About the Book
Title: Just Like The Bronte Sisters
Author: Laurel Osterkamp
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Sisters Skylar and Jo
Beth adore skiing and they virtually share the same soul. After an accident, Jo
Beth flees to Brazil, leaving Skylar behind in Colorado to obsessively read the
Brontë sisters.
While abroad, Jo Beth meets Mitch and her life takes some
unexpected turns, until tragedy leads free-spirited Mitch right into Skylar’s
empty arms.
With their Heathcliff/Catherine romance in full swing, Skylar wants
to trust Mitch, but did he harm her sister? Loving Mitch could make Skylar lose
everything.
Just Like the Brontë Sisters is an unconventional romantic
page-turner inspired by Daphne du Maurier’s My
Cousin Rachel, full of magical realism, literary references, a ghost, and
some healthy doses of suspense.
Author Bio
Laurel Osterkamp is a
Kindle Scout/award-winning author of women’s fiction and suspense. Her “day
job” is as at Columbia Heights High School, where she teaches creative writing,
college writing, and AP Lit.
She resides in Minneapolis with her husband, two
chatty children, an overweight cat, a gecko, and a hissing cockroach (don’t
ask). Her other loves include chocolate, jogging, and
boots.
Links
Book Excerpts
Excerpt #1
Later that evening I
was still pumped. The dim lighting, soft classical music, and the glass of red
wine didn’t mellow me out. Gavin stood
over the stove, stirring his homemade marinara with a small wooden spoon and I
pretended not to notice him watching me as I sat on a stool by the island in
the kitchen, leafing through an Olympics brochure. I could feel the angry path
of a scratch that started at my cheekbone and extended down to my jaw, but I
refused to admit to any discomfort or pain. Doing so would invite in Gavin’s
judgment and concern, and I knew I’d be ingesting them enough tonight as it
was. They may as well have been ingredients in the spaghetti sauce.
I just talked as if
his ears were receptive. “Billy pretended to be mad, but I think he secretly
respected me. After practice today, he
talked like there’s no doubt I’d be in the Olympics. And seriously, being
suspended in the air like that… well, now I understand how people become
adrenaline junkies.”
“I’m surprised you
came out of the whole thing with only a scratch.”
“You sound like my
dad.”
“Then I’ll try to be
less protective,” Gavin gave me a twisty smile as he dipped the spoon into his
sauce and came toward me. “Here, try this. See if it needs more garlic.”
Halfheartedly, I let
him feed me a small amount. We made flat
eye contact and I shrugged. “I think you could go either way. I mean, it’s
fine, but is there such a thing as too much garlic?”
“I don’t know.” He
raised an eyebrow. “I guess that depends; are you letting me sleep in your bed
tonight?”
My eyes awkwardly
glanced away from him and settled back on my Olympics brochure, which had a
picture of a triumphant Bode Miller on the front.
“How long before
dinner?” I kept my voice intentionally light, like I hadn’t registered what
he’d just said. “I might go downstairs and stretch. I still have a leg cramp.”
“I can rub it for you
later.”
I leaned down and
massaged my calf muscle. “Thanks, but I still want to stretch.”
I glanced up to see
Gavin’s smile fade as he stepped away, walked back toward the stove, and spoke
with his back to me. “I think we should talk.” Ominous words if there ever were
any. I stood without going anywhere, as if our situation required formality.
“Did you hear what I said?” Gavin said. “About talking?”
His urgency, his
obvious desperation, propelled words out of my mouth before I could trap them.
“Can’t you just be the guy for once?”
He dropped his spoon
against the stove with a clang. “What? I’m not manly enough for you? I stay
home in the kitchen while you go flying off a mountain, like you’re trying to
be your sister or something...”
“Wait.” My defensiveness
was instant and hot, a rash underneath my skin. “I do something spontaneous,
something strong, and you think I’m just imitating Jo Beth?”
“Skiing past the
safety barricades and off a cliff isn’t strong, it’s reckless, and it’s not
like you.”
“Oh really? Maybe you
don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he
responded, “but it’s not for lack of trying.”
For a long, tense
moment, Gavin stared at me, as if willing me to answer. I shifted my weight and
looked toward the stairs to the basement, where I longed to escape from this
conversation.
“I don’t know what you
want from me,” I finally said.
“It’s simple,” he
replied. “I want you to be safe. I want you to stay here in Black Diamond, and
I want you to admit to me, to yourself, and to everyone else, that you and I
are actually a couple.”
My answer was
spineless. “I don’t know if I can do all that.”
Gavin’s face softened,
maybe because he was as unprepared for my sudden vulnerability as I was. “Which
part don’t you think you can do?”
I could barely squeak
out my response, for fear that it would hurt us both. “All of it.”
Gavin nodded as if
we’d just completed a business transaction. His shoulders rose and tensed as he
turned off the stove with a flick. “I’m going. Just boil some noodles, then
pour the sauce over them. It will taste good.”
