It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Oops, wrong book! And yet it fits in many ways. Two sisters followed separate paths, both doing the work they love, but they were both facing great difficulties that threatened to turn their worlds upside-down. Sadder still, their bond from youth had long ago been deliberately broken by the older sister, so they didn't have each other to lean on when they most needed each other.
In her debut novel, C. J. Darlington writes as if she's been a best-seller for years. No doubt her experience as a book seller/broker and book lover have aided her, but so have many years of honing her skills in other writing opportunities. Many of you may know her from her blog or from her work at Title Trakk, in which case you already know that C. J. is handy with words. It has all come together nicely with Thicker Than Blood, winner of the 2008 Christian Writers' Guild 'Operation First Novel' Contest. That contest meant being published by Tyndale House and all that goes with it.
Christy Williams has had one mess after another in her life, and just when things seem to be coming together for her, it all unravels. She loves her job at the bookstore, and the manager is entrusting her to more and more responsibilities with book auctions and estate sales. But Vince, her ex and a co-worker, doesn't intend to let her go. Not because of great love but for power and control. When Christy refuses to do as he commands, he makes life impossible for her. She needs an escape.
Her younger sister May has been living her dream life as a partner on a ranch surrounded by horses. Hard work but the only life she really wants. Her problem is that they are so far behind in the ranch mortgage that the bank has given final notice. It looks hopeless, but May has a source of strength that Christy doesn't: she has a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and has learned to depend on Him. Still, she doesn't see a way out.
The stage is set for circumstance and 'happenstance' to develop in ways to bring the sisters together again and become enmeshed in each other's lives.
There are heroes/heroines and villains, chase scenes, fire, threats, gunshots, injuries, internal and external conflict, friendship, loyalty, betrayal, hatred, moments of enlightenment, moments of despair. All the elements are here to make a great story, and C. J. combines them deftly. Her timing is well-paced and the build-up to the climax is maddening! The beginning seems to lag a bit, but that really is normal in setting up the story and the characters. Before long, though, it picks up amd moves quickly.
I found myself thinking about the story whilewas doing other things (when I wanted to get to the end but had to do the mundane stuff); I was even imagining possible ways for it all to work out. Some of my ideas were right, but others were really off in left field, out in the cow pasture. Now that I've finished, I want to go back and revisit a few places. For me, this means it's a good book.
This is not your run-of-the-mill average Christian romance novel, and I'm relieved to pass that on because there are so many romance novels following a set, predictable fomula. I kept looking for romances that didn't happen. I think the romance-gone-bad with Vince help set me up for that. And yet...Not going to spoil it any further. Let's just say it is an excellent Christian fiction novel that doesn't really fit into one of the normal genre cubbyholes, at least as far as I can see.
My thanks to Tyndale House for sending me a review copy of Thicker Than Blood. I have no copies to give away; if I could afford another giveaway this month, I would gladly draw for a copy of this book. Since I can't, I just exhort you to get a copy youself!
My first thoughts when I started reading Talking to the Dead were, "What kind of Christian book is this? Christians don't believe in ghosts, other than the Holy Ghost." In other words, I was skeptical at best as I tackled the story.
Happily, it soon became apparent that Bonnie Grove wasn't writing a script for Ghost Whisperer. It does get a little creepy for a while, though, and I don't want to spoil the story by saying too much. Actually, there isn't ever a full explanation of the phenomenon of Kate hearing her dead husband talking to her.
Whoa--I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here, jumping right into the middle of the story. It seems that Kevin Davis, a young, upwardly mobile bank employee, has died quite suddenly while away from home. He was already dead and in the hospital before his wife, Kate, was even notified. The devoted wife was understandably in shock and stayed there for days. Her mother, sister, and Kevin's best friend Blair all stepped in to take care of the arrangements while Kate remained in a zombie-like state. It was too much to register; how could her husband of only seven years be gone like that?
The first time Kate hears Kevin talking to her is that night after the funeral. She was upstairs in the bedroom, and it freaked her out enough that she didn't go back upstairs for several days. Instead, she camped out on the living room floor, more or less in a fetal position. She wasn't coping with life after his death well at all, but she also wasn't letting others help her out. Her mother, who had just been widowed a few months earlier, brought over a bunch of books that had helped her get through her grief, but Kate just pushed them aside. When her sister Heather tried to clean up the dishes for her, she woke up a bit from her catatonic state and screamed at Heather to go away and leave her alone. It's hard to help someone who refuses to be helped, but as days passed this way, everyone become increasingly alarmed. Enter eccentric Maggie, an older lady, an acquaintance of Kate's mother, who has a pushy way of putting her two cents' worth in. By this time, though, Kate was starting to realize she might be grieving in an unhealthy way, and after mulling it over a bit, calls Maggie back to get the list of counselors from her. Slowly, Kate begins a journey through her grief, trying to find her sanity, but some of the counselors she runs into make it worse. All the while, Kevin pops up unexpectedly talking to her about things, even yelling at her, which was uncharacteristic. Of course, his appearances and conversations, things she doesn't dare tell anyone else, eventually convince Kate that she must be losing her mind. But it seems so real! And why does he tell her things she wouldn't otherwise know, like the location of his important papers, if it isn't real?
