House Broken, by Sonja Yoerg
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House Broken, by Sonja Yoerg
Best PDF Ebook Online House Broken, by Sonja Yoerg
A woman skilled at caring for animals must learn to mend the broken relationships in her family . . .
House Broken, by Sonja Yoerg- Amazon Sales Rank: #6112751 in Books
- Brand: Yoerg, Sonja
- Published on: 2015-03-01
- Format: Large Print
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.60" h x 1.20" w x 5.70" l, .0 pounds
- Binding: Library Binding
- 500 pages
Review "A stunning debut that will leave readers wanting more! Yoerg is on par with established women's fiction authors such as Jennifer Weiner and Sarah Pekkanen." Library Journal starred review."Sonja Yoerg draws readers in from the very beginning and doesn't let go until the last word is read...[A] well-written novel that is gripping for readers." RT Reviews“House Broken is a beautifully rendered debut. It’s smart, heartbreaking, and thought provoking… This wonderful novel is destined to be a hit with book clubs.”—Beth Hoffman, New York Times Bestselling Author of Saving Cee Cee Honeycutt “A riveting tale exploring the power of family secrets.“—Ellen Marie Wiseman, Author of What She Left Behind "Sonja Yoerg creates a compelling tale of a family gone awry, and the ultimate cost of maintaining shameful secrets. House Broken is everything I love in women’s fiction…beautiful writing, strong characters, a dash of mystery, and the hope for redemption."—Lori Nelson Spielman, International Bestselling Author of The Life List “Gorgeously written with characters that shine.”—Eileen Goudge, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Replacement Wife “A sparkling and insightful debut.”—Emily Liebert, author of When We Fell “With marvelous wit, Yoerg shows us that for almost every dark pocket of pain a family’s history hides, there is, ultimately, a ray of light and love.”—Julie Lawson Timmer, Author of Five Days Left
About the Author Sonja Yoerg grew up in Stowe, Vermont, and earned her Ph.D. in Biological Psychology from the University of California at Berkeley. Her non-fiction book about animal intelligence, Clever as a Fox was published in 2001. She currently lives in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with her husband. Together they run, garden, remodel houses, cook, eat, drink wine, then run some more. House Broken is her first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***Copyright © 2014 Sonja Yoerg
Chapter One
Geneva
Dr. Geneva Novak stared at the X ray clipped to the light box on the wall. She tilted her head sideways and squinted at the contents of the dog’s stomach. The iPod was obvious—it faced her—but the object protruding from the large blurry mass stumped her. Rectangular, with two bright white bars. Only metal lit up like that.
She clenched her jaw. This would be the third time she would have to operate on Zeke to remove things he’d swallowed, things his owner shouldn’t have left lying around. After the second incident, she had talked to the owner at length about how to protect his dog. She recommended he walk Zeke daily, so the dog wouldn’t turn to mischief out of boredom, and suggested he either keep his apartment orderly or confine the dog when he left the house. Nearly all dogs come to love their crates, she reassured him. Geneva had written down the instructions and told him he could call her anytime for help. But when Zeke’s owner brought him in this morning, he confessed he hadn’t followed through on anything. And the outcome was illuminated in black and white on the wall.
Eyes still on the X ray, she pulled a hair band from the pocket of her lab coat and secured her dark hair into a tidy bun that would fit under her scrubs cap. Her cell phone, abandoned on the desk behind her, warbled. She touched the icon. A message from Dublin. It’s Mom, it read. Call me.
Geneva sighed. “It’s always Mom.”
Holding it by the edges as if it were rigged to explode, she placed the phone on the corner of her desk, and took a step back. Her mother, represented by three letters on a tiny screen, had intruded the sanctity of her workplace and unbalanced her. Exhaling completely, she pulled her broad shoulders down and back, a habit from her yoga days that helped her focus.
She didn’t have to call Dublin, not right away. For all he knew she could be in surgery or have back-to-back appointments all afternoon. She might have left her phone on the kitchen counter this morning, or the battery might have died. Whatever had happened—whatever her mother, Helen, had done this time—could wait, ideally forever. Geneva had Zeke to take care of and another surgery after that. Helen was better off in Dublin’s hands in any case. Hadn’t he been dealing with her for years? And what could Geneva do from five hundred miles away?
Down the hall in the treatment room, a dog barked, setting off several others. Rosa, an intern from Marin High School, appeared in the office doorway, clutching a stack of files to her chest. She rocked on the toes of her red sneakers and grinned at Geneva.
