ABOUT RUNNING AGAINST TRAFFIC
Paige Scott spent her childhood shuffled between relatives who ignored her, and her adult life hiding in her crumbling marriage to wealthy David Davenport. When David suddenly thrusts her into a remote, impoverished world, Paige is forced to face the betrayals of her past - not to mention the colorful townies of her present. Unexpected friendships and her discovery of running propel her on a jagged and comical journey toward learning how to truly live.
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ABOUT GAELEN VANDENBERGH
I am a writer, runner, reader, compulsive list-maker, mother and zookeeper (it feels like it, anyway). I grew up in Philadelphia, moved around a bit – Maine, Boston, NYC, back to Philly – and I have lived here for the past twelve years. I live with my husband and daughter, a fat cat, several fish, and a one-eyed dog.
10 Things You Didn’t Know about Running Against Traffic
1) I
am an avid runner, and have been for many years. Running changed my
life, and I always knew I wanted to incorporate that theme – the
empowerment and new outlook that running can create when you truly need
it most – into a novel. I wanted it to change the life of one of my
characters. Or many!
2) The
original premise for the plot of this novel came to me when my now
ex-husband tried to pressure me to leave Philadelphia. He kept dragging
me to visit dilapidated, crumbling houses in very small towns in the
middle of nowhere. We were having problems, and so I began imagining
(and believing) that he was secretly plotting to move me to one of these
houses, in one of these towns, to dump me there. I became quite
paranoid about it. Needless to say, we didn’t move.
3) I’m in love with Al. Don’t tell my husband. Okay, you can tell him…Al’s fictional, after all.
4) Al
is fictional, but the relationship that develops between Al and Paige,
and what stymies the relationship, from his end, is inspired by a
relationship of mine from years ago.
5) Bryce
may be fictional, but his struggles are not. I know and love people who
have gone through much of what he goes through in this novel.
6) Section II, The Useless Flirtation, was very difficult to write. It made me feel wretched for Paige.
7) I didn’t know what the ending of Running Against Traffic
was going to be, literally until I was writing it. Then I decided I
wasn’t satisfied with leaving it at that, so I started writing a sequel.
8) Many
scenes between Al and Paige hit the cutting room floor. Scenes that I
once thought were important, but then didn’t fit who the characters
became. I wrote more about their relationship than anything else, for a
while! But this was Paige’s journey, not the journey of Paige and Al.
Some scenes will resurface, I think, when the relationship resurfaces.
9) I spent a lot of time getting mad at Bryce, during the writing process, then feeling hypocritical. I’m no angel.
Chapter 1
When
Paige told me all about it, it was well over a year since the shit had
hit her fan, but those solemn brown eyes don’t lie, and she had
forgotten nothing. Still, she asked “You do believe me, don’t you
Chloe?”
I assured her I did. “That would happen to you, Paige. It should.”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She tucked her dark hair behind her
ears and smiled a smile of one peeking around a corner at something
enticing. She looked past me, into space. Around the corner. Into the
new room.
On a sweltering Saturday
in June, David Davenport announced to his wife Paige that he had
purchased a vacation home for them in Wells Lake, a town in northern
Pennsylvania that Paige had never heard of. Philadelphia had been hit by
an early heat wave, but they had left their air-conditioned condo on
Rittenhouse Square to sip sauvignon blanc at a wrought iron table
outside Cafรฉ Rouge. The table teetered every time Paige set down her
glass, and she was so absorbed by it tilting her way, and then David’s
way, and then her way again, as if switching loyalties, that she barely
heard what he said about taking her to see the house the following
weekend. She wiped cold condensation from her water glass onto her
napkin and held the icy glass up to her face, pressing it to each cheek.
“What are we talking about?” she murmured, not looking up. She set her
glass down and fingered around the table for something to tuck under the
table leg.
“…About a four hour drive from here, Tioga County,” David was saying
when she finally gave up her search and looked up at him. He was wearing
a yellow polo shirt, which was not his color. The collar was neatly
pressed, and his Ray Bans rested on top of his full, sandy brown hair
that he liked to gel and tousle. Women found him
handsome. Over the course of their ten year relationship, Paige had
watched them flock and twitter. He was like a colt, Solid, broad in the
chest for his height, always tossing his head and chewing the bit. But
now she could barely hear him. He was talking into the stifling breeze
and looking through her. “We’ll leave around noon on Friday to miss the weekend traffic.”