I gave Gavin a
reticent smile meant to beg forgiveness, but he wouldn’t look at me. “No, no,”
I said. “Stay. Please, I want you to.”
He walked out of the
kitchen, past me, and towards the front door. I followed and watched as he
removed his wool coat from a hook and bundled up. My hands twitched from
wanting to touch him, to soothe his anger, but my fingers were too timid to
follow through.
He was clearly fuming.
“Be honest, Sky. You’d rather have the night to yourself.”
I pictured the evening
ahead of me, should he leave. It would start with a cold blast of air as he
opened the door, a slamming sound as he walked away, and then the emptiness and
guilt as I poured his marinara sauce into the sink, a blood red stream
trickling down the drain because I couldn’t stomach eating his dinner without
him. “That’s not true,” I said, trying
to keep my voice close. “I just don’t get why we have to turn into something
serious, into something that we’re not.”
“Because I’m tired of
being ‘that guy’—the one you kill time with when you have nothing else to do.”
I felt my face heat up
“I admit that I’m anxious to get out of here and into the Olympics. But my
restlessness isn’t about you. I’m just sick of waiting for something to happen.
You’re still my favorite person to spend time with.”
He paused, hand on the
doorknob. I could see how he wanted to leave, how he wanted to stay even
more. “Please don’t go,” I continued.
“That sauce you made is delicious, and you don’t have to add any more garlic.
That way our breath won’t stink too bad—you know, later on.”
I stepped in closer to him and put my hand on
the back of his neck. He relaxed under my touch.
“Fine, okay.” Gavin
whispered as he removed his jacket and we walked back into the kitchen
together.
Later, I was in the
bathroom, gargling with mouthwash. Green foam oozed down my chin and I used the
sleeve of my oversized ski team jersey, which I wore as a nightshirt, to wipe
it away. As I spat out the rest of the
mouthwash I met my own eyes in the mirror.
Was that hesitation or
fear lodged on my face?
I spat again, cupped
my hand over my mouth, and breathed in and out through my nose, checking for
signs of bad breath. There had been a lot of garlic in Gavin’s sauce. But I was
satisfied that I passed the halitosis test, so I fished in the drawer, digging
past hair brushes, tweezers, and a bottle of ADVIL to finally find an unopened
box of condoms, which I had previously shoved into the very back, out of sight.
Briefly I studied the
box that I bought months ago as a precautionary measure. I ripped open the blue
and gold packaging, which read Trojan Ultra-Thin Pleasure Pack, and clumsily
pulled one out. How could this shiny silver square, which looked like it
contained candy, make me so nervous?
Skiing off a cliff was nothing compared to this. I wrapped my fingers
around the bright foil package, making a fist, so I didn’t have to see evidence
of what I was about to do. I told myself that losing my virginity didn’t make
me Becky Sharp of Vanity Fair and that becoming a sexual person didn’t turn me
into an anti-heroine. I would instead be like Jo March, sleeping with her love,
the professor, for the first time, somewhere off in the dusky void that existed
away from well-lit pages underneath a reading lamp.
One more look in the
mirror; this time it was a look of resolve. I studied the scratch on my cheek,
made this afternoon by my ski pole when I’d landed in the snow, and lightly
traced it down my cheek. “Gavin, I’m in the mood for more adventure,” I
whispered to my reflection, rehearsing. I closed my eyes, shook my head in
disgust, and then faced my reflection once again.
“Let’s take a chance
tonight, okay?”
I gave my reflection
the most provocative expression I could muster. My shoulders moved up and down,
and then I walked out of the bathroom, determined to fly, not fall, off the
cliff that I was launching myself from.
Excerpt #2
Mitch used tweezers to
not-so-gently remove all the glass from Jo Beth’s skin. They sat in the
bathroom, her atop the toilet with its lid down, and Mitch on the floor, his
back leaning against the edge of the tub as he picked out the glass piece by
piece, shard by shard, dropping each one into the wastebasket.
Occasionally he’d look
up and his wide, dark eyes pooled with distress.
Jo Beth couldn’t keep
silent. “Mitch, I swear that she started it. Magda hit me with that spoon and
then she cut herself to make it seem like it was my fault.”
Mitch’s chest heaved
up and down. He kept his eyes on her knees. “Jo Beth, you have to stop.”
“But I’m telling the
truth.”
“Jo Beth!” His inhale
was sharp, like he’d just been hit. “Once the baby is born, we’ll leave. I don’t
care where we go, but we’ll figure something out. Until then, you have to keep
it together.”
“She’s still in love
with you, Mitch.” Jo Beth could say this as loud as she wanted because Magda
was out, having taken herself to the emergency room after Mitch said that her
cut probably needed stitches.
Mitch vehemently shook
his head. “No. It’s not like that. She dumped me.”
“Wait, what?” Jo Beth
felt her brain synapses coil tightly in confusion. “I thought you said that
your breakup was mutual.”
