PROMO: Bloomers on Pikes Peak

 

Children's Historical

Date Published: 10-21-2024

Publisher: Solander Press

The mountain stood tall, daring anyone to conquer its peak.

Julia Archibald Holmes was not one to back down from a challenge, especially when it meant fighting for justice. Her journey to the top of Pikes Peak was just the beginning of her many adventures. In the mid-1800s, amidst the rugged terrain of the Rocky Mountains, Julia Archibald Holmes set out to make a name for herself. Her life was a series of daring escapades, all in the name of justice. Her involvement in the Underground Railroad, a perilous journey fraught with risk, was a testament to her unwavering commitment. Her later advocacy for Women’s voting rights was a continuation of this fearless spirit.

However, as Julia's diary reveals, her journey was not without its challenges. From facing dangerous obstacles to overcoming personal setbacks, her unwavering commitment to justice would be tested. Julia’s story provides a powerful message of determination, courage, and resilience that will leave a lasting impact on readers.

 

Bloomers on Pikes Peak won a Will Rogers Medallion Award and was the finalist for the Women Writing the West Willa Award.

 

 

About the Author

Clarissa Willis is an award-winning author, consultant, and professional developmental specialist. She provides workshops, keynote addresses, and customized professional development both nationally and internationally. She writes early childhood curricula, teacher resource books, and books for children.

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Blog Tour: Last Bite

 

Contemporary/Women's/Romance

Date Published: 02-24-2026

Publisher: She Writes Press

A mouth-watering home run of a beach read, this lighthearted romantic comedy featuring a newly widowed fortysomething takes the reader on a joyful romp through-out some of Chicago’s finest eateries—with a dash of Cubs baseball on the side.

In the heart of Chicago, forty-five-year-old Angie Sortino finds herself at a crossroads. Recently widowed, she discovers that her deceased husband, Vinnie, has left her penniless, and she is forced to take a job at Chicago City Hall as a cleaning woman until Vinnie’s City pension can be cleared up. Then her spirited twenty-two-year-old niece, Gina Paloni, and her best friend Kim Yang, approach her with a dream of starting a catering company targeting funeral parlors—and Angie sees a chance to reawaken her own culinary aspirations.

As the three women embark on this new venture, they face the challenges of the catering business, from securing clients to perfecting their menu. Angie and Gina’s love for the Chicago Cubs adds a playful twist to their journey, as they often find inspiration in the vibrant atmosphere of Wrigley Field. Gina’s youthful enthusiasm contrasts with Angie’s cautious nature, leading to hilarious mishaps, unexpected romantic encounters, and heartfelt moments.

Through late-night brainstorming sessions and spontaneous cooking experiments, Angie begins to find her voice, both in the kitchen and in her life. With the support of a respected funeral director, Gina and Kim, and an unexpected new love interest, Angie learns to embrace her worth and pursue happiness.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

 

All Italians had their funerals at Rago Brothers on Western Avenue in the heart of Chicago’s Little Italy. It was one of the city’s first full-service funeral homes and was built in 1917 by first-generation Italian American brothers Louis and John Rago. They had organized funerals for such infamous gangsters as Al Capone and his bodyguard Frank Rio. Labor union leaders were known to have bronze caskets to the tune of ten grand. It was here that thousands of mourners prayed for their loved ones, resting their knees on one-hundred-year-old wrought iron prayer kneelers. Sun shining through the stained-glass windows cast rainbows on visitors as they moved around the outer lobby and the coffee room. Lush red carpeting lined the floor in the main room, and a black baby grand piano greeted the mourners as they chose their seats.

 

On this warm August day, a wave of people dressed in black funeral attire lined up to gain access. Inside the funeral home, Louie Rago, a tall, painfully thin funeral director, gently guided Angie Sortino, the forty-five-year-old widow of the deceased, away from the casket and line of mourners. He leaned in and whispered, “I thought you said hardly anyone would come. There’s almost fifty people here. We’ll need to move Vinnie’s casket to the Florentine Room. It’s a fire hazard to have this many people in a small room.”

 

Angie had to stretch her neck to look up from her five-foot-two-inch frame. “We were only married for ten years; some of these people must have known him before then. Please don’t move him. I don’t have the money for the larger room. As you know, I had to put his casket on three different credit cards.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, her hand shaking.

 

“I’m so sorry, Angie, the fire marshal almost shut us down last week for overcrowding. We simply must move him.”