“Zeke’s almost done with his fluids, Dr. Novak. He’ll be ready for surgery in about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” She turned toward the image of the mysterious object imprisoned in Zeke’s rib cage. “Hold on a minute, Rosa. If Zeke’s owner is still here, can you ask him if he’s also missing a charger?”
“Are you serious?”
“Bull terriers are notorious for their dietary indiscretion.” She noted Rosa’s blank expression. “They’ll eat anything. Still, Zeke’s taste for electronics has less to do with genetics than boredom. Zeke was made a geek, not born one.”
Rosa laughed, tossed her braid off her shoulder, and disappeared.
The call to her brother would have to wait. She took a last look at the X ray, flicked off the light box and went to change into scrubs.
At three o’clock Geneva finally unpacked her lunch. Her cell phone vibrated under the paper bag. Dublin again. She couldn’t avoid this any longer.
“Hi. I was going to call you.”
“Yeah? You got my message? Good. Listen, I know you’re slammed at work. When aren’t you, right? But I just need a minute, okay?” Dublin’s tone sounded more frenetic than usual. She sat up straighter. “Here’s the story, Ginny. Act One. Lights come up. The set’s deserted but there’s an empty vodka bottle on a side table. You can’t miss it.”
“Dublin, just tell me what’s going on. You can write the scene later.”
“I am telling you. Welcome to Act Two. Mom crashed her car. One leg is pretty mashed up for starters. God knows what else. She wasn’t too drunk to remember her seat belt, so we can expect an Act Three.”
The blood rushed from her head. She lowered the phone from her ear and stared at it with a mix of disbelief and anger. The seconds ticked by on the call timer. She listened to Dublin’s voice, now small in the palm of her hand. How easy it would be to quiet him, to hear nothing more about her mother. She could simply slide her finger an inch to the right. What was technology for if not such a convenience?
She raised the phone to her ear. “Sorry.”
“You okay, Ginny? Didn’t you hear me shouting? I was about to call reception and have them check on you. Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m really sorry.” A car accident. How often had she asked her mother to get in the habit of taking taxis when sober, so she would automatically call one when she had been drinking? Helen’s opportunities to train herself were diminishing. Was it even noon when she had the accident? Geneva pictured the buckled hood of her mother’s blue Mustang, shattered glass on concrete, the rear doors of an ambulance. “Was anyone else hurt? Please tell me she didn’t kill anyone.”
“She didn’t kill anyone, but the cop at the hospital said she took out a few parked cars along Wilshire. The last one was an armored truck in front of a bank. The drivers thought she rammed them on purpose, so one of them drew his gun on her. That brought the cops pretty quickly. Everyone kept their heads, though. The only thing that went off was the airbag.”
“My God.” She dropped her forehead onto the heel of her hand.
“I know. Even I can’t write stuff this good.”
“Are you still at the hospital? Which one?”
“The Good Samaritan. And no. I was there but didn’t get to see her. I had to pick up Jack.”
When Dublin’s son, Jack, was diagnosed with autism four years ago, Dublin’s life had gone from rosy to harried. He and his wife, Talia, had a complex tag-team schedule, which was already subject to the mercy of L.A. traffic. A trip to the emergency room wouldn’t have been easy. Geneva felt a stab of guilt for Dublin’s burdens, then immediate gratitude for her two healthy children. Then a bit more guilt for that.
“What can I do, Dub?”
“Stay tuned.” He gave her the phone number of the hospital, and said he’d leave a message when he heard from the doctor.
Geneva called Zeke’s owner after the surgery and told the young man it had gone well. She gave him general directions for postoperative care and promised to leave a detailed instruction sheet at reception.
She was about to say good-bye when he asked, “Any chance the iPod still works? The way these vet bills keep piling up, I can’t afford another one.”
She suppressed the urge to hang up. “I didn’t test it,” she said evenly. “And I didn’t match up the socks I found in there either. There were three this time. And two pairs of women’s underwear.”
“For real? That dog is nuts.”
“Nuts? Hardly. Are you waiting for Zeke to reform himself? He needs you to take charge. Do the things I suggested before. Exercise him every day. A tired dog is a good dog. Don’t give him the run of the house when you can’t monitor what he’s doing. And, at the risk of sounding like your mother, pick up your socks.”
Geneva sent off the last urgent email of the day and noticed Constantine Corso leaning against the doorframe. Burly and square-jawed, “Stan” looked less like a veterinarian than a retired hit man.
“Zeke vacuuming his house again?”
“Yes. And he’ll be back. I’m not sure it was ethical to have sewn him up. Perhaps a Ziploc closure next time.”
