The other blue sky, p.1
The Other Blue Sky, page 1
The Other Blue Sky
Shari J. Ryan
Contents
About the Author
Also by Shari J. Ryan
Acknowledgments
Disclaimer
Preface
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
Epilogue
Afterword
Thank you!
Copyright © 2018 by Shari J. Ryan
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Being Edited by: Lisa Brown
Cover Design & Formatting: MadHat Books
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
About the Author
Shari J. Ryan is an International Bestselling Author of more than twenty novels. Shari was once told she tends to exaggerate often and sometimes talks too much, which would make a great foundation for fictional books. Six years after beginning her publishing journey, Shari’s main objective is to make her readers feel the realism within her books through descriptive detail, lively characters, and raw emotions.
While Shari devotes much of her time to writing, she always puts her family first. Shari is a devoted wife to a wonderful and supportive man, and a mother to two little boys who remind her daily why she was put on this earth.
For weekly love notes, subscribe to her newsletter:
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To interact with Shari, join her Twisted Drifters Group:
Also by Shari J. Ryan
Literary Fiction:
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Last Words
The Other Blue Sky
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Romantic Comedy:
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Manservant
Man Flu
Man Handler
Man Buns
Spiked Lemonade
Queen of the Throne
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Contemporary Romance:
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A Heart of Time
A Missing Heart
A Change of Heart
Raine’s Haven
Ravel
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Romantic Suspense:
Darkest Perception
Red Nights
TAG
You’re It
No Way Out
The Schasm Series
Schasm
Fissure Free
When Fully Fused
To those who have broken hearts and are afraid of never healing…
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Everything will be okay again someday.
Acknowledgments
I have my tribe—they stick with me through thick and thin, and I never wake up, wondering if one of them will walk away. When I meet friends who will offer help without being asked, or still listen when I’m silent, it’s easy to feel the love. It’s easy to know who will be there in the end.
Julie and Linda, Linda and Julie — you both are the reason I push myself as hard as I do. You motivate me, you share my passion, pain, happiness, and I hope I do the same for you. When a team becomes a partnership, it’s an incredible thing. I love you both for everything we have accomplished together. Thank you for being by my side.
My beta ladies—This time, my request for beta readers was hidden on Facebook, so a few of my constants were left out of the loop, so please know, I love you all, and no matter what book I’m working on, I never question whether you will be there for me. Erin, Heather, Lin, and Julie — Thank you for loving me enough to be honest and share your true feedback to help make my story greater. I’m lucky to have you all! Kelly and Samantha—thank you for offering to jump in and help when I needed it. Someday, I will get to squeeze you in real life!
My family - Dad, Mom, Mark, Ev - Your support, as always, is what gets me through some days. Feeling your pride makes me feel accomplished, and I’m grateful. Love you all!
Lori—still my #1 even though you’re being crawled all over by two tiny loves. I know when you have a free moment (which may be in five years haha), you’ll be reading chapter by chapter again. Love you, sis.
My friends—I believe in quality over quantity, so I’m confident, you know who you are. I know I’m quiet about my writing life, and somehow, you still understand that part of my life even when I tend to fall off the face of the earth for a couple months at a time. Being my mom besties has gotten me through these grueling years of raising two little boys, and I’m forever grateful for our friendship.
Josh—I’m going to keep this serious this time since I usually poke fun at you … I know I put you through a lot of ups and downs when I’m emotionally drowning myself in words, and you still sit there with a smile and open arms. You are my world, my forever, and my lifelong happy story. I love you!
Boys—Bryce and Brayden - My heart warms whenever we go to the bookstore together, and I know you get the same feeling inside that I do. You both love to read, and even want to read my books, which is the most amazing feeling in the world. While, I can’t let you do that just yet, someday, I’ll share these words with you, and I hope you’ll be proud of me. You two are my heart and soul, and I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you more than words could ever describe. Never forget that.
Disclaimer
If you have not read Last Words, The Other Blue Sky can be read first, and on its own.