Kate spends a lot of time reminiscing-- her wedding, an anniversary, different moments of life with Kevin. It appears that they were madly in love, one of those nearly perfect couples. And yet...before too long there is a little crack developing. Something was amiss, but what? I don't want to give away any clues before you read it for yourselves, but Kevin had some secrets. And Kate had lost memories of the most recent times--she didn't remember the last time she saw Kevin alive--which slowly come back to her in flashes.
Oh, by the way, neither Kate nor her mother know anything about God. He hasn't come into the picture at all, and when Kate first thinks about Him, it's in a negative way: if there is a God, how could He let such horrible things happen? She even talks to a famous preacher called a 'miracle man' who makes her feel worse than ever. Forget this angry God. Then, quite by accident, she meets a really unconventional preacher while he's playing basketball with some young punks. Little by little, he introduces her to the love of God and the idea of a God who actually cares about her. This 'chance' meeting takes Kate in a new direction, one he didn't even know was there.
Talking to the Dead is a powerful piece of writing. Even the style changes as Kate herself changes: short, staccato sentence and fragments in the beginning emphasize the grief and shock that Kate undergoes. It's hard to breath or feel, and those of us who have known grief can identify. As her story unfolds and she seeks help, however, the style become more fluid and flowing. It's very much psychological suspense, but that doesn't exclude action. In fact, Kate's actions get pretty out-of-control before it's all over--it isn't a case of total recovery and peace once she hears about a loving God. I found myself surprised more than once by the events whenever Kate turned a corner. For me, the most powerful thing was the expression of how grief plays out with different people. I'll write more about that tomorrow. Mrs. Grove also skillfully dropped new hints to the 'whole' story little by little as the tale grew. As it turned out, there was so much more going on than just tragic death and widowhood. The writing evoked lots of different emotions for me, even made me laugh a little bit with the unsinkable Maggie.
The only thing that disappointed me, really, was that I didn't see any mention of Jesus. The love of God is key, but the sacrificial love doesn't enter the picture, unless I missed it. However, not every book written from a Christian worldview has to go through the entire plan of salvation, so I'm not going to dwell on this. It leads in that direction, and it is obvious that God's love was a crucial missing ingredient in Kate' life.
Overall, I can truly recommend Talking to the Dead. It is most definitely an adult book although older teens would also enjoy it. I tend to think of it as a suspense story, although it is also the story of a romance and much, much more. The intensity builds in such a way that the reader doesn't want to put it down until reaching the end. It isn't a romance novel, although that's a part of it, so I guess I'd have to recommend it for a general audience.
THE AUTHOR:
Bonnie Grove started writing when her parents bought a manual typewriter, and she hasn’t stopped since. Trained in Christian Counseling (Emmanuel Bible College, Kitchener, ON), and secular psychology (University of Alberta), she developed and wrote social programs for families at risk while landing articles and stories in anthologies. She is the author of Working Your Best You: Discovering and Developing the Strengths God Gave You; Talking to the Dead is her first novel. Grove and her pastor husband, Steve, have two children; they live in Saskatchewan.
This month, CFRB presents Talking to the Dead by Bonnie Grove.
About the Book:
Twenty-something Kate Davis can't seem to get this grieving widow thing right. She's supposed to put on a brave face and get on with her life, right? Instead she's camped out on her living room floor, unwashed, unkempt, and unable to sleep-because her husband Kevin keeps talking to her.
Is she losing her mind?
Kate's attempts to find the source of the voice she hears are both humorous and humiliating, as she turns first to an "eclectically spiritual" counselor, then a shrink with a bad toupee, a mean-spirited exorcist, and finally group therapy. There she meets Jack, the warmhearted, unconventional pastor of a ramshackle church, and at last the voice subsides. But when she stumbles upon a secret Kevin was keeping, Kate's fragile hold on the present threatens to implode under the weight of the past. And Kevin begins to shout.
Will the voice ever stop? Kate must confront her grief to find the grace to go on, in this tender, quirky story about second chances.
About the Author:
Bonnie Grove started writing when her parents bought a typewriter, and she hasn't stopped since. Trained in Christian Counseling (Emmanuel Bible College, Kitchener, ON), and secular psychology (University of Alberta), she developed and wrote social programs for families at risk while landing articles and stories in anthologies. She is the author of Working Your Best You: Discovering and Developing the Strengths God Gave You; Talking to the Dead is her first novel. Grove and her pastor husband, Steve, have two children; they live in Saskatchewan.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
With his last breath a dying man whispered four stunning words into Shaley O’Connor’s ear. Shaley is reeling after two murders on the Rayne concert tour. But she has no time to rest. If the dying man’s claim is right, the danger is far from over. Shaley’s quest for the truth leads to the mysterious and wrenching past of her mother and father. Could what happened to them so many years ago threaten Shaley’s life now?
