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5 Feel Good Books to Bring You Comfort

5 Feel Good Books to Bring You Comfort

The world may feel a little overwhelming right know, but there’s one thing we know for certain: books will always be around to bring us comfort. As you would probably guess, the team at Forge has been reading a lot while we’ve been home, and we wanted to share some of the books we’re loving right now with you. Check out our recommendations for five feel good books below!


Ask Me No Questions by Shelley Noble

Poster Placeholder of - 34“For many of us, there’s nothing more soothing than the opening theme to Downton Abbey. Now that the series is finished and the movie has come and gone, we need something to fill the Crawley-shaped hole in our hearts and comfort us the way the show used to. Not to worry, friends. Shelley Noble’s Lady Dunbridge Mysteries will more than suffice. When we first meet her in Ask Me No Questions, Lady Dunbridge is not about to let a little thing like the death of her husband ruin her social life. She’s ready to take the dazzling world of Gilded Age Manhattan by storm. From the decadence of high society balls to the underbelly of Belmont horse racing, romance, murder, and scandals abound. Someone simply must do something. And Lady Dunbridge is happy to oblige.”

Alison Bunis, Marketing Assistant

Good Boy by Jennifer Finney Boylan

Place holder  of - 81“Memoirs have brought me a lot of comfort while staying at home, and one in particular that I’ve loved is Good Boy by Jennifer Finney Boylan. It’s a must-read for any dog lovers out there! Jennifer has written a number of novels and memoirs, and this one is structured around the pivotal moments of her life and the seven dogs she had at each moment. Life is full of transformations and changes, and this book documents how Jennifer’s dogs accompanied her through some of her biggest changes in life as a transgender woman. This book is the perfect encapsulation of how dogs can show us unconditional love and help us learn how to better love ourselves. Engaging, full of heart, and relatable to all readers, this book is the literary embodiment of snuggling with your beloved pup.”

Sarah Pannenberg, Digital Marketing Coordinator

Carousel Beach by Orly Konig

Placeholder of  -94“A perfect beach read… or dreaming of the beach read. Nothing can evoke that feeling of walking along the boardwalk more than an old-school carousel, worn down by salty air and thousands of riders. Maya Brice is reeling from the heartbreaking loss of her grandmother and a miscarriage while restoring her hometown’s beloved carousel just in time for a grand reopening on the 4th of July. What she finds inscribed on one of the horses will lead her on an unforgettable journey to healing. The relationship she forges with Hank, an Alzheimer’s patient and former carousel artist himself will make any reader’s eyes well up. If you’re looking for a sweet read and gentle reminder to call your grandparents, you won’t miss!”

Jennifer McClelland-Smith, Marketing Manager

Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries series, by Carrie Bebris

Image Placeholder of - 5“Whenever I need comfort, there’s one source I turn to more than any other: Jane Austen. True, she only wrote six books, but with all the sequels and rewrites we never need to stop living in Austenland. The Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries series by Carrie Bebris has the added bonus of being delightfully cozy mysteries, so they’re extra comforting. In the series, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy want nothing more than to enjoy married life on their Pemberley estate, but one mystery after another keeps drawing them away. Each of the seven books focuses on different characters from Austen’s beloved novels, from Caroline Bingley to Frederick Wentworth to the residents of Sanditon. With Bebris’ care to maintain the style and setting of the original novels, this series is almost like reading Jane Austen…but with a touch more murder. Recommended reading pairing is a cup of tea and a proper English biscuit or scone.”

Alison Bunis, Marketing Assistant

An Irish Country Cottage by Patrick Taylor

Image Place holder  of - 85“The charming, colorful village of Ballybucklebo isn’t ready for disaster to strike. Not long after Christmas passes, a fire engulfs the humble thatched cottage housing of Donal Donnally and his family. Although the family of five and their beloved pup escapes, they have nothing left but the clothes on their backs during the coldest time of the year.

Luckily, Doctors O’Reilly and Laverty gather the good people of Ballybucklebo to come to their aid. The neighbors are insistent on rebuilding the cottage, albeit a difficult task, and will help the Donnallys no matter what it takes.

The heartfelt entry in Patrick Taylor’s beloved New York Times and internationally bestselling Irish Country series is one you’re sure to love.”

Mary Halabani, Marketing Intern

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On the Road: Tor/Forge Author Events in July

Tor/Forge authors are on the road in July! See who is coming to a city near you this month.

Elizabeth Bear, Stone Mad

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Friday, July 13th
Brookline Booksmith
Brookline, MA
7:00 PM

Ruthanna Emrys, Deep Roots

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Tuesday, July 10th
East City Bookshop
Washington, DC
6:30 PM

W. Bruce Cameron, Max’s Story

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Thursday, July 5th
River Falls Library
River Falls, WI
10:30 AM
Books provided by Chapter 2 Books.

Thursday, July 5th
Angel’s Pet World
Hudson, WI
5:00 PM
Books provided by Chapter 2 Books.

Saturday, July 7th
St. Louis County Library
St. Louis, MO
1:00 PM
Books provided by The Novel Neighbor.

Sunday, July 8th
Anderson’s Bookshop
Naperville, IL
2:00 PM

Jacqueline Carey, Starless

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Monday, July 16th
Herrick District Library
Holland, MI
7:00 PM

Sherrilyn Kenyon, Death Doesn’t Bargain

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Tuesday, July 17th
Barnes & Noble
San Diego, CA
7:00 PM

Orly Konig, Carousel Beach

Thursday, July 5th
Browseabout Books
Rehoboth Beach, DE
1:00 PM
Also with Shelley Noble.

Thursday, July 5th
Bethany Beach Books
Bethany Beach, DE
6:30 PM

Nancy Kress, If Tomorrow Comes

Wednesday, July 11th
Elliott Bay Book Company
Seattle, WA
7:00 PM
Also with Daryl Gregory and Django Wexler.

William Martin, Bound for Gold

Tuesday, July 10th
Book Passage
San Francisco, CA
6:00 PM

Tuesday, July 17th
Harvard Book Store
Cambridge, MA
7:00 PM

Wednesday, July 18th
Sandwich Library
Sandwich, MA
7:00 PM
Books provided by Titcomb’s Bookshop.

