Sneak Peek: Of Moonlight and Memories: Julie Ann Walker
By Julie Ann Walker
Release Date: July 1, 2019
Volume One:
Volume Two:
Volume Three:
From NYT and USA Today bestselling author Julie Ann Walker comes an epic tale of sacrifice, friendship, and the awe-inspiring power of love.
Maggie: Ten years ago, Cash Armstrong stole my heart. Then he promptly joined the army—dragging my best friend with him—and left me crying on the front porch in a red sequined prom dress. Now he's back. They're both back. Cash, the one who still has my heart. And Luc, the one who saved my life.
Cash: How do you know if you’re at the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end? That's what I've been trying to figure out since a traumatic brain injury made me "unfit to serve." I'm back in New Orleans, and picking up the shattered pieces of my past means I must confront where my life's journey began... and where it all might end.
Luc: Long ago, Maggie May was mine. Not mine in the way you might think. She was mine because she was my only friend. Then Cash came along and we became brothers by something stronger than blood. We became brothers by choice. When tragedy struck, I was forced to make a decision that changed all our lives. I thought, after ten years, it was safe to come back home. I was wrong...
The “In Moonlight and Memories” trilogy debuts July 1st!
And always remember, “The greatest of loves can begin in the simplest of ways...”
Sneak Peek #19 for In Moonlight and Memories
"Luc?" Maggie blinks at me uncertainly.
The way I reckon it, I've got two choices. I can give in to my heartache and turn a cold shoulder, play it all emotionless and aloof. Or I can listen to the words of the venerable Otis Redding and try a little tenderness.
Since only one of those lets me pull her into my arms, it's a no-brainer.
She chokes on a sob and goes up on tiptoe, threading her arms around my neck. I rest my cheek atop her head. Like always, the feel of her (so soft) and the smell of her (both sweet and wild) are enough to have my stomach turning cartwheels.
When she steps back, I force myself to drop my hands from her waist.
"It's good to see you out of orange." Her eyes are overly bright.
Glancing down at the jeans and heather-gray sweatshirt one of them must've brought for me to change into, I twist my lips. "Oh, I don't know. I could get used to prison-wear. It's like going 'round in pajamas and slippers all day."
"Don't say it." Mom waves her hands as if to scrub my words from the air. "Don't even think it."
I give her a wink to let her know I'm kidding, then I let my expression turn serious. "Now, which one of you posted my bail?" My eyes fix on Maggie. "Please tell me you didn't hit up Miss Bea. I hate thinking of her—"
"Maggie put up her own money," Mom declares. "And forevermore, she'll be first in my nightly prayers."
Maggie tries to make light of the situation. "Out of curiosity, where did I rank before today?"
Ignoring the joke, I frown at her. "You had half a million bucks lying 'round?"
"She had to use the bar as collateral." Mom beams at Maggie. "The building, all the liquor, the whole shebang."
And now my stomach isn't cartwheeling. It's sinking.
She put her livelihood, the thing she bought with her parents' life insurance money, her most prized possession on the line. For me.
"It was nothing," she's quick to assure me. "I mean, it's not like you're going to skip out or anything, right?"
"Maggie May..." For a guy who's supposed to be good with words, I'm at a loss.
"Like I said, it's nothing." She changes the subject. "So what do you want to do on your first day of freedom? Take a walk by the river? Stop by Central Grocery for a muffuletta? Go have a Grasshopper at Tujague's?"
"You make it sound like I've been locked up for twenty years instead of two days."
"It felt like twenty years," Mom insists. Winding an arm around my waist, she hugs me again. When I complain she's cutting off my circulation, she squeezes me harder.
"I think number one on the agenda should be a visit to the hospital. How's Cash?" I'm looking at Maggie, but to my surprise, she's looking at my mother. "Mom?" I lift an eyebrow.
"I took him some crab cakes while Maggie was making the arrangements for your bail," she explains, her face clouded with worry. "He seems fine. I mean, he was cutting up and carrying on like always, but..."
When her voice drifts off, I prompt, "But what?"
"But he looks bad, Son. Pale. Getting skinnier by the day."
I've been watching Cash's downward spiral for months now. Still, it hurts to hear him described in such stark and unflinching terms.
"You and Maggie go on." She pats my arm. "Go pay him a visit. I'm sure it'll cheer him up. In the meantime, I'll head out to the swamp house and get to making some of those Cajun-spiced shrimp with the remoulade you like. I bet you're hungry enough to eat the north end of a southbound goat after two days of jail food."