Seatbelt Suspense® for young adults
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Brandilyn and Amberly Collins are a mother/daughter team from northern California. Brandilyn is a bestselling novelist, known for her trademarked "Seatbelt Suspense". Amberly is a college student in southern California. She and her mom love attending concerts together.
Here's a video about the first book in the Rayne Series:
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99 Reading level: Young Adult Paperback: 240 pages Publisher: Zondervan; 1 edition (October 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 0310715407 ISBN-13: 978-0310715405
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Your father sent me.
The last words of a dying man, whispered in my ear.
Were they true? What did they mean?
Your father sent me. The stunning claim drilled through my head, louder than the crowd’s screams.
Guitars blasted the last chord of Rayne’s hit song, Ever Alone, as Mom’s voice echoed through the Pepsi Center in Denver. The heavy drum beat thumped in my chest. With a final smash of cymbals the rock song ended. Multicolored laser lights swept the stadium, signaling the thirty-minute intermission.
Wild shrieks from thousands of fans rang in my ears.
I rose from my chair backstage. Tiredly, I smiled at the famous Rayne O’Connor as she strode toward me on high red heels. In the lights her sequined top shimmered and her blonde hair shone. She walked with confidence and grace, the picture of a rock star—until she stepped from her fans’ sight. Then her posture slumped, weariness creasing her beautiful face. Mom’s intense blue eyes usually glimmered with the excitement of performing, but now I saw only the wash of grief and exhaustion. How she’d managed to perform tonight, I’d never know. Except that she’s strong. A real fighter.
Me? I had to keep fighting too, even if my legs still trembled and I’d probably have nightmares for weeks.
Your father sent me.
I had to find out what those words meant.
“You’re a very brave young lady,” a Denver detective had told me just a few hours ago. I didn’t feel brave then or now.
“You okay, Shaley?” Mom had to shout over the screams as she hugged me.
I nodded against her shoulder, hanging on tightly until she pulled back.
The crowd’s applause died down. A heavy hum of voices and footsteps filtered from the stadium as thousands of people headed for concessions and bathrooms during the break.
Kim, the band’s keyboard player and alto to my mom’s lead vocals, stopped to lay a darkly tanned hand on my head. A strand of her bleached white-blonde hair was stuck to the gloss on her pink lips. She brushed it away. “You’re an amazing sixteen-year-old.”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Thanks.”
Mick and Wendell, Mom’s two remaining bodyguards, approached without a word. I gave a self-conscious smile to Wendell, and he nodded back, sadness flicking across his face. His deep-set eyes were clouded, and the long scar across his chin seemed harder, more shiny. At five-eleven, Wendell is short for a bodyguard but every bit as muscled. Tonight his two-inch black hair, usually gelled straight up, stuck out in various directions. He hadn’t bothered to fix it since the life and death chase he was involved in just a few hours ago. Seeing that messed-up hair sent a stab through me. Wendell was usually so finicky about it.
Mick, Mom’s main personal bodyguard, folded his huge arms and stood back, waiting. Mick is in his forties, ex-military and tall, with a thick neck and block-shaped head. I’ve rarely seen emotion on his face, but I saw glimpses of it now. He and Wendell had been good friends with Bruce, Mom’s third bodyguard.
Bruce had been killed hours ago. Shot.
And he’d been trying to guard me.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard and looked at the floor.
“Come on.” Mom nudged my arm. “We’re all meeting in my dressing room.”
Mick and Bruce flanked her as she walked away.
Usually we don’t have to be so careful backstage. It’s a heavily guarded area anyway. But tonight nothing was the same.
Kim and I followed Mom down a long hall to her dressing room. Morrey, Kim’s boyfriend and Rayne’s drummer, caught up with us. He put a tattoo-covered arm around Kim, her head only reaching his shoulders. Morrey looked at me and winked, but I saw no happiness in it.
Ross Blanke, the band’s tour production manager, hustled up alongside us, trailed by Stan, lead guitarist, and Rich, Rayne’s bass player. “Hey.” Ross put a pudgy hand on Mom’s shoulder. “You’re doing great.” He waved an arm, indicating everyone. “All of you, you’re just doing great.”
“You do what you have to,” Stan said grimly. His black face shone with sweat.
Narrowing single file, we trudged into the dressing room. Mick and Wendell took up places on each side of the door.