Friday, July 20th
Brewster Bookstore
Brewster, MA
10:00 AM

Saturday, July 21st
Yellow Umbrella
Chatham, MA
12:00 PM

Tuesday, July 31st
Avon Free Public Library
Avon, CT
6:30 PM

Jessica Pennington, Love Songs and Other Lies

Saturday, July 14th
Chicago Public Library
Chicago, IL
2:00 PM
Also with Megan Bannen, Nisha Sharma, and Sarah Henning.

Sunday, July 15th
Anderson’s Bookshop
La Grange, IL
2:00 PM
Also with Christina June, Laurie Devore, Stacey Kade, and Gloria Chao.

Veronica Rossi, Seeker

Tuesday, July 10th
Books Inc
Alameda, CA
7:00 PM
In conversation with Jeff Giles and S.J. Kincaid.

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5 Summer Reads Set in Beach Towns

Summer may be just starting, but we’re already daydreaming about our vacations to a perfect seaside cottage. Wherever you are, though, these books will have you hearing the roar of the waves. Lie back and relax with our picks to sweep you off to beach towns from North Carolina to Maine.

Carousel Beach by Orly Konig

Image Placeholder of - 23 A cryptic letter on her grandmother’s grave and a mysterious inscription on a carousel horse leads artist Maya Brice to Hank Hauser, the ninety-year-old carver of the beloved carousel she has been hired to restore in time for its Fourth of July reopening in her Delaware beach town.

While stripping chipped layers of paint from the old horse and peeling layers of fragmented memories from an old man, Maya untangles the intertwined secrets of love, heartbreak, and misunderstandings between three generations of strong willed women.

Nantucket Nights by Elin Hilderbrand

Poster Placeholder of - 20 For 20 years, Kayla, Antoinette and Val have performed their own special summer ritual. Once a year, the old friends put aside their daily, separate lives to drink champagne, swap stories and swim naked under the Nantucket stars. But on one of those bonding nights, one of their trio swims out from the shore and doesn’t return.

After the surviving friends emerge from their grief, they realize that the repercussions of their loss go far beyond their little circle, and they begin to uncover layers of secrets–and their connections to each other–that were never revealed on the beach. What has made their friendship strong now has the power to destroy–their marriages, families, even themselves.

The Weekenders by Mary Kay Andrews

Place holder  of - 92 Some people stay all summer long on the idyllic island of Belle Isle, North Carolina. Others come only for the weekends, and the mix between the regulars and “the weekenders” can sometimes make the sparks fly. Riley Griggs has a season of good times with friends and family ahead of her on Belle Isle when things take an unexpected turn. While waiting for her husband to arrive on the ferry one Friday afternoon, Riley is confronted by a process server who thrusts papers into her hand. And her husband is nowhere to be found.

Maine by J. Courtney Sullivan

Placeholder of  -47 For the Kellehers, Maine is a place where children run in packs, showers are taken outdoors, and old Irish songs are sung around a piano. Their beachfront property, won on a barroom bet after the war, sits on three acres of sand and pine nestled between stretches of rocky coast, with one tree bearing the initials “A.H.” At the cottage, built by Kelleher hands, cocktail hour follows morning mass, nosy grandchildren snoop in drawers, and decades-old grudges simmer beneath the surface.

As three generations of Kelleher women descend on the property one summer, each brings her own hopes and fears.

Every Time You Go Away by Beth Harbison

Image Place holder  of - 40 Willa has never fully recovered from the sudden death of her husband, Ben. She became an absent mother to her young son, Jamie, unable to comfort him while reeling from her own grief.

Now, years after Ben’s death, Willa finally decides to return to the beach house where he passed. It’s time to move on. But when Willa arrives, the house is in worse shape than she could have imagined, and the memories of her time with Ben are overwhelming. To protect her sanity, Willa enlists Jamie, her best friend Kristin, and Kristin’s daughter Kelsey to join her for one last summer at the beach. As they explore their old haunts, buried feelings come to the surface, Jamie and Kelsey rekindle their childhood friendship, and Willa searches for the chance to finally say goodbye to her husband and to reconnect with her son.

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Where Details Come From

Poster Placeholder of - 49 Written by Orly Konig

Details are those little things that make a story and characters come to life. For a writer, they can mean the difference between creating an enjoyable read and one that transports a reader.

When I’m working on a story, I know certain things about the setting and characters before I ever start writing on the book. But those are usually the big, obvious pieces, the things I can brainstorm in character sketches and on plot cards. The details, however, come at me in random moments.

For example, back when I was first working on what is now Carousel Beach, my husband and I were in a bit of a tea phase. He’d picked up a chocolate-orange tea that, I have to admit, turned my stomach. I’m not much of a chocolate fan to begin with and the smell of that tea was not helping to convert me. One day I was writing a scene with the main character working in her art studio and guess what I had a craving for? That chocolate-orange tea became Maya’s drink when she worked on restoring the carousel horse and it’s what I drank when I worked on the book. And, for fun, I poked at myself with my aversion to the smell.

I’m envious of writers who can work to music or in public places. I can’t. I need quiet. There was a scene in the original Carousel Beach manuscript that wasn’t coming together. I poked and twisted and rewrote but couldn’t put my finger on what wasn’t working. I fell back on my default when I’m blocked—cleaning and listening to music. Jazz and classical trumpet, especially Chris Botti, help me quiet those busy-brain moments. Somewhere into the third song on the CD, the scene I’d been stuck on, unraveled. Jazz trumpet became the music of the book.

Several years ago, I started crocheting. It was something to do with my hands and an excuse to buy beautiful yarn. A friend sent me an email about a local farm tour and one particular farm caught my eye. The owner dyes her own wool and the colors and textures made me swoon. I had to go. At the time, I was working on The Distance Home (released May 2017). The story was mostly set at a riding stable and the main character had become an uptight corporate-type. There was absolutely no connection to sheep and wool, yet the moment I turned onto the property, I saw Emma, the main character, leaning on the fence watching the sheep. And yes, she discovers crocheting as the perfect release.

And then there was the rock I picked up years ago. It’s nothing special, just gray with a lightning-bolt of quartz running through it. I don’t remember where I picked it up or why. It’s just something that caught my eye. Sometimes I find myself rubbing it like a worry stone even though it’s rough. In The Distance Home, there’s a poignant scene when Emma reflects on what she’s lost and whether second chances are, indeed, possible. In the middle of writing that scene, my fingers found that rock and Emma found one of her own.