“A lot of dogs eat things they shouldn’t, Geneva. Their owners can’t always stop them.”
“But they should try, Stan. That poor dog.”
Her cell phone buzzed from inside her lab coat. She pulled it out. Her brother again.
“You want me to show you how to answer that?” Stan teased.
“I’m not a Luddite,” she replied, more sharply than she meant to. “I just think connectivity is oversold. Case in point. Here we were, having a nice little chat about the moral quandaries surrounding sock-eating dogs, when this electronic buttinski interrupts with a message I know I don’t want.” She held the phone aloft. “I’m tempted to feed this to Zeke.” She slapped the phone onto the desk.
Stan lifted his eyebrows. She bit her lower lip and turned to the window. Outside, a woman in a blue coat holding a cat carrier walked down the path. A small girl skipped ahead of her. Geneva let out a long breath. Stan stepped into the room and sat in the chair across from her.
“Care to share with the class?” he said quietly.
In the three hours since she had talked to her brother, she hadn’t paused to think about her mother. In fact, she’d made a point of not thinking about her, and not only because of the demands of her job. The It’s Mom message gave her a familiar wrench-in-the-works feeling because each incident involving her mother upended her life. Last time Helen left a pan unattended, and while she was out cold on the couch, the kitchen curtains caught fire. Taking a nap, she had said. The repairs and insurance claim took weeks to sort out. A year before that, her mother was stranded in Vegas and, having reached the cash limits on her accounts, hawked her jewelry and burned through the proceeds. As in the past, there would be consequences. Legalities. Arguments. Reparations. And, eventually, promises to do better. Those were the worst.
She considered what to tell Stan. A few years ago, he had met her mother during a rare visit. Helen had embarrassed everyone by flirting ostentatiously with Stan in front of his wife. But Stan knew no more about Helen than Geneva revealed—not a great deal.
“Geneva?”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. My mother’s had a car accident.”
“Oh, no. How bad is it?”
“Serious but not life threatening, as far as I know. My brother was updating me.” She tapped the phone on her desk.
“Can I do anything?”
It’s my life and I can’t even control it, she thought. What could anyone else do? “I’ve kept someone waiting in Room Two for twenty minutes. It’s my last appointment. You free?”
“You bet,” he said, getting up. “And let me know if you’ll need time off.”
Dublin’s message was a list: fractured knee and leg, broken nose (from the airbag, she presumed), dislocated shoulder, possible concussion, monitoring for internal injuries, stable. He had placed the word stable in quotes. She smiled thinly at the quip, then winced as she imagined her mother in a hospital bed, in a hip cast, her nose taped across the bridge, and bruises blooming under her closed eyes.
Geneva lifted the leash off the hook behind the door and hung up her lab coat. She left her office and stopped by reception to remind the assistant to check on Zeke later that evening.
Outside the treatment room, she peeked through the window in the door. Rosa was bent over a computer next to Diesel, Geneva’s Great Dane–chocolate Lab mix. The dog had recognized her footfall in the corridor and sat up expectantly, his head cocked to one side. She pushed open the door and called to him. He trotted across the room and sat in front of her, his nose at her waist, and lifted a paw. She held it and inspected the strip of adhesive tape on his forelimb. Tom, her husband, had brought Diesel to the clinic that morning to donate blood for a dog that had been hit by a car.
She stroked Diesel’s ears flat. “How’s my brave boy? Ready for the steak I promised you?”
The marsh wasn’t on her way home. By the time she stood on the path that ran along Pickleweed Inlet, the shadow of Mount Tamalpais had turned the water midnight blue. A pair of kayaks, pointed toward Sausalito, slipped along the eelgrass at the marsh’s edge. She walked Diesel only a short distance, not wanting to tire him after the transfusion. Raising her binoculars, she scanned for unusual shorebirds. A dowitcher probed the sand and a handful of sandpipers huddled close before scattering like children at recess. The head of a harbor seal surfaced twenty feet from shore. It regarded her briefly, then vanished, leaving the merest ripple.
The binoculars had been a tenth-birthday present from her father, Eustace, who died less than two years later. The weight of them on the strap around her neck calmed her as she looked across the water at the reeds on the distant bank, Diesel’s shoulder against her thigh. Her father had no particular love for birds, but Geneva tagged along when he hunted turkey or small game in the lush Carolina wood. He said searching for songbirds would keep her occupied during the long, quiet mornings in the woods. Walking behind him on the narrow paths in the predawn glow, his back as broad as the trunks of the ancient cottonwoods around them, she felt safe, and because of that, happy. They only spoke occasionally, when he would drop to one knee and show her some animal sign—a new opening in the bramble or a print in the dewy moss—his voice so low it sank into the damp mulch at their feet. He never minded when there was nothing to shoot, and she never minded when there was. The harsh crack of the rifle and the limp rabbits and doves represented the practical cost of the joy of those mornings.