Marshall, the makeup and hair stylist, started handing out water bottles. In his thirties, Marshall has buggy eyes and curly dark hair. His fingers are long and narrow, deft with his makeup tools. But until two days ago, he’d been second to Mom’s main stylist, Tom.
“Thanks.” I took a bottle from Marshall and tried to smile. Didn’t work. Just looking at him sent pangs of grief through me, because his presence reminded me of Tom’s absence.
Tom, my closest friend on tour, had been murdered two days ago.
Mom, Ross, Rich and I sank down on the blue couch—one of the furniture pieces Mom requested in every dressing room. Denver’s version was extra large, with a high back and overstuffed arms. To our left stood a table with plenty of catered food, but no one was hungry. I’d hardly eaten in the last day and a half and knew I should have something. But no way, not now.
Maybe after the concert.
Stan, Morrey and Kim drew up chairs to form a haphazard circle.
“All right.” Ross sat with his short, fat legs apart, hands on his jeaned thighs. The huge diamond ring on his right hand was skewed to one side. He straightened it with his pinky finger. “I’ve checked outside past the guarded area. The zoo’s double what it usually is. The news has already hit and every reporter and his brother are waiting for us. Some paparazzi are already there, and others have probably hopped planes and will show up by the time we leave.”
Is Cat here? I shuddered at the thought of the slinky, effeminate photographer who’d bothered us so much in the last two days. He’d even pulled a fire alarm in our San Jose hotel the night before just to force us out of our rooms. Now by police order he wasn’t supposed to get within five hundred feet of us. I doubted he’d care.
My eyes burned, and my muscles felt like water. Little food, no sleep, and plenty of shock. Bad combination. I slumped down in the couch and laid my head back.
Ross ran a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “Now at intermission folks out there”—he jabbed a thumb toward the arena—“are gonna start hearing things. Rayne, you might want to say a little something when you get back on stage.”
Mom sighed, as if wondering where she’d find the energy to do the second half of the concert. “Yeah.”
I squeezed her knee. If only the two of us could hide from the world for a week or two.
Make that a whole year.
Rich frowned as he moved his shaved head from one side to the other, stretching his neck muscles. His piercing gray eyes landed on me, and his face softened. I looked away.
Everyone was so caring and concerned about me. I was grateful for that. Really, I was. But it’s a little hard to know you’ve been the cause of three deaths. Under all their smiles, did the band members blame me?
Ross scratched his hanging jowl. “We got extra coverage from Denver police at the hotel tonight. Tomorrow we’re supposed to head out for Albuquerque. It’s close enough for Vance to drive the main bus without a switch-off driver, and the next two venues are close enough as well. But that’s just logistics. We’ve all been through a lot. Question is—can you all keep performing?” He looked around, eyebrows raised.
“Man.” Morrey shook back his shoulder-length black hair. “If three deaths in two days isn’t enough to make us quit …” His full lips pressed.
I glanced hopefully at Mom. Yeah, let’s go home! I could sleep in my own bed, hide from the paparazzi and reporters, hang out with Brittany, my best friend—who was supposed to be here with me right now.
But canceling concerts would mean losing a lot of money. The Rayne tour was supposed to continue another four weeks.
Mom hunched forward, elbows on her knees and one hand to her cheek. Her long red fingernails matched the color of her lips. “I almost lost my daughter tonight.” Her voice was tight. “I don’t care if I never tour again—Shaley’s got to be protected, that’s the number one thing.”
I want you protected too, Mom.
“I agree with that a hundred percent,” Morrey said, “but at least the threat to Shaley is gone now that Jerry’s dead.
Jerry, one of our bus drivers—and a man I’d thought was my friend—killed Tom and Bruce, and then came after me earlier that night. A cop ended up shooting him.
Kim spread her hands. “I don’t know what to say. I’m still reeling. We’ve barely had time to talk about any of this tonight before getting on stage. I feel like my mind’s gonna explode. And Tom …”
She teared up, and that made me cry. Kim had been like a mother to Tom. Crazy, funny Tom. It was just so hard to believe he was gone.
I wiped my eyes and looked at my lap.
“Anyway.” Kim steadied her voice. “It’s so much to deal with. I don’t know how we’re going to keep up this pace for another month.”
Mom looked at Ross. “We can’t keep going very long with only Vance to drive the main bus.”
Ross nodded. “Until Thursday. I’d have to replace him by then.”
“With who?” Mom’s voice edged.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to jump on it.”
“You can’t just ‘jump on it.’ We need time to thoroughly check the new driver out.”
“Rayne.” Ross threw her a look. “I did check Jerry out. Completely. He had a false ID, remember? That’s what the police said. I couldn’t have known that.”
“You might have known if you’d checked harder.”
Ross’s face flushed. “I did—”
“No you didn’t! Or if you did it wasn’t good enough!” Mom pushed to her feet and paced a few steps. “Something’s mighty wrong if we can’t even find out a guy’s a convicted felon!”