At the beginning of Last Words, I mentioned this note, and in case you are new to my books, I would like you to know a little bit about my background and where these two particular stories came from:
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The Other Blue Sky and Last Words are both fictitious novels made up of many non-fictitious details of the Holocaust, but based on true facts.
I am a descendant of two Holocaust survivors, from whom I have had the privilege of learning facts of my history and heritage. In addition, hours of research have been conducted to keep historical facts accurately laced in with this story that brings forbidden love to another level.
I have wanted to write these books for many years, but it has been challenging to relive a life experience my grandmother and great-grandmother survived, while knowing the rest of my family did not make it.
With the taboo nature of this story, please know I do not condone or support the typical enemy’s behavior portrayed in my story. On the contrary, I have lived in fear of hatred, hiding my religion and beliefs for many years. Therefore, I hope this story is as enlightening to you as it has been for me.
Preface
I didn’t know one could be missing when a visible reflection states otherwise. I also didn’t realize how many of us, former prisoners, are still considered missing people, especially since we were once missing children. There’s a bond between the strangers we are, and though many of us haven’t met, we think of ourselves as a family, in a sense because our stories are the same.
There is a book cover with a simple image, one that could tell any story. There’s a spine—strong and built to hold everything inside, and though there isn’t much of a description written on the back, inside ... on the yellowed pages … is where our stories line up perfectly. For the thousands of us who have not been accounted for, there are no words to trail in our footsteps.
During the time of the Holocaust, people were taken, murdered, and tortured. All different types of people—mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. Books were burned, money stolen, and heirlooms were left to rot. Those who survived curated the information we have in our history books, passing forward the stories we read about and could never imagine, but many stories remain untold, hidden within memories too painful to revisit.
My mother lived through this horrible time, and she is one of the survivors who has chosen to remain silent about her time in the prisoner camp. I didn’t earn a right to comment on her choice because unlike me, she has memories that linger inside her mind, memories that likely haunt her every night.
As for me, I have spent my entire life trying to figure out who I really am. I’ve been a humble person, appreciative and grateful for the life I have, but there is one thing I need—the truth. I desperately need to know who I am and where I came from, but it must come from the person who is responsible for making me one of the lucky missing prisoners of the Holocaust.
1
Current Day
I’ve decided without knowing the effects it may cause. However, life moves too quickly, and the idea of forever is variable. Nobody really knows how much time they have. I should certainly know
I pull out the heavy, black iron chair from the garden table and slowly ease down into the seat, resting in front of a steaming cup of tea and two sets of eyes, both full of wonderment.
“Annie, you’re scaring me,” Mom says, her voice frail and meek, as it has been since she had the stroke last year. “You look ill or upset. What’s bothering you, dear?”
I inhale slowly, taking in the late spring air infused with a mixture of lilacs and hydrangea. The mist from last night’s rain still lingers, leaving the morning damp but warm enough for comfort. The trees around us fold us in their embrace, offering us a feeling of protection from the outside world. It’s lovely here, and I’m often jealous of the assisted living community that Mom finally agreed to move into. It would be a little bit like heaven, if I were to imagine such a place.
I’ve lost my train of thought as I subconsciously avoid the task at hand. I’m about to place a heavy burden onto their shoulders. As my attention snaps back to the anxious looks on Mom and Charlie’s faces, a knot of uncertainty tightens in my stomach, but I need to get it out. They need to hear this. I clear my throat and take a quick sip of the steaming tea, hoping the sweet, chamomile-infused water will alleviate some of the tension in my chest. “I don’t want scare you, either of you. I’ve—” the words aren’t forming as I had hoped they might. “I have something I want to give to you.”
Mom clutches her hand over her heart with what appears to be relief. Maybe she thought I would say I’m sick, or something else along that line, though I’m not sure this gift will be any easier for her to receive.
I place a brown, paper-wrapped package down onto the woven metal slats, settling it gently between the plate of pastries, the vase of fresh lilacs and their two teacups. Mom gazes at it for a moment as if she’s trying to see what’s inside without removing the paper wrapping. She runs her puckered fingertips across the top, and the sound of her soft skin gliding against the coarse paper causes my shoulders to tighten. “What is this, Annie?” Mom asks. Her question is filled with curiosity, but no concern. I hope she feels the same way once she looks inside.