Paige squinted through her sunglasses. “There’s traffic headed that
way?” she asked, words sticking in the thick air around her. “We’ll see.
I have to check my calendar. I’m not sure what’s going on next
weekend.” She picked through her purse for her phone,
mentally
thumbing through potential escape plans. She was certain that she could
figure out some excuse for not going. If David needed a weekend getaway
to go fishing or bushwhacking, or to attend a tractor pull, or whatever
one did in places like that, he could go by himself. Or, god forbid, if
he felt the two of them needed a romantic pick-me-up or a literal roll
in the hay, she was absolutely not going. Not that he had even vaguely
attempted a single romantic gesture in ages. Not that she wanted him to.
Not that. No.
He stared at her across the table, expressionless, but she felt a
sudden cool ripple of trepidation run through her blood. David was never
still. He picked up his water glass and took a swig from it, catching
an ice cube and chewing it crudely in his whitened teeth. “We’re
going,” he said, practically dropping the glass back down, forefinger
and thumb splayed in the air for a moment longer. “You have nothing else
to do.” Then he smiled, forced and tight. Paige could do nothing but
nod in terse agreement. Damn, she thought.
Damn.
The
waitress approached their table and inquired if they had looked at the
menu but neither of them was hungry. She left them the check for the
drinks, which they sat and sipped for a while longer, silent, watching
the city stream by.
The journey to Wells Lake was long and tedious. Heavy quiet mixed with
carsickness. Paige settled back into the leather seats of David’s Lexus
SUV, their weekend bags carelessly packed and tossed in the back. It was
only two days, she reminded herself, but why
did he have to buy a vacation house there, of all places. Why not a
beach house in Brigantine or Margate, even though she loathed the Shore,
or simply somewhere that she had seen and agreed to beforehand. She was
extremely annoyed with David, and she was not about to put on a
cheerful face and make the weekend pleasant for him. He was not inclined
to chat either, and so they drove over highways, then through towns
steadily dwindling in size and civilization, just your average
acrimonious married couple, getting away from it all. The sun shone on
her bare legs through the sun roof. She stretched them out and leaned
her head against the leather head rest, studying the passing scenery.
The trip stretched on, leading them over highways flanked by
stubborn-looking trees and hills, and roads that rolled out through vast
farm land of weather-beaten barns and mud-spattered grazing cows. The
smell of manure hung in the air. They crossed bridges, and wound through
flat towns with tiny churches and diners, towns that seemed to end as
quickly as they began. And yet, the great open sky above and the
unfamiliar, unwieldy land stretching before and behind them made Paige’s
big city home seem like something miniature, encased in a snow globe.
It was wild and unsettling.
Welcome to Wells Lake,
white lettering on a pine green sign declared, as David pulled into a
small gas station on the edge of another miserable little town that
appeared at first glance to be all on one road, straight ahead of them.
She expected a few blocks up,
where she could only glimpse a wall of forest, there was a sign that read “Come again, if you’re sure you want to.”
David
filled the tank and Paige walked up to the small shop attached to the
service station. She spotted a handful of town brochures on the rack by
the register that held newspapers, and a few tabloids. She perused one
of the brochures, which was more like a
single-sided
bookmark. It explained that Wells Lake, named for an original settler,
had in the early twentieth century been a trade center for a large
surrounding area, and had been the site of several mills, including a
saw mill, a flour mill, and a milk-condensing plant. Now, Paige
discovered as she read on, the town boasted no such exciting amenities.
From what she could see, as she stepped outside and squinted up the main road, it even lacked any sort of quaint village charm. No cobblestones, no flower baskets hanging from old
fashioned
street lamps, no visible evidence of a bed and breakfast, or antique
shops. There appeared to be only two traffic lights on the entire
stretch of road, dangling from black wires, one swaying alongside a pair
of shoes, tied together and hanging from their laces.
Paige looked back down at the bookmark. The remainder of the story of
Wells Lake was summed up in one line, offering nearby fishing, free camp
grounds and hiking trails in the nearby wooded park land. There was a
small sketch under the blurb of a deer and a few trees, and some random
black dots that she assumed represented ticks.
Paige jumped as David honked the horn. She stuffed the brochure into her purse and hurried back to the car.
