Musa Monday: The Center of the Storm
The young adult novel I want to promote today is The Center of the Storm by Ann Simko. I haven’t read it yet, but the blurb appealed to me since it involves foster care, something I’m passionate about. I have been a foster mother to 3 different children and plan on continuing in that role in the near future if that is what God has for me. Help support my fellow Musan author and check it out! It looks very powerful, especially for teens/adults who have been through a lot and could use some healing. Click on the cover below to purchase from Musa. Thanks!
Facing the things you run from can either release you, or snap the fragile tether that keeps you grounded in the center of the storm.
Abandonment, neglect, drugs and a little blood letting. Dodge Landry and his fifteen-year-old son, Chris have a lot in common. But while Dodge only narrowly survived his childhood, Chris may not.
Navigating the murky waters of the foster care system in the mid-1970’s, Dodge hit the mother load when he is sent to live with Kate Landry on her small Pennsylvania horse farm. Through her functionally dysfunctional family, and with the help of an abused mess of a horse named Storm, Kate shows Dodge no one needs to be perfect to be worthy of love. It is a lesson Dodge desperately wants to share with Chris. The problem is, Chris isn’t interested in listening and Dodge fears his adopted son is headed down the same road Dodge once walked. Suicide.
Social services dropped me off in the drive with my bag of meager belongings slung over one shoulder and my “I don’t give a damn” look on my face. I ignored the conversation between Kate and my social worker – I’d heard it all before – and wandered over to the paddock located just off the drive. A lone horse stood there, his disinterested eyes cast downwards, looking at nothing. He was skinny, so much so that every bone in his body seemed to jut through his dusty hide. I dropped my bag on the grass and squatted down next to the fence. When I put my hand out and tried to get the pitiful thing’s attention, a big brown dog of questionable parentage walked up to me, gave me a half-interested sniff, and then sat down as if to say, “I’m watching you pal, so be careful.”
“I’m just looking,” I told the dog. He lay down with his muzzle on his paws, but his eyes never left me. I turned my attention back to the horse and gave it a little kiss like they do on TV, but he never even turned in my direction. The dog, however, took the sound as an invitation. He nosed under my arm, demanding my attention, and gave me no choice in the matter. He almost made me lose my balance before I managed to come up on one knee.
I pushed his head away. “I was talking to the horse, dumb dog.” He didn’t seem to care. He slobbered on my best pair of jeans and smiled at me as I made a face. So absorbed with getting the horse’s attention and trying to keep from drowning in dog drool, I never heard the social worker leave or Kate come up behind me.
“His name is Charlie.” She pointed at the dog. “And his name…” she looked at the horse, “Is Storm.”