What? I stiffened. “How do you know that?”
Mom waved a hand in the air. “The police told me just before we left the hotel.”
We’d huddled in the manager’s office after the policeman killed Jerry.
I stared at Mom. “When was he in jail?”
Mom threw a hard look at Ross. “He’d barely gotten out when we hired him.”
Heat flushed through my veins. I snapped my gaze toward the floor, Jerry’s last words ringing in my head.
Your father sent me.
How could my father have sent Jerry if he was in jail?
“Rayne,” Ross snapped, “I’ve told you I’m sorry a dozen times—”
“Sorry isn’t enough!” Mom whirled on him. “My daughter was taken hostage. She could have been killed!”
Rich jumped up and put his arms around her. “Come on, Rayne, it’s okay now.”
She leaned against him, eyes closed. The anger on her face melted into exhaustion. “It’s not okay.” Mom shook her head. “Tom’s dead, Bruce is dead. And Shaley—”
Her words broke off. Mom pulled away from Rich and hurried back to the couch. She sank down next to me, a hand on my knee. “Shaley, you’re the one who’s been through the most. What do you want to do?”
My throat nearly swelled shut. Go home! I wanted to yell. But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. This wasn’t my tour. I didn’t have to pay the bills.
I glanced around at all the band members. Morrey was holding Kim’s hand. Stan and Rich watched me, waiting. A canceled tour wouldn’t just affect them. Rayne had three back-up singers, one of them Carly, who’d been such a help to me. Plus all the techs and roadies. They’d all lose money.
Wait—maybe Mom would let me go home and stay with Brittany. Now that Tom’s and Bruce’s killer was dead …
“Shaley?” Mom tapped my leg.
“I don’t … I can’t stop the tour.”
Ross exhaled. “Rayne?”
Mom looked at the wall clock and pushed to her feet. “We can’t decide this now. It’s only fifteen minutes before we have to be back on stage. I still need to change.”
Stan stood. “I say we figure on doing Albuquerque, and then we can decide about the rest.”
“Yeah, me too.” Rich got up, along with everyone else. I could see the business-like attitude settle on all their faces, including Mom’s. Soon they had to perform again. Every other concern must be pushed aside. In the entertainment world the saying was true: the show must go on.
Within a minute everyone had left except Mom, Marshall and me. Mom threw herself into a chair by the bright mirrors so Marshall could adjust her makeup. When he left she changed into a steel blue top and skinny-legged black pants.
I sat numbly on the couch, four words running through my mind. Words, I sensed, that would change my life.
Your father sent me.
Mom didn’t know what Jerry had whispered to me as he died. I needed to tell her.
But how? Like me, she was running on empty. It would be one more shock, another scare. I wasn’t sure she could take anymore and still perform.
Had Jerry told me the truth? Had the father I’d never known—the man my mother refused to talk about—purposely sent a killer to join our tour?
I needed to know. I needed to find out. Because if it was true—the danger was far from over.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
James David Jordan is a business attorney in Texas and was named by the Dallas Business Journal as one of the most influential leaders in that legal community. He holds a journalism degree from the University of Missouri as well as a law degree and MBA from the University of Illinois and lives with his wife and two children in the Dallas suburbs.
List Price: $14.99 Paperback: 400 pages Publisher: B&H Books (October 1, 2009) Language: English ISBN-10: 0805447547 ISBN-13: 978-0805447545
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The day my mother came back into my life began with a low December fog and a suicide. Mom was not responsible for the fog.
I hadn’t seen her for twenty years, and the idea that she might show up at my door was the farthest thing from my mind on a Thursday morning, a few weeks before Christmas, when the music alarm practically blasted me off my bed. With the Foo Fighters wailing in my ear, I burrowed into my pillow and tried to wrap it around my head. I rolled onto my side and slapped the snooze bar, but smacked the plastic so hard that it snapped in two, locking in another minute and a half of throbbing base before I could yank the cord from the wall socket. It wasn’t until my toes touched the hardwood floor and curled up against the cold that I remembered why I was waking up at five-forty-five in the first place. Kacey Mason and I were meeting Elise Hovden at eight o’clock in a suburb northwest of Dallas. We would give her one chance to explain why nearly half a million dollars was missing from Simon Mason World Ministries. If she couldn’t, our next stop would be the Dallas police.
Since Simon Mason’s murder earlier that year, I’d been living in his house with Kacey, his twenty-year-old daughter. I had promised to watch out for her if anything happened to him. It wasn’t a sacrifice. By that time Kacey and I were already so close that we finished each other’s sentences. I needed her as much as she needed me.