David steered them off of the main strip. The trees and shrubbery lining the narrow road that he sped along – what the hell was his hurry? -
appeared to be a jungle of weeds and bramble. Paige nervously dabbed
sunscreen onto her fingertips from a tube and patted it onto her cheeks
and nose.
David drove around another bend and crunched up a rutted dirt and
pebble driveway leading to a dilapidated house with a sagging front
porch and peeling lime-green shutters. The siding looked like it might
have been white at one time, but was now the color of dingy mop-water.
“Gee, David, couldn’t you have had it renovated before we
came out here?” Paige asked. She leaned her head back wearily. “What
were you thinking? This place is clearly unsalvageable. Did you even
have it inspected?”
David sprang out of the SUV and slammed his door. Paige sighed and
stepped carefully out her side, wary of where she set her shoes down.
She shaded her eyes with one hand, taking a longer look at the house.
God, it was terrible. She would have to convince David
to
sell it. She certainly was not coming back for any more weekend
getaways here. But who would buy this mess? Finally she turned toward
him, and nearly tripped over her bag which was on the ground beside her. David was standing by the front of the car, arms
folded across his chest.
“What’s the matter with you? Where’s your suitcase?” Paige snapped with
fresh annoyance. “We might as well go in. It’s too hot to stand around
out here all day.”
“I’m not staying,” he said. “What? What do you mean?” Paige asked,
feeling her heart begin to jump against her rib cage.
“You’re staying. I’m going home. This,” he tossed a set of keys onto
her suitcase, “is your home now. There is a bank card in your purse.
Your account is with the local branch on Cherry Street. I had the
utilities turned on, and I arranged for some supplies to be stocked in.
That should get you started. Good luck, and goodbye.”
Paige felt light headed and there was a faint ringing in her ears. She
reached for the passenger-side car door handle and grasped it to steady
herself. David was already climbing back in on his side. He snapped on
his seatbelt and powered down the passenger window. In that instant, she
saw a man she barely knew. He seemed to be wearing a mask of himself.
“I’ll send you the rest of your clothes and things,” he said. “We’re
through. Feel free to see other men.”
“You feel free to see other men, too,” Paige squeaked. But she was
drowned out by the revved engine as the Lexus lurched backward, forcing
her to yank back her hand. The car bumped down the driveway, jerked into
forward and sped around the bend and out of sight.
Driveway dust hung around her in a cloud, suspended in the stagnant
summer air as if time had slowed to a near standstill. A couple of bees
circled lazily nearby and she could hear the faint buzzing. The sun
burned into the top of her head. She blinked up at it like a bewildered
bird pushed from its nest. Then she dropped to the hard, dry ground and
sat watching the dust shimmering above the road where her husband’s
truck had disappeared. The Lexus was gone, but she stared at that empty
road for a long time.
Why was this happening? Hadn’t there been happier times? A gray memory
or two to make them reconsider the end? She focused on drawing in air
and pushing it back out, until she could hear nothing
else. The screaming inside her head ceased. Reality buzzed off with the
bees, and she suddenly laughed out loud. Of course, this is one of
David’s hijinks, she thought, desperately craning her neck and listening
for the car, which would surely come roaring back around the bend at
any moment. She had learned a long time ago that in a refreshing sort of
way, David loved these tricky moves. He possessed a debonair
devil-may-care attitude that Paige had both admired and envied, early
into their courtship. David loved nothing more than to buck rules and
manipulate systems, especially when no one was the wiser. It became
clear later that the last thing David
wanted
to do was change the world or bring down the corrupt. He was just a
tricky rich child, and his antics made him feel taller. Paige was an
extension of his outward appearance, and they could laugh at the world
together in private, but in public he expected her to keep the secret,
and dress, speak and act appropriately.
This was a simple role for Paige. She was a seasoned actress in the
world. She played her role expertly. For a while.
The stream of thoughts slowed to a trickle and then a drip. It was dusk
when Paige began to fade back from her stupor. She was seated
cross-legged on the sparse grass of what was now her lawn – oh god, oh god, this is my lawn, it was all rushing at her, images flashing through her mind, scenes and conversations leading up to this point.
Teetering
table, David staring her down, long, hot drive, gas station, David
driving away. Paige clapped her hands over her eyes and sucked in a deep
breath. As her mind sank into bleak quiet, she dropped her hands to her
knees and focused on them until she was left with only a slow, pulsing
ache in her temples.
