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A "real fiction" drama of love, loss and intrigue, which explores the dynamic of family, the weight of grief, the freedom of the truth, and the incredible bond of true love - and porn!
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Black Rose Writing
Holden Robinson
Novelist, Caitlin Goodrich and AIDS Pediatrician, Colin Thomas have ended their four year love affair. As their days apart stretch into months, their regret grows proportionately to the size of Caitlin's abdomen. Colin has left more than a broken heart.
In the early hours of single-motherhood, Caitlin learns she has been betrayed by the one woman who vowed to care for her. In New Hope, Pennsylvania, where the secrets began, and the lies are encased in the walls of the historic landmarks, the truth will be revealed.
Dr. Colin Thomas has led a life of orderly chaos. This well-made plan begins to unravel when he is asked a question that will change his life. He begins to see living and dying in a way he never has.
The House of Roses is an incredible story of love, loss, betrayal and secrets, but more importantly, it speaks of the heavy burden of guilt, the strength of family, and the incredible power of love.
Excerpt
Colin kicked off the flip-flops he'd bought in the hotel gift shop, and held them in his left hand, dropped the keys to the Mustang into the right pocket of his shorts, and headed toward the water.
The beach was relatively deserted on this Monday morning, and he felt a peace settle over him. He was right to come. He remembered the picnic lunch he'd shared with his parents so many years before. He walked to the very spot where they had dined on hot dogs,
and salads carefully prepared by his mother in the kitchen in Spokane. The picnic tables were still scattered about, but had probably been replaced at some point over the thirty odd
years since they'd sat there. He ran his hands over the cool wood on the bench, and sat facing the water. He closed his eyes and remembered the day, the memories coming back in waves. He remembered his mother's laughter, and his father's smile. He could almost smell the hot dogs cooking over the charcoal, and although he'd dined at the best restaurants all over the country, he wondered if he'd ever had a meal finer than the one he'd shared with his parents on that beautiful July day.
As the memories came, he remembered something else, something he'd forgotten. He left the flip-flops on the ground next to the picnic table, and set out in search of the tree. It was impossible, he knew, but still he had to check. He'd been a curious boy in his youth, and he'd been a collector. He'd collected things, and as a boy, he'd carried the treasures in his pocket. He found the tree, and thirty years later, it still stood
strong and proud. It was taller, as was he, but the way he felt when he stared into its outstretched branches, was the same. He knelt at its base, and pushed his hand into the crevice time had made there. His fingers reached into the farthest back corner of the mossy opening and suddenly they made contact with the treasure he sought. He wrapped his fingers
around the object, and pulled it free. The little pewter horse was exactly where he'd left it more than thirty years before, and although he looked down at the hand of a man, it was the
fingers of a small boy he saw there.
His past and present collided in perfect harmony, and he wrapped his fingers around the horse and pulled his fist to his chest.
“Amazing,” he whispered, as tears slid down his cheeks.
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