Cracked Bat
A story about invisible fathers,
imaginary friends, and a heroine's journey
to discern what's real


Page One

Books can be shelved or packed away, but little girls shouldn’t be. Linnea Perrault had this sense embedded in her flesh. With a delicate rose tattooed across her ankle, she shoved her foot into a damp snow boot, apologized to her daughter and dashed after Dan.  “I had a feeling something was wrong all day. Why didn’t she call me?”

Her husband shrugged, backing their weather-beaten sedan out of the icy driveway. “She said she needed to see you immediately.”

Linnea bit her full lip, tasting candy cane gloss. Neither of them said another word until he pulled alongside the frosted chain link fence that enclosed June’s yard. He motioned for her to get out. 

She widened her dark green eyes. “You have plenty of time to come inside.”

“I’m stuck on Step Two,” he said. “I can’t deal with anyone else’s problems right now. I’ve got to figure out how to connect with a power greater than myself, one that can restore my sanity, or at least keep me sober.” He turned the corners of his mouth up, crinkling the black knit ski cap over his brow, eerily rearranging his features so that he looked like a gargoyle.

Close Window