Review: The Overnight Guest by Heather Gudenkauf

The Overnight Guest by Heather Gudenkauf

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: January 2022

 

Wylie Lark is a true crime author who has taken some time away from her home in Oregon to do some writing in Iowa where her next story takes place. She rents an old farm house where the murders took place to do the writing. One night during a terrible snow storm she finds a child in the snow and a wrecked truck in the ditch. Where is this child's family and why are there out in the cold all alone. This story is told in three different parts. Wylie's story of the farm house. The story of the murders that happened in the farmhouse. And the story of a mother and a child. How are all of these things connected? A story that will keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish.

Thank you to Park Row Books and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

I have read a few Heather Gudenkauf books in the past and each one has left me with my mouth agape. This one was no different. I had to find out what was going to happen. There is shock after shock in this story. Horrific incidents that take place that you can never imagine. I couldn't wait to find out what was going to happen in this book. It's been a while since I've read a book I want to keep coming back to. This has definitely helped me to come out of my slump. While some things may have been predictable there were enough surprises to keep me going.  

I highly recommend this book!!

EXCERPT

Three

“Maybe we can go outside and play?” the girl said as she peeked around the edge of the heavy curtain that covered the window. The sky was gray and soft drops of rain tapped at the glass.

“Not today,” her mother said. “It’s raining and we’d melt.”

The girl gave a little laugh and then hopped off the chair she had dragged beneath the window. She knew her mother was teasing. They wouldn’t actually melt if they went out in the rain, but still, it made her shiver thinking about it—stepping outside and feeling the plop of water on your skin and watching it melt away like an ice cube.

Instead, the girl and her mother spent the morning at the card table cutting pink, purple, and green egg shapes from construction paper and embellishing them with polka dots and stripes.

On one oval, her mother drew eyes and a pointy little orange beak. Her mother laid the girl’s hands on a piece of yellow paper and traced around them using a pencil. “Watch,” she said as she cut out the handprints and then glued them to the back of one of the ovals.

“It’s a bird,” the girl said with delight.

“An Easter chick,” her mother said. “I made these when I was your age.”

Together, they carefully taped the eggs and chicks and bunny rab-bits they created to the cement walls, giving the dim room a festive, springy look. “There, now we’re ready for the Easter Bunny,” her mother said with triumph.

That night, when the girl climbed into bed, the butterflies in her stomach kept chasing sleep away. “Stay still,” her mother kept re-minding her. “You’ll fall asleep faster.”

The girl didn’t think that was true, but then she opened her eyes, a sliver of bright sunshine was peeking around the shade, and the girl knew that morning had finally arrived.

She leaped from bed to find her mother already at the tiny round table where they ate their meals. “Did he come?” the girl asked, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears.

“Of course he did,” her mother said, holding out a basket woven together from strips of colored paper. It was small, fitting into the palm of the girl’s hand, but sweet. Inside were little bits of green paper that were cut to look like grass. On top of this was a pack of cinnamon gum and two watermelon Jolly Ranchers.

The girl smiled though disappointment surged through her. She’d been hoping for a chocolate bunny or one of those candy eggs that oozed yellow when you broke it open.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank the Easter Bunny,” her mother said.

“Thank you, Easter Bunny,” the girl crowed like the child on the candy commercials that she’d seen on television. They both laughed.

They each unwrapped a piece of gum and spent the morning making up stories about the paper chicks and bunnies they made.

When the girl’s gum lost its flavor, and she had slowly licked one of the Jolly Ranchers into a sharp flat disc, the door at the top of the steps opened, and her father came down the stairs toward them. He was carrying a plastic bag and a six-pack of beer. Her mother gave the girl a look. The one that said, go on now, mom and dad need some alone time. Obediently, the girl, taking her Easter basket, went to her spot beneath the window and sat in the narrow beam of warm light that fell across the floor. Facing the wall, she unwrapped another piece of gum and poked it into her mouth and tried to ignore the squeak of the bed and her father’s sighs and grunts.

“You can turn around now,” her mother finally said. The girl sprang up from her spot on the floor.

The girl heard the water running in the bathroom, and her father poked his head out of the door. “Happy Easter,” he said with a grin. “The Easter Bunny wanted me to give you a little something.”

The girl looked at the kitchen table where the plastic bag sat. Then she slid her eyes to her mother, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her wrist, eyes red and wet. Her mother nodded.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Later, after her father climbed the steps and locked the door behind him, the girl went to the table and looked inside the plastic bag. In-side was a chocolate bunny with staring blue eyes. He was holding a carrot and wore a yellow bowtie.

“Go ahead,” her mother told the girl as she held an ice pack to her wrist. “When I was little, I always started with the ears.”

“I don’t think I’m very hungry,” the girl said, returning the box to the table.

“It’s okay,” her mother said gently. “You can eat it. It’s from the Easter Bunny, not your dad.”

The girl considered this. She took a little nibble from the bunny’s ear and sweet chocolate flooded her mouth. She took another bite and then another. She held out the rabbit to her mother and she bit off the remaining ear in one big bite. They laughed and took turns eating until all that was left was the bunny’s chocolate tail.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” her mother said. The girl complied and felt her mother place the remaining bit on her tongue and then kiss her on the nose. “Happy Easter,” her mother whispered.

Excerpted from The Overnight Guest by Heather Gudenkauf, Copyright © 2022 by Heather Gudenkauf. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the links below(affiliate links):

Amazon
Books A Million

Review: Local Woman Missing by Mary Kubica

Local Woman Missing by Mary Kubica
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: May 2021

When one woman goes missing from a small town everyone is worried. When a second one goes missing along with her small child, the town is turned upside down. Eleven years later, the child, Delilah is found. She is now 17, but can't remember much from her life before her capture. As she returns to her life, we find out what happens two months before she is taken up until a few days after she goes missing. Told from four points of view: Delilah; her mother, Meredith; Kate, their neighbor; and Leo, Delilah's little brother, who was too young to remember his sister. Leo is determined to find out what happened to his mother and sister when he was so young.