I stare into Mom’s eyes, noticing the faded grayish-blue hues filling her once vibrant, sapphire-coated irises. Old age has taken its toll on her body throughout the last year, and the evidence is overwhelmingly obvious.
“Annie, may I have a word with you for a moment?” Charlie interrupts. He lifts his forefinger from the table top, and the slight gesture from his hand matches the rise in his left brow. I’ve learned that this particular look of his is full of contemplation and worry. He protects Mom from the air she breathes, and I’ve found his love for her to be quite endearing, especially considering how late in life they found one another.
A small smile flutters through my lips as I attempt to appear happy and unafraid of what thoughts he has, but speaking to Charlie, as he wishes, is the very least I can do for him after everything he has done for me.
“Of course.” I lift my purse from the stone slabs beneath the table and place it down on the chair in my place. “We’ll just be a moment, Mom.”
“Take your time,” she sings, waving us off as if we were pesky bugs.
Charlie grumbles a bit as he stands from his chair, so I offer a hand, which he denies as usual. “Don’t treat me like I’m an old man, young lady,” he always says. His replay of words eases my tension and allows a soft laugh to break up the clusters of fog in my head.
Charlie places his hand on my back and guides me down the dirt path toward their condominium. No more than a hundred feet from where Mom is seated, we stop in front of a group of trees and take a seat on a stone bench left behind as a tribute to the owner of this community.
I feel restless, waiting to hear what Charlie would like to say, and I find myself brushing away a small pile of sandy dirt from the space between us.
“Annie, I only have one question to ask you before your mother opens that package.”
“Of course. What’s the question?” I ask, sounding short of breath, which I am.
He places his hand down on top of mine before speaking. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what?” I ask, wondering what he knows, or how he knows the solemnity of what it is I have to share.
Charlie turns and leans in, staring at me with his freckled brown and green eyes. “Are you sure you want to reopen the past?”
“How—”
“I know the look on your face. I’ve seen the way you’ve studied me. You, Annie, are a wonderful woman who has gifted your mother exactly what she tried to gift you.”
I’m not sure if Charlie knows precisely what I am giving Mom, but it seems as though he has more insight than I might have assumed. “With your blessing, Charlie, I’m sure I want to say what’s in my heart,” I tell him.
Charlie’s lips tighten and curve into a slight bend. “Very well, sweet girl. My only request is that you unravel your story slowly. She’s weak, but I agree, she should know. Secrets don’t truly help anyone, do they?”
I lose my words as he throws an unexpected curveball. Secrets. My life has been built upon secrets. “No, secrets don’t help at all. Thank you for understanding,” I tell him in a mere whisper, a tightening in my throat leaving me momentarily unable to speak. When a breeze settles over us, I relax enough to say one last thing to Charlie. “Thank you … for more than I will ever have words for.”
Without thought or a need for further explanation, Charlie places his hand on my cheek and smiles, grimly. A tear percolates in the corner of my eye, then slowly spills down the side of my cheek, leaving a cool chill in its trail. It’s been such a long time with these secrets. “Sweet girl, you don’t have to thank me for doing what I wanted to do. It was the best decision I have made throughout my entire life.” He knows. There isn’t a doubt in my mind about what he knows.
In silence, we stand from the stone bench and make our way back to Mom. She’s gazing off into the distance where the trees are grouped together. With the leaves starting to fall, the woods we couldn’t see through just a month ago are now showing their cavernous depth. I wonder what she’s thinking. I always wonder what she’s thinking when I notice that look in her eyes. It’s as if she’s not present in her body, but lives in another world that exists only in her mind.
There is another world …
We take our seats at the table, and I move my purse back down by my feet. “I may be old, but I’m not stupid,” Mom says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, placing my elbows down as I lean toward her.
“I already know what’s in the package, Annie. When you’ve lived as long as I have, there is little surprise left in the world.”
Charlie’s recent reappearance in her life surprised her. I know that much.