Moments, details, such as those are the gems that surprise me as I’m writing. And they’re the ones that bring a richness and authenticity to the stories.

Order Your Copy

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Follow Orly Konig on Twitter, on Facebook, and on her website.

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New Releases: 5/8/18

Happy New Release Day! Here’s what went on sale today.

Artificial Condition by Martha Wells

Poster Placeholder of - 90 It has a dark past—one in which a number of humans were killed. A past that caused it to christen itself “Murderbot”. But it has only vague memories of the massacre that spawned that title, and it wants to know more. Teaming up with a Research Transport vessel named ART (you don’t want to know what the “A” stands for), Murderbot heads to the mining facility where it went rogue.

What it discovers will forever change the way it thinks…

Carousel Beach by Orly Konig

Image Place holder  of - 27 Orly’s Konig’s Carousel Beach is a powerful novel that untangles the secrets of love, heartbreak, and misunderstandings between three generations of women.

A cryptic letter on her grandmother’s grave and a mysterious inscription on a carousel horse leads artist Maya Brice to Hank Hauser, the ninety-year-old carver of the beloved carousel she has been hired to restore in time for its Fourth of July reopening in her Delaware beach town.

Death Doesn’t Bargain by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Place holder  of - 76 The Deadmen are back…

But so are the demons who have broken free of their eternal prison and are bent on mankind’s destruction. The worst of the lot is Vine, determined to claim their lives for taking hers. She will see the world burn…and has the perfect lure to destroy them all. One of their own.

The Evil That Men Do by Robert Gleason

Image Placeholder of - 1 Income inequality and the offshore hoarding of illicit black funds have reached such extremes that the earth’s democracies are in peril. The oligarchs are taking over. The People worldwide, however, are rising up, and they demand that the UN seize and redistribute all that illegal filthy lucre. But it will not be easy. The world’s oligarchs will not go gentle.

Give-a-Damn Jones by Bill Pronzini

Placeholder of  -78 Not all the folks who roamed the Old West were cowhands, rustlers, or cardsharps. And they certainly weren’t all heroes.

Give-a-Damn Jones, a free-spirited itinerant typographer, hates his nickname almost as much as the rumors spread about him. He’s a kind soul who keeps finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

NEW IN MANGA

The Bride Was a Boy Story and art by Chii

Devilman: The Classic Collection Vol. 1 Story and art by Go Nagai

New Game! Vol. 2 Story and art on Shoutarou Tokunou

Toradora! (Light Novel) Vol. 1 Story by Yuyuko Takemiya, Art by Yasu

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Excerpt: Carousel Beach by Orly’s Konig

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Place holder  of - 23A cryptic letter on her grandmother’s grave and a mysterious inscription on a carousel horse leads artist Maya Brice to Hank Hauser, the ninety-year-old carver of the beloved carousel she has been hired to restore in time for its Fourth of July reopening in her Delaware beach town. Hank suffers from Alzheimer’s, but on his “better” days, Maya is enthralled by the stories of his career. On his “off” days, he mistakes her for her grandmother—his secret first love.

While stripping chipped layers of paint from the old horse and peeling layers of fragmented memories from the old man, Maya untangles the intertwined secrets of love, heartbreak, and misunderstandings between three generations of strong willed women.

Orly’s Konig’s Carousel Beach—available May 8th—is a powerful novel that untangles the secrets of love, heartbreak, and misunderstandings between three generations of women, perfect for summer beach reading and book clubs. Please enjoy this excerpt.

One

Everyone has secrets. Some are selfish, some necessary, but all have the potential to shred lives.

I should know. For the past year, I’ve been marinating two secrets. I don’t know any more if I spun them to protect others or myself.

For the past year, I’ve alienated myself from everyone who cares about me. I’ve sequestered myself in a repurposed garage with only wood animals to talk to and embraced the guilt. Well-meaning friends and family, even virtual strangers who know what happened, tell me it’s time to move on.

They don’t understand.

In forty-seven minutes, I’ll be standing at the cemetery, commemorating the yahrzeit of my grandmother and my baby. People will tell me it’s time to let go.

They’ll never understand.

I pinch my eyes shut and attempt to breathe through the lump in my chest. I don’t want to go to the cemetery.

My family was never religious. My mother could probably count on one hand the number of times she’s been to the synagogue. My grandmother held on to a few traditions, although I don’t think she had a frequent-visitor card to the local temple either. It was when my grandfather died five years ago that she seemed to find a new connection with religion. Okay, that’s stretching it a bit. She still didn’t go to services, but she become strict about observing the Jewish mourning practices and lighting Shabbat candles in honor of her late husband.

And she spelled out exactly what we were to do when she passed. My mother was not impressed. But my mother was also a stickler for appearances. She would enforce Grandma’s request to the last dotted i.

So here we are.

“There you are. We need to get going.” Vale stands in the door to our bedroom. He’s ready to go; handsome in a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and the yellow-and-blue tie my grandmother bought him our first Christmas as a married couple. Back when everything still felt possible.

“Interesting choice of tie.” My left eye twitches. I try to soften my tone but the words escape, unchecked. “She gave it to you.”

Vale’s shoulders tip back almost imperceptibly, just enough to make the crease across the front of his shirt pull smooth. “I know what tie I have on. I thought she’d like it. That you’d appreciate the sentiment.” His right eyebrow pops up, challenging me.

“I didn’t think you believed in that spirit stuff.” I mimic his tenor. His brown eyes darken.

“Really, Maya? Today you want to pick a fight? Over a tie?” His jaw juts left, the set of his mouth leaving no question where another mistimed comment from me will lead us. He turns and moves toward the stairs. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

In the bedroom, I stare at the black dress hanging on the back of the closet door, still wrapped in the clear plastic from the dry cleaner. I walk past it, turning slightly so my shoulder doesn’t brush the bag. The last time I wore it was to their funerals. I grab the hanger and shove the dress behind the hanging clothes at the back of the closet, then reshuffle my other clothes to hide it.

It’s just a dress. An expensive one, I’m sure, since it was my mom who bought it. But it’s tainted. It has the invisible stains of their deaths.

