Praise for Interlude
“Mia’s journey to save her sister threatened to break my heart, even as her relationship with Jax sought to mend it. Have a box of tissues ready. You won’t want to miss this moving story of love and sacrifice.”
—Kate Watson, author of Seeking Mansfield and Shoot the Moon
“A heartfelt novel about the depth of a sister’s love, the weight of choices, and the people who come into our lives and leave us forever changed.”
—Katie A. Nelson, author of The Duke of Bannerman Prep
“A beautifully crafted tale of love, loss, and loyalty. Mia’s feisty determination will quickly win over hearts, while the fast pace and surprise ending will keep readers turning the pages. Interlude is a pitch-perfect YA novel that will appeal to fans of John Green and Abbi Glines.”
—Olivia Rivers, author of Tone Deaf
“Take one girl who will do anything to save her sick sister, add one rockstar on the run from his troubles, and one stormy family history, and you have Chantele Sedgwick’s Interlude. Sweet, heartfelt, and full of music, it perfectly mixes family drama with a burgeoning romance and hits every note.”
—Rebecca Christiansen, author of Maybe in Paris
“Throughout this complex adventure that starts off as a rescue and results in self-discovery, Mia must learn to trust in herself, her family, and new friends. Though the overlying theme of the story is relatively heavy, readers can connect through Mia’s light-hearted narrative voice and relate to the tumbling emotions that the she feels throughout her journey. VERDICT This book, fitting into the same niche as John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars and Jennifer Niven’s All the Bright Places, will be a must-read for those fans.”
—School Library Journal
“Swift, dialogue-driving pacing keeps pages turning . . . An emotionally satisfying read.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A sweet and innocent story, perfect for readers who love happy endings, especially when they seem out of reach.”
—Booklist
Praise for Switching Gears
“An emotional tale of finding love after loss. Switching Gears boasts a cast of wonderfully flawed characters that grow their way into your heart.”
—Kasie West, author of The Fill-In Boyfriend and P.S. I Like You
“Packed full of competitive spirit and restorative heart.”
—Natalie Whipple, author of House of Ivy & Sorrow and Transparent
Praise for Love, Lucas
“Just as readers think they know how this story is going to end, a big plot twist changes the tale’s course. . . . Fans of Sarah Dessen and realistic fiction with a poignant and sad slant will find this an enjoyable read.”
—School Library Journal
“A deeply moving tale of unimaginable loss and the redemptive power of love. Sedgwick masterfully delves into the painful details of losing a loved one, breaking your heart even as her beautiful words stitch you back together. Romance and friendship, true growth and authentic healing, this story blew me away. It takes a special book to bring tears to my eyes and make me swoon.”
—Rachel Harris, New York Times bestselling author of The Fine Art of Pretending and The Natural History of Us
“Chantele Sedgwick’s Love, Lucas, is a beautiful story about finding hope, first loves, and learning to live again after the loss of a sibling. With a fantastic cast, and the gorgeous setting of the California coast, this book is one fabulous read.”
—Jolene Perry author of The Summer I Found You and Has to Be You
“A beautiful, moving novel of loss and love. Sedgwick’s elegant prose weave a heart-breaking tale that stays with you long after you have finished the last page.”
—G. R. Mannering, author of Roses and Feathers
“An emotional summer of love, hope, and healing! Love, Lucas is easy to adore with Sedgwick’s real relationships, sweet romance, and tale of renewal.”
—Lizzy Charles, author of Effortless With You
“Chantele Sedgwick navigates the dark waters of grief with a deft hand and plenty of heart. Love, Lucas will drag readers under before bringing them back to the surface for a life-saving breath of hope.”
—Amy Finnegan, author of Not In the Script
To Braeden
Who keeps fighting, even when the fight gets hard.
Copyright © 2019 Chantele Sedgwick
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].
Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Qualcom Designs
Cover photo credit iStock
Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-4381-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-4384-7
Printed in the United States of America
“Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault.”
—Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 1
“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”
—Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The second I step through the doorway to our new, yet old farmhouse, something in the air shifts. A thin wisp of dust rises from the hardwood floor, swirling around my feet for a moment before slowly settling back down. It’s as if the house itself has been holding its breath, waiting for my arrival, and has exhaled in relief that it’s no longer unoccupied.
I set the box I’m holding on the floor and take a step forward, staring up at the staircase in front of me. What was Mom thinking? We both knew this house was way too big for just the two of us. If Dad were here, he would have talked her into something smaller, more . . . finished and updated.