I slid my feet into my slippers and padded down the hall toward Kacey’s door. Chill bumps spread down my thighs in a wave, and I wished I’d worn my flannel pajama bottoms to bed under my Texas Rangers baseball jersey. Rather than turning back to my room to grab my robe, I decided to gut it out. I bent over and gave my legs a rub, but I knew they wouldn’t be warm again until I was standing next to the space heater in the bathroom.
I pressed my ear to Kacey’s door. The shower was humming. Of course she was awake. Had there ever been a more responsible college kid? Sometimes I wished she would let things go, do something wild. For her, that would probably mean not flossing before going to bed. If hyper-responsibility got her through the day, I supposed it was fine with me. After all, she was a markedly better person than I had been at her age.
By the time I met her father I was twenty-nine, and thanks to a decade of too much alcohol and too many useless men, I was dropping like a rock. But Simon Mason caught me and held me in place for a while, just long enough to give me hope. Then he did what he had to do, and he died for it. Some things are more important than living. He and Dad both taught me that. So now I was changing. To be accurate, I would say I was a work in progress. I hadn’t had a drink since before Simon died, and I’d sworn off men completely, albeit temporarily. Frankly, the latter was not much of a sacrifice. It wasn’t as if a crowd of guys had been beating a path to my door. I simply figured there was no use getting back into men until I was confident the drinking was under control. One thing I had demonstrated repeatedly in my life was that drinking and men just didn’t go together—at least not for me.
As for Kacey, after everything she’d been through, it was amazing she hadn’t folded herself into a fetal ball and quit the world for a while. Instead, she just kept plugging along, putting one foot in front of the other. I was content to step gingerly behind her, my toes sinking into her footprints. She was a good person to follow. She had something I’d never been known for: Kacey had character.
I shook my head. I was not going to start the day by kicking myself. I’d done enough of that. Besides, I no longer thought I had to be perfect. If a good man like Simon Mason could mess things up and find a way to go on, then so could I. Even in his world—a much more spiritual one than mine—perfection was not required. He made a point of teaching me that.
I closed my eyes and pictured Simon: his shiny bald head, his leanly muscled chest, his brilliant, warming smile. As I thought of that smile, I smiled, too, but it didn’t last long. Within seconds the muscles tightened in my neck. I massaged my temples and tried to clear my thoughts. Soon, though, I was pressing my fingers so hard into my scalp that pain radiated from behind my eyes.
If only he had listened. But he couldn’t. He wanted to die. No matter how much he denied it, we both knew it was true. After what he had done, he couldn’t live with himself. So he found the only available escape hatch. He went to preach in a place where his death was nearly certain.
I lowered my hands and clenched them, then caught myself and relaxed. This was no good. It was too late. Not this morning, Taylor. You’re not going to think about Simon today. I took a deep breath and ran my fingers back through my hair, straightening the auburn waves for an instant before they sprang stubbornly back into place. Today’s worries are enough for today. That was the mantra of the alcohol recovery program at Simon’s church. It was from the Bible, but I couldn’t say where. To be honest, I didn’t pay attention as closely as I should. Regardless of origin, it was a philosophy that had worked for my drinking—at least so far. Maybe it had broader application: Focus on the task at hand and let yesterday and tomorrow take care of themselves.
At the moment, the first priority was to get the coffee going. I started down the hall.
When I turned the corner into the kitchen, I could see that Kacey had already been there. The coffee maker light was on, illuminating a wedge of countertop next to the refrigerator. In the red glow of the tiny bulb, the machine chugged and puffed like a miniature locomotive. Two stainless steel decanters with screw-on plastic lids waited next to the ceramic coffee jar, and the smell of strong, black coffee drifted across the room. I closed my eyes, inhaled, and pictured the cheese Danish we would pick up at the corner bakery on our way out of our neighborhood. That was plenty of incentive to get moving. I headed back down the hall.
When I reached the bathroom I flipped on the light, closed the door, and hit the switch on the floor heater. I positioned it so it blew directly on my legs. Within a minute the chill bumps were retreating. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink, leaned forward, and squinted into the mirror. Glaring back at me was a message I had written in red lipstick the night before: Start the coffee!
I wiped the words off with a hand towel and peered into the mirror again. A tangled strand of hair dangled in front of one eye. I pushed it away, blinked hard, and studied my face. No lines, no bags, no creases—no runs, no hits, no errors, as Dad used to say. I was beginning to believe the whole clean living thing. Zero liquor and a good night’s sleep worked like a tonic for the skin.
It was tough to stay on the wagon after Simon’s death. I had never been an every-day drinker. My problem was binge drinking. With all that had happened during the past six months, the temptations had been frequent and strong, but I was gradually getting used to life on the dry side of a bourbon bottle. There was much to be said for routine. Maybe that’s why dogs are so happy when they’re on a schedule. When everything happens the same way and at the same time each day, there’s not much room for angst.