Thank you to Harlequin and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this title.

Another book I couldn't put down. This was one of the best books I have read so far this year. In my mind, everyone was a suspect. It's always the husband, right? He was on the list, all the friends, even the women themselves that went missing. I had no idea who was to blame for all the craziness that happened in this book. Two missing adults, one missing child, and for 11 years, no one has any idea the truth about what happened. The twists and turns had my head on a swivel. This is one book that you will pick up and not put down until the very end. You will stay up way past your bedtime to get this one read.

One of Mary Kubica's best.

EXCERPT

MEREDITH

11 YEARS BEFORE

March

The text comes from a number I don’t know. It’s a 630 area code. Local. I’m in the bathroom with Leo as he soaks in the tub. He has his bath toys lined up on the edge of it and they’re taking turns swan diving into the now-lukewarm water. It used to be hot, too hot for Leo to get into. But he’s been in there for thirty minutes now playing with his octopus, his whale, his fish. He’s having a ball.

Meanwhile I’ve lost track of time. I have a client in the early stages of labor. We’re texting. Her husband wants to take her to the hospital. She thinks it’s too soon. Her contractions are six and a half minutes apart. She’s absolutely correct. It’s too soon. The hospital would just send her home, which is frustrating, not to mention a huge inconvenience for women in labor. And anyway, why labor at the hospital when you can labor in the comfort of your own home? First-time fathers always get skittish. It does their wives no good. By the time I get to them, more times than not, the woman in labor is the more calm of the two. I have to focus my attention on pacifying a nervous husband. It’s not what they’re paying me for. 

I tell Leo one more minute until I shampoo his hair, and then fire off a quick text, suggesting my client have a snack to keep her energy up, herself nourished. I recommend a nap, if her body will let her. The night ahead will be long for all of us. Childbirth, especially when it comes to first-time moms, is a marathon, not a sprint. 

Josh is home. He’s in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner while Delilah plays. Delilah’s due up next in the tub. By the time I leave, the bedtime ritual will be done or nearly done. I feel good about that, hating the times I leave Josh alone with so much to do. 

I draw up my text and then hit Send. The reply is immediate, that all too familiar ping that comes to me at all hours of the day or night. 

I glance down at the phone in my hand, expecting it’s my client with some conditioned reply. Thx. 

Instead: I know what you did. I hope you die. 

Beside the text is a picture of a grayish skull with large, black eye sockets and teeth. The symbol of death. 

My muscles tense. My heart quickens. I feel thrown off. The small bathroom feels suddenly, overwhelmingly, oppressive. It’s steamy, moist, hot. I drop down to the toilet and have a seat on the lid. My pulse is loud, audible in my own ears. I stare at the words before me, wondering if I’ve misread. Certainly I’ve misread. Leo is asking, “Is it a minute, Mommy?” I hear his little voice, muff led by the ringing in my ears. But I’m so thrown by the cutthroat text that I can’t speak. 

I glance at the phone again. I haven’t misread. 

The text is not from my client in labor. It’s not from any client of mine whose name and number is stored in my phone. As far as I can tell, it’s not from anyone I know.

A wrong number, then, I think. Someone sent this to me by accident. It has to be. My first thought is to delete it, to pretend this never happened. To make it disappear. Out of sight, out of mind. 

But then I think of whoever sent it just sending it again or sending something worse. I can’t imagine anything worse. 

I decide to reply. I’m careful to keep it to the point, to not sound too judgy or fault-finding because maybe the intended recipient really did do something awful—stole money from a children’s cancer charity—and the text isn’t as egregious as it looks at first glance. 

I text: You have the wrong number. 

The response is quick. 

I hope you rot in hell, Meredith. 

The phone slips from my hand. I yelp. The phone lands on the navy blue bath mat, which absorbs the sound of its fall. 

Meredith. 

Whoever is sending these texts knows my name. The texts are meant for me. 

A second later Josh knocks on the bathroom door. I spring from the toilet seat, and stretch down for the phone. The phone has fallen facedown. I turn it over. The text is still there on the screen, staring back at me. 

Josh doesn’t wait to be let in. He opens the door and steps right inside. I slide the phone into the back pocket of my jeans before Josh has a chance to see. 

“Hey,” he says, “how about you save some water for the fish.” 

Leo complains to Josh that he is cold. “Well, let’s get you out of the bath,” Josh says, stretching down to help him out of the water. 

“I need to wash him still,” I admit. Before me, Leo’s teeth chatter. There are goose bumps on his arm that I hadn’t noticed before. He is cold, and I feel suddenly guilty, though it’s mired in confusion and fear. I hadn’t been paying any attention to Leo. There is bathwater spilled all over the floor, but his hair is still bone-dry. 

“You haven’t washed him?” Josh asks, and I know what he’s thinking: that in the time it took him to clear the kitchen table, wash pots and pans and wipe down the sinks, I did nothing. He isn’t angry or accusatory about it. Josh isn’t the type to get angry. 

“I have a client in labor,” I say by means of explanation. “She keeps texting,” I say, telling Josh that I was just about to wash Leo. I drop to my knees beside the tub. I reach for the shampoo. In the back pocket of my jeans, the phone again pings. This time, I ignore it. I don’t want Josh to know what’s happening, not until I get a handle on it for myself. 

Josh asks, “Aren’t you going to get that?” I say that it can wait. I focus on Leo, on scrubbing the shampoo onto his hair, but I’m anxious. I move too fast so that the shampoo suds get in his eye. I see it happening, but all I can think to do is wipe it from his forehead with my own soapy hands. It doesn’t help. It makes it worse. 

