Beyond the Broken Window (eBook)

A suspenseful novel of family, friendship, and twisted love.

Joy Strouse (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
334 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-1772-9 (ISBN)

Infos

'Beyond the Broken Window' weaves themes of mystery and psychological suspense, love and sensuality, grief and growth into this murderous tale that will leave you thoughtful and shaken. How can a woman escape an abusive marriage? Some must die; some have to kill. Even then, are they truly free? Julie Fairburn was 18 in 1977 when she met Rick Madsen, and her heart did flips. This is special, she thought, this is going to be a helluva ride! She didn't know how right she was. Their story continues among family and a close group of friends in the era of sex, drugs, and rock n roll.

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"e;Beyond the Broken Window"e; weaves themes of mystery and psychological suspense, love and sensuality, grief and growth into this murderous tale that will leave you thoughtful and shaken. How can a woman escape an abusive marriage? Some must die; some have to kill. Even then, are they truly free? Julie Fairburn was 18 in 1977 when she met Rick Madsen, and her heart did flips. This is special, she thought, this is going to be a helluva ride! She didn't know how right she was. Their story continues among family and a close group of friends in the era of sex, drugs, and rock n roll. Family roots run deep. Julie grows up in a close loving family who would do anything for one another. She meets Rick's family and soon finds the root of his struggle with anger and love. He was the victim of his father's abuse and grew up witnessing that abuse against his sister and mother. After a shocking family tragedy, Rick and Julie discover family secrets that point to generations of violence and murder. As the story unfolds, we see escalating examples of Rick's unstable emotions and anger. Julie discovers a victim is never truly free of the ties that bind even beyond the grave. Set in Baltimore County in the 70s and 80s, "e;Beyond the Broken Window"e; is a deeply affecting exploration of family and friendship.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

June 1987

Julie had some thinking to do and had come back to her roots. Just yesterday, she had discovered a terrible truth that struck her with such force it splintered her reality. It turned over and over in her thoughts with no clear path of resolution, so here she was, parked in front of the house where she grew up.

The house was a typical suburban split-level. Beneath the bay window, shrubbery grew, dark and dense. New growth sprouted here and there, so it looked as if the needles were spattered with bright chartreuse paint. There were her mother’s morning glories, faces open to the sun, still climbing up the lamppost at the start of the walk. Below them, marigolds gave the air a pungent smell that blended with the nose-tickling scent of a newly trimmed lawn.

Looking at this house brought back memories of a happy childhood surrounded by a loving family. She hadn’t been here for years, since her parents moved to a condo, but this was the place she always felt safe.

She released the seat belt from beneath her prodigious pregnant belly, hauled herself out of the car, and wandered up the drive. Julie wanted to see the backyard where she and her friends ran through sprinklers, chased fireflies, and dreamed of their future. The nostalgia made her smile, and she longed for that carefree innocence again.

As she moved toward the yard, a murder of crows lifted from the woods and flew across the sun, dappling the lawn with light and shade. How appropriate, she thought.

At the top of the driveway, she stopped short; her heart leapt in her chest.

There it was, its spikey branches reaching out and up 20 feet tall, piercing the sky, its dark shadow spreading toward her, its knotty roots twisting beneath her feet. To think just ten years ago, this piney beast was a humble sapling rooted in burlap.

How did I forget it was here? It was the Christmas tree from the year she was first married.

They put off getting a tree, so by the time they journeyed out, there were none left on the lots. She remembered Rick fuming about how the stupid Boy Scouts should stock enough trees. She also remembered him turning that anger on her when she said they shouldn’t have waited until Christmas Eve. How naïve she’d been!

They ended up at the local garden center, just as the worker was locking the door. There was the saddest little fir sitting by the entrance, its dozen skinny branches reaching out to her.

“A Charlie Brown tree!” she said. “Please let us in. We need to rescue that tree!”

The weary salesman saw Rick pull a ten from his pocket. He grabbed the money and pushed the tree into Julie’s arms. “Sold,” he said, “Merry Christmas!” and pulled the door closed with a bang.

The scraggly tree looked festive once they wrapped the burlap in gift paper, hung a few balls on its fragile arms, and crowned it with a paper star.

By the end of January, little “Charlie Brown” was relegated to the porch of their first-floor apartment, to be planted once the ground thawed. There, he patiently sat through the bitter winter and into March.

One evening, just as spring was peeking around the corner, they came home to find the tree planted in the ground next to the parking lot. Rick went ballistic. His face turned red, his fists clenched as he stomped around to the super’s apartment and banged on the door. With a string of expletives, he demanded the tree be dug up and put back where it was.

She remembered the shell-shocked super stumbling through an apology. “The poor thing didn’t look so good. Thought I was doing a favor, you dealing with the trial and all.” He shrugged his shoulders, grabbed a shovel and dug up the tree.

Then Rick and Julie took Charlie Brown to her parents’ home, and there it still grew, a remnant of nightmares Julie would prefer to keep buried.

