UNDER AN INDIANA SKY by Lynne Hugo: Excerpt
Under an Indiana Sky
Denise has never trusted her sister Angie’s boyfriend, Brock—not only because Angie pulls away from caring for their disabled mother, but because something about him doesn’t add up. Brock’s mother, Nora, has doubts of her own, even as she tries to begin a new chapter in her life. Meanwhile, Mercedes, a bar owner and one of the few people who sees Brock clearly, begins to understand the danger surrounding him. And Julie, Denise’s observant fourteen-year-old daughter, notices the alarming changes in her aunt as addiction takes hold.
Only a few see the truth before it’s too late.
As the community searches for answers, the line between accident and intent begins to blur—and those left behind must decide whether they are willing to face the truth, no matter the cost.
An Excerpt from the opening of UNDER AN INDIANA SKY by Lynne Hugo
“Exactly how does Brock happen to be free to come by in the afternoon when you’re off work on a weekday? Doesn’t he have a job?” Denise asked, turning from the carrot she was chopping for salad to look square at her sister. Angie, who was supposed to be making the noodles, stood all huffy, hands on her hips and flipping back her long blonde hair. The kitchen timer squatting on the tan Formica counter had dinged some time ago, the pasta about to boil over. Angie ignored both these and the point of the question, narrowing her eyes as if Denise had gone looney. “He does. What do you care? Brock and I were just sitting on the porch. It’s not like we’re doing something scandalous. Unless him touching my knee is suddenly X-rated.” Denise sighed as she put down the nice, sharp knife she wanted to use as a weapon and moved over to the stove, just as the foaming pasta water rushed over the side and splashed, hissing around the burner. No way was she cleaning that up. Angie could damn well do it herself. She snatched the handle to move the pot and turned off the heat.
“Dammit, can’t you even watch water boil? Touching your knee? Feeling your leg up is probably more like it.” But then, not to be deterred by what Angie had inadvertently revealed, she pivoted back to her point. “Do you see what he’s driving?”
“It’s called a car.” Hands still on hips.
“What kind of young guy drives a Cadillac? When did he buy it? Like for cash a hot minute after the dealer got it, or a buddy stole it, or what?”
Now Angie acted like she was all confused, an act Denise wasn’t buying for a minute.
“It’s used?” Angie said, scrunching up her face and shaking her head. “What are you saying? You’re bitching because he drives a nice car?”
This edition of the argument was in their mother’s kitchen. Denise had brought over a meaty spaghetti sauce and felt the need to supervise Angie cooking the noodles, so their mother wouldn’t end up with tooth-breakers again. The vegetables to the side were for a nutritious salad. Having done all this and more, Denise had the right to at least try to set Angie straight about the shady character she was dating, though her sister’s attitude wore her out. She wanted to get home to Scott and the kids now; it had started to get dark earlier, the earth revving up its engine for another brutal mid-Indiana winter.
Except Angie went on, rhapsodizing about how Brock had some free time coming soon and how he hoped she would too, trying to wheedle Denise into coming over to take care of their mom more so she could go out. It was the same as Angie pushing the Go button for Denise to send her fighter planes down the runway. Denise wasn’t stupid. Now, she could tell her sister forced herself into a mild tone.
“Denise, give me a break. You’ve met him exactly once. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down. I don’t know what your problem is.”
In the living room the local news was on, and Denise knew their mother was likely memorizing it so she could detail the area crimes later to a captive daughter, which was exactly why Denise would clear out as soon as she made sure dinner was edible. Not that their mother complained about Angie’s cooking, but she was too nice. Angie didn’t want their mom hearing what Denise had to say about Brock because Angie knew she would never catch on by herself. Again, too nice—and too naïve.
So Denise didn’t lower her decibel level. “You know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean. You don’t know what his job is other than he’s in some ‘business,’ and he drives a big fancy car. Oh, and his hours are weird. Doesn’t any of that seem strange? And those noodles will be like squished worms if you don’t drain them now.”
It was the first time Denise had laid it out that way about Brock. She saw that she’d startled Angie, as if she’d opened the door of an unfamiliar closet and Angie had glimpsed into a murky darkness. But Angie immediately slammed the door shut. She shot back at Denise in a loud whisper.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
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Lynne Hugo is the award-winning author of seventeen books and a licensed, practicing psychotherapist. Her work is known for its psychological depth, emotional precision, and compassionate insight into human behavior. With a background in poetry, she brings a lyrical sensibility even to the most unflinching subject matter. She lives in Oxford, Ohio. Learn more at LynneHugo.com.
Category: On Writing
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