The horn blares. I yank a maxi from its hanger. It’s a soft, flowing fabric, really more of a beach dress, especially with the waves of blues, from light to dark. Grandma and I bought it together two summers ago.

I slip on a pair of high-heeled sandals and tuck my hair into a quick French knot. A swipe of mascara and lip-gloss, and I’m done. It’s the most I’m capable of.

I ease into the car and catch Vale’s pinched expression. I know my comment about his tie is coming back.

“Interesting.” He turns away and starts the car.

He doesn’t approve. Mom won’t approve either. But Grandma will.

We drive to the cemetery in silence. Music doesn’t seem appropriate, and conversation seems to be something neither of us has the energy to tackle.

He turns the car into the driveway and through the large gates of the cemetery. He hesitates at the first fork, the silent question sizzling between us.

I suck in air and look to the right. “Not today.”

He doesn’t state the obvious. It’s been “not today” for a year.

I visit Grandma’s grave regularly. With her, I can wallow in my grief, then unleash my anger. I’d told her to take it easy. But she was a stubborn old lady and had overruled me. She was an adult. She made her own decisions. She didn’t need my protection. It wasn’t my job to mother her.

But it had been my job to protect my unborn baby. And I’d failed. I can’t visit his grave because I’m afraid of the guilt, and I’m drowning in the grief.

“Not today,” I repeat.

“Of course.” It’s barely audible over the rumble of the engine as he pushes on the gas pedal. The car lurches forward, and my stomach plummets. I sneak a look at Vale and wonder how we got here.

What happened to the young us? The couple we were? The couple that found humor in almost everything and comfort in each other?

I need to say something.

“Remember Crazy Stan’s funeral? I’m still amazed there isn’t a poster with our faces and a big red line through them at the front gate.”

Vale chuckles. “True. Do you even remember what got us giggling like that?”

I squint back in time until I capture the memory. “The Rottweiler with the kippah.”

“Oh my god, that’s right.” The corners of his mouth disappear into dimples and his eyes crinkle.

“What possessed them to do that?”

“And how did they keep it on him?”

Vale’s smile deepens and the dimples that mushed my insides all those years ago, work their magic again. “We used to laugh a lot.”

“We did.” The dimples push out, the crinkles smooth away. And as quickly as it came, the moment flitters out the open windows of the car, leaving a gaping stillness.

I look closer, trying to find the man I married. The slightly too long hair that flopped when he got animated, the mischievous glint that was the innocent warning for one of his wicked jokes.

I reach and touch his right hand, which rests on the gearshift. My index finger glides over the ridges of his knuckles. I want to lace my fingers through his, hold the gearshift together the way we used to. I want to feel his comfort and know that everything will be okay. Vale turns slightly toward me and allows a slow smile to soften his face. But his attention stays on the narrow road and his hand tightens underneath mine as he shifts from third to second.

A line of cars stretches ahead of us, and we park behind a black Tahoe. Our Audi sedan looks like a toy in the caravan of SUVs and minivans. One other lone sedan, my mother’s Mercedes, sits at the front of the row.

Luckily our parking spot is under the canopy of a willow tree. I pull myself out of the car and inch closer to the tree. From here I can see Grandma’s grave and my family standing awkwardly around it. They can’t see me, and the only person who’s noticed our arrival is my brother, Thomas. He acknowledges Vale then looks at the passenger side. I see the line deepen on his brow, and he looks back at Vale, who hitches his head in the direction of the tree.

Traitor.

Vale walks to where I’m hiding, encircles my waist and pushes me gently forward. “It’s okay. Come on.” His voice barely carries over the whisper of the breeze through the feathery leaves.

“I can see fine from here”

“But you’re expected up there.”

“They’ll understand.”

“Do this for her.” Does he mean Grandma or Mom? He gives me another gentle nudge.

As I approach the group, my brother moves forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Mom turns and nods, the movement serving the double duty of a hello and scrutiny. I can just barely make out a perfectly shaped eyebrow behind the rim of her dark Chanel sunglasses. At least my diamond earrings and upswept hair aren’t offensive. My father beams his welcoming smile but stays glued to her side. Assorted friends create a semicircle around the grave. A handful of Grandma’s octogenarian friends fill in a few open spaces.

Vale leans close, kisses my cheek, then gives my waist a you-can-do-it squeeze before moving to stand with my brother and the rabbi by the headstone.

I linger a step outside the circle of dark, solemn faces surrounding the grave. I can’t bring myself to close her escape route.

“Never block the path to the sea, Mims. It’s seriously bad juju,” she’d always say. The willow rustles, and I can’t contain a giggle.

Mom notices. She always does. She takes a half step back and mouths, “It’s a memorial, Maya. A little respect please.”

I shoot a desperate look toward my husband. He gives me what I’m sure was meant as a reassuring smile. It only succeeds in making me feel more isolated.

The rabbi begins reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish and the respectful hush becomes a somber silence.

By tradition, tonight we should be lighting candles and sharing stories. Mom will light the candles, but there will be no sharing of stories, no reminiscing.

My relationship with my mom is challenging on its best days. But her relationship with her mother was outright belligerent. Mom was closer to her dad—one of the few things she and I have in common. When Grandpa died, her already tenuous relationship with her mom was stretched like an old rubber band.

I steal a look at my dad. He winks in return. He’d better be around for a good long time. I don’t think our mother-daughter band has much stretch left.

I turn away from the assembled crowd and look at the view. Grandma picked this spot herself. When we buried Grandpa six years ago, she purchased the plot next to him and the plots on either side, then had it written in the contract they would be laid to rest facing the cliff and her beloved ocean.

The rabbi drones on, his voice merging with the background noises—the rustling willow, the crashing surf below, the impatient gulls, the utter stillness of a cemetery.

How can it already be a full year? My hand touches my belly. I try to cover the move by pulling on my dress, feigning a tug-of-war with the wind. I back away from the grave and the crowd. My mom places a small, smooth stone on the newly placed grave marker. My dad bends to do the same.

I take a few steps closer to the cliff and will the wind to snatch my grief and dump it into the sea.