 

“If you must, you must.” I have no idea how I’ll pay for this, or where all our money went, she thought as she gazed over at the open casket that held her beloved husband. Vinnie’s hands were crossed over each other, his Cubs 2016 World Series ring on his pinkie. It was just a year ago that his high school friend, Ralph, had gifted it to him. Of course, it was a replica, but Vinnie had treated it as if it were the real deal.

 

As Angie walked toward the coffee area, her twenty-year-old niece, Gina, approached. “Aunt Angie, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the chance to provide the food for Uncle Vinnie’s funeral; it’s my very first catering event. I didn’t have much prep time, so I bought a few premade items from Jewel and Costco, but don’t worry, no one will notice. I added a few fancy garnishes to the plates. I had help making homemade cookies.” Gina gave Angie a gentle hug. Angie glanced to Gina’s left and saw a young, fit girl with long jet-black hair standing next to her. “You remember my friend Kim from high school? We’re taking an entrepreneurial course at Richard J. Daley College—the community college on Pulaski. She’s going to help me with the business side of starting our catering business.”

 

 

About the Author

Amy S. Peele, is the author of Cut, Match, and Hold, medical mysteries with a mission and a side of humor. Her books have won the NYC Big Book Award, Chanticleer International Book Awards, IPPY, Independent Press Awards, and more. Before becoming a writer, Amy enjoyed a fascinating thirty-five-year career in the organ transplant. She also studied improv at Second City Players workshop for a year. She is, and will always be, a die-hard Cubs fan. You can find out more about her by visiting www. amyspeele.com. Amy resides in Novato, California, with her husband, Mark Schatz, and their loyal dog, Rusty.

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PROMO: Cain's Chameleon

 

Historical Fiction Mystery Thriller

Date Published: 01-26-2026

Publisher: Bearss Lair Books

If the newspaper reported your death and no one questioned it, would you correct the mistake… or take the lifeline?

Dan Driscoll is consumed by gambling debt, cornered by bookies and loan sharks, forced to bet on one last scheme. When things turn violent and two people are shot, his best friend, Stan Neumann, swallows what he suspects. He can’t risk divulging a closely-held family secret.

Then a body washes up on the Lake Michigan shoreline, and the lake gives Dan what the bookies never would: a way out. Authorities call it an accident and list him as the drowning victim. For Dan, it’s an escape route delivered in black ink.

He becomes a ghost, an imposter, a chameleon. But lies don’t stay buried.

As America is pulled into World War II, Stan enlists, choosing duty on his terms before the draft can rewrite his life. In Pearl Harbor, one chance encounter dredges up a name he thought was long buried.

War changes everything, but it doesn’t erase unfinished business. And when the truth demands to be heard, how long can a stolen life stay buried before the past comes to collect?

Excerpt

Lucy wasn’t smiling like she used to when she folded her letter, slipped it into the envelope, sealed it with a kiss, and applied the three-cent stamp. Even the spring in her step lacked the zeal she typically exhibited during her walk to the post office. The words on the paper were true to her commitment. They spoke of the news from the home front, stories that helped Stan’s morale, and made sure her underlying message was being proud, supportive, and encouraging. The words wandering around in Lucy’s thoughts, however, were in stark contrast to this messaging.

Ever since Stan was assigned to the navy radar training school, Lucy had become more and more unsure in her belief that things would be okay. His work as an Aviation Machinists Mate stateside meant he was safe. And Minneapolis was relatively close to home. Being trained as a radarman for shipboard duties meant it was more likely he would be sent overseas into a combat zone. This caused a higher level of worry. Like everything else this war has put in short supply, her ration of optimism was slowly being depleted, and the resources for replenishing that reservoir were becoming scarce.

Her quandary was not letting Stan know about this foreboding, even though he was normally her most trusted sounding board. She tried to talk about this with her sister Millie. But Millie’s approach to these heartfelt struggles was to fix them, make them go away, or advise Lucy, “Try not to think about it.” This was not the type of support Lucy needed.

During her alone time, sitting staring out the window, the overwhelming emotion that prevailed over all others was that she really missed her husband. She now knew what being heartbroken felt like.

 

 

 While author Mark Bearss was setting the stage for his retirement, concerned co-workers would ask, “What are you going to do when you’re not working?” He found this question rather curious. It should have been posed, “What are you going to do first?” Mark knew that if travel was involved, he had had enough of commercial flights after 28 years of teaching for the medical device industry. Mark yearned for road trips – to visit those places he only saw from 38,000 feet. Little did he know that wish journeyed down an unexpected fork in the road. He would become an author.