That marked the beginning of her interest in animals, and the beginning of who she was to become. When her father died, she felt forsaken. A few years passed before she also felt cheated. Her eldest sister, Paris, was nearly an adult when he died, and his love for her was blinding, uncommon. Geneva, by comparison, was a child in the shadows. He had missed out on her entirely.
She turned toward the car. Tom would be wondering where she was. She would have to explain why she hadn’t called him about Helen. He would nod with understanding. And when he asked if she wanted him to go with her to L.A., she would watch for the measured disappointment on his face as she admitted she hadn’t decided whether to go.
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16 of 16 people found the following review helpful. Sonja Yoerg brings a fresh and voice to women’s fiction. By Maryellen Geneva Novak, a successful veterinarian, was never close to her Mother. She always kept a safe distance from her toxicity. Now that Geneva is married to Tom, the kind of guy who thinks that all family should be held close, Geneva is going to be welcoming her convalescing Mother into her home.Helen, Geneva’s mother, loves her Vodka. She learned to love it after her husband died of liver failure years before. She loves it so much that she drank a bunch of it and then smashed her car. This type of destructive behavior isn’t new and this is why Geneva is reluctant to have her mother around her two teenage children who are already showing some signs of rebellion.When Geneva tries to pull in her two sisters, Paris and Florence, and her brother, Dublin, old family secrets will come out~~secrets that are devastating and damning. These are secrets that will forever cause a divide so deep in this family that there will be no hope of healing. And yet, these very same secrets will bring closer together a mother and daughter bent on drifting apart.Debut Novelist Sonja Yoerg has given the literary world a book that will leave you reeling. I was stunned with the direction the story went. The characters that she builds are so relatable. The story is told from three POV’s~~Geneva’s, Helen’s and Ella’s (Geneva’s teenage daughter). It was incredible to read from one author such different styles. She brings a fresh and voice to women’s fiction. Watch out for her, you’re going to be hearing a lot more about her.4.5 StarsAnd advance copy of this book was provided to me by the author. The opinions above are expressly my own.
12 of 12 people found the following review helpful. Strong, strong debut! By Melissa I first discovered Sonja Yoerg when her nonfiction book about animal intelligence, Clever as a Fox, popped up on Goodreads (“How interesting!” said the animal lover in me). I was fascinated by this author’s professional experiences and grew even more so as I got to know her wit and charm through social media. It goes without saying that I couldn’t wait to dig in to her fiction debut, House Broken, to see how pieces of Yoerg’s professional background fit into her fictional story. She certainly did not disappoint (and I’m quite thrilled to have gotten an advance copy).It’s clear, in this story of family relationships and hidden secrets, Yoerg understands the complexities of animal AND human behavior. Told through the points of view of three characters – Geneva, her mother Helen, and Geneva’s daughter Ella – we learn so much about the ways people misunderstand one another. Family dynamics and dysfunction play a primary role in this story, aided by the author’s clever insertion of canine analogies and connections to the wild.Says Geneva of her son Charlie’s behavior: “Habits were hard to break; a child cutting corners and bending the rules was the same as a dog with a habit of digging. Look the other way, and a hole becomes a tunnel, and the dog is somewhere on the far side of the fence.”Through Geneva’s recollection of childhood, we see a remarkable human connection to animals and the natural world. “One summer morning she had been sitting on a log for half an hour when she detected a change in her surroundings. A moment passed, then a Cooper’s hawk swooped down to snatch a warbler from the air…. At the time, she concluded that the gravity of certain events ran slightly ahead in time. If she paid close attention, she could sense the subliminal shudder preceding something dangerous, or spectacular.”While wildlife and nature lend a lovely backdrop to this story, it is, ultimately, a tale about family and the poisonous effects of hidden secrets. Despite the story’s serious nature, Helen’s character provides some laugh-out-loud moments with her particular turns of phrase. One of my favorites was the description of her husband going “ass over teakettle” as he fell into a bunker while golfing.Helen may sum up the essence of this story best when she thinks to herself, “The past wasn’t a guest you could ask to leave when you tired of its company. No, the past put up its feet and meant to stay.” If you enjoy introspective character-driven women's fiction with smart writing that grapples with tough issues, this is the book for you. I’m personally looking forward to the next story by this wonderful author!