Leo complains. Leo isn’t much of a complainer. He’s an easygoing kid. “Ow,” is all that he says, his tiny wet hands going to his eyes, though shampoo in the eye burns like hell. 

“Does that sting, baby?” I ask, feeling contrite. But I’m bursting with nervous energy. There’s only one thought racing through my mind. I hope you rot in hell, Meredith. 

Who would have sent that, and why? Whoever it is knows me. They know my name. They’re mad at me for something I’ve done. Mad enough to wish me dead. I don’t know anyone like that. I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset someone enough that they’d want me dead.

I grab the wet washcloth draped over the edge of the tub. I try handing it to Leo, so that he can press it to his own eyes. But my hands shake as I do. I wind up dropping the washcloth into the bath. The tepid water rises up and splashes him in the eyes. This time he cries. 

“Oh, buddy,” I say, “I’m so sorry, it slipped.” 

But as I try again to grab it from the water and hand it to him, I drop the washcloth for a second time. I leave it where it is, letting Leo fish it out of the water and wipe his eyes for himself. Meanwhile Josh stands two feet behind, watching. 

My phone pings again. Josh says, “Someone is really dying to talk to you.” 

Dying. It’s all that I hear. 

My back is to Josh, thank God. He can’t see the look on my face when he says it. 

“What’s that?” I ask. 

“Your client,” Josh says. I turn to him. He motions to my phone jutting out of my back pocket. “She really needs you. You should take it, Mer,” he says softly, accommodatingly, and only then do I think about my client in labor and feel guilty. What if it is her? What if her contractions are coming more quickly now and she does need me? 

Josh says, “I can finish up with Leo while you get ready to go,” and I acquiesce, because I need to get out of here. I need to know if the texts coming to my phone are from my client or if they’re coming from someone else. 

I rise up from the floor. I scoot past Josh in the door, brushing against him. His hand closes around my upper arm as I do, and he draws me in for a hug. “Everything okay?” he asks, and I say yes, fine, sounding too chipper even to my own ears. Everything is not okay. 

“I’m just thinking about my client,” I say. “She’s had a stillbirth before, at thirty-two weeks. She never thought she’d get this far. Can you imagine that? Losing a baby at thirty-two weeks?”

Josh says no. His eyes move to Leo and he looks saddened by it. I feel guilty for the lie. It’s not this client but another who lost a baby at thirty-two weeks. When she told me about it, I was completely torn up. It took everything in me not to cry as she described for me the moment the doctor told her her baby didn’t have a heartbeat. Labor was later induced, and she had to push her dead baby out with only her mother by her side. Her husband was deployed at the time. After, she was snowed under by guilt. Was it her fault the baby died? A thousand times I held her hand and told her no. I’m not sure she ever believed me. 

My lie has the desired effect. Josh stands down, and asks if I need help with anything before I leave. I say no, that I’m just going to change my clothes and go. 

I step out of the bathroom. In the bedroom, I close the door. I grab my scrub bottoms and a long-sleeved T-shirt from my drawer. I lay them on the bed, but before I get dressed, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I take a deep breath and hold it in, summoning the courage to look. I wonder what waits there. More nasty threats? My heart hammers inside me. My knees shake. 

I take a look. There are two messages waiting for me. 

The first: Water broke. Contractions 5 min apart. 

And then: Heading to hospital.—M. 

I release my pent-up breath. The texts are from my client’s husband, sent from her phone. My legs nearly give in relief, and I drop down to the edge of the bed, forcing myself to breathe. I inhale long and deep. I hold it in until my lungs become uncomfortable. When I breathe out, I try and force away the tension. 

But I can’t sit long because my client is advancing quickly. I need to go.

Excerpted from Local Woman Missing @ 2021 by Mary Kyrychenko, used with permission by Park Row Books.

   

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the links below(affiliate links):

Amazon

Books A Million

Review: Hurricane Summer by Asha Bromfield

Hurricane Summer: A Novel by Asha Bromfield
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: May 2021

Tilla and her sister Mia are spending the summer in Jamaica with their father and his family. It's also hurricane season. While she feels welcome upon her arrival to the island, when her father leaves the countryside to return to town, it becomes a different story. Because she is from "foreign" and she has a lot of things these people could only dream of having(although where she is from it's not much at all)she is automatically labeled as something she is not. Jamaica is a beautiful, but poor country. In this land, Tilla will learn more about her father, her home country and herself.

Thank you to Wednesday Books and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

From the moment you open the cover of this book, you are gripped. Even before the author starts to tell you the story, she tells us her story. I was in tears at the start of this book and by the end, the tears were streaming down my face.

For Tilla, this summer will be her first glimpse into womanhood. She has feelings she has never felt before with her father as well as romantically. She is betrayed by people who she is supposed to love and trust and who are supposed to protect her. She finds truths she wasn't ready for. When the hurricane hits stronger than anticipated, she wants to leave the island as fast as possible. But what she learns by staying will be a greater knowledge than any book would ever teach her.

This is a deeply moving book that I will not forget any time soon!

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book or to order a copy, click the links below(affiliate links): 

Amazon

Books A Million

Review: Long Way Down: The Graphic Novel by Jason Reynolds

Long Way Down: The Graphic Novel by Jason Reynolds
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: October 2020

When Will's older brother Shawn is shot and killed, Will knows he has the follow "The Rules" in order to prove he is the man of the house. As he goes to find revenge for his brother's death, he meets a few people in the elevator on his ride down from his apartment to seek this revenge. The people he meets have been in his position before. What they tell Will on this elevator ride could change his mind about what he is about to do.

The Rules: No Crying, No Snitching, and Get Revenge.

I read this book with my daughters. I've never read a graphic novel before and this one I read in about 10 minutes while sitting at the breakfast table. Immediately, the book brought on strong emotions. It grabbed me right from the start and kept a hold of me until the very end.