While conducting genealogy research, Mark discovered archived de-classified military documents that revealed the name of a U.S. Navy destroyer his father served aboard during WWII. The reason this was a poignant discovery was because, while growing up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, his father made no mention of this. Apart from being a U.S. Naval Reserve flight instructor, he knew his father served aboard the carrier USS ESSEX. But in what capacity? That, too, was not revealed. More discoveries materialized the further he dug. In fact, there was a lot more his father didn’t mention. This wasn’t unusual. Many WWII veterans didn’t talk about what happened back then.

Because of the pandemic, the National Archives in St. Louis was closed and rendered Lt. Bearss’ military records unavailable. Thus began a project that challenged Mark’s research endeavors for over two years and about 5,000 miles on the road. The biographical sketch was sorted from creative Internet search strings, history books, navy publications, and networking with journalists, librarians, archivists, bloggers, aviation enthusiasts, museum and historical society curators, navy veterans, relatives, and more. One online resource that was instrumental in tracking his father’s journey was the weekly newspaper published in the county where his parents grew up: The Oceana Herald. It included a Local News section where family members and organizations could submit a short blurb about a relative’s visit, a social gathering, or – where a son or husband was currently stationed.

This project culminated in 2022 with Mark’s first publication titled, Undisclosed Stories Discovered: Honoring the World War II Military Journey of Lt. Joseph Ward Bearss, USNR. When asked what was one of the highlights surrounding this story, he described the road trips to seek out and discover places where his father lived, trained and was stationed during the war. What prompted him to write this as a biography took place during a meeting with the curator of the World War II Home Front Museum on St. Simons Island, Georgia. St. Simons Naval Air Station was the site for the U.S. Naval Radar Training Station, where Lt. Bearss was trained in shipboard radar operations, enemy interception, and Fighter Direction. While the museum had ample archived materials about the facility, it had very little documented about the servicemembers who trained there.

Only 250 copies were printed. Mark went back on the road in his Class-B motorhome and personally donated those copies to family members, friends and relatives, the librarians, archivists, researchers, museums, curators, historical societies, newspapers, The American Heritage Center, VFW Posts, airport FBOs, and other assorted WWII enthusiasts in 12 states who helped in his endeavors. It was a two-fold reward. Not only did his father’s story finally become told, Mark experienced the pleasure of meeting all these wonderful people who were his resources, advisors, collaborators, and consultants. Up until that point, they were only names in an email contact list.

You’re probably asking, “How is all this relevant to Mark’s new novel, Cain’s Chameleon?” It was the research from The Oceana Herald that planted the seed for this story. While perusing its issues, Mark stumbled on two articles that piqued his curiosity. The first reported an attempted murder in a home close to his family’s summer cottage on Lake Michigan. The second reported a drowning victim that washed up on the beach right where Mark and his friends used to play. Just two more stories never divulged while growing up. He wondered, Were these two events related? Then Mark decided — he would make them related.

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PROMO: The Yellow Hair

 

A Nick Drake Novel, Book 10

Mystery, Contemporary Western, Native American Literature

Date Published: 04-30-2026

Publisher: Jackdaw Press

New Badge. Old Blood.

Nick Drake traded his past for the Sheriff’s star, but Harney County doesn’t do election honeymoons. His tenure kicks off with a double homicide staged as a murder-suicide—a lie Nick isn't buying. As he digs into the crime’s rotting core, the rookie Sheriff finds himself fighting a war on two fronts: a lethal learning curve with unproven deputies and a political recall designed to bury him. In the high lonesome where secrets kill, Nick must strike first and strike hard. Because in this office, the only thing shorter than his term is his life expectancy.

 

About the Author

Dwight Holing is the award-winning author of twenty books, including the bestselling Nick Drake Mysteries and the popular Jack McCoul Capers. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and Western Writers of America. He lives beside a coastal river in California with his wife and two dogs who’d rather swim than walk.

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PROMO: You're Not the Problem

 

Personal Development / Self-Help

Somatic Healing / Mind-Body Wellness

Trauma-Informed Personal Growth

Date Published: April 25, 2026

If you’ve tried to plan, push, or hustle your way out of stress and anxiety and found yourself back in the same exhausting cycles, this book is your invitation to stop blaming yourself and start understanding yourself.