A voice cuts the lulling song of the breeze, “At least you made the effort to be here.” Mom’s curt tilt of the head closes the subject on my choice of attire. “You’re just like her. She wasn’t much for tradition either. Until recently, at least.” I bite the inside of my lip. No need to point out that six years is outside the definition of “recent.”

A gull squawks. A wave crashes. The willow shimmies. “Ah, don’t pay any attention to her, Mims. She was born uptight.” Grandma’s words tickle the back of my neck. As long as I can remember, it was “us” against “them.” Them being Mom and Thomas. Dad refused to take sides, at least openly. Grandpa was the familial Switzerland.

“I will expect you at the reception.” Mom turns and walks off, not waiting for an answer.

I release the clip holding my hair. Curls blow across my face, whipping the tears away. I shut my eyes and count to three. I hear my mother thanking someone, then someone else, her voice getting farther away with each count.

Car doors slam behind me, signaling that the memorial is over. Tires crunch the gravel.

I take a half step forward. The wind grabs at my hair, twisting curls high then dropping them to thump against my back then up and around my head. Through the tangled mass, I look out at the ocean. The delicate fabric of my dress twines around my legs, and a parade of goose bumps prickles my arms.

“Where did I go wrong, Grandma? Oh God, I miss you. I need you. I don’t know how to get past this,” I push the words past bottled up emotions. The wind picks up again, drying the salty drops on my cheeks.

“It’s time.” Vale touches my arm and the goose bumps reverse direction. “Are you okay?”

I squeeze my upper arms in a protective hug. “I don’t think I can stomach going to Mom’s. Can we go somewhere? Just the two of us?” I turn, hopeful for a reprieve.

“She’ll be mad if you don’t show.”

“She’ll be mad if I do show. We both know I can’t live up to her expectations.” I wave my fingers open to indicate my less than perfect appearance.

Vale watches the cars slip over the hill. He turns back, his mouth drawn, but the softness in his eyes gives him away.

“Thank you.” I release the stranglehold on my nerves.

We sit at a table on the patio outside the Sugary Spoon, our favorite coffee shop, a block from the beach. A seagull hippity-hops around the tables, eyeballing every occupant in turn, looking for the next person who will give him a tasty afternoon snack.

The summer season hasn’t started yet so the main strip is still pretty quiet, especially on a Thursday afternoon. It’s warmer here, without the cliff breeze, and I’m glad for my summery dress. Vale shifts in his dark suit, removing the jacket and tie with a relieved sigh.

The seagull hops to our table, his black beak open, his beady eyes sizing us up.

“Are you going to finally talk about this?” Vale tosses a chunk of his croissant to the gull, then turns to look at me.

“What this do you want to talk about?” I cringe inwardly. He’s trying to be supportive. I know he is. They all are. But if one more person tells me to put it behind me, to let it go, I’ll lose what’s left of my mind.

He’s watching me. I blow into my mug, even though the liquid isn’t hot anymore, and watch the white froth of milk swirl into a muddy brown mess.

“It’s time to move on, Maya. For your sake. For our sake. It wasn’t your fault.”

I force my gaze up and make eye contact.

How do I move forward when I destroyed everything? How do I tell him that it was my fault? That I killed them both?

Copyright © 2018 by Orly Konig-Lopez

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$2.99 eBook Sale: The Distance Home by Orly Konig

Placeholder of  -79 The ebook edition of The Distance Home by Orly Konig is on sale now for only $2.99! This offer will only last for a limited time, so order your copy today.

About The Distance Home: Sixteen years ago, a tragic accident cost Emma Metz her two best friends—one human and one equine. Now, following her father’s death, Emma has reluctantly returned to the Maryland hometown she’d left under a cloud of guilt.

Sorting through her father’s affairs, Emma uncovers a history of lies tying her broken family to the one place she thought she could never return—her girlhood sanctuary, Jumping Frog Farm.

Emma finds herself drawn back to the stable after all these years. It’s easy to win forgiveness from a horse, but less so from her former friend Jillian, their once strong bond destroyed by secrets and betrayals. But despite Jillian’s cold reception, for the first time in years, Emma feels at home.

To exorcise the past, Emma will have to release her guilt, embrace an uncertain future, and trust again in the healing power of horses.

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This sale ends April 30th.

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New Releases: 5/2/17

Here’s what went on sale today!

The Fallen by Eric Van Lustbader

Place holder  of - 75The End of Days has been predicted for the last two thousand years. Now, without warning, it is upon us. In a hidden cave in the mountains of Lebanon, a man makes a fateful discovery. He will bring what has been forbidden for thousands of years out of the darkness and into the light: the Testament of Lucifer.

Now an unfathomable danger has arisen: Lucifer’s advance guard, the Fallen. Humankind is in danger of being enslaved by the forces of evil.

The Distance Home by Orly Konig

Image Placeholder of - 8Sixteen years ago, a tragic accident cost Emma Metz her two best friends—one human and one equine. Now, following her father’s death, Emma has reluctantly returned to the Maryland hometown she’d left under a cloud of guilt.

Sorting through her father’s affairs, Emma uncovers a history of lies tying her broken family to the one place she thought she could never return—her girlhood sanctuary, Jumping Frog Farm.

The Guns Above by Robyn Bennis

Placeholder of  -14They say it’s not the fall that kills you.

For Josette Dupre, the Corps’ first female airship captain, it might just be a bullet in the back.

On top of patrolling the front lines, she must also contend with a crew who doubts her expertise, a new airship that is an untested deathtrap, and the foppish aristocrat Lord Bernat, a gambler and shameless flirt with the military know-how of a thimble.

High Stakes edited by George R.R. Martin & Melinda M. Snodgrass

Image Place holder  of - 33Perfect for old fans and new readers alike, High Stakes (Wild Cards) delves deeper into the world of aces, jokers, and the hard-boiled men and women of the Fort Freak police precinct in a pulpy, page-turning novel of superheroics and Lovecraftian horror.

After the concluding events of Lowball, Officer Francis Black of Fort Freak, vigilante joker Marcus “The Infamous Black Tongue” Morgan, and ace thief Mollie “Tesseract” Steunenberg get stuck in Talas, Kazakhstan.

Pawn by Timothy Zahn

Poster Placeholder of - 31Nicole Lee’s life is going nowhere. No family, no money, and stuck in a relationship with a thug named Bungie. But, after one of Bungie’s “deals” goes south, he and Nicole are whisked away by a mysterious moth-like humanoid to a strange ship called the Fyrantha.

