Read Chapter 1 of The Path to Emery Lane (+ 5-Star Editorial Praise!)
Read Chapter 1 of
The Path to Emery Lane (+ 5-Star Editorial Praise!)
By Monique Rardin Richardson | Book Excerpts & News
If you are looking for your next heart-stirring, character-driven read, you can jump right into The Path to Emery Lane today!
Before diving into the opening chapter below, here is a special note from Reader Views, who recently awarded the book a 5-star editorial review:
"A deeply resonant story about human connection, emotional growth, and navigating life's complex relationships... Richardson weaves a compelling narrative with real heart and poignant storytelling."— Reader Views Editorial Reviews
You don't have to take their word for it, though—you can begin reading right now. Chapter One March 22, 1994 Moonlight lit the apartment. Barrett swung his legs through the open window. Hunter jumped.
“Damn, B. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to save you from yourself,” Barrett said.
“So, you’re going to be like Dad, huh?”
Hunter picked up a Sony Walkman from the coffee table and shoved it into his pocket. Next came a Swatch watch. He rubbed it between his fingers and held it to his ear.
“Bro, I don’t have a choice.”
“Yeah, you do,” Barrett said. “You always have a choice.”
Barrett snatched the watch out of Hunter’s hand and set it back on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here before it’s too late.” He tugged on Hunter’s military surplus jacket.
“You’re the one who should get out of here,” Hunter said. “You’re slowing me down.” He yanked the plug of a small television from the wall. “Go on. Get out. I’ve got shit to do.”
“You hear that?” Barrett rushed to the front window. A car turned in off the street. Headlights swept the glass. “Someone’s here!”
Hunter scooped up a boom box and the TV.
They raced for the back door. Barrett swung it open, and they ran full speed down the sidewalk. The stolen electronics filled Hunter’s arms. The boom box slipped. When he lunged for it, he crashed into a young woman. She fell to the pavement.
Hunter never broke stride. “Leave it! Leave it!”
No can do, brother, Barrett thought. He skidded to a stop and bent down. “Are you all right?” He offered a hand.
The contents of her purse lay scattered across the cement. She stared up at him while he scrambled to gather the mess. His hands shook. A piece of metal glinted in a crack near his shoe. He closed his hand around it. The sirens were still blocks off, but closer now.
Barrett looked at the girl through his bangs. He guessed she was about his age. Her skin was smooth and pale, her eyes big and round. Her breath was shallow and quick.
“You’re okay,” he said. “Yeah? Yeah.”
She blinked and mimicked his nod. Barrett turned and sprinted toward the flashing red lights reflecting off the wet asphalt.
He rounded the corner onto College Avenue and stopped. Hunter was bent over the hood of a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back. The stolen electronics were piled on the sidewalk.
“Shit.” Barrett put his hands on his knees. Air came in short stabs.
What do I do? Hunter hadn’t given him a reason to give a damn in a long time. But somebody has to keep this family from falling apart. Before he could think it through, his feet were moving.
Hunter caught his eye through the darkness and shook his head hard. Go home. Don’t be a hero.
Barrett chewed his bottom lip. He squeezed his fist tighter, and pain shot through his palm. He made himself back away into the shadows, then uncurled his fingers.
A brooch. Metal. Cold. The stones caught what little light there was.
He looked back toward the street. The officers shoved Hunter into the back of the car. Damn it.
The patrol car pulled away. No one had seen him. He watched the taillights shrink down the vacant street until they turned the corner.
He retraced his steps. The brooch took on weight. I've got to return this. He scoured the nearby blocks, but the sidewalks were empty.
“Double damn,” he said.
He headed for the bus stop. What am I going to tell Mom?
Their apartment was dim. Peeling paint, walls yellowed by cigarette smoke. He was too late. His mother was on the phone.
“No, I’ve got no money to bail him out,” she said. “I barely have enough for rent. He’s going to have to rot there, like his no-good father.”
She slammed the receiver down, took a heavy drag from her cigarette, and swigged from a chipped coffee cup.
“What were you two up to?” she said. The words came out slurred between dry coughs.
Barrett shrugged. “Mom, you’ve got to quit drinking so much.”
“I’m the parent. Not you! I can do whatever the hell I wanna do. You’ve got some nerve telling me how to act. I know you delinquents robbed a house.”
She crushed her cigarette into an abalone ashtray and picked her teeth with the corner of a matchbook.
“It wasn’t us. It was him,” Barrett said. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. He’s not like he used to be. Nothing is.” She wasn’t listening.
“What the hell am I going to do without your brother?”
“What’s that mean? You don’t think I help out?”
His mom scratched her head, then her neck.
“Want me to get the calamine again?” he asked.
“No, go to bed,” she said.
In his room, he pulled off his Levi’s jacket. There was no bed frame. He dropped onto the mattress.
He dug the brooch out of his pocket and held it up. Oval, white gold or platinum, set with a floral cluster of dark red gems. He counted. One, two, three… twenty in all. Rubies? Garnets?
His father used to dump a gunny sack onto the kitchen counter and eyeball each piece for value.
“This here is fourteen-karat gold.” His father turned it over and handed Barrett a magnifying glass. “See the stamp on the back?”
Barrett nodded.
“There’s white, yellow, and rose gold,” his father said. “Platinum too. Platinum’s white, like this one.” He handed Barrett one of the rings scattered on the counter.
Barrett liked the stones' colors. “What are these? And these?”
“Sapphires. Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds.” His father swept the pieces back into the sack. “Okay, that’s enough geology for today. Your dad’s got to get this to the pawnshop before it closes.”
The brooch was beautiful, and it looked expensive. He hated that it was in his hand. He’d tried to give it back on the sidewalk, but the sirens had chased him off.
She probably thinks I stole it. A knot twisted in his gut.
I’m not my father. I’m not Hunter.
Barrett set the pin down on the wooden crate beside his mattress.
“You’ll get it back,” he whispered. “Promise
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