Her gaze shifted to the house keys on her suitcase beside her. She
would have to go inside. Eerie evening life was stirring around her. A
twig snapped in one corner of the yard, as from another corner came the
deep croak of what could only be a giant, mutant frog, answered by
another in the shadows under the porch. Oh hell, was the house built on a
swamp? She hugged her knees. They were gathering. Advancing. The shriek
of hundreds of crickets pierced the evening air, and a mosquito the
size of a tarantula floated an inch from her face. Heart pounding, Paige
swung into action, leaping to her
feet and scrambling across the yard and up onto the porch, her suitcase
bumping behind her, breaking a few spindles in the porch railing as she
pulled it up the steps.
With jangly fingers she reached to jam the key into the lock, and saw
with fresh horror that the front door was already slightly ajar. Her
fear quickly gave way to adrenaline, and in a fit of maniacal bravado,
she raised a kitten-heeled sandal and gave the door a roundhouse kick
with all the strength she had. Maybe whatever was inside would be
frightened and jump out a back window. The door banged open with such
force that the doorknob embedded in the wall inside and stuck there.
Paige hurled her suitcase into the front room, wrenched the door free of
the wall, and pushed it shut. There was no
lock except for the keyhole, and to her deep dismay the key kept turning in it, round and round, catching on nothing.
Gingerly flicking on an uncovered switch in the wall, Paige looked
around in the dim light and spotted a chair against the wall. She
dragged it over and propped it under the doorknob. She had seen that
done in movies. It always worked. Next she had to find and turn on every
other light in the house and, canister of Mace in hand, she would check
through every room for squatters, human or otherwise.
Paige looked around the archaic living room, furnished only with a
threadbare sofa and armchair in lurid pink floral. The room contained no
carpet, no coffee table, no high-definition flat-screened television,
just a milk crate in front of the sofa that held a small, old-fashioned
box TV, attached to a black cable that ran across the floor and into the
wall. In the corner was an iron wood stove. The living room spilled
into what she could only guess was a dining room, because it was
completely bare. Well, that’s a shame, she thought. So much for dinner
parties. The wood floors were dinged and scuffed, dotted with small,
splintery holes.
Beyond the dining room was a square, eat-in kitchen, the design of
which appeared to be circa 1960s, because everyone involved had clearly
been on quite the acid trip. The cabinets were a disturbing sunshine
yellow, and every cabinet door was hung on a crooked angle. She opened
the refrigerator and found bottled water, a can of ground coffee, a
carton of milk and a few other food items that David must
have had stocked in. How kind of him, she thought, gnashing her teeth.
She grabbed one of the bottles of water and turned to face the ugliest
kitchen table she had ever seen. It was oval, with four
brown
chairs surrounding it. Its prior owner had painted it nearly the same
vile yellow as the kitchen cabinets, only brighter, making its ugliness
even more startling. Its surface was made uneven by dried globs of paint
and dips and dents under the paint. The splintered edges had been
painted over rather than sanded. Paige shuddered and
looked
past it to a kitchen door, which mercifully had a key in the lock that
worked when she tried it. She peeked behind a dusty gingham ruffle
covering the door’s half-moon window but it had grown too dark to see
anything outside.
Her adrenaline supply was drained, and she suddenly felt deflated and
weak. If there is anything scary in this house, it can have me, she
thought. Leaving her suitcase where she had dropped it by the front
door, she crept up the creaky stairs off of the living room and skulked
through three small bedrooms and a dollhouse-sized bathroom, leaving
lights on everywhere she went for some small comfort. The bedrooms were
sparsely furnished, two with single beds and one with a queen sized bed,
all made up with linens and blankets. Whoever had prepared the house
for human occupants had assumed a family was coming.
Paige decided numbly that she would sleep in the room with the largest
bed, and in a final flailing safety gesture, she peeked under the bed,
and then yanked open the closet door to see what was living inside. The
door promptly broke off of its one rusted hinge and banged to the floor.
Paige looked down at it for a moment, then walked around it and fell
into the bed.Pump Up Your Book and Gaelen VanDenbergh are teaming up to give you a chance to win a $100 Amazon Gift Card!
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- This giveaway begins September 2 and ends September 27, 2013.
- Winners will be contacted via email on Monday, September 30, 2013.
- Winner has 48 hours to reply.
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