Once aboard, life on the ship seems too good to be true. All she has to do is work on one of the ship’s many maintenance crews. However, she learned long ago that nothing comes without a catch. When she’s told to keep quiet and stop asking questions, she knows she is on to something.

NEW FROM TOR.COM:

All Systems Red by Martha Wells

In a corporate-dominated spacefaring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. Exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids, for their own safety.

But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

NEW IN PAPERBACK: 

A Dog’s Journey by W. Bruce Cameron

Easy Pickings and the First Dance by Richard S. Wheeler

MEG: Nightstalkers by Steve Alten

Sacred Ground by Mercedes Lackey

The Seascape Tattoo by Larry Niven and Steven Barnes

NEW IN MANGA:

Arpeggio of Blue Steel Vol. 10 Story and art by Ark Performance

Dreamin’ Sun Vol. 1 Story and art by Ichigo Takano

Magical Girl Site Vol. 2 Story and art by Kentaro Sato

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The Zen of Horses

Place holder  of - 4 Written by Orly Konig

I learned at a young age that, unlike people, horses don’t judge. They don’t care what you look like or how you talk. They care about how you treat them and how you behave around them. So when I wanted to write a story about fitting in and finding yourself, the setting was obvious – it had to revolve around horses.

When you’re working with a horse, you have to be present in the moment. If you’re nervous, they feel it and get tense. If you’re distracted, they notice and will happily deposit you in the dirt. Communication is through your hands, your voice, your body. For that period of time, it’s only you and him.

Years ago, after long days at work and a crazy commute around the Washington, DC beltway, I’d get home frazzled and cranky. My husband would take one look at me and announce, “You need to go to the barn.” Within moments of getting there, I’d become a different person, calm and centered.

One of the characters in The Distance Home is an ex-marine battling the ghosts of active duty. He explains his involvement with the therapeutic riding program that is an instrumental part of the book: “A horse doesn’t judge what you’ve done wrong. They give you the opportunity to do right. Here, it doesn’t matter who I was. Michael the marine doesn’t exist. I can’t think about those days. If I do, Taco reminds me to stop. Through him I can feel my tension and I can find my peace.”

Another young character in the book is an 11-year old cancer patient. He explains to Emma, the main character in the book: “It’s the only time I’m not a cancer patient. At school, kids are weirded out by me. They treat me like I’m contagious. At home, my parents are terrified of me. They treat me like I’m going to break. I can’t play soccer anymore because I’m too weak. I can’t even walk my dog alone because he’s big and he pulls when he sees a squirrel or bunny. … But here I’m just a kid on a horse. Yeah, I’m in a special program and all, but the horses don’t know that. They don’t treat me any different than they do Caitlin or you.”

Then there’s Emma who’s struggling to put together the pieces of a life that’s crumbled around her. She returns to the stable where she found her confidence as a young girl and discovers that the magic still works, sixteen years later. With the help of her equine friends and re-immersing herself in helping with the therapeutic program, she rediscovers her happiness.

It’s been a few years since I’ve spent regular amounts of time at a stable (we’ll blame it on available time and money) but through writing the horse scenes in this book, I could almost feel the magic seeping through the pages.

Horses force you to put aside the frenzy, the frustration, the disappointments of life. They require you to be in the moment, to focus on the here-and-now, something many of us forget to do. For people with emotional or physical disabilities, therapeutic riding provides opportunities to learn new communication skills, increased confidence, and self-esteem. Regardless of what draws you to horses, it’s hard to deny the healing magic in the unique relationship between human and horse.

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Follow Orly Konig on Twitter, on Facebook, and on her website.

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Excerpt: The Distance Home by Orly Konig

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Sixteen years ago, a tragic accident cost Emma Metz her two best friends—one human and one equine. Now, following her father’s death, Emma has reluctantly returned to the Maryland hometown she’d left under a cloud of guilt.

Sorting through her father’s affairs, Emma uncovers a history of lies tying her broken family to the one place she thought she could never return—her girlhood sanctuary, Jumping Frog Farm.

Emma finds herself drawn back to the stable after all these years. It’s easy to win forgiveness from a horse, but less so from her former friend Jillian, their once strong bond destroyed by secrets and betrayals. But despite Jillian’s cold reception, for the first time in years, Emma feels at home.

To exorcise the past, Emma will have to release her guilt, embrace an uncertain future, and trust again in the healing power of horses.

The Distance Home will become available May 2nd. Please enjoy this excerpt.

1

JUMPING FROG FARM

The first time I saw that sign I was eight, and believed, with the certainty that allows reindeer to fly and little girls to heal, that this place would save me.

And for eight years it did.

For eight years, I spent most of my waking and many of my sleeping hours at the farm, thankful for the friendship from the horses and grateful for the escape from my home.

Until the accident. Until I was sent away.

Now here I am, thirty-two years old, staring at the same sign, praying that the eight-year-old who once believed isn’t completely lost. Praying that the horrific tangle of deceit and heartbreak that kept me away is mostly forgiven.

But reindeer don’t fly.

And time hasn’t healed me.

A horse whinnies, setting off a chorus from the barn. A tractor rumbles to life, sputtering and groaning at the call to duty. A dog barks, letting loose a stampede of dogs and cats.

The sounds of my past life are muffled by the heavy air. It’s mid-September and as hot today as any stifling Maryland summer day.

“Toad.” A gravely voice skids across the gravel parking lot. “Is that really you? No bloody way.”

I turn and I’m face-to-chest with the man I adopted to be my grandfather.

“Simon.” I look up into the brown eyes that had given a timid girl the confidence to conquer her fears.

And in that heartbeat of a moment, I’m lost. Will the Emma he knew hug him? Or will the Emma standing in front of him shake his hand?

“Put that damn hand down, girl.” Simon pulls me into a bear hug. With a final squeeze that knocks a gasp out of me, he pushes me to arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Well. Well. Emma Metz.”

My nerves crackle like a sputtering fire and my face flames. Each day of the past sixteen years settles between us. I’m no longer that shy girl who desperately wanted to fit in.

“You’re not dressed for riding.” He smirks at my maxi dress, the hem grazing the top of overpriced, custom-designed red-and-white-striped Converses.

