Shocking family secrets have the power to destroy―or unite―an estranged mother and daughter in an emotional and gripping novel by the author of A Gracious Neighbor.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Chris Cander’s The Young of Other Animals, which is out February 1st 2024.
Mayree and Paula are a mother and daughter drifting apart, separated by grief and more, after the death of Mayree’s husband.
Mayree faces a future with no income, career, or social life. Even ties with her best friend have been severed. Paula, feeling abandoned by the father she loved, is left with only a bitter mother. When Paula reveals that she narrowly escaped a violent assault, Mayree’s initial reaction is dismissal and disbelief. But as details unfold, it’s clear that it was real and not just one random night gone horribly wrong―someone is out to destroy their lives.
With each new threat from Paula’s assailant, harrowing family secrets reemerge that force the mother and daughter to confront the shared traumas of their pasts. Drawing on courage and hope, they must save the relationship they never realized they’d lost.
Reflective, suspenseful, and moving, The Young of Other Animals explores the psychic intergenerational damages that can alter relationships with loved ones forever.
Paula
Saturday, March 25, 1989
Find the road. Paula looked up, checked the position of the moon, then turned around. She ran in the direction she assumed she’d come from, keeping the thick, bright crescent on her left—this shred of logic and her gut being all she had to navigate by.
The woods seemed thicker. Had they been this dense before? There was nothing familiar, nothing to indicate she was going the right way. She stopped, bent forward to catch her breath. Her right arm hurt; her mouth tasted like copper. She spat on the dirt.
A moment later, there was a soft, muffled sound behind her: the crunch of leaves. She yelped and spun around, fists balled, ready to fight him off again. But it was only a large armadillo, standing on its hind legs about three yards behind her, sniffing at the air for danger. Her ability to smell its foul odor meant that it was upwind and likely couldn’t smell her, even though the seat of her pants was soaked through with urine. In spite of her drunken panic, Paula’s thoughts briefly fixated on the animal, which, for some reason, she assumed was female. Why was she out of her burrow in the middle of the night? March was birthing season. Where were her pups? Didn’t they need their mama?
Suddenly, in a way that had become totally uncharacteristic, Paula desperately wanted her own mother. She wanted to run into Mayree’s open arms, curl into a small heap on her lap, and cling to her neck like she had as a child, letting her mother rock her, shushing softly, assuring her that everything was going to be all right.
But how would it be all right? The guy had seemed so nice at the party; she’d never have gone willingly with him otherwise. Now, over and over, she could hear him screaming in her ear, could feel the blade against her neck and the blinding pain in her jaw from his fist. She didn’t know if he’d started chasing her again or if she’d killed him—oh god, what if she’d killed him?
She should’ve found the road by now. She’d probably been running in circles around the woods; underneath the canopy of trees, the moon had been difficult to follow. By the time she saw the car’s interior light in the distance, her ankles were raw from where her new shoes had rubbed them, and the bloody gash on her arm had crusted over. She couldn’t believe it—not only was his car still there, but it sounded like the engine was running. She dropped onto all fours in case he’d beaten her back to it. In the abrupt stillness, his voice filled her mind: you asked for this.
No, she hadn’t. All she’d wanted was to make a phone call.
Crouched low, she moved forward, expecting the guy to jump out from somewhere at her. What had he said his name was? Patrick? Michael? Had she forgotten? Had he even told her? She picked up a stick to use as a weapon, then dashed from tree to tree, pressing herself into the darkness until she was confident enough that nobody else was there, and made a run for the car. After a quick glance into the back seat, she closed the passenger door, then ran around to the driver’s side and locked herself in, imagining she’d only barely escaped. The light dimmed to off. If not for her fear, her shock, she’d have wept for this small miracle. Instead, she jammed the accelerator and peeled out onto the paved road, hardly caring where she was going as long as it was away.
The road came to a T and she stopped. A sign for Grisham Trail pointed to the left. That was the road she and Kelly had used to enter the park earlier that night. She turned the wheel, her forearm aching with the effort. There were no other cars anywhere, which only added to her surreal sense of being utterly alone in the world. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been gone. An hour? Three? Would Kelly still be at the party? Would anyone?
She sped down Grisham Trail, passing signs for boat ramps and camping areas. Then she saw a sign for Baldwin Cove and felt a pang of sorrow. That was where she and Kelly used to go camping and fishing with their fathers when they were younger, and it was where the frat party Paula hadn’t even wanted to attend had been earlier tonight. Her sorrow flashed to anger—practically as soon as they’d arrived, Kelly had gone off with some guy and left her to drink alone among a bunch of strangers. It wasn’t the first time she’d abandoned Paula at a party, assuming Paula would find someone to hang out with, find another ride, and later, forgive her, which she always did.
She wished her father were here, alive, to help her.
Paula slowed down as she neared the turnoff, her grip fierce on the steering wheel. As she scanned the parking area, her anger morphed into anticipation; right now, she needed her best friend. Also, although she felt weirdly, drunkenly alert, she didