1.How does it
feel to know that the book about your life has been nominated for so many
awards? ( 2013 ORANGEBERRY HALL OF FAME WINNER and Global EBook Award Nominee Best Contemporary Fiction)
2. Does being an
inspiration for so many people make you nervous?
3.What is the
most important thing you hope people learn from the story?
4.At this point
in your life, is the glass half-full or half-empty?
Both.
I’m a cynical dreamer.
5.And now just
for fun:
b.Do you watch TV? If
so, what's your favorite show?
c.I know you're in
great shape, but if splurge on dessert, what do you have?
d.If they made a movie out of the book, which actress would play you?
Paige, thank you so much for coming. I loved doing the interview with you. Why don't we go out for chocolate cake sometime? It's one of my favorites for sure. And now, let's take a look at a blurb and Chapter One.
BLURB:
Paige Scott spent her childhood shuffled between relatives who ignored her, and her adult life hiding in her crumbling marriage to wealthy David Davenport. When David suddenly thrusts her into a remote, impoverished world, Paige is forced to face the betrayals of her past - not to mention the colorful townies of her present. Unexpected friendships and her discovery of running propel her on a jagged and comical journey toward learning how to truly live.
Chapter 1
When Paige told me all about it, it
was well over a year since the shit had hit her fan, but those solemn brown
eyes don’t lie, and she had forgotten nothing. Still, she asked “You do believe
me, don’t you Chloe?”
I
assured her I did. “That would happen to you, Paige. It should.”
She
nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She tucked her dark hair behind her ears and
smiled a smile of one peeking around a corner at something enticing. She looked
past me, into space. Around the corner. Into the new room.
On
a sweltering Saturday in June, David Davenport announced to his wife Paige that
he had purchased a vacation home for them in Wells Lake, a town in northern
Pennsylvania that Paige had never heard of. Philadelphia had been hit by an
early heat wave, but they had left their air-conditioned condo on Rittenhouse
Square to sip sauvignon blanc at a wrought iron table outside Café Rouge. The
table teetered every time Paige set down her glass, and she was so absorbed by
it tilting her way, and then David’s way, and then her way again, as if
switching loyalties, that she barely heard what he said about taking her to see
the house the following weekend. She wiped cold condensation from her water
glass onto her napkin and held the icy glass up to her face, pressing it to
each cheek. “What are we talking about?” she murmured, not looking up. She set
her glass down and fingered around the table for something to tuck under the
table leg.
“…About
a four hour drive from here, Tioga County,” David was saying when she finally
gave up her search and looked up at him. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt,
which was not his color. The collar was
neatly pressed, and his Ray Bans rested on top of his full, sandy brown hair
that he liked to gel and tousle. Women found him
handsome. Over the course of their ten year relationship, Paige had watched
them flock and twitter. He was like a colt, Solid, broad in the chest for his
height, always tossing his head and chewing the bit. But now she could barely
hear him. He was talking into the stifling breeze and looking through her.
“We’ll leave around noon on Friday to miss the weekend traffic.”
Paige
squinted through her sunglasses. “There’s traffic headed that way?” she asked,
words sticking in the thick air around her. “We’ll see. I have to check my
calendar. I’m not sure what’s going on next weekend.” She picked through her
purse for her phone,
mentally thumbing through potential
escape plans. She was certain that she could figure out some excuse for not
going. If David needed a weekend getaway to go fishing or bushwhacking, or to
attend a tractor pull, or whatever one did in places like that, he could go by
himself. Or, god forbid, if he felt the two of them needed a romantic
pick-me-up or a literal roll in the hay, she was absolutely not going. Not that
he had even vaguely attempted a single romantic gesture in ages. Not that she
wanted him to. Not that. No.
He
stared at her across the table, expressionless, but she felt a sudden cool
ripple of trepidation run through her blood. David was never still. He picked
up his water glass and took a swig from it, catching an ice cube and chewing it
crudely in his whitened teeth. “We’re
going,” he said, practically dropping the glass back down, forefinger and thumb
splayed in the air for a moment longer. “You have nothing else to do.” Then he
smiled, forced and tight. Paige could do nothing but nod in terse agreement.
Damn, she thought.
Damn.
The waitress approached their table
and inquired if they had looked at the menu but neither of them was hungry. She
left them the check for the drinks, which they sat and sipped for a while
longer, silent, watching the city stream by.
The
journey to Wells Lake was long and tedious. Heavy quiet mixed with carsickness.
Paige settled back into the leather seats of David’s Lexus SUV, their weekend
bags carelessly packed and tossed in the back. It was only two days, she
reminded herself, but
why did he have to buy
a vacation house there, of all places. Why not a beach house in Brigantine or
Margate, even though she loathed the Shore, or simply somewhere that she had
seen and agreed to beforehand. She was extremely annoyed with David, and she
was not about to put on a cheerful face and make the weekend pleasant for him.
He was not inclined to chat either, and so they drove over highways, then
through towns steadily dwindling in size and civilization, just your average
acrimonious married couple, getting away from it all. The sun shone on her bare
legs through the sun roof. She stretched
them out and leaned her head against the leather head rest, studying the
passing scenery.
The
trip stretched on, leading them over highways flanked by stubborn-looking trees
and hills, and roads that rolled out through vast farm land of weather-beaten
barns and mud-spattered grazing cows. The smell of manure hung in the air. They
crossed bridges, and wound through flat towns with tiny churches and diners,
towns that seemed to end as quickly as they began. And yet, the great open sky
above and the unfamiliar, unwieldy land stretching before and behind them made
Paige’s big city home seem like something miniature, encased in a snow globe.
It was wild and unsettling.
Welcome to Wells Lake, white lettering on a pine green sign declared, as
David pulled into a small gas station on the edge of another miserable little
town that appeared at first glance to be all on one road, straight ahead of
them. She expected a few blocks up,
where she could only glimpse a wall
of forest, there was a sign that read “Come again, if you’re sure you want to.”
David filled the tank and Paige
walked up to the small shop attached to the service station. She spotted a
handful of town brochures on the rack by the register that held newspapers, and
a few tabloids. She perused one of the brochures, which was more like a
single-sided bookmark. It explained
that Wells Lake, named for an original settler, had in the early twentieth
century been a trade center for a large surrounding area, and had been the site
of several mills, including a saw mill, a flour mill, and a milk-condensing
plant. Now, Paige discovered as she read on, the town boasted no such exciting
amenities. From what she could see, as she stepped outside and squinted up the main road, it even
lacked any sort of quaint village charm. No cobblestones, no flower baskets
hanging from old
fashioned street lamps, no visible
evidence of a bed and breakfast, or antique shops. There appeared to be only
two traffic lights on the entire stretch of road, dangling from black wires,
one swaying alongside a pair of shoes, tied together and hanging from their
laces.
Paige
looked back down at the bookmark. The remainder of the story of Wells Lake was
summed up in one line, offering nearby fishing, free camp grounds and hiking
trails in the nearby wooded park land. There was a small sketch under the blurb
of a deer and a few trees, and some random black dots that she assumed
represented ticks.
Paige
jumped as David honked the horn. She stuffed the brochure into her purse and
hurried back to the car.
David
steered them off of the main strip. The trees and shrubbery lining the narrow
road that he sped along – what
the hell was his hurry? -
appeared to be a jungle of weeds and bramble. Paige nervously dabbed sunscreen
onto her fingertips from a tube and patted it onto her cheeks and nose.
David
drove around another bend and crunched up a rutted dirt and pebble driveway
leading to a dilapidated house with a sagging front porch and peeling
lime-green shutters. The siding looked like it might have been white at one
time, but was now the color of dingy mop-water.
“Gee,
David, couldn’t you have had it renovated before we came out here?” Paige asked. She leaned her head
back wearily. “What were you thinking? This place is clearly unsalvageable. Did
you even have it inspected?”
David
sprang out of the SUV and slammed his door. Paige sighed and stepped carefully
out her side, wary of where she set her shoes down. She shaded her eyes with
one hand, taking a longer look at the house. God, it was terrible. She would
have to convince David
to sell it. She certainly was not
coming back for any more weekend getaways here. But who would buy this mess?
Finally she turned toward him, and nearly tripped over her bag which was on the ground beside her. David was
standing by the front of the car, arms
folded across his chest.
“What’s
the matter with you? Where’s your suitcase?” Paige snapped with fresh
annoyance. “We might as well go in. It’s too hot to stand around out here all
day.”
“I’m
not staying,” he said. “What? What do you mean?” Paige asked, feeling her heart
begin to jump against her rib cage.
“You’re
staying. I’m going home. This,” he tossed a set of keys onto her suitcase, “is
your home now. There is a bank card in your purse. Your account is with the
local branch on Cherry Street. I had the utilities turned on, and I arranged
for some supplies to be stocked in. That should get you started. Good luck, and
goodbye.”
Paige
felt light headed and there was a faint ringing in her ears. She reached for the passenger-side car door
handle and grasped it to steady herself. David was already climbing back in on
his side. He snapped on his seatbelt and powered down the passenger window. In
that instant, she saw a man she barely knew. He seemed to be wearing a mask of
himself. “I’ll send you the rest of your clothes and things,” he said. “We’re
through. Feel free to see other men.”
“You
feel free to see other men, too,” Paige squeaked. But she was drowned out by
the revved engine as the Lexus lurched backward, forcing her to yank back her hand.
The car bumped down the driveway, jerked into forward and sped around the bend
and out of sight.
Driveway dust hung around her in a cloud,
suspended in the stagnant summer air as if time had slowed to a near
standstill. A couple of bees circled lazily nearby and she could hear the faint
buzzing. The sun burned into the top of her head. She blinked up at it like a
bewildered bird pushed from its nest. Then she dropped to the hard, dry ground
and sat watching the dust shimmering above the road where her husband’s truck
had disappeared. The Lexus was gone, but she stared at that empty road for a
long time.
Why
was this happening? Hadn’t there been happier times? A gray memory or two to
make them reconsider the end? She focused on drawing in air and pushing it back
out, until she could hear
nothing else. The
screaming inside her head ceased. Reality buzzed off with the bees, and she
suddenly laughed out loud. Of course, this is one of David’s hijinks, she
thought, desperately craning her neck and listening for the car, which would
surely come roaring back around the bend at any moment. She had learned a long
time ago that in a refreshing sort of way, David loved these tricky moves. He
possessed a debonair devil-may-care attitude that Paige had both admired and
envied, early into their courtship.
David loved nothing more than to buck rules and manipulate systems,
especially when no one was the wiser. It became clear later that the last thing
David
wanted to do was change the world
or bring down the corrupt. He was just a tricky rich child, and his antics made
him feel taller. Paige was an extension of his outward appearance, and they
could laugh at the world together in private, but in public he expected her to
keep the secret, and dress, speak and act appropriately.
This
was a simple role for Paige. She was a seasoned actress in the world. She
played her role expertly. For a while.
The
stream of thoughts slowed to a trickle and then a drip. It was dusk when Paige
began to fade back from her stupor. She
was seated cross-legged on the sparse grass of what was now her lawn – oh god, oh god, this is my
lawn, it was all
rushing at her, images flashing through her mind, scenes and conversations
leading up to this point.
Teetering table, David staring her
down, long, hot drive, gas station, David driving away. Paige clapped her hands
over her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. As her mind sank into bleak quiet,
she dropped her hands to her knees and focused on them until she was left with
only a slow, pulsing ache in her temples.
Her
gaze shifted to the house keys on her suitcase beside her. She would have to go inside. Eerie evening
life was stirring around her. A twig snapped in one corner of the yard, as from
another corner came the deep croak of what could only be a giant, mutant frog,
answered by another in the shadows under the porch. Oh hell, was the house
built on a swamp? She hugged her knees. They were gathering. Advancing. The
shriek of hundreds of crickets pierced the evening air, and a mosquito the size
of a tarantula floated an inch from her face. Heart pounding, Paige swung into
action, leaping to
her feet and
scrambling across the yard and up onto the porch, her suitcase bumping behind
her, breaking a few spindles in the porch railing as she pulled it up the
steps.
With
jangly fingers she reached to jam the key into the lock, and saw with fresh
horror that the front door was already slightly ajar. Her fear quickly gave way
to adrenaline, and in a fit of maniacal bravado, she raised a kitten-heeled sandal
and gave the door a roundhouse kick with all the strength she had. Maybe
whatever was inside would be frightened and jump out a back window. The door
banged open with such force that the doorknob embedded in the wall inside and
stuck there. Paige hurled her suitcase into the front room, wrenched the door
free of the wall, and pushed it shut. There was no
lock except for the keyhole, and to
her deep dismay the key kept turning in it, round and round, catching on
nothing.