“True.” The word sounds more apologetic then acknowledgment. I run the fingers of my left hand over the sign’s green lettering. “Actually, I didn’t even realize I was coming out here until I found myself staring at this.”

The corners of Simon’s eyes pinch and his head juts forward to peer closer at my face. “But you are here.”

I nod. “But I am here.”

Simon squeezes my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Toad.”

Toad. The first time Simon saw me, eight years old and all arms and legs, he’d called me that. Tears swell my throat and all I can do is force a wobbly smile.

“Later. Right now, I’m just happy you’re here. Come, Rena will be tickled to see you. And there’s another old man in the barn you need to say hello to.” Simon grabs my hand and pulls me forward.

Jack. He’s still alive. My heart stutters.

Then clenches. “Jillian?”

“She’s not here today. Come.”

I take a step to follow but the bottom of my sneakers feel like they’ve melted into the hot gravel of the driveway, each step a slogging effort obvious even to Simon, because he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I close my eyes and breathe in the tingle of freshly mowed fields, the tickle of sawdust, and the sweet smell of horses. “I’ve missed this.”

“You didn’t have to stay away.”

“Yes, I did.”

Another squeeze. I allow him to lead me to the barn with a gentle tug. We’re greeted with nickers and whinnies as heads pop over the top of stall doors along the outside wall of the barn. Big brown eyes blink into the sun. Simon releases my hand and reaches into a pocket of his baggy jeans, pulling out a handful of treats. He walks to the large black head with the lightning-bolt blaze poking out of the stall closest to the barn door and offers the palm of his hand. The horse’s pink muzzle twitches along Simon’s palm and the treats that were there a blink ago are gone. The horse crunches his snack and pushes his head into an old friend’s chest.

Simon rubs behind the horse’s right ear and braces his legs as the horse pushes deeper into his chest. I feel the pressure against my body and rub at my breastbone.

Why did I come? What’s the point of looking back?

There’s a clang of wood on metal as someone adjusts a jump. “One more time, Laura. This time, dammit, wait for the distance. Don’t let him dictate the speed. You’re in charge. You. Not him.”

A smile cracks through my apprehension. “Has she changed at all?”

Simon chuckles. “Nope. Still scaring the shit out of little kids and big horses.”

He walks through the large double doors into the barn, tossing a “Go say hi to her” over his shoulder. He disappears into the dark of the barn, leaving me rooted in indecision.

I walk the perimeter of the barn toward the outdoor arena. A few curious faces stick their noses toward me, hoping for a walk-by snack. I stay just out of their reach. At the edge of the barn, I stop and suck in a deep gulp of dusty air.

Am I about to make a horrible mistake?

Or was the mistake my slinking away in shame all those years ago? Shame for something I didn’t do.

But what choice did I have? We were best friends, “horse-and-heart sisters,” we called ourselves. Without Jillian, I was no one.

Turns out I was no one even with Jillian.

I make the turn and stop when the outdoor arena comes into view. I inch closer to the aluminum siding and lean into the corner. One step back and I’ll be hidden from view. One step forward and I’m committed.

“One. Two. Three. Better. Leg. LEG,” Rena bellows. “Don’t let him slow down. You know he hates going away from the in-gate. Kick him.” The horse scoots forward as his rider gives him a solid kick.

My head bobs as horse and rider canter around the ring and pop over another jump.

“Well, well.”

The butterflies in my stomach freeze. She’s staring at me.

It’s impossible to read her expression under the shadow of her straw hat, suspiciously similar to the hat she wore all those years ago. She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to the right. I remember that stance. I’m expected to move and say something or turn and run. I don’t do either.

My gut flops and I fight the bubbling urge to throw up. I shouldn’t be here.

And yet, here you are.

My right arm starts a slow ascent, pulled upward by a force stronger than my weakening resolve. Rena’s head tilts in a semi-acknowledgment of my pathetic hello.

Behind me I hear the clomp of horseshoes on gravel. A tall man with a disheveled shock of black hair leads a huge gray to the arena. He smiles and nods as they walk by. His arrival releases me from the grip of Rena’s attention. She asks the man, towering over her by at least a foot, a question and they both squat to look at the horse’s left front leg.

The flopping in my stomach wins and I slink back, away from the reunion I’m obviously not ready for.

There’s only one head hanging over the outside stall doors this time. I stop a few feet from the big black horse, just out of his reach. If I were able to unlock my arm from my side, open my palm, and lift my hand, I’d feel his warm breath and soft muzzle. The same soft muzzle that eased my fears so many times over the years. I clench my fist, digging fingernails into my palm. I don’t deserve his comfort.

“Hi, Jack.”

The horse tosses his head and snorts a hello. The afternoon sun casts a spastic shadow dance with each movement.

“Remember the day he was born?” Simon wraps his arm around my shoulder, barricading my escape route.

My head bobs. Jillian and I had persuaded Simon and Rena to let us sleep in the stable and keep an eye on Cassie, who, we were convinced, would go into labor that night. At three twenty-three in the morning, Jack Flash was born. It was the day before my tenth birthday, one day after Jilli’s eleventh birthday. The best birthday present any horse-crazy girl could ask for. He was going to be ours. Together we’d train him, show him. Together we’d make the Olympic team.

Together, we almost killed him.

The truth of that memory lodges in my throat like a jagged chicken bone.

“I shouldn’t be here.” I stiffen, and Simon tightens his hold on me.

“But you are. And it’s not just because you missed my charming sense of humor or Rena’s bubbly personality.”

My lips curl to a sad smile. “I did miss you guys. Every day.”

Hands accustomed to maneuvering large animals and farm equipment grab my shoulders and turn me around. “It’s been long enough, Emma.”

The words carry a punch to my gut. My body caves in and I wrench free of Simon’s hold.

Only to find my way blocked by Rena. Solid and daunting, all five feet two inches of her.

Her gray eyes spear through what self-assurance I’ve gained in the years since college. You’re an adult, a professional. That pep talk works with the board of directors, with presidents of international companies. It doesn’t work against Rena Winn.

“You finally decided to show up again. Why now?” Her tone is soft, not welcoming, not accusing, not any of the greetings I’d run through my head over the years.