12 of 13 people found the following review helpful. Tackling highly-charged topics, multi-generational dark family secrets and complexities, mixed with humor and wisdom! By Judith D. Collins A special thank you to the author and NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.Don’t be fooled by the adorable dog cover (loved the cover-hats off to the designer), as between the pages of Sonja Yoerg’s brilliantly written and remarkable character-driven debut novel, HOUSE BROKEN is an intense and compelling “grown-up adult novel.” Tackling highly-charged topics, multi-generational dark family secrets and complexities, mixed with humor and wisdom, for a bittersweet “Must Read” of love and forgiveness!Dr. Geneva Novak is a local veterinarian married to Tom for eighteen years, owner of a wood working shop (he comes from a large lovable supportive family), and they have two teenagers, Ella and Charlie. As the books moves on, we learn Ella and Charlie have secrets from their parents, as does their Nana. Trying to protect one does not always work in the big scheme of things.Geneva, the youngest of a family of four Riley children, comes from a dysfunctional and mysterious family. Father, deceased; mother Helen is a raging alcoholic, and siblings – brother Dublin, (LA) they are close, Florence (NY), a little distant and removed, and Paris (Africa), totally estranged.Yes, Helen named her four children after European cities to give them the sophistication lacking in their one-horse South Carolina town. However, to Geneva their names had come to represent their distance from their mother and one another, as she had not seen Paris in ten years and Florence rarely leaves Manhattan. Only she and Dublin phone and visit each other regularly as they were very close growing up.As the book opens, Helen, now age sixty-five currently residing in California (having left the small SC town as too many bad memories); has just found herself in the middle of another fiasco driving drunk and involved in a car accident and needs care (she is trouble, and this is not the first time). Her mother is too old and too stubborn a dog to learn new tricks.Her brother cannot take care of their mother as they have their hands full with an autistic child, and forget the older two sisters, so the burden falls upon Geneva. Needless to say, they are not close and never have been; however, possibly this may be the turning point to repair their mother-daughter relationship.However, when she moves in with Geneva, new problems surface as Helen is like having a third problematic teenager. Underneath her nose, her two teens are involved in all sorts of illegal behavior which she seems blind to and her mother is front and center in the middle of all the trouble. (Definitely will keep you laughing in the midst of tragedy).Told from the POV of three generations of women, Helen (Nana), Geneva (Mother), Ella (Daughter), switching back and forth from past to present; each with their own unique and gripping voice with insights and perspectives for life lessons and many takeaways well after the book ends.I have so looked forward to reading HOUSE BROKEN, as enjoy connecting with Sonja Yoerg via Twitter, and Goodreads; however, had no idea the depth of this powerful well-written and thought-provoking debut novel. Trust me when I say, "it exceeded all expectations"; brilliantly written, a page-turner and one hard to put down (you will not be able to go to sleep until you finish). If is a debut, wow, cannot wait to see what comes next!There is so much to say about this novel, as ideal for book clubs and discussions (included). Helen was my favorite intriguing character, as guess I can relate as a baby boomer, closer to her age; and grew up in the small town south. I loved the way the author developed this character, at first you do not sympathize with her; however, as she peels back a little more throughout the book, unveiling the heartfelt struggles, of Helen and her mysterious background. As an innocent and poor teen of sixteen being caught up in a big world for a better life; when she became a real woman, and in her own way, trying to protect her daughters and the guilt she lives with presently—you realize she and Louise had limited choices in a different time and era; however, interesting to explore the what ifs.I loved the relation to dogs as not front and center, but always in the background with comparisons and analogies to the human characters, and their role in the plot, with faithful adorable companion Diesel (Geneva/Dublin), Argus/Paris connection, and Aldo/Eustace/Paris’ dark disturbed side.Without saying too much, brilliant strategy with Yoerg’s twist using a willing participant (denial and brainwashed), versus the helpless victim, which added another dimension. And Louise, she made for a true down home southern connection and ally for Helen (two women; victims of a time in a man’s world, left powerless).In summary, cannot wait to recommend riveting HOUSE BROKEN and this dynamic and talented writer, Sonja Yoerg one you will want to follow for years to come! Thank you, for a remarkable and beautiful novel of loss, love, and forgiveness.Fans of Eileen Goudge, Diane Chamberlain, and Jodi Picoult will devour, and appreciate the author’s style—keeping the book real with flawed characters, without wrapping up neatly with a big bow. One you will not want to miss-Well done! Cannot wait for the next one, Middle of Somewhere, coming September 2015.
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