In You’re Not the Problem: You’re the Possibility, you’ll learn:

1. Why feeling stuck is not a failure, but an intelligent adaptation
2. How your nervous system has been running the show, and how to begin creating safety and more room inside to respond
3. How to relate to yourself in real time: see yourself, meet yourself, talk to yourself, understand yourself, and support yourself so your inner world becomes steady and trustworthy
4. Simple, practical steps to restore your energy and reconnect with your true self

This book is your companion for the first phase of the Freedom Formula. It is the roadmap to guide you out of survival mode and into the clarity and resilience you need to create lasting change.

 

About the Author

 

 My work centers around a simple but powerful idea: many of the patterns people struggle with are not evidence that something is wrong with them. They are adaptations created by a nervous system that has been trying to help them survive stress, pressure, and difficult experiences.

I am a somatic healing practitioner and the creator of the Freedom Formula, a framework that helps people move out of survival mode and into a life that reflects who they are. My work blends nervous system science, somatic practices, emotional processing, and mindset work to help people understand why they feel stuck and what it truly takes to create lasting change.

Before stepping into this work, I earned my law degree from Harvard Law School and spent years in high-performing environments where discipline and achievement were highly valued. From the outside, my life looked successful. Inside, I was quietly struggling with many of the same patterns my clients now describe: chronic stress, emotional eating, anxiety, and the exhausting habit of showing up for everyone else while ignoring my own needs.

Understanding the role of the nervous system changed the way I approached those patterns. Instead of seeing them as failures, I began to see them as intelligent adaptations. That realization not only transformed my own life, it became the foundation of the work I now share with others.

For more than sixteen years I have helped people understand their patterns with compassion, reconnect with their inner guidance, and build lives that feel meaningful, aligned, and sustainable. My book, You’re Not the Problem, grew out of that work and out of a deep desire to help more people experience the relief that comes from realizing they are not broken.

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PROMO: Precog's Perception

 

(Psychic Soulmates 1)

A SearchLight Paranormal Romance

LGBTQ+ Shifter Romance

Date Published: May 1, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

When the world doesn’t catch fire, Amaruq doubts his precognition. Can Nootaikok’s love heal him?

A stillborn pup, precognition unfulfilled, and raging guilt plague a trans werewolf. Amaruq’s suspicion that there’s something wrong with him, and that the death of his and Nootaikok’s child is his fault, colors all that he does. Traumatized, he denies himself pleasure.

Nootaikok will have none of that. He takes Amaruq on a “working vacation” back to the scene of Nootaikok’s greatest mistake. As both of them struggle with feelings of inadequacy and undeservingness, their bodies and souls still demand release.

Will their fears pull them apart or can passion lead back to love and forgiveness?

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Emily Carrington

They’d started their mentor/mentee relationship with letters. Amaruq didn’t know about Jeremy, but for him, the fear of being found out in this digital age inspired him to write physical correspondence. Amaruq had a feeling he should be sharing these concerns with his mate, but he couldn’t bear for Nootaikok to know how guilty he felt. So, he wrote to the Night Wanderer who had become his friend.

Dear Jeremy,

I hate what I have become. I’m a sneak who doesn’t know how to apologize to my lover for losing our child. I get it that a stillbirth isn’t exactly my fault. I did nothing to make it happen. The issue is that I don’t want to try again. Try for another baby. It wasn’t just losing our child, our pup, but the dysmorphia I endured being pregnant when I’ve worked so hard to be my authentic male werewolf self. I do not, no matter what, regret that Nootaikok and I were trying for a baby. I don’t. I just don’t want to try again. In spite of my precognitive vision. That future glimpse guarantees I’ll be pregnant again at some point, as I saw Nootaikok and I surrounded by werewolf pups of many ages. I just don’t want to be.

I also dread Nootaikok finding out.

Speaking of dread, I can easily believe Nootaikok is angry with me for making him leave his position in DC. I’m afraid of the argument we’ll eventually have. I just wanted to be near you, where I’ve always felt safe. That’s the wrong kind of emotion to have for someone who isn’t my mate. Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not sexually attracted to you in any way. It’s just that you rescued me from the hell of living under my parents’ roof and inspired me to become part of the Miscellaneous Magical Creatures Department. It’s just that, now that you’ve moved to DC, I want to return. I know Nootaikok wouldn’t get his job back, though, and I don’t want him to be humiliated by having to walk those same halls every day as just a tracker and not the head of the whole world’s Tracker Central.