On second thought, the dog analogy didn’t thrill me. I pulled the Rangers jersey over my head, tossed it on the floor, and turned to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Standing in nothing but my bikini panties, I rocked onto the toes of one foot, then the other. My long legs were still lean and athletic. Fitness was something Dad had always emphasized—fitness and self-defense. There were times when I had hated him for it, but now I was glad for the benefits. It would be years before I had to worry about really showing age. I might have lived harder than most twenty-nine year olds, but I could still turn heads in a crowded room. No, the dog analogy was not appropriate. I had plenty of issues, but I was no dog. At least not yet.
I turned on the water and cupped my hands beneath the faucet. It was time to wake up and plan what we would say to Elise. After splashing my face and patting it with a towel, I turned around, leaned back against the countertop, and crossed my arms. I caught a whiff of the lavender cologne I’d taken to spraying on my wrists before bed. The Internet said it would soothe me into peaceful slumber. For fifty dollars an ounce, it should have brought me warm milk and rocked me to sleep. I tried to recall how I’d slept the past few nights, then caught myself. I was just looking for ways to waste time. I needed to focus. The issue at hand was Elise.
Simon informed me about the missing money just before he left for Beirut. His former accountant, Brandon, had confronted him about it, thinking that Simon had been skimming. Simon wanted someone to know that he hadn’t done it, someone who could tell Kacey that her dad was not a thief. That’s why he told me. In case he didn’t come back. And as the whole world knew, he didn’t come back.
Elise was the obvious person for the board of directors to choose to wind up the business of Simon’s ministry. She had been his top assistant for years. When I told Kacey about the missing money, though, she bypassed Elise and went directly to the board to demand an audit—impressive gumption for a twenty year old. It didn’t take the auditors long to confirm that Simon had nothing to do with the missing money.
The accountants concluded that the board had assigned the cat to clean the birdcage. Elise had set up dummy vendor accounts at banks around the country in a classic embezzlement scam. Simon’s ministries had major construction projects going, and Elise issued bogus contractor invoices to Simon Mason World Ministries from fake businesses with P.O. box addresses that she controlled. When the ministry mailed the payments, she picked up the checks from the post office boxes and deposited them in the bank accounts. Who knows where the money went from there?
The ministry had grown so quickly during the years before Simon’s death—and Simon was so trusting—that controls were lax. When the invoices came in, the payables department paid them without question. By now the money was probably stuffed under a mattress in some tropical paradise. That was another thing I intended to pursue with Elise. She had developed a great tan.
Before I stepped into the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and went back into the bedroom. I pulled my Sig Sauer .357 out of my purse and checked the magazine. It was full. I slipped the pistol into the inside pocket of my purse. Elise didn’t strike me as the type to get violent, but people did weird things when backed into a corner. If I’d learned anything during my time in the Secret Service, it was to hope for the best—and prepare for the worst.
= This week's blog tour for CFRB focuses on If Only You Knew, a novel by Canadian Mags Storey that went in directions I didn't expect when I read the title. I expected a mystery but not a romance. It turns out it was both mystery and romance, both suspenseful and full of relationships. In other words, If Only You Knew is more than meets the eye at first glance.
The tale grows around Jo, a young woman who is just barely out of high school and full of self-doubt. The more we learn about her background, the more we understand her insecurities. The setting is modern day in a resort town in Canada; one of those places where the population dips drastically once the summer vacations are over. It's no accident, then, that the action begins at the beach. It hit the ground running with a really packed opener: a screaming lovers' fight, the main character nearly run over by a car, and a near-drowning. Talk about bad days: Jo probably wishes she had stayed in bed. It doesn't end there, of course, and the people involved in these events show up over and over again as the impetus of the novel. Perhaps the subtitle could even be A Tale of Two Men. Yes, Jo's life becomes entwined with the two guy she meets at the beginning of Mags' story. Kevin is a most incredible hunk of a guy, Mr. Perfect, who almost runs over Jo and who turns her knees to jello when he invites her to a concert he's working with. Then there's Sam, the recipient of the verbal abuse in the one-sided fight that first grabs Jo's attention. Oddly enough, Sam latches on to Jo as a sympathetic and similar soul struggling through life.
With well-paced humor, action, and suspense, the author draws the readers into this character-driven novel. It has all the ingredients for a page-turner. I like the way she doles out information in small bites, making us want to know more, keeping us a little off-kilter and hungry for the rest. You know there is more to each character and event than first meets the eye, and for me, anyway, half the fun is trying to guess what's coming. I got some of it right and some of it wrong: Truthfully, I was glad to be wrong in some ways.
There are several stories going at once, but much of it involves the fact that people are not perfect even when they are Christians. When a person comes to that personal relationship with Jesus Christ, it makes life worth while, but we will always be imperfect on our own. Jo and Sam are scarred and skeptical when they first agree to attend The Gathering, a youth-oriented and informal Sunday night meeting at this church, yet they are continually drawn to the meetings and become involved with the Christians there. Jo goes at first because she has a crush on super-hunk Kevin, a fairly new Christian who constantly disappears mysteriously when he's with her. There are several points made during the telling of the tale, spiritual points, told by the events and the reactions of the characters.