This place . . . it’s old and musty. It’s not . . . us.
Mom obviously thinks it is, though, and I shudder at the thought of the remodeling she’s going to make me help with. She gets pretty ambitious when it comes to projects. Which, in my opinion, is not a good thing ninety percent of the time.
Someone comes through the door then, but I don’t turn around. Just stare up the staircase, trying to make myself move. So much work. The walls in the living room to the left, for example, are covered in a hideous shade of yellow. I vowed when we were here a few weeks earlier getting Gran’s funeral arrangements taken care of that I’d repaint them, stat. Only, the wall wasn’t painted yellow. It’s fuzzy. Yep. Fuzzy wallpaper. Like a baby chick.
“Why?” I whisper to myself, wondering what Gran was thinking when she put it up. It’s the ugliest wallpaper I’ve ever seen, and I’m really not looking forward to tearing it down. Who knows what kinds of things are living in it. Since it’s like a hundred years old now.
Even though this house and all that’s in it belonged to my Gran, and my mom spent most of her teenage years here, I’m not afraid to say Gran had horrible taste.
I spy a picture of a creepy looking clown to my right.
Yep. Horrible. That clown gave me nightmares as a child, and I refuse to let it haunt me again. I walk over and take down the picture, trying not to look too closely at it, and turn it around before setting it on the floor. I lean it against the wall, though I wouldn’t mind if it tipped over and shattered, honestly.
Gran always loved clowns. She said they made children happy. Like the one in the picture giving a balloon to a little kid. Clearly, she never saw It.
“Luce, could you . . . oh. That’s a lot of dust,” Mom says, setting two boxes next to mine. We watch the dust swirl and twirl before it settles like a blanket again.
“It’s pretty bad, I have to agree,” I say. “Maybe we need to fumigate this place?”
“Lucy,” she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “It’s not that bad.”
But it is. “It’s only been a few weeks since we’ve been here and it’s this dusty again? I think it’s giving us a sign. It wants to be left alone.”
She tucks her dark hair behind her ear. “It does not. This house is wonderful. Besides, your Grandma wanted to keep it in the family. None of my sisters wanted to move back here since they’re settled in their own lives in different states. And since we’re not in a stable situation and Dad isn’t going to be here . . . ” A pause.
Ever again, I want to say, but keep it to myself.
“I didn’t really want to . . .” She sighs. “They gave me a really good deal on it. And I needed a good deal. We both did.” She tugs on my braided hair, a sad smile on her face. “It will give us a chance to start over.”
My phone dings and I glance at the text from my friend, Ashley King. My best friend I had to leave behind in Wyoming.
Ashley: Miss you already! You there yet? Call when you have a sec.
A pang of loneliness pricks my chest, but I ignore the text for now and slip my phone back in my pocket. “Still. We moved to the middle of nowhere.”
Mom’s mood changes in an instant, probably to try to make me feel better. “We did not! It will be so nice here. Just look at it.” She glances around, trying to win me over with her fake smile. Because it’s totally fake. She doesn’t want to be here just as much as I don’t want to be here.
“I am looking at it.”
I don’t miss the tiny glare she sends, but then she has her smile pasted back on her face. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Original wood floors, most of the furniture was already here, so we don’t need to buy a lot of new.” She touches a light fixture hanging on the wall and a knob falls off the bottom. She flinches and attempts to screw it back on but gives me a crooked smile before shoving it in her pocket. “It just needs a little love.”
“Sure . . .” I gesture toward the yellow wallpaper. “How many baby chicks had to die to wallpaper this room?”
She rolls her eyes but looks at the wallpaper and cringes. “Okay, fine. Maybe it needs a lot of love. But just think about it: The beach is only an hour away. Oregon is full of hiking trails, waterfalls, beautiful trees. Pretty much anything nature-ish you’d want to see, you can. Perfect, if you ask me.”
“I despise nature.”
“Lucy, stop it.”
“I’m just kidding.” I try not to roll my eyes. “Why did they name this place Salem anyway? Are there witches here, too?”
She rolls her dark eyes. “Salem, Oregon, is a very nice and quiet city that has never dabbled in witch hunting.” The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s holding back a laugh. “As far as I know anyway.”
“Right . . .” The Salem Witch Trials actually fascinate me. They were a super sad part of history.