Such a good book, I highly recommend it. I think I'm going to go back and read the full novel now.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click below:

Review: Heavy: An American Memoir by Kiese Laymon

Heavy: An American Memoir by Kiese Laymon
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: October 2018

I read this after I read Hunger by Roxane Gay. This book really hit me in a different place. Sometimes we can forget that men can go through a lot of the same issues when it comes to their bodies as women. Kiese Laymon takes us into his life through this memoir. From living with his mother and grandmother who did their best to raise him. His mother, a professor, would frequently spend their money gambling. The author himself also becomes a professor in his adult life and finds himself following in his mother's footsteps in more ways than one.

From sexual abuse to getting kicked out of college, this book has some of everything. This is a hard book to review. I listened to this book and was totally engrossed in the story. When I read a book, I feel like a fly on the wall and I can see what is going on in the story and this story was heartbreaking. I finished this book a couple of weeks ago, but it is still sitting heavy on my heart.

If you haven't read this book, I highly recommend that you do right away.  You can read the mother's response to the book, by clicking here.

Read all My Reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy click below:

Review: Daughter by Asha Bandele

Daughter by Asha Bandele

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: January 2005

Aya has made mistakes in her life, but she has worked hard to turn her life around and is now on the straight and narrow. When she is out for a jog, she is mistakenly shot by the police. As her mother waits to find out what is going to happen to her daughter, she reflects back on her own life and how they have arrived to this point.

This was recommended by @browngirlreading on Instagram.

This book made me think about how well I knew my own mother when she was in her teens and early 20s. I really don't know too much about what her personal life was like. I know she went to community college and got married and had me by the time she was 24. But I don't know if she went to parties or what she and her friends did on the weekends. I'm sure she doesn't know much about what I did in my late teens and early twenties either.

Miriam, Aya's mother looks back on the life she lived before Aya was born and the years right after she arrived. Each choice she made was to make a life for her daughter. Aya's father was killed shortly after she was born and the manner in which this happens I think is the most chilling part of the experience for Miriam.

This is a touching story that will make you think about mother/daughter relationships as well as how to be the best parent and protect your children as best as you can.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click below: 

Review: Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas

Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: January 2021

This book is a prequel to The Hate U Give. This book tells the story of Maverick, the patriarch of the Carter family, and how he got to where he is now. At the age of 17, he is a senior in high school, a member of a gang has one child and his current girlfriend is pregnant. Hustling isn't going to work anymore in order to take care of his family.

I loved this book I think even before I started reading it. After reading The Hate U Give, I wanted to know more about the other characters in the book. Starting with Maverick, one of the most complex characters of THUG was a great place to start. I would also like to have a book about Seven and his complicated life that he lives with his parents who used to be friends but aren't any longer.

Maverick is leading a hard life, but one that is supported by a strong mother. His mother has his back through everything he goes through. She is supportive when she didn't have to be. We should all wish to have a mother like that. She wasn't really a part of THUG, but I would have liked to have seen more of her.

What do you do when you have so much on your shoulders and you aren't even an adult yourself? It's a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a child. If you liked THUG, you'll love this one.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: Long Shot by Kennedy Ryan

Long Shot by Kennedy Ryan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: August 2018

**Trigger Warning for Domestic Abuse**

From the moment they met, Iris and August, they were drawn to each other. But Iris has a boyfriend and dreams of her own and August is about to enter the NBA draft. Iris goes on to live her life with her boyfriend as life throws her a curveball she wasn't expecting. But that life comes with consequences she didn't expect. August is forever thinking about Iris no matter what happens in his life, including a devastating injury. Will these two ever find the happiness they seek in each other or just enjoy the few sporadic moments they have together?

This is my first Kennedy Ryan book. It had me hooked from the start.

I've never been a person too infatuated with athletes, but if I met one like August West, I might change my mind. Iris is a determined young woman who knows exactly what she wants to do with her future. But when life doesn't go the way she plans, she has to put her dreams on hold. They say good things come to those who wait and August is willing to wait for Iris as long as he needs to. The only problem is if she is willing to do the same?

This book will grab you by the heart and twist it. You will go through a slue of emotions while reading or listening to this book.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: If You Must Know by Jamie Beck

If You Must Know by Jamie Beck

My Rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: June 2020

Here is another book from 2020 I read, but didn't get around to reviewing.  This is a great mother/daughter contemporary story.  

The Turner women have reached a point in their lives where they really need each other. Sisters Amanda and Erin have never gotten along. Erin and their mom were always contentious and since the death of their father, they have all been a little lost. When Amanda finds out her husband is leaving her while she is pregnant, she will have to lean on her family in order to make it through.

Thank you to Montlake Romance and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

I really enjoy books that deal with sisters and mothers. This book did not disappoint. It kept me invested from the very beginning. The moral of the story is that even though we may not always like our family, we love them and know that they will always be there for us when we need them.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: One of the Good Ones by Maika & Maritza Moulite

One of the Good Ones by Maika & Maritza Moulite
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: Jan. 2021

Kezi Smith knows that someone has to speak up in the world for those who are unable to speak out for themselves. She has her own Youtube Channel called generationkeZi. On her channel, she points out the inequalities bestowed upon black and brown people in the United States and she does her part to point out and try to change those inequities. On her 18th birthday, Kezi decides to do more than just speak out, she is participating in her first protest. Things don't go as planned, and her family has to end up burying their daughter. But her younger sister, Happi, doesn't believe the story they have been told about her sister's death. She and her other sister, Genny, along with Kezi's friends, embark on the journey Kezi was set out to participate in after her graduation. This trip will allow for Happi to get to know her sister better. Told mostly from the perspective of Kezi and Happi, we find out what happens when you lose a sister you thought you knew.