“I was feeling restless at the inn. The meeting with my father’s lawyer isn’t until tomorrow. Next thing I know, I’m here.” I’m rambling. I shrug and my shoulders get stuck by my ears.

Rena scans my spotless shoes, my out-of-place dress, my fancy salon highlights. So drastically different from the girl she used to know. “I’m sorry for your loss. It appears you’ve done well for yourself. Your father must have been proud.”

Before I can respond, she turns and marches to the lounge, the screen door slapping shut behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says, the words falling flat in the aftershock.

Jack nickers and tosses his head, his long black forelock flopping in a come-on-you-can-do-it encouragement. I look into his soft eyes and will myself back sixteen years. Would I have done it differently?

Where would I be now if I had?

“What will you do now?”

“Keep going.” Two simple words, words I’ve been saying to myself for as long as I can remember.

Simon releases a sigh and Jack snorts a horse’s equivalent.

“Sometimes, Toad, you have to change direction.”

The rumbling of the tractor unsettles a few birds from the trees along the front of the stable. The gears grind as the driver makes his way to the fields where the manure is spread every morning and afternoon. How many summers did I spend cleaning stalls and riding that godforsaken old tractor as it bounced and jolted along the fields? Or cleaning tack for the riding school and borders who were too busy to take care of their own equipment? Or leading horses for the therapeutic riding program?

Simon studies my face. “We visited you at the hospital, you know. Your dad wouldn’t allow anyone to see you. Maybe he thought we’d press charges. Ridiculous.”

I swallow hard, not sure if I’m making room for the words to come out or trying to push them back down. “Did Jilli come?”

Simon releases a growling sigh. “No.”

I nod.

Had I expected her to come? Yes. We were H&H sisters. We looked out for each other.

No, you looked out for her. She left you twisting in the blame.

“Does she ever mention me?” My voice is no more than a shiver of a breeze, almost overpowered by the chatter of an agitated squirrel and the fading rumble of the tractor.

Simon’s brown eyes darken and he slaps his thigh, dislodging a puff of sawdust. “No.”

The squirrel shakes his bushy tail at us.

“Rena didn’t seem very happy to see me.”

He chews the inside of his lip, his eyes looking for an answer in the shimmering reflection from the lounge windows.

“You know Rena, she’s a tough one. Doesn’t let go of things easily. She’ll come around.”

“I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for that.”

Our eyes meet in the reflection of the window. “Give her a chance.”

“I need to go.” I take a hesitant step backward, then, when Simon doesn’t react, another.

“Emma?” My name feels familiar in his deep voice, the slightest hint of his childhood in England giving it a soft elegance, and foreign in the scratched pitch that comes with age, a painful reminder of the years stretched between us. “I don’t know exactly what happened. Only that it was awful. It tore our hearts to pieces seeing the two of you broken.”

My left hand fidgets with the car keys. The jingle triggers a glare from Simon and I squeeze my hand into a fist, hiding my nails. Instinct. He used to fuss at me for chewing the skin at the edge of my nail to the point where I’d draw blood. I haven’t done that in years, but under his knowing eyes, I feel the sting of ripping skin.

At what point does a past mistake become so ingrained in who you’ve become that there’s no going back? For sixteen years I’ve lived in the shadow of this mistake. I’ve let it take my dreams and stain my self-worth. I’ve replayed the day in my mind, wondering if I could have done something different. Replayed the following days in the hospital, tumbling the words I should have said until they were smooth in my mind. Yet each replay only sharpened the pain. I learned to shut my brain against those thoughts. With each success—school, job, promotions—I shuttered that pain deeper into the past.

“Did you ever question Jillian about what happened? What really happened?” I meet Simon’s eyes and blink at the sadness reflected in them.

“Of course.”

“And?”

“Her story never changed. And you never challenged what she said.”

“Would it have mattered?”

Our gazes do a clumsy two-step around each other. It wouldn’t have mattered, even though we both would like to believe otherwise. My side of the story would have raised questions neither family wanted out in the public. So I buried my truth and my father made sure the grave remained unmarked.

A white pickup lumbers up the driveway and pulls into a parking slot next to my rental. A slight woman with a tight ponytail slips out of the cab, followed by a panting golden retriever. Simon and the woman exchange hellos while the dog pokes a twitching snout at each pocket of Simon’s jeans.

The woman strides to the barn, her black riding boots stamping a familiar beat. My insides clench and I turn away before I have to label the feeling.

“It was good seeing you, Simon.” I feel his eyes on me as I walk to the car. I watch the toes of my Converses emerge and disappear with each step. Without turning around, I open the car door, then melt into the oppressive air inside the car.

The road away from the stable dips and turns, with only a few farmhouses dotting the green pastures. A sign cautions a ninety-degree turn and a blind driveway entrance.

A long-suppressed ghost takes control of the car. My foot slams on the brakes. My hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles threatening to pop out of my skin. Sparks shatter in my vision and my breath racks in my ears as pain splinters my ribs. The shrill grating of steel on pavement. The screaming of humans and horses. The slow-motion roller coaster of the truck flipping. Jilli’s head slamming into the steering wheel. The flashing lights and yelling voices. The utter silence of lives shattering.

Through the distance of sixteen years I hear a honk, then two quick, then a very long one. I blink my surroundings back into the present. A head pokes from the window of the truck behind me and a man’s voice yells for me to move.

Flipping on the hazards, I release the brake enough for the car to coast to the edge of the road. The driver of the truck revs the engine and lunges past, waving his left hand out the window in what most likely wasn’t a good-bye.

I close my eyes, waiting for my heart to settle back into my chest. A sedan comes from behind and the driver gives me a curious look as he slides past. I wave him on. Nothing to see here.

I force my foot to lift, allowing the car to creep through the sharp turn, my hands in a stranglehold on the wheel. The sedan must have turned into the driveway on the right because I see dust swirling.

The field on the left side of the road looks like every field I’ve passed so far, browning after a hot, dry summer. No skid marks. No mangled steel. No broken lives.

“Oh my god.” The dark irony slams into my chest. An accident sent me away sixteen years ago. And an accident is responsible for bringing me back.

The sun envelops the mountain in a soft hug and the fields glow. A magical, peaceful setting for my worst nightmare.

Copyright © 2017 by Orly Konig-Lopez

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