My stomach rumbles in agreement. That's all she needs to hear before squeezing me one last time and then jumping into her Honda.
Maggie and I spend the drive to the hospital engaged in either pointless small talk or pointed silence. Proof that the hug in the parking lot didn't repair the damage done between us.
On Canal Street, we get stuck waiting for a funeral procession to go by. Two white horses pull a black wagon with a mahogany casket inside. A roving brass band follows behind, playing a slow, sad version of “Down by the Riverside.” Trailing them, men in their Sunday best march and sing, and women with parasols wave white handkerchiefs and twirl to the beat.
Rolling down my window to better hear the music, I'm reminded of something Chris Rose once wrote about how we do things down here in the Big Easy. We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large, and frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
Amen, brother. Amen.
If I can take pleasure in nothing else today, I can take pleasure in this. This quintessentially New Orleans tradition. This proof that in a country where too many cities are carbon copies of each other, my hometown is unapologetically unique.
After the procession passes, we carry on to the hospital. But not ten minutes after going inside, we're back in Maggie's SUV.
She turns to me. "What do you think? Where would he go?"
Dr. Beckett met us in the hall outside Cash's room to tell us Cash had checked himself out. (Against medical advice.) Not that I'm surprised. Cash has never been one to sit still or listen to reason. Plus, I hate to say it, but he was probably hankering for a stiff drink.
"He'll have gone home," I assure her.
She puts the car in gear and points us toward The Quarter. A few blocks later, I notice she's white-knuckling the steering wheel, so I'm not shocked when she says, "About yesterday morning..."
Clenching my teeth, I stare out the window at the old-fashioned buildings of the Vieux Carré. Winters here are easy, so the wrought-iron balconies are still stacked with outdoor furniture and huge ferns are still dripping with bright green fronds. Carnival season will be starting soon, and the houses and the storefronts are already festooning themselves in the purple, green, and gold hues of Mardi Gras.
She continues, "I wanted to tell you that—"
"You wanted to tell me that you were okay turning your affection my way when you thought Cash was a dead end," I cut her off, speaking the words myself so I don't have to hear her say them. "But the minute you found out he was acting up 'cause he's sad and sick as opposed to acting up 'cause he doesn't want anything more to do with you, you swung right 'round and aimed your heart straight back at him."
She palms the locket hanging around her neck and frowns at me. "That's not it at all. I'm not saying I'm still holding out hope he'll want to pick up where we left off in high school. I'm saying that with all he's already going through, we shouldn't add to his burden by changing the dynamic between us. I'm saying that once he's better, then you and I can see if—"
"Bullshit, Maggie May!" She blinks. In all the years we've known each other, I don't recollect ever raising my voice to her. "Are you really sitting over there asking me to believe that if Cash was healthy, if he stopped drinking and decided to fly right, you wouldn't be itching to see if there could be more between you? You wouldn't be back to standing too close to him, to constantly touching him despite him saying he doesn't want you like that?"
"I—" she starts and then immediately stops, something that looks a lot indecision skittering behind her eyes.
Even though I expected it, it still hits me like a tidal wave, pressing me down, sucking me under. A few days ago, when I didn't know what it was to kiss her, before I allowed myself to dream the impossible dream, I might have been strong enough to kick back to the surface.
Not now.
Now all I can manage is a bitter, "That's what I thought."
"Come on, Luc!" She slaps the steering wheel. "It's not that easy, and you know it!"
"It is that easy. For me. 'Cause I've always known exactly what I want. I wish to God you could say the same thing."
Julie Ann Walker
Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Julie grew up in a house full of women – she has three older sisters. As you can imagine, there was no lack of drama… or romance. Her mother enrolled her in a book club as soon as she began to read and it was the small spark that ignited her voracious appetite for the written word.
Because of Julie’s early immersion in literature, she found writing came quite naturally. In high school, she won multiple writing contests and was the proud senior editor of The Tiger’s Tale – her school newspaper.
During her college years, however, she longed for a challenge. “Reading and writing felt like second nature to me, so I looked for a way to flex my mental muscles,” she recalls. After receiving a Bachelor of Science degree, Julie began teaching advanced high school mathematics.
“I loved working with the students and facing the challenges of the classroom, but I longed for the occasional snow day when I could race to the local book store, buy two or three new novels, and curl up in front of the fire to read.”
It wasn’t until a fortuitous move to Chicago that Julie once more returned to her first passion.
Now Julie loves to travel the world looking for views to compete with her deadlines. When she’s not writing, she enjoys camping, hiking, cycling, cooking, petting every dog that walks by her, and… reading, of course!
0 comments