Gingerly
flicking on an uncovered switch in the wall, Paige looked around in the dim
light and spotted a chair against the wall.
She dragged it over and propped it under the doorknob. She had seen that
done in movies. It always worked. Next she had to find and turn on every other
light in the house and, canister of Mace in hand, she would check through every
room for squatters, human or otherwise.
Paige
looked around the archaic living room, furnished only with a threadbare sofa
and armchair in lurid pink floral. The room contained no carpet, no coffee
table, no high-definition flat-screened television, just a milk crate in front
of the sofa that held a small, old-fashioned box TV, attached to a black cable
that ran across the floor and into the wall. In the corner was an iron wood stove.
The living room spilled into what she could only guess was a dining room,
because it was completely bare. Well, that’s a shame, she thought. So much for
dinner parties. The wood floors were dinged and scuffed, dotted with small,
splintery holes.
Beyond
the dining room was a square, eat-in kitchen, the design of which appeared to
be circa 1960s, because everyone involved had clearly been on quite the acid
trip. The cabinets were a disturbing sunshine yellow, and every cabinet door
was hung on a crooked angle. She opened the refrigerator and found bottled
water, a can of ground coffee, a carton of milk and a few other food items that
David
must have had stocked
in. How kind of him, she thought, gnashing her teeth. She grabbed one of the
bottles of water and turned to face the ugliest kitchen table she had ever
seen. It was oval, with four
brown chairs surrounding it. Its
prior owner had painted it nearly the same vile yellow as the kitchen cabinets,
only brighter, making its ugliness even more startling. Its surface was made
uneven by dried globs of paint and dips and dents under the paint. The
splintered edges had been painted over rather than sanded. Paige shuddered and
looked past it to a kitchen door,
which mercifully had a key in the lock that worked when she tried it. She
peeked behind a dusty gingham ruffle covering the door’s half-moon window but
it had grown too dark to see anything outside.
Her
adrenaline supply was drained, and she suddenly felt deflated and weak. If
there is anything scary in this house, it can have me, she thought. Leaving her
suitcase where she had dropped it by the front door, she crept up the creaky
stairs off of the living room and skulked through three small bedrooms and a
dollhouse-sized bathroom, leaving lights on everywhere she went for some small
comfort. The bedrooms were sparsely furnished, two with single beds and one
with a queen sized bed, all made up with linens and blankets. Whoever had
prepared the house for human occupants had assumed a family was coming.
Paige
decided numbly that she would sleep in the room with the largest bed, and in a
final flailing safety gesture, she peeked under the bed, and then yanked open
the closet door to see what was living inside. The door promptly broke off of
its one rusted hinge and banged to the floor. Paige looked down at it for a
moment, then walked around it and fell
into the bed.
.jpg)
Author Info
Gaelen VanDenbergh is a writer, runner, and compulsive list-maker who lives in Philadelphia with her family, a fat cat, and several fish. Her debut novel Running Against Traffic, was a Global Ebook Award nominee, a semifinalist in the The Kindle Book Review’s 2013 Best Indie Book Awards, a semifinalist in the Readers' Favorite 2013 International Book Award Contest, Indie Book of the Day, June 30, 2013, a 2013 Beach Book Festival Award nominee, and has received a four star review in InD’tale Magazine.
When not writing, Gaelen enjoys reading, running races for charities, and spending as much time in Key West and the Adirondacks as she can.
.jpg)
Author Info
Gaelen VanDenbergh is a writer, runner, and compulsive list-maker who lives in Philadelphia with her family, a fat cat, and several fish. Her debut novel Running Against Traffic, was a Global Ebook Award nominee, a semifinalist in the The Kindle Book Review’s 2013 Best Indie Book Awards, a semifinalist in the Readers' Favorite 2013 International Book Award Contest, Indie Book of the Day, June 30, 2013, a 2013 Beach Book Festival Award nominee, and has received a four star review in InD’tale Magazine.
When not writing, Gaelen enjoys reading, running races for charities, and spending as much time in Key West and the Adirondacks as she can.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS
WEBSITE: www.gaelenvandenbergh.com
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/AuthorGVD
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/GVD11
BUY LINKS
AMAZON: http://amzn.com/B00BMHF62M
BARNES & NOBLE: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/running-against-traffic-gaelen-vandenbergh/1114707735?ean=9781621419938
GIVEAWAY–KINDLE PAPERWHITE
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