“Lucy,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on, honey.” She wraps an arm around me. “Think positive, okay? What happened to my positive girl?”
“She’s in hiding,” I mutter. “And I’m trying, okay?”
“Try harder.”
“I will. I just miss home.”
I hate that it’s beautiful here. Because it is. I wasn’t super attached to our old house, but I was attached to my old school and my friends. Moving out of state sucks. It’s a strange feeling being in a place where I know absolutely no one. So unfamiliar, with no trace of our past anywhere. And Oregon? Who lives in Oregon? No one.
My phone dings again.
I ignore it. I know it’s Ashley, but I have so much to do. Even though all I want to do is curl up in my new room and call her. Ashley’s always been good at making me feel better.
“I miss home, too. But this is our new home now. And if you change your attitude, things will get better. Try. Please.”
“I am! But it’s hard when this whole house smells like old people. And dust.” I don’t really remember the house smelling so old. Maybe it’s just because Gran was in a nursing home for the last year and a half of her life, so it took on a new smell. I remember smelling oranges here when our family would visit during the summers when I was younger. Citrus. Gran loved citrus.
We didn’t visit often, since Gran would usually travel to see us instead. Mom wasn’t a fan of traveling far. Or maybe she just didn’t want to come back.
Yet, here we are.
“Hey, that’s my mom you’re talking about.” She sniffs the air. “But, agreed.” Mom glances around, taking in the ugly wallpaper and all. She always tries to be so brave around me, but her eyes well with unshed tears as she takes everything in. “I still can’t believe she never changed anything. So many memories.” She touches a painting of a horse and rider on the wall and runs her finger across the wooden frame.
I sigh as I grab her hand and decide to be nice, even though I really want to cry, too. She’s overwhelmed, and I don’t want to make things worse by having an emotional breakdown with her. I take in the dark circles under her eyes, the weight she’s lost from so much sorrow and hurt. She needs to heal. And frankly, so do I. “That’s what makes it so special. We’ll make it our own somehow.”
She gives my hand a squeeze. “We do need to change a few things. The outside shutters are falling apart, and I want to get rid of those hideous light fixtures.”
“Those are the first things you mentioned? What about the baby chick wallpaper?” I remind her, chuckling.
“Yes. It’s pretty bad, huh? I hope she won’t mind us tearing that off to give it a new paint job. It really needs one.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy with a change. Who would ever want to sit in that hideousness all day? I can’t believe she did for all these years.” I smile. “I didn’t notice how ugly it was when I was little. But now that the house is yours, she’d want you to make it your own. I know it. Gran was like that. She loved making everyone else happy. So if it makes you happy, she’ll be happy.”
“I just don’t want her ghost to move in and haunt us if we change something she didn’t want ch
anged.”
I laugh, picturing Gran floating around with a grumpy look on her face and following Mom around the house. “Mom! She wouldn’t haunt her daughter! I mean, if you deserved it I guess she could, but changing paint is not something she’ll freak out about. I could see her haunting Aunt Mary more than you.”
She chuckles, though I can tell it’s a little forced. A smile is there, though, and that’s all that matters. “I still can’t believe all the dust. We should have taken better care of it. I just didn’t have time.” She rubs at her eyes. “There was just so much going on.”
Don’t I know it. Our home life has been a mess the past five years. All the fighting, the wondering when Dad was going to come home, or if he was even still alive when he’d disappear for days on end. Addiction is a horrible thing I’d never wish on anyone, but at least we know where he is now. Even if I’d rather not admit the fact that I now have a convicted felon for a father. I picture him sitting in prison and try to think of something else.
I grab her hand. “It’s just lonely and needs a little love. Like us.”
“We’ll give it plenty of love.” She sniffs and runs a finger under her eye, wiping a tear away before she thinks I can see. “This place . . .” Her expression darkens for a moment, but then she shakes her head and turns back to me with a fake smile on her face. “We’ll get through this change together. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and pick out a room and then come help me bring more stuff in. I should probably tell the movers where to put stuff.”
“Okay.” I grab my box and head up the stairs, wondering what memories Mom had been thinking of. By the look on her face, they weren’t good ones.
There’s a reason she didn’t want to come back here. But being given a house that was paid off will make you do things you don’t want to do. We can’t afford much else right now, even with Mom’s job.
Once I reach the top of the staircase, I turn and open the first door on the left.
Mom’s old room.
The Summer of Lost Things Page 1