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Break Wave
My name is Harper Quinn.
White trash girl in a dead end town. Or at least that’s what my step father tells me. Break Wave Heights, New Jersey comes alive during the summer time. The boardwalk glimmers at night with the lights from the brightly lit stores and restaurants, the bright bulbs of the Ferris wheel spinning round and round over Murray’s Point and Break Wave Beach. I used to think that you could see the whole world from up there. You could see the searching lights of Brigham’s Lighthouse, the crashing white waves hitting the sandy shore and the rocks at Gorman’s Point, and the alluring glow of the casinos in Atlantic City over five miles away. Break Wave Heights is labeled a resort town by the State of New Jersey. But what the big guys in Trenton seem to forget is that people still live here when the lights of the Boardwalk go out.
My Daddy always used to say this was a dead-end town, and I didn’t believe him until just last year. I was mystified by the magic this town generated during the warm months that I never stopped to look around. The tourists; they see the best that Break Wave Heights has to offer. The over the top hotels and the miles of beach front property. Meanwhile, the rest of us live in rundown ramshackle houses that were thrown up in the early 50s, and patched up time and time again after hurricanes and Nor’easters whipped on through. The fact of the matter is this place is a dead end town. It’s a place where dreams come to die and it’s only a matter of time before Break Wave heights comes crashing down upon you, too.
My Daddy died when I was ten. I’d like to be able to tell you that he died a hero, but that’s just not the case. He was a fireman. One night after his shift he went to Finnie’s Pub just like every other night, drank down his sorrows and the drink swallowed him whole. Momma said that by the time they found him the next morning on the docks, his skin was grey, his eyes were yellow and he had drunk himself to death. Lost in a haze after his death, my mother turned to the bottle, too and I haven’t seen her since. Sure, she still lives at home, but she’s a shell of a woman. The mother I used to know is long gone. That’s what this town does. It shows you a glimmer of what magic is, but when September comes it steals it all away, along with the money. The gangs come out in full force. Peddling their drugs and beating the tar out of anyone who owes a debt. The cops bust down a couple of doors, but the fact of the matter is, the drug and crime problems are just too bad. No one talks, because a snitch is a rat, and rats get drowned (or shot, or stabbed.)
I need to get out of here. My brother Kyle and my Momma Jeanne are the only ones who keep me here. I would feel guilty leaving them here, alone with him. Ray. My mother’s piece of shit husband. At least my father was a happy drunk. Ray is a violent one. I’ve been fighting my way through my teenage years, and now I gotta fight my way on outta here. Good thing I know how to fight my way out of a paper bag. This isn’t going to be an easy fight. When you can’t out run the tide, you gotta break upon the shore with a vengeance. Wash ashore upon safer land. That is exactly what I plan to do.
White trash girl in a dead end town. Or at least that’s what my step father tells me. Break Wave Heights, New Jersey comes alive during the summer time. The boardwalk glimmers at night with the lights from the brightly lit stores and restaurants, the bright bulbs of the Ferris wheel spinning round and round over Murray’s Point and Break Wave Beach. I used to think that you could see the whole world from up there. You could see the searching lights of Brigham’s Lighthouse, the crashing white waves hitting the sandy shore and the rocks at Gorman’s Point, and the alluring glow of the casinos in Atlantic City over five miles away. Break Wave Heights is labeled a resort town by the State of New Jersey. But what the big guys in Trenton seem to forget is that people still live here when the lights of the Boardwalk go out.
My Daddy always used to say this was a dead-end town, and I didn’t believe him until just last year. I was mystified by the magic this town generated during the warm months that I never stopped to look around. The tourists; they see the best that Break Wave Heights has to offer. The over the top hotels and the miles of beach front property. Meanwhile, the rest of us live in rundown ramshackle houses that were thrown up in the early 50s, and patched up time and time again after hurricanes and Nor’easters whipped on through. The fact of the matter is this place is a dead end town. It’s a place where dreams come to die and it’s only a matter of time before Break Wave heights comes crashing down upon you, too.
My Daddy died when I was ten. I’d like to be able to tell you that he died a hero, but that’s just not the case. He was a fireman. One night after his shift he went to Finnie’s Pub just like every other night, drank down his sorrows and the drink swallowed him whole. Momma said that by the time they found him the next morning on the docks, his skin was grey, his eyes were yellow and he had drunk himself to death. Lost in a haze after his death, my mother turned to the bottle, too and I haven’t seen her since. Sure, she still lives at home, but she’s a shell of a woman. The mother I used to know is long gone. That’s what this town does. It shows you a glimmer of what magic is, but when September comes it steals it all away, along with the money. The gangs come out in full force. Peddling their drugs and beating the tar out of anyone who owes a debt. The cops bust down a couple of doors, but the fact of the matter is, the drug and crime problems are just too bad. No one talks, because a snitch is a rat, and rats get drowned (or shot, or stabbed.)
I need to get out of here. My brother Kyle and my Momma Jeanne are the only ones who keep me here. I would feel guilty leaving them here, alone with him. Ray. My mother’s piece of shit husband. At least my father was a happy drunk. Ray is a violent one. I’ve been fighting my way through my teenage years, and now I gotta fight my way on outta here. Good thing I know how to fight my way out of a paper bag. This isn’t going to be an easy fight. When you can’t out run the tide, you gotta break upon the shore with a vengeance. Wash ashore upon safer land. That is exactly what I plan to do.
200 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2014
404 people want to read
About the author
Addison Kline
37 books880 followersLibrarian Note: Also writes as A.C. Williams
A.C. Williams is an International Best-Selling Author of romantic suspense and mystery novels. She resides in Pennsylvania with her family. She is the wife of an Army Veteran and the proud mom of their three sons. When she is not writing, she is immersing herself in music, reading to her heart's content, and traveling with her family.
She previously wrote under the pen name Addison Kline and is a member of the International Thriller Writers Association. While she loves to write in a variety of genres, A.C. always says "mystery is her game." Some of her other favorite sub-genres to write include romantic suspense, psychological thrillers, crime, MC and mafia thrillers.
Some of her greatest influences to date include Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, Harper Lee, Gillian Flynn, Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen & James Patterson.
A.C. Williams is an International Best-Selling Author of romantic suspense and mystery novels. She resides in Pennsylvania with her family. She is the wife of an Army Veteran and the proud mom of their three sons. When she is not writing, she is immersing herself in music, reading to her heart's content, and traveling with her family.
She previously wrote under the pen name Addison Kline and is a member of the International Thriller Writers Association. While she loves to write in a variety of genres, A.C. always says "mystery is her game." Some of her other favorite sub-genres to write include romantic suspense, psychological thrillers, crime, MC and mafia thrillers.
Some of her greatest influences to date include Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, Harper Lee, Gillian Flynn, Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen & James Patterson.
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