The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)
Jamie Beck
Preface Dear Reader, Thank you for picking up this book! I’ve been looking forward to introducing you to Sanctuary Sound and the circle of friends known as the Lilac Lane League for some time. The idea for this series came about after watching the news following the devastating explosion at the concert of a singer in England. I remember thinking about how easily my own teenagers could fall victim to a similar incident. That led to me wondering about how victims and their families survive such events and how different people might respond to trauma. Thus began the seeds of the stories for Steffi, Claire, and Peyton, each of whom has her own trauma to overcome.
Steffi is one of the toughest, most resilient heroines I’ve ever written. And while her story is a powerful one, it certainly comes out of a place of darkness. In my research for this tale, I was not only taken aback by the staggering number of women who are sexually assaulted in the United States every year, but I was also struck by some minds’ powerful reactions to such trauma.
While I consulted a number of sources and two psychologists to construct this plot, I am not a psychologist, and it is possible that I have misinterpreted some of what I learned, so I own those mistakes. As this is ultimately intended to be a hopeful story about learning to ask for help and facing one’s fears, I’ve taken some liberties for the purpose of storytelling. If you are interested in learning more about these topics, I’ve included a list of some research materials I reviewed at the end of this book.
In Stefanie Lockwood, I hope I’ve done credit to all the women who have suffered trauma and bravely battle every day to reclaim their lives and decide what will define them.
Regards,
Jamie Beck
Chapter One
Never regret anything that once made you happy. The deathbed advice imparted years ago by her mother had comforted Steffi in the wake of many mistakes. Today those words drifted back as she turned down Echo Hill Lane, the narrow, tree-lined cul-de-sac where her next appointment, and many happy memories, lived. Then again, that old lesson didn’t quite apply to her current predicament, because her regret had nothing to do with the time she’d spent here with Ryan Quinn and his family, and everything to do with leaving them all behind.
She parked her Chevy van across the street from the white Dutch colonial that had been like a second home in her teens. Once she killed the engine, she sat in the driver’s seat, shaking out her hands, anticipating her first real conversation with Mrs. Q. in a decade. She’d forfeited this family’s comfort after she’d ghosted Ryan in college. If her brothers could see her now, they’d never stop teasing.
But today wasn’t about her discomfort. Today was about a job—one she and her childhood friend turned business partner, Claire, needed to keep their home-remodeling business growing.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, then blew out a breath and opened the door. She buckled her tool belt before trotting across the lawn to the shade of the home’s small portico. The familiar apple-red front door prompted a shallow smile as she gave it three sharp knocks. She inhaled the pungent aroma of the nearby Long Island Sound to settle her nerves.
Mrs. Q. opened the door, her lively smile curling the edges of her wise blue eyes. The tall woman still exuded confidence, although she now had a decade’s worth of new wrinkles. Gray strands frosted her blonde hair. Warm memories rushed into the space between them, but Steffi fought the urge to press her hand against her heart.
The scent of freshly baked snickerdoodles wafted outside while they faced each other for the first time in forever. Steffi couldn’t hide now, like she had at that near run-in with Mrs. Q. the summer after she’d broken up with Ryan, when he’d stayed in Boston for an internship.
She’d stopped by the pharmacy to pick up last-minute items for her summer-abroad trip—the one Ryan had talked her out of taking the prior summer—and spied Mrs. Q. at the checkout line. She’d camped out behind the chips until Mrs. Q. had left, grieving anew the loss of their special friendship.
Until recently, Steffi had lived in Hartford and had not bumped into the Quinns during visits with her family, which was why her pulse now throbbed with uncertainty.
“Stefanie, you’ve hardly changed. Come on in before my last batch of cookies burns.” She waved Steffi inside—minus the hugs of yesteryear—and then strolled ahead, straight back toward the kitchen.
Distracted by familiar sights and sounds—the creaky, original wide-plank floors, the sisal carpet running up the stairs that led to Ryan’s room—Steffi bumped into the cardboard boxes stacked near the base of the stairwell. “Oof.”
“Watch yourself!” Mrs. Q. called.
An oversize, handsome photograph of Ryan with his daughter, Emmy, sat on the mantel. His smiling brown eyes and cocoa-colored hair kept him as handsome as ever. Val—his lucky wife—got to wake up to that grin every day. Steffi rubbed her chest as she made her way to the kitchen.
Mrs. Q. gestured toward the platter on the counter with her spatula. “Have one.”
“Thanks.” Steffi nabbed a thick, warm cookie, then stood in the kitchen—with its same old cherrywood cabinets and green granite—feeling sixteen years old again.
As she swallowed the last bit of cookie, she wondered if those boxes meant the Quinns were moving. Did they want renovations to make the home more attractive to a young buyer? It shouldn’t matter, yet the idea of anyone other than the Quinns living here was like setting fire to her favorite scrapbook.