Now Jo has all kinds of baggage and all kinds of drama in her life. Her mother is a real loser, but she passed that label on to Jo, undeservedly, I might add. Then there's an awful scene Jo witnessed the year before. One evening when she was looking through binoculars, she witnessed a horrific hit-and-run. She even called 911 anonymously, knowing the driver did it on purpose. But now the victim turns up alive, beyond all odds. Weird though; none of his closest friends even know about what happened to him, and he isn't talking. Jo thinks maybe she imagined it, but she doubts her doubts. And then there are these obvious ne'er-do-wells who start showing up in most menacing fashion, apparently following Jo. She nicknames the Motor-Oil Guy (we called his type 'greasers' when I was teenager) and Red Jacket. Bad things happen, tempers flare, misunderstanding and hurt feelings abound before long, but there are also good things and hope.
This is a book I would recommend for teens and above. In many ways it qualifies as a Young Adult book. The characters are mainly college age with one still in high school, and as such they deal with all those emotions and developments that are associated with teens and younger adults. Still, though, I believe more mature adults would also enjoy it. There are lessons we could all learn from it, if we only will. Beyond any lessons, though, it is quite enjoyable and engaging. Oh, by the way, although this is fiction, the author used the lives and events from real people she knows as a basis for many of her characters.
Check out Mags Storey's website to get a further glimpse into the books and the author's thoughts and life. Just this week she wrote a very sad note, though: the person who was kind of the real-life Sam died tragically. Your prayers are requested for his family and friends.
Purchase If Only You Knew at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and Christianbook.com. It should also be carried by many Christian bookstores since the publisher, Kregel, is a major player.
Check out these other member blogs this week for more info.
Although not listed in our buttons for this tour, Stephen L. Rice has three reviews up at Back to the Mountains
{Note: In keeping with recent changes to FTC rules, we must disclose to readers when the book review was given to us freely for review purposes. The copy of If Only You Knew that I read was a free review copy, actually a .pdf file from before the book was actually published. }
September 11, 2001. It was a day that horrified not only every American but people around the world as well. The planes that slammed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the woods in Pennsylvania ended the lives of 2,993 in a matter of minutes.
On that most singular day of tragedy, America was shocked out of her slumber. While we knew other acts of terrorism and and savagery, we suddenly found ourselves more vulnerable than we ever suspected before.
In the wake of these attacks and the investigations to follow, we learned more and more about "sleeper cells" that have long been in place in the United States and other Western Countries. Muslims have lived quietly in our midst for years, waiting until they are called upon to do their part for Jihad, to battle with the 'infidels' of The Great Satan (the U.S.). Suddenly, more people than ever looked at every Middle Easterner with suspicion, often showing open prejudice and hostility.
Mohamed's Moon goes beyond being a good suspense novel and romance story to delve deeply into the whole American/Muslim/Christian/terrorist morass. Mohamed is a devout Muslim of the extreme sort, yet he wasn't trained to be a suicide bomber. Rather, his task was to infiltrate the system and use his intelligence to sway America to Islam. His own ideas, however, are smothered by those of the more extreme--i.e. terrorist--ilk, who consider this wedding of the Vice President and a moderate Muslim woman as a chance to take out lots of important people. What comes into play is the more moderate types, in their efforts to be tolerant, are naively playing into the hands of the extremists. Balance comes to play, though, because not all of the Arabs are Muslim, and not all of the Muslims are hatemongers. Keith Clemons has taken great care to present the many facets of the cultures, the effects of propaganda, and the responses of Christians.
We face a bit of dilemma. How should we treat Muslims as a whole? Do we act suspicious and shun them? Should we try to befriend them and show the love of Jesus as we interact with them? Do we preach at them or show them true Christ-like-ness in our everyday lifestyle? And if we are supposed to show them love, does that mean we don't get suspicious at all about possible sleeper cells? What about the war on terrorism? What is the proper balance for a Christian? Should we try to understand how cultural differences have caused confusion and enmity?
It may be that Mohamed's Moon will raise more questions than it definitively answers, but these are questions that need spiritually sound responses. Today, we remember a heinous plot carried out by terrorist extremists. I don't know if it would have changed anything if any of the plotters had come in contact with demonstrations of the One true God and His love. I do know that this love that comes from God has been the only thing to save many lives.
Check out these other member blogs this week for more info.
Don't forget, I will be drawing a name to receive a copy of Mohamed's Moon. ALL comments left on any of the CFRB blogs (concerning Keith Clemons or Mohamed's Moon) will be included in the drawing. The winner will be chosen on September 14th.
