Title: The Passenger
Author: Joie Lesin
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Book Blurb:
Burdened with her empathic gift, Elizabeth Reilly wants to be free of it and fit in with normal people. Nevertheless, when the spirit of an old man asks for her help, she travels across the country to help him return home. Gio Clemente is still angry with his father who abandoned him as a child. To help the father pass on, Elizabeth must persuade Gio to let go of his anger. Though he resents her intrusion, they are both stunned to find themselves fighting a profound attraction. Elizabeth can accept his headstrong brand of love, but can Gio accept her gift—and believe in her?
The Passenger, a 1940s ghost story set in the California wine country, tells a tale of family connections, life-changing choices, and love—lost and found.
Excerpt:
The horn section of the Benny Goodman Orchestra blasted over the airwaves. Giovanni Clemente leaned forward, switched off the radio, and stretched out his stiff knee. The injury not only earned him a Purple Heart, but time recovering in England before his discharge from the army. The ache helped him predict the weather.
A change was certainly in the air.
His mother looked up from her knitting and frowned. “Turn the music back on, Gio,” she said in Italian.
“No, listen.”
“To what? You shut off the radio. I hear nothing.”
“Exactly. The quiet.” No planes, no whistling bombs, no mortar fire, and no man snoring in the foxhole next to me. He leaned his head back on the leather rim of the armchair. “Did I tell you how glad I am to be home?”
“Only one hundred times.” She smiled and set the half-knit blanket in a basket at her feet. “Your Uncle Michael telephoned today while you were out.”
He closed his eyes and settled deeper into the chair. “What did he have to say?”
“He invited you to stay in San Francisco while he and your aunt are in Minnesota,” she said. “They are traveling to visit your cousin Angela and meet the new baby.”
Gio opened his eyes and sat straight.
“After harvest, of course.” She nodded. “You’ll deserve a holiday. Miriam thinks the ocean view will do you wonders.”
“Outside that wall,” he said, pointing, “is all I care to see when I wake up in the morning.”
She cleared her throat. “There is more than the view.”
“Hmm. More than the view,” he said under his breath. He knew what she meant. There was always more than the view with his aunt and every other busybody woman who arranged some unwed young woman for him to meet.
Content with his life, he’d make no time for their matchmaking ever.
Gio stood, pressing his bare foot into the rug, and braced himself. His anticipation of the painful knee cramp sometimes overshadowed the actual spasm.
“Your Aunt Miriam’s niece,” his mother said. “The one from San Diego. She will be staying with them. Michael asked if you might escort her about the city while they are away.”
“Don’t they have a daughter-in-law or two who can entertain this niece?”
“Yes, and I told him asking someone else would be his only course of action. But Gio—”
Sighing, he headed toward the door. “No, Madre, I’ve been away from here for four years. The only thing I need right now, and in the months to come, is work.”
He paused before exiting through the doorway, peering over his shoulder at his mother. The hair she’d bound in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck accentuated her youthful, thin face. At fifty-four, she continued to turn men’s heads. Adriana Clemente could have picked between any number of husbands, but instead she chose to fill her time with the vineyard and being his mother. She’d done fine without a man to occupy her time and he’d done as well without a father.
With those life lessons firmly ingrained, he’d decided early in life marriage would wait until he was a matured, gray-haired man, and only to produce an heir to the vineyard. All his adulthood, he’d worked hard to avoid anything more than superficial associations with women. Love, or any similar emotion, was not a complication he wanted.
****
The same day in East Boston, twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth Reilly climbed the streetcar steps and deposited her dime. Holding onto the seat handles, she strode to the middle of the car where her sister, Anna, already sat sideways with her legs folded beneath her. Sketchpad open, Anna peered at a new subject.
“Sit back there.” Anna pointed over her shoulder to the seat behind her and swept a loose auburn curl behind her ear.
“Fine,” Elizabeth said, amused at the nineteen-year-old’s authoritative tone, and slumped into the seat. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Elizabeth said. “We don’t have far to go.”
Leaning back against the cool metal seat, she let her heavy lids close to the clink of the streetcar gliding over the rail. An image of a vine-filled forest fluttered into place in her mind’s eye. Stepping forward, she walked deeper into the maze.
All around Elizabeth, dark green vines climbed an invisible wall, cutting off the sun’s light. Plump, burgundy fruit hung in clusters from the branches. She plucked a single grape and smashed the juicy fruit between her fingers as she brought the berry to her lips.
Shaking her head clear, Elizabeth opened her eyes. The flavor of the sour-sweet fruit was like a lingering phantom on her tongue. The vision struck her sporadically over the last few months and was part of her gift. The ability she’d fought hard to block out at fourteen years old. She opened herself fully again only to receive the spirit of her dead husband, Patrick, four months earlier.
When her husband was on his way to her to say goodbye, she’d sweated through the cries of soldiers falling into the mud around her and the deafening noise of battle.
Don’t go there, Elizabeth. You couldn’t help him.
She’d known the only help she could provide was to help him pass on in peace.
Elizabeth had expected Patrick’s ghost to visit her. For weeks, she braved the early spring chill to await his arrival. Bundled in layers, she waited on the beach for him. Their special place. When he finally came, he met her there. Patrick sat next to her on the blanket he’d given her as a birthday present when they were younger. The one with the purple daffodils. When she thought of his final goodbye, she thought of the daffodils she’d stared down at while he talked—as if the color of the flowers were the most important detail of the day.
Yet the broken dead man who sat beside her was.
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
The Wild Rose Press Book Page: https://wildrosepress.com/product/the-passenger/
Amazon (E-book): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D6WBVJB9/
Amazon (Paperback): https://www.amazon.com/Passenger-Joie-Lesin/dp/1509256644
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-passenger-joie-lesin/1008401528?ean=2940185717905
Goodreads BookPage: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/214564853-the-passenger
What makes your featured book a must-read?
The Passenger is a must read for those who enjoy emotional and heartfelt stories with themes of love, forgiveness, redemption, and second chances. Set between coastal Massachusetts and California’s wine county, the subtle yet immersive descriptions of the land and the people transport the reader to another place and time. All this along with the deeply relatable characters who navigate the challenges of long hidden family secrets, matters of the heart, and the supernatural make this an unforgettable read.
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Author Biography:
Minnesota-based author, Joie Lesin is a life-long fiction writer and the author of The Passenger. She has long been fascinated by anything otherworldly including ghosts. She loves to write a good ghost story—especially when it includes a touch of romance.
Originally from Massachusetts, at six years old, Joie moved to her mother’s birthplace, Minnesota. By eight, Joie lost her New England accent, however, it's gradually returning as the years go by. She grew up in Minneapolis but now resides in St. Paul with her husband and their blended family—which includes a rambunctious grand-corgi.
Joie misses the ocean, but she often finds herself walking by one of Minnesota’s many lakes and travels to one of the coasts as often as she can. In fact, she considers California her home away from home. When she’s not writing, reading, or walking, you can find her listening to music. She absolutely loves music—especially live—and songs have sparked most of her story ideas.
Social Media Links:
Website: https://www.jlesin.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorjoielesin
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JoieLesin