But the excavator in her brain would not let that happen. Memories uprooted and tumbled over one another as they clamored toward the light of consciousness.

So much had transpired since the planting of this tree—between that life and the one she lived now, and this was the place it all began. Three fat crows returned and perched on the telephone wire to provide a soundtrack with their raucous confabulation . . . Caw caw! Caw, caw!

Julie shook her head to release her sadness to the crows and rubbed her belly where a little foot was tap dancing within. She looked out on the lush lawn behind the tree and could almost see two unsuspecting girls lounging in the June heat . . .

There are days, she thought, that you look back on and know . . .

That’s the day my life changed.

One small decision lays the path for what’s to come. If she could go back to that one moment of that one day and tell herself, “Don’t go.”

If she could lay back down on the warm grass and daydream instead of plowing forward into her future as it now is, would she?

June 1977

It was the first day of summer, a sweltering afternoon. The air rippled with humidity. It felt thick and alive, making movement arduous. It clung to the skin, leaving one sticky with sweat and craving cool drinks.

Colleen and Julie lay on beach towels spread on the grass in Julie’s backyard. They were wearing short shorts and bikini tops on their slender eighteen-year-old bodies. High school graduation was behind them, and they were enjoying a few empty days. They planned to do nothing: no work, no school, no college preparations.

Julie lay on her stomach with her chin propped on folded arms. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and trickled into her eye. She slid her sunglasses down and wiped at it with a ring-clad hand.

“It’s hot,” she murmured, too lazy to speak with much effort.

“Supposed to be hot, it’s summer vacay!” Colleen replied. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced at her friend. “I wish I tanned like you do.”

“You have Irish skin, Lassie, what can you do?” Julie poked Colleen in the ribs as she flipped herself over to her back and stared up at a wisp of cloud.

“Guess I could catch a leprechaun and wish for golden skin,” Colleen said and sighed.

“You’d look like that Oscar statue,” Julie giggled. “I’d have to call you Oscar!”

Colleen sat up and spread her arms wide. “But all the movie stars would want me!”

“Then I’m glad I’m best friends with you. You could introduce me to Clint Eastwood.”

She continued in an Eastwood-esque dialect with finger pointed, gun-like, at Colleen, “Did I fire six or five? Being as this is a 44-magnum finger, and would blow your sunglasses clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”

Colleen laughed and flipped her sunglasses up onto her bouncy auburn curls, “Lucky enough to have a leprechaun who grants wishes!”

In the distance, the sound of bells wafted across the neighborhood and into the yard. Colleen strained her sight through the rippled haze toward the street, “Good Humor man! That’s what we need, ice cream!”

“Nah, I’m feeling too lazy to move.”

“Come on, the sugar will give you a little rush. I could go for a Nutty Buddy. Wait . . . I already have one!” She smacked Julie’s belly.

“Ha! Very funny. But I’m a Nutty Buddy with no money.”

“I do, I’ll treat . . . I bet they have your fa-ave, Strawberry Shortcake,” Colleen taunted in a singsong voice.

“Okay . . . you talked me into it. I’ll drag myself to the street.”

That’s when life took its turn.

The girls slipped on their flip-flops and ambled around to the street. Seven or eight kids milled around the Good Humor truck three houses down. Six-year-old Lauree, from next door, skipped toward them with a cherry Popsicle in her hand, her arm and chin dripping with sweet sticky red. “It’s a new guy!” she hollered to them as they passed her, “He’s cool.”

“Ha! Cool . . . good way for an ice cream guy to be,” Julie said.

As they neared the truck, the children drifted away, one by one, with their faces covered in summer sweat, melted ice cream, and expressions of delight. It was then Julie glimpsed the new guy leaning out of the truck window; a muscular arm and tumble of dark curls against a broad shoulder. He looked up and smiled, and her heart did a little flip. “Whoa,” she whispered.

Colleen looked at the ice cream guy and back at Julie. A smile spread across her face. “You really want some sweets, huh?” she teased.

It was their turn at the window. Colleen said, “Hi, you must be New Guy! We’ve heard about you. I’ll have . . . Hmm . . . What do you want, Julie, my little Nutty Buddy?”

Julie glanced up under her lashes. “I’m really not that nutty . . . anyway, I’ll have a Strawberry Shortcake. My friend Oscar here is buying.”

Colleen seemed amused by Julie’s coyness. Rarely was she so shy, especially around guys.

“I’ll have whatever that kid has all over his face,” Colleen pointed at the last of the stragglers, “My name is really Colleen, Oscar’s just my stage name. What’s your name, new guy?”

“Well. I don’t have a stage name,” he grinned. “Name’s Rick. Shortcake and Creamsicle coming up.” Then he flashed that perfect smile again and Julie’s brain did a little flip—she had a momentary urge to sing out “Nicky Aronstein, Nicky Aronstein!” like...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.12.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Gesundheit / Leben / Psychologie ► Partnerschaft / Sexualität
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-1772-8 / 1667817728
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-1772-9 / 9781667817729