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328 pages, Paperback
First published August 19, 2021
Promises lose their value when broken or chipped, like dusty, forgotten antiques.
Secrets are only secrets for the people who don't know them yet.
That's the problem with following in someone else's footsteps; if you leave a bigger mark than they did they tend to get upset.
Sometimes the early bird eats too many worms and dies.
We鈥檝e tried date nights, and marriage counseling, but spending more time together isn鈥檛 always the same as spending less time apart. You can鈥檛 get this close to a cliff edge without seeing the rocks at the bottom, and even if my husband doesn鈥檛 know the full story, he knows that this weekend is a last attempt to mend what got broken.Nothing like having a positive attitude when you鈥檙e trying to salvage a troubled marriage.
What he doesn鈥檛 know, is that if things don鈥檛 go according to plan, only one of us will be going home.
We鈥檙e both pretty good at keeping up appearances and I find people see what they want to see. But behind closed doors, things have been wrong with Mr. and Mrs. Wright for a long time.All right, this is getting way too close for comfort. (see first marriage noted above) The mutual discomfort in their marriage is clear, to the reader, anyway, but there are mitigating circumstances.
Adam has a neurological glitch called prosopagnosia, which means he cannot see distinguishing features on faces, including his own.Face blindness makes it tough to deal in a very social world, if one cannot differentiate friend from foe, or lover from casual acquaintance. But, as is the case for many people with unusual qualities, he has learned to compensate. The sound of a voice, a personal scent, individual physical movements. Enough so that he found someone willing, eager even, to marry him.
Adam was right, there are no ghosts or gargoyles, but the place definitely feels spooky. Everything is made of ancient-looking stone鈥攖he walls, the ceiling, the floor鈥攁nd it鈥檚 so cold down here that I can see my breath. I count three rusted metal rings embedded in the wall, and do my best not to think about what they were used for.A basement crypt, reached via trapdoor, has been converted to a wine cellar. Is vino the only spirit down there?
The light from the old-fashioned candlestick holder he is carrying casts ghostly shadows around the bedroom, so that now I feel like I鈥檓 in a Charles Dickens novel.Much of the inspiration for the book derived from a visit Feeney made in 2018, to a creepy renovated chapel in Scotland, a visit that featured a 鈥淏east from the East鈥� snowstorm, and a mysterious face in a window. Some other personal items made it into the book. Feeney does her writing in a garden shed, a characteristic she bestowed on Adam. There was a discomfiting wardrobe in Feeney鈥檚 real-world chapel. She imagined secret stairs from there, which became the basement wine-cellar/crypt, accessible only via a trap door.
Things have been wrong with Mr and Mrs Wright for a long time. When Adam and Amelia win a weekend away to Scotland, it might be just what their marriage needs. Self-confessed workaholic and screenwriter Adam Wright has lived with face blindness his whole life. He can鈥檛 recognize friends or family, or even his own wife.Rock Paper Scissors is a delight of a read. Feeney does an excellent job of inserting hooks at chapter ends to make sure it is a challenge for you to either get up and do things that need doing, or turn off the light and go to sleep.
Every anniversary the couple exchange traditional gifts--paper, cotton, pottery, tin--and each year Adam鈥檚 wife writes him a letter that she never lets him read. Until now. They both know this weekend will make or break their marriage, but they didn鈥檛 randomly win this trip. One of them is lying, and someone doesn鈥檛 want them to live happily ever after.
Ten years of marriage. Ten years of secrets. And an anniversary they will never forget.
The first match I strike goes out almost instantly鈥攊t鈥檚 an old box.
I use the second to try and get my bearings, but I still can鈥檛 see the steps, and I鈥檓 struggling to get enough air into my lungs.
The third match I strike briefly illuminates part of the wall, and I notice all the scratch marks on the surface. It looks like someone, or something, once tried to claw their way out of here.
I try to stay calm, remember to breathe, but then the flame burns the tips of my fingers and I drop the final match on the floor.
Everything is black.
And then I hear it again. My name being whispered. Right behind me.
Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.
My breaths are too shallow, but I can鈥檛 control them and I think I鈥檓 going to faint. No matter what direction I look in, all I can see is darkness. Then I hear the sound of scratching.
I work in my garden shed now with my cowriter, a giant black Labrador who is scared of feathers.-----Mystery and Thriller Mavens 鈥� 8/30/2021 - 鈥� Video 鈥� 41:06