Breaking Summer
By Lani Kauten
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There was so much arguing going on that June between Rox, Mom and Dad that even with my bedroom door closed, I had very little solitude. During that stormy time, the rink was my only source of tranquility. You see, in my family we were all skatersice skaters. Each of us had been competing since we were eight, respectively.
It was the last week of schoolsis and I had just gotten home when I first heard the news flash. I had just plopped down on my bed worn out from ice skating practice when I flipped the radio on and heard the disc-jockey announce, Local teen found dead this morning up at Rose Hill Cemeterymore after this commercial break. I ran out of my room when the disc-jockey said it was a teen from Roxs school.
Heading toward Roxs bedroom, barely meeting up, she nervously hollered out, Jilli, did you just hear the news over the radio about the boy up at Rose Hill?
Yes, I answered. We both stood there in the living room, stunned!
Later that night my family tuned into the local news, as Im sure many other families did in our town of Cowell in Northern California. They said it had been thirty years since the last murderwhere the boy was found.
Oh my God, hes that girls brother! Rox blurted out, pointing at the TV set.
Earlier that year, wed all been overjoyed when my brother Luke accomplished his goal in skating, and won a Silver Medal in the 1972 Winter Olympic Games held in Sapporo, Japan. Upon his return we celebrated his success with a party. One of the girls who had a crush on Luke introduced her brother to him.
Are you saying the boy in the news was here at Lukes party? Mom said in a surprised hush.
Yup, Rox confirmed. Weird, huh?
Mom just shook her head indicating she had no words to express how bad she felt for the boy and his family. We all stared into the TV set.
. . . while the police search for possible suspects. The newscaster broke-in, Coming up nextmore protests on the Vietnam War.
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Breaking Summer - Lani Kauten
AuthorHouse™ LLC
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Phone: 1-800-839-8640
© 2014 Lani Kauten. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 03/21/2014
ISBN: 978-1-4918-5997-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4918-5996-4 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902011
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are purely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Dedications
For my Dad, who encouraged a little girl’s imagination.
For Nancy, Buddy, and Ken.
For the Write-On Group of Aliso Viejo, and family and friends that read through my rough drafts. Thank you so much.
Last but not least, for Russ my husband, my spoon―there through thick and thin. And my daughter Jessi, whom I would not be here today if it weren’t for them pulling me through the darkest time of my life.
They are the light of my life.
Breaking Summer
California 1972
T here was so much arguing going on that June between Rox, Mom and Dad that even with my bedroom door closed, I had very little solitude. During that stormy time, the rink was my only source of tranquility. You see, in my family we were all skaters—ice skaters. Each of us had been competing since we were eight, respectively. It was the last week of school—sis and I had just gotten home when I first heard the news flash. I had just plopped down on my bed worn out from ice skating practice when I flipped the radio on and heard the disc-jockey announce, Local teen found dead this morning up at Rose Hill Cemetery—more after this commercial break.
I ran out of my room when the disc-jockey said it was a teen from Rox’s s chool.
Heading toward Rox’s bedroom, barely meeting up, she nervously hollered out, "Jilly,