Thank you to Inkyard Press and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

This book really touched me. As a mother to a little black boy and two black girls, this world is extra precarious for them. We want them to be able to speak up for themselves and for others, but not at the sake of their own lives. I don't know what I would do if I found out one of my children had been killed just for standing up for what is right.

There is a twist in this book that I didn't see coming and when it hit me, I nearly fell to the floor. The Moulite sisters have truly put together a book that will be remembered just as fondly as The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. I look forward to reading more books by these ladies.

View all my reviews    

EXCERPT

chapter two

Kezi

Monday, April 16—1 Day Before the Arrest Los Angeles, California

I must have died and gone to hell.

Right?

Because why else would I have heard that outrageous bleat- ing from my alarm at 5:30 (in the morning!) and chosen to wake up? It was mid-April of twelfth grade. I should have been suffering from a severe case of senioritis that could be cured only by sleeping in. But there I was, doing my Mon- day morning countdown to study.

“Eight…seven…six…five…four…four…four…three… why, oh, why…two… ONE!”

I yanked the covers shielding my head down to my waist and leapt out of bed before the just-right firmness of my mat-

tress and perfectly f luffed pillows could lure me back into their warm nest.

Bang bang bang.

Couldn’t even blame her. I dragged my feet over to the wall I shared with my baby sister, Happi, and knocked twice. Two syllables. Sor-ry. (For counting so loudly that I woke you up while I was trying to wake myself up.)

Silence.

I slipped on cozy padded knee socks and plodded to my desk, where my notes were spread neatly across my laptop, right where I’d left them the night before. Mr. Bamhauer, my AP US History teacher and the miserable Miss Trunchbull to my precocious Matilda, was a stickler for the “old way” of doing things and insisted our notes be handwritten on wide- ruled paper so that the letters were big enough for him to see without his glasses while grading.

I skimmed over the major moments of the Civil Rights Movement that I knew the Advanced Placement test makers were likely to ask about when I sat for the exam in less than a month: Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka. Emmett Till. The March on Washington. The Civil Rights Act of 1964. The Voting Rights Act of 1965. Each bullet point was like a twist unscrew- ing the faucet of my brain, f looding my skull with facts. To me, Brown v. Board of Education wasn’t just some case. It was the rebuttal to Plessy v. Ferguson, the racist court decision that dictated the “separate but equal” ideology. It was one of many nails in the giant coffin of Jim Crow laws and had ushered in the legacy of the Little Rock Nine. But before the Nine, we’d had students like Linda Brown, the Topeka One. Mr. Bamhauer lectured about the past, of course…but he made it stale and removed. To him, the people involved in all this world-changing were just names and dates in a book. Noth- ing more. They hadn’t had souls. Or dreams.

Brown v. Board of Education propelled my thoughts directly to that little girl. I envisioned how Linda Brown must have felt when she’d learned at nine years old that she couldn’t go to the school down the road, the one her white friends in the neighborhood attended, just because of her skin color. I felt her heart hammering when she saw how shaken up her daddy was on the walk home after his talk with the school principal. I imagined the hushed conversations Oliver and Leola Brown had over the kitchen table when they decided to move for- ward with the case, knowing what it would mean. I thought of all the parents hunched over in exasperation, fear, and de- termination, the folks in Delaware, Washington DC, South Carolina, and Virginia, who decided they could no longer accept segregation either.

I drank in American history, in all its problematic glory, like water. It was mine after all. My dad’s grandmother Eve- lyn had embarked on the Great Migration to California after her husband was killed overseas in World War II. He died for a country that didn’t think he deserved to call it home. My mom’s grandfather Joseph had been killed right here in America’s Jim Crow South. And their tales were just the fam- ily history that had been passed down.

I wasn’t much of a morning person, but once I rubbed the crust out of my eyes, I couldn’t close them again. Not with all these stories of individuals insisting they be remembered calling out to me at once. I had to listen to them.

After almost an hour of studying, my alarm rang again to drag me out of my bubble. I walked back over to my and Happi’s shared wall and knocked out another syllabic mes- sage: Hap-pi! Wake! Up! Her groan was loud and miserable. I

chuckled. The only human being on earth less of a morning person than me? Her.

As I waited to shower, I checked the email account I used for my YouTube page, marking off the usual spam, replying to short messages, and noting the invitations and requests I had to think on more and get back to.

But then. I paused.

Oh Kezi. I was reading this ridiculous article about parasocial relationships. It was describing those pathetic people who feel like they know media personalities but don’t. You know, those freaks who get excited when they catch a glimpse of a celeb- rity’s baby or read every interview to see what brand of sham- poo they use. Like that would make them closer. I thought it was fine. But I stayed up all night. All night. All night wondering if you would see me that way too. Like some random weirdo on the internet.

But I told myself over and over, she’s much too good, way too smart, to not realize that some of her subscribers are more special than others. And I’m more than a subscriber. I’m a sup- porter. A lifeline. We get each other. No one understands the struggle and what you’re fighting for like I do. But all night I thought of this. Going insane. Running in circles in my mind until I tripped on something that made me stop. It was some- thing you said, actually.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t get past the sand in my throat. Nausea washed over me in waves, and I clutched my stomach to steady myself.

You said: We’re in this together. You remember that don’t you? It was that youth panel you spoke on two weeks ago at

city hall and you made this beautiful, beautiful comment on how to have hope in the face of hopelessness. You promised that “even in the darkest moments, when you feel completely alone, like you’re the only one who cares, just remember that I care. Our community cares. And the people who came be- fore us and behind us and the ones who come up beside us care too. So long as we keep caring and trying, there is hope.” I cried when your words came to me. And I’m going to sleep well tonight knowing that I’m not alone. I’m not hopeless. I

have you.