He dug the tweezers
into the base of her ankle, right where some glass was lodged. Suddenly Jo Beth
felt like he was playing that board game, Operation, and she was as real to him
as the clownish cartoon character who needs gas bubbles removed from his
stomach.
“No,” Mitch replied. “She decided it was time,
after I lost my ability to see through the blood-red cloud that surrounds her.
That’s what happened.”
“Ouch!” Jo Beth yanked
her foot away. His excavation attempts were just too vigorous. “What are you
talking about? What blood-red cloud?”
Mitch grabbed her foot
back and held it tight as he mined for more glass. “The one that surrounds
Magda?” His tone was condescending and impatient, almost as bad as his nursing
skills. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”
“Mitch…”
He wouldn’t look at
her but stayed focused on his task.
“Mitch, you’re
honestly telling me that a blood-red cloud hovers around Magda?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I
realize that not everyone can see it, but I can. I’ve always been able to see
things that other people can’t. My ability is more a curse than a blessing.”
The pressure behind Jo
Beth’s eyes was uncomfortable, just like the pricking of Mitch’s tweezers.
Could he possibly be for real? “Why haven’t you ever mentioned this before?”
“Magda wanted it to be
our secret,” he said simply. “But things changed, she broke up with me, and it
was fine. There was no tidal wave, no crisis, she didn’t disappear, and we
stayed friends.” Mitch finally dislodged the last pieces of glass and after
depositing them in the trash can, he dropped the tweezers like he was dropping
a microphone. “And I love you, Jo. But you have to stop acting so crazy.”
She had to stop acting
so crazy? Jo Beth just nodded and gripped the edges of the toilet beneath her.
How could one little statement from this man change everything?
she kissed him on the
cheek. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”
Jo Beth went to bed
and lay there until she heard Magda come in, and then there was the sound of
their voices speaking in low, romantic tones. Were they kissing? Had they been
intimate with each other this entire time? She was surprised to realize that
she didn’t even care. But when Jo Beth was sure they were too consumed with
each other’s company to worry about her, she got out her cell phone, hid under
the covers so her voice would be muffled, and called Skylar. It was the middle
of the night where she was, so Jo Beth thought for sure she’d answer, but it
went straight to voicemail.
“Sky,” Jo Beth
whispered. “You have to believe me because Mom doesn’t. Magda and Mitch have
charmed her into believing that they’re innocent. But I know the truth. Magda
is an evil bitch and Mitch is crazy.” She took a deep breath, trying not to
feel claustrophobic underneath the covers. “I’m actually sort of relieved,” she
continued. “Maybe Mitch actually does love me. Maybe’s it’s not his fault that
he’s insane. I don’t know how long he’s been like this, maybe his whole life,
but it explains everything. It explains why I can’t trust him.” She tried to
keep her tears out of her voice. She had to stay strong. “Skylar, where are
you? Why didn’t you come? I have to get myself and my baby away from Mitch.
Once she’s born I’m going to leave and I’ll need your help. Promise that you’ll
help me.” She took a deep sniff. “We need to talk in person. I don’t know how
that will happen, but just know that I love you. You’re my favorite and I love
you best of all.”
She pressed end,
emerged from the covers, and sat up. Then she reached under the bed and removed
the knife she’d kept beneath the mattress for over two weeks. Jo Beth gripped
it in her sweaty hand, wondering if she was capable of murder, or if her
subconscious just liked to pretend. Hell. She was pretty sure she was capable.
The bigger question was whether she was up for the effort that murder required.
Exhaustion slowly dripped through her, turning her muscles and mind to slush.
She must have fallen asleep with the knife still in her grip, because after
what seemed like hours, she woke to Mitch’s face looming above hers.
“Why are you holding a
knife?” His voice was sharp, like the blade she clutched.
“Huh?”
He took the knife from
her and her breath caught. If he wanted to kill her, right here, right now,
there was no stopping him. “Are you afraid of me, Jo Beth?”
She pushed him away
and struggled into a sitting position. “No, Mitch. I’m not afraid of you. But I
think we should break up.”
“What?”
“As soon as I have the
baby I’m going home with my mom.”
Mitch closed his eyes
and fell back against the bed. “You can’t do that,” he whispered.
She took the knife
from his hand and he let it go without protest. “Yeah, I can.”
His eyes rolled toward
the ceiling. “So much water,” he said, holding out his palms as if to catch a
nonexistent flood. “Like the roof is crying.”
“Mitch…” She placed
her hand on his shoulder. He sat up abruptly and swiped back the knife. “Why
can’t we just be okay? Is that too much to ask?”
Suddenly Jo Beth was
afraid, but not of Mitch. There was a flood, but it wasn’t coming from the
roof. It came from between her legs. “Mitch!” she cried. “Stop being
delusional. My water just broke.”
Ever since Gloria Silk was little her passion was creating and sharing her romantic stories with others. She always loved reading contemporary and historical novels that grasped her imagination. Gloria now writes intense, sensuous love stories.