He stopped his pen before he could disclose more about his fears. Surely this letter, which was basically a rambling jumble of all his terror, wouldn’t help anything.

He shredded the page and tossed it in the garbage can in the den. There would be no leaving it around for someone else to discover.

Today, Friday, was his last day of parental leave. On Monday, he’d be expected to resume his work at the MMCD. He needed to pull himself together.

With that in mind, Amaruq looked around the den and then down at himself. He still looked slightly pregnant. He’d been slowly exercising away the pounds he’d gained as he tried to make a hospitable home for their pup to grow. Since he was a werewolf, he wouldn’t look ready to deliver much longer. Maybe six weeks total, which would mean another week or two.

He headed for the doorway to the den, determined to go for a run and maybe, by doing so, make himself feel more grounded in his body and less like a spirit drifting over the earth, unattached to anything but pain.

* * *

They were arguing again. For crying out loud, Nootaikok thought, it’s like he’s my spouse instead of my tracker partner.

He glared at Luis, the psychic vampire with whom he’d been paired less than six months ago. Luis was, by all accounts, including his own, one of the best damn negotiators/spies/hunters/executioners in the United States. Luis’s prowess was matched only by the arrogance Nootaikok swore radiated off him in waves now. Funny, but the infernal psychic vampire hadn’t struck Nootaikok as full of himself when he’d accompanied Tilthos Charles to the international meeting of magical creatures that had happened over a year ago.

At first, when he and Luis initially began working together, Nootaikok had borne Luis’s grief and discontent. Luis’s former tracker partner had moved with his mate to the nation’s capital, and Luis had been understandably upset. He and his former partner had worked together for a decade or more, becoming one of the most formidable tracker teams in the world.

However, Nootaikok had been dealing with Luis’s grumpiness for close to half a year, and the frustration he felt was threatening to boil over.

He took in a breath, counting to five before releasing it soundlessly. “Luis,” he said, “I’m not injured. I heal as quickly as any werewolf, and I have earned the right to take the risks other trackers do. Please don’t hamper my working or your own. Going out without another tracker when I’m standing right here is foolish.” He paused, saw Luis was about to object, and added, “I don’t want to be the one to take your dead body back to Tilthos Charles.”

That last got through. Nootaikok could see it in the dropping of Luis’s shoulders and the way he pressed his lips together. Tilthos Charles, Charlie to those closest to him, was the alpha of their shared pack. He was also Luis’s mate and husband. Less than a year ago, Tilthos Charles had been the target of malicious intent from other werewolves and the former queen of the grand fae. He’d suffered what would have been called in humans of the 1900s a “nervous breakdown.” He’d been healed but, since it was less than twelve months since he’d recovered, Luis was understandably protective.

“Fine,” Luis muttered. “Are you ready to go?”

Nootaikok checked the gun in its holster at the small of his back. “Yes.”

“Come on then.” Luis strode out of his office, leading the way toward the back parking lot.

Nootaikok kept pace with him. “Tell me about this one.”

“Didn’t you read the briefing?” Luis demanded.

Sighing, Nootaikok answered, “She’s most likely a werewolf or half werewolf. It’s unlikely she’s from the United States as the humans she’s left alive say she spoke to them in a thick Russian accent. That doesn’t preclude her being from the US, though.”

“Or she’s been sent here.”

They settled into Luis’s car, which Nootaikok didn’t like, because it meant Luis got to drive. Luis was his alpha’s mate, and Nootaikok wasn’t a werewolf so dominance didn’t affect him as much. Still, he liked being in charge of his own transportation. Years of being the senior member of his own tracker team had spoiled him. Also, when he’d been the leader of Tracker Central in Washington, DC, he hadn’t been at anyone’s mercy.

“One of the sharpshooters managed to get a tag on her,” Luis said. “Let me check the GPS and see if she’s still where they left her.”

“She was in a village not too far from here,” Nootaikok said. He wanted to ask why the sharpshooter hadn’t taken her out since she’d been killing humans. Before he could formulate the question in a way that would possibly cause less offense, Luis cursed.

“She’s headed toward the pack house.”

Nootaikok pulled out his phone as Luis peeled out of the parking lot.

Luis commanded, “Call the house. Tell whoever’s there to get everyone inside.”