There was a video attached to the email, sent from an ad- dress named mr.no.struggle.no.progress. My eyes widened and my pulse pounded against my ears when I registered whose face was in the thumbnail. Mine. I clicked on the preview button with a shaky hand and watched myself at the event the email sender mentioned. There I was, speaking animatedly and pro- nouncing the very words this stranger had taken the time to transcribe. The camera panned slowly across the room as my voice continued in the background.

I remembered that day. I almost hadn’t made it in time, be- cause Happi’s audition for our school’s Shakespeare play had gone longer than planned. Instead of taking my sister home after her tryout, I had dragged her with me straight to the panel. There she was in the video, seated between Derek and Ximena, who’d also come to show their support. The cus- tomary sounds of an audience wove in and out of the audio, a fussy baby babbling merrily, a chorus of a dozen sheets of paper rustling, a sniff ly man’s sneezes punctuating every few sentences.

The camera continued its survey of the room, and I noticed a group of people standing along the back wall. The space had

been remarkably packed for a city hall meeting, and I recalled that quite a few members of the audience had come because they were subscribers to my YouTube channel, generationkeZi. When the meeting was adjourned, more than half in atten- dance had made a beeline to where I was seated, to chat. I’d greeted a lot of people, but others had stood on the sidelines and watched from afar, never approaching.

Who was the person who had sent this message? A fan I hadn’t gotten to speak with? The cameraperson? A local citi- zen who was feeling particularly inspired?

The slow creak of the bedroom door opening diverted my attention. I spun in my chair, not even sure when I’d grabbed the silver plaque I’d received from YouTube for reaching one hundred thousand subscribers, noting the instinct I had to hold it in the air menacingly.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Happi said, pausing midyawn to look at me strangely.

“Thanks, I’ll be right in,” I replied to the back of her head as she stumbled to her room.

Instead, I gripped the plaque in my lap and sat there, frozen. Him again.

Excerpted from One of the Good Ones Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite © 2021 by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite, used with permission by Inkyard Press/HarperCollins. 

To learn more about this book or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: A Promised Land by Barack Obama

A Promised Land by Barack Obama
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: November 2020

**I highly recommend that you listen to this book on audio.**

Barack Obama, our 44th President of the United States, gives a personal look at his first four years in office. Listening to him speak about his days leading up to becoming President through his first term, made me like him even more. He feels like someone we all would know and could sit and talk to about our day. He talks about playing spades on Air Force One, sneaking cigarettes, and working out with Michelle in the mornings. He shared his fears and accomplishments but was still humble. He talked about how his family dealt with his Presidency and fame. He could no longer just take his daughters to a museum or the zoo without people following and the Secret Service.

I really enjoyed this book, holding it though, gave me carpal tunnel. I look forward to the next volume. 

Here's a funny story about this book.  About a week before Christmas, my hold for this became available at the library.  My husband saw me listening to it and told me to stop.  He's not a reader and he frequently tells me to find something else to do besides reading.  So, I was skeptical of him telling me this.  Well, my daughter got me a copy of the book for Christmas.  The book weighs a ton, so I continued to listen to the audio and followed along.  

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: When I Was You by Amber Garza

When I Was You by Amber Garza

My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Published: August 2020
 

Kelly Medina lives in Folsom, CA. She is married with a son. Folsom is a pretty small town where everyone knows everyone. One morning, Kelly gets a call from the pediatrician to confirm the appointment with the doctor for the next day. Only problem is that Kelly's son is 19 years old and wouldn't need a well baby checkup. The mother of the child has the exact same name, Kelly Medina. What are the chances? When she goes to the gym later in the day, this woman has been there as well. Kelly is determined to find out who this woman is and what she is doing in her town. When Kelly sees the woman's child, she thinks he looks just like her son when he was that age. Kelly has been through some mental issues in the past and her friends and family aren't sure they believe her about her new "friend". What will happen when these two women get closer? Will both Kelly's survive?

Thank you to MIRA and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

This book had me hooked from the very start. I wasn't sure which direction it was going, but I was along for the ride. I had heart palpitations while I was reading this book, you never knew what was coming next. I had no clue how this story was going to end, but WHEW!!!! The faces I made reading this book ...
This first one was right before I hit part two

This is the face I made when the book was over:

There are a lot of elements to this story, like if this other Kelly Medina is a real person or just part of the first Kelly's imagination. You have to read this book to see all the twists and turns this book has. I couldn't put it down.

EXCERPT

Chapter One

It was a Monday morning in early October when I first heard about you. I was getting out of the shower when my phone rang. After throwing on a robe and cinching it, I ran into my bedroom, snatching my cell off the nightstand. 

Unknown number.

Normally, I let those go. But I’d already run all the way in here, and I thought maybe it was a call from Dr. Hillerman’s office. 

“Hello?” I answered, breathless. Goosebumps rose on my pale flesh, so I pulled the robe tighter around me. My sopping wet hair dripped down my back. 

“Is this Kelly Medina?” 

Great. A salesperson. “Yes,” I answered, wishing I hadn’t picked up.

“Hi, Kelly, this is Nancy from Dr. Cramer’s office. I’m calling to remind you of your well-baby appointment this Friday at ten am.” 

“Well-baby?” I let out a surprised laugh. “You’re about nineteen years too late.” 

“Excuse me?” Nancy asked, clearly confused.

 “My son isn’t a baby,” I explained. “He’s nineteen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nancy immediately replied. I could hear the clicking of a keyboard.  “I apologize. I called the wrong Kelly Medina.” 

“There’s another Kelly Medina in Folsom?” My maiden name had been Smith. There are a million other Kelly Smiths in the world. In California, even. But since I’d married Rafael, I’d never met another Kelly Medina. Until now.

Until you.

“Yes. Her child is a new patient.”

It felt like yesterday when my child was a new patient. I remembered sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Cramer’s office, holding my tiny newborn, waiting for the nurse to call my name. 

