       But he isn't Harv.  Harv isn't black.

       "You got a smoke?"

       He turns, a grin flashing across his face.  "Yeah, man."

       He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack.  His feet never stop moving. 

       His arm stretches back to me and just as my fingertips touch the pack, Fourth of July

  fireworks blast through the trees.

      The hand offering the cigarettes shoots straight up in the air.

      His leg flies backward and knocks me into the mud, and pain like a thousand knives stabs

  my chest, my belly, my legs.

      This time I scream, and my scream wakes me up.  Ash settles to the jungle floor and

  dissolves in the mud, and the two-room house in Monterey that was my home twelve years

  ago, in the fall of 1967, grows up around me.  The light flooding through the gaudy paintings

  on our windows---a sunk-eyed guy with waves of turquoise hair and a swirling purple beard,

  and a woman with yellow cat eyes and a star-spangled face---spatters the walls with

  rainbows.


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                     REVIEWS & COMMENTS


  "Having also grown up during the late 60's - this book

   brought me right back to the feelings and issues of

   the times.  It was clear the author also experienced

   that era as well and I appreciated the opportunity to

   go back with her to revisit.  The story covered a lot -

   love, war, drugs, sex, racial questioning, friendship,

   self-growth...all woven into an intricate yet plausible

   plot.  I found the bookcompelling and well worth the

   time spent reading it."

                                                             Pat Rullo

                                                   Speak Up Talk Radio


  "Sad ending.  I had to cry.  GREAT book...!!  Really

  great book....  I'm a fan."

                                               NM, Colorado Springs CO


  "I was intrigued that you incorporated the race issue

  at the time and I thought that was well captured...I

  enjoyed it very much."

                                                RS, Seaside CA


  "Eden is a modern-day Macbeth, only even more 

  poignant!  Listening to the voice of evil, even from a

  loved one, instead of one's own 'small voice,' and how

  this leads to tragedy of deceptions and insecurities is

  a universal, classic theme, but told in Eden in a way

  that engulfs one's very soul.  Wow!"

                                                GH, Glacier WA


 2018 GOLD WINNER in the HUMAN RELATIONS INDIE BOOK AWARDS

                                            in the category "Historical Realistic Fiction"

                            EVENTS

  Sept 17, 2018  SHERIDAN COLLEGE

                  Sheridan, Wyoming

  Feb 2, 2019   TUCSON BAHA'I CENTER

                  Tucson, Arizona

  May 11, 2019  GREAT AMERICAN

                             BOOK FESTIVAL

                  Rapid City, South Dakota

 A story of first love set in San Francisco in

 the late 60's against a backdrop of flower

 children, racial prejudice, and the

 Vietnam War.