 

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

 

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Blog Tour: Who Will Name the Bees?

 

Memoir

Date Published: April 22nd

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

When memory fades, what remains?

 

Sarah Vosburgh has often felt misunderstood by her mother, a woman who lived a quintessential suburban life. But when her mother is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Sarah’s world unravels, and she must confront a disease that will only worsen. As roles reverse between mother and daughter, Sarah faces the guilt of making decisions she hopes are the right ones while also carrying the grief of losing her mom bit by bit everyday. She navigates a labyrinth of health services amid the heartbreaking, and at times darkly humorous, realities of caregiving.

There are the white lies and midnight phone calls, the misbuttoned blouses, and the second slice of chocolate pie that tastes just as good as it did the first time. And then there’s the quiet awe at the persistence of connection even when language falters and names are forgotten.

Told in finely wrought prose and lyrical fragments of memory, Who Will Name the Bees? is a daughter's unflinching love letter to the flawed, fierce, and unforgettable woman who raised her.

 

Excerpt

“We have a date today, Ma.”

“We do?”

She greeted me with an uncharacteristic hug that morning. I hugged gently back; she seemed so small and frail. “I’ve learned to hug; I guess people don’t know you care unless you do” was what she had told me growing up, while withholding hugs from me but sharing them with others when she thought it socially advantageous. No worry, her hugs were awkward, stiff, a bit too long, and a bit too tight. Her hug this day was my cue to tell the lie I had prepared that in retrospect I probably didn’t need, but I still saw her as capable of so much. I told it with equal measures of angst and self-loathing.

“We’re headed to Countryside Care today, remember? You need to get your blood pressure under control, and they need a florist to teach flower arranging.”

“You’re coming too?”

“Yes, I’m gonna stay for a bit, but then you’ll have work to do.”

“But you’ll come back to get me?”

“I will be back.”

Looking into the confused, fearful face of my mother, whose eyes nevertheless held hope, I had never felt more unlovable and less trustworthy. It had taken weeks of planning—and many white lies—to lead to this mockingly beautiful day with a sky the color of my dad’s silk screen inks labeled “cerulean.” Vivid crimsons, yellows, and oranges, of a New England autumn completed the scene, which hadn’t a care for our drama or the protective necessity of closing off my heart so I could survive the blackness playing out in my mother’s life. There was no hope now. No turn toward the future where there might be even a suggestion of hope for improvement or a twinkle of joy in recognition. We’d entered a one-way dark, spikey cave where the entryway behind sealed us into darkness with no exit light beckoning ahead.

We were on our way to the memory support facility—misnomer that it is—and I had told the first of many sets of lies to get my mother in the door. The one-way door which she would enter and never return from. After this she would never again cuddle at night with her kitty, or make herself a cup of coffee and forget where she’d put it, or curl up in the reading chair in her library with the newspaper, or spend an afternoon in her gardens, or soak in a tub full of lavender bath salts to relax and wash away her cares, or shuffle down the hall to her bedroom closet to find her favorite sweater against a chill that wasn’t there, or answer the door delighted to see the faces of her granddaughters—taller than she, whose names she could not remember—with her bra on over two sweatshirts.

This particular morning came after weeks of paperwork and an interview held at a local restaurant, else she’d not have gone. They’d called me after the interview, which had included the creep.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Countryside Care memory care unit calling. We interviewed your mother today, and we have some concerns.”

“That you can’t take her in memory care?”

“No, we think she’s a perfect fit, but we don’t think we should wait until next month. We’d like to skip her up on the waiting list and have her move in next week.”

“Next week?”

“Yes. When she was interviewed today, we noticed her husband talked with his hands quite a bit, and every time he raised them your mother leaned away and cowered in her seat. The social worker noticed bruises, too, that we think are suspicious. We think he may be abusing her.”²

 

About the Author

It was never in Sarah Vosburgh’s plan to be an author or to write a memoir. As a busy mom, wife, and psychologist, she always saw her life as full (sometimes overfull). But in the dark of night, memories knocked on her brain, compelling her to commit them first to paper, then to bits and bytes.

Sarah is a member of the International Memoir Writers Association and San Diego Writers, Ink. Her work has been published in A Year in Ink and numerous volumes of Shaking the Tree: brazen. short. memoir. A native New Englander, she now lives in San Diego with her husband, her daughter, her granddog, and a most extraordinary feline.

 

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