 “I have no idea how this happened. It’s like your numbers got switched in the system or something,” Nancy muttered, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

I assured her it was fine, and hung up. My hair was still wet from the shower, but instead of blow-drying it I headed downstairs to make some tea first. On my way, I passed Aaron’s room. The door was closed, so I pressed it open with my palm. The wood was cold against my skin. Shivering, I took in his neatly made bed, the movie posters tacked to the wall, the darkened desktop computer in the corner.

Leaning against the doorframe of Aaron’s room, my mind flew back to the day he left for college. I remembered his broad smile, his sparkling eyes. He’d been so anxious to leave here. To leave me. I should’ve been happy for him. He was doing what I’d raised him to do. 

Boys were supposed to grow up and leave. 

In my head I knew that. But in my heart it was hard to let him go. 

After closing Aaron’s door, I headed down to the kitchen. 

The house was silent. It used to be filled with noise – Aaron’s little feet stomping down the hallway, his sound effects as he played with toys, his chattering as he got older. Now it was always quiet. Especially during the week when Rafael stayed in the Bay Area for work. Aaron had been gone over a year. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But, actually, it seemed to get worse over time. The constant silence. 

The phone call had thrown me. For a second it felt like I’d gone back in time, something I longed for most days. When Aaron was born everyone told me to savor all the moments because it went by too quickly. It was hard for me to imagine. I hadn’t had the easiest life growing up, and it certainly hadn’t flown by. And the nine months I was pregnant with Aaron had gone on forever, every day longer than the one before. 

But they were right.

Aaron’s childhood was fleeting. The moments were elusive like a butterfly, practically impossible to catch. And now it was gone. He was a man. And I was alone.

Rafael kept encouraging me to find a job to fill my time, but I’d already tried that. When Aaron first left, I applied for a bunch of jobs. Since I’d been out of work for so long, no one wanted to hire me. That’s when Christine suggested I volunteer somewhere. So I started helping out at a local food bank, handing out food once a week and occasionally doing a little administrative stuff. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t enough. It barely filled any of my time. Besides, I was one of many volunteers. I wasn’t needed. Not the way Aaron had needed me when he was a child. 

When he left, the Kelly I’d always known ceased to exist. Vanished into thin air. I was merely a ghost now, haunting my house, the streets, the town.  

As the water boiled, I thought about you. Thought about how lucky you were to have a baby and your whole life ahead of you. I wondered what you were doing right now. Not sitting alone in your big, silent house, I bet. No, you were probably chasing your cute little baby around your sunny living room, the floor littered with toys, as he crawled on all fours and laughed.

Was your child a boy? The lady on the phone didn’t say, but that’s what I pictured. A chubby, smiling little boy like my Aaron. 

The kettle squealed, and I flinched. I poured the boiling water in a mug and steam rose from it, circling the air in front of my face. Tossing in the tea bag, I breathed it in, leaning my back against the cool tile counter. The picture window in front of me revealed our perfectly manicured front yard – bright green grass lined with rose bushes. I’d always been particular about the roses. When Aaron was a kid he always wanted to help with the pruning, but I never let him. Afraid he’d mess them up, I guess. Seemed silly now. 

Heart pinching, I blew out a breath.

I wondered about your yard. What did it look like? Did you have roses? I wondered if you’d let your son help you prune them. I wondered if you’d make the same mistakes I had.

Bringing the mug to my lips, I took a tiny sip of the hot tea. It was mint, my favorite. I allowed the flavors to sit on my tongue a minute before swallowing it down. The refrigerator hummed. The ice shifted in the ice maker. My shoulders tensed slightly. I rolled them out, taking another sip. 

Shoving off the counter, I was headed toward the stairs when my cell buzzed inside my pocket. My pulse spiked. It couldn’t be Rafael. He was a professor and his first class had already started.

Aaron? 

Nope. It was a text from Christine. 

Going to yoga this morning? 

I’d already showered. I was about to tackle my latest organization project. Today was the kitchen pantry. Last week I’d bought a bunch of new containers and bins. Friday I’d spent the day labeling all of them. After taking the weekend off since Rafael was home, I was anxious to continue with it. I’d already organized several closets downstairs, but my plan was to work my way through all the closets and cabinets in the house. 

Usually I loved yoga, but I had way too much to do today.  

No, I typed. Then bit my lip. Backspaced. Stared at the phone. My own reflection emerged on the slick screen - disheveled hair, pale face, dark circles under the eyes. 

You need to get out more. Exercise. It’s not healthy to sit in the house all day. Rafael’s voice echoed in my head.  

The organizing would still be here tomorrow. Besides, who was I kidding? I’d probably only spend a couple of hours organizing before abandoning my project to read online blogs and articles, or dive into the latest murder mystery I was reading.

I typed, yes, then sent it and hurried to my room to get ready. 

Thirty minutes later, I was parking in front of the gym. When I stepped out, a cool breeze whisked over my arms. After three scorching hot summer months, I welcomed it. Fall had always been my favorite season. I relished the festiveness of it. Pumpkins, apples, rustic colors. But mostly it was the leaves falling and being raked away. The bareness of the trees. The shedding of the old to make room for the new. An end, but also a beginning.

Although, we weren’t quite there yet. The leaves were still green, and by afternoon the air would be warm. But in the mornings and evenings we got a tiny sip of a fall, enough to make me thirsty for more. 

Securing the gym bag on my shoulder, I walked briskly through the lot. Once inside, it was even colder. The AC blasted as if it was a hundred-degree day. That’s okay. It gave me more of an incentive to break a sweat. Smiling at the receptionist, I pulled out my keys for her to scan my card. Only my card wasn’t hanging from my key ring. 

I fished around in my bag, but it wasn’t there either. Flushing, I offered the bored receptionist an apologetic smile. “I seem to have misplaced my tag. Can you look me up? Kelly Medina?’

Her eyes widened. “Funny. There was another lady in here earlier today with the same name.”

My heart pounded. I’d been attending this gym for years and never had anyone mentioned you before. I wondered how long you’d worked out here. “Is she still here?” My gaze scoured the lobby as if I might recognize you. 

“No. She was here super early.”

Of course you were. I used to be, too, when Aaron was an infant. 

“Okay. You’re all checked in, Kelly,” the receptionist said, buzzing me in. 

Clutching my gym bag, I made my way up the stairs toward the yoga room, thoughts of you flooding my mind. A few young women walked next to me, wearing tight tank tops and pants, gym bags hanging off their shoulders. They were laughing and chatting loudly, their long ponytails bouncing behind their heads. I tried to say excuse me, to move past them, but they couldn’t hear me. Impatient, I bit my lip and walked slowly behind them. Finally, I made it to the top. They headed toward the cardio machines, and I pressed open the door to the yoga room.

I spotted Christine already sitting on her mat. Her blond hair was pulled back into a perfectly coifed ponytail. Her eyes were bright and her lips were shiny. I smoothed down my unruly brown hair and licked my dry lips. 

She waved me over with a large smile. “You made it.”

“Yep.” I dropped my mat and bag next to hers. 

“I wasn’t sure. It’s been awhile.”

Shrugging, I sat down on my mat. “Been busy.”

“Oh, I totally get that.” She waved away my words with a flick of her slender wrist. “Maddie and Mason have had a bazillion activities lately. I’ve been running around town like a crazy person. I honestly feel like I’m going insane.”

“Sounds rough,” I muttered, slipping off my flip-flops. This was the problem with getting married and having a kid so young. Most of my friends were still raising families. 

“I know, right? I can’t wait until they’re adults and I can do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, it’s the best,” I said sarcastically. 

Her mouth dropped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about you…” Her pale cheeks turned pink. “I know how much you miss Aaron. It’s just…” 

I shook my head and offered her a smile “Relax. I get it.”

Christine and I met years ago in a yoga class. She’s one of those women with almost no self-awareness. It’s what first drew to me to her. I loved how raw and real she was. Other people shied away from her, unable to handle her filter-less statements. But I found her refreshing and, honestly, pretty entertaining. 

 “I remember how insane it was when Aaron was younger,” I said. “One year he signed up for baseball and basketball. They overlapped for a bit, and I swear I was taking him to a game or practice like every day.”

“Yes!” Christine said excitedly, relief evident in her expression. “Sometimes it’s all just too much.”

“Yeah, sometimes it is,” I agreed. 

The class was about to start and the room was filling up. It was mainly women, but there were some men. Most of them were with their wives or girlfriends. I’d tried getting Rafael to come with me before, but he laughed as if the idea was preposterous. 

“Remember when there were only a few of us in this class?” Christine asked, her gaze sweeping the room.

I nodded, glancing around. There were so many new people I didn’t know. Not that I was surprised. Folsom had grown a lot in the ten years I’d lived here. New people moved here every day.

Staring at all the strangers crowding around us, I shivered, my thoughts drifting back to you. We hadn’t even met, and yet I felt like I knew you. We had the same name, the same gym, the same pediatrician for our child. 

It felt like kismet. Fate had brought you here to me. I was certain of it. 

But why? 

Excerpted from When I Was You by Amber Garza, Copyright © 2020 by Amber Garza. Published by MIRA Books.

View all my reviews


To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: Sister Dear by Hannah Mary McKinnon

Sister Dear by Hannah Mary McKinnon
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Published: May 2020
 

Eleanor is heading to the hospice to see her father, when she overhears a conversation between him and her mother. She and her mother have never had a good relationship, but the conversation she hears stops her dead in her tracks. The man she has known as her father her entire life is not her father. So who is and will he want anything to do with Eleanor? When Eleanor finds out that she also has a sister, she decides to try to meet her father that way. The things she finds our in her quest to find her father will shock you.

Thank you to MIRA and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

You already know how much I enjoy a good psychological thriller. This one was very good. It was hard to put down and it had so many twists and turns. Take a look at the face I made when the big twist hit.

What would you do if you found out that your whole life you had been lied to about who your father is? When Eleanor finds her sister, she thinks she can befriend her in order to find out more about her father. When she finds out why she has had no contact with her father, she's not sure whether or not to be more upset with him or her mother. Eleanor is a character you will love and want to smack at the same time. Some of the decisions she makes are not very good, but the outcome will leave you wanting more.

If you have never read a book by Hannah Mary McKinnon, I suggest this is the one to start with. I will be going back to read the rest of her titles and I look forward to what she will bring us in the future.

View all my reviews

To learn more about this book, or to order a copy, click the book cover below:

Review: I Am Watching You by Teresa Driscoll

I Am Watching You by Teresa Driscoll
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Published: October 2017



Anna and Sarah have decided to take a trip to London after school has let out. They are two young girls on their own and Ella a woman alone on the train has a slight worry for the girls. This worry intensifies when a couple of guys who just got out of jail board the train and start to entertain the girls. A few days later, Ella learns about Anna's disappearance, and she feels guilty about not calling someone when she saw the girls on the train. One year after the disappearance, there seems to be some new evidence in the case. Will Ella use this opportunity to speak up? Will Anna be found?

I read this as a part of a buddy read. I loved this book. I had no idea what was going to happen or who was the person that was watching. Ella would get these random letters and postcards in the mail with someone telling her that they know what she knows. Ella is afraid to share this with her family because she doesn't want to feel the blame for the girls disappearance. But who is behind the cards and how do they know?

This book had me on the edge of my seat from start to the end. Twists and secrets behind every corner. You never knew what to expect. This was the first book I've read by Teresa Driscoll, but Ilook forward to reading more of her books.



View all my reviews


To learn more about this book or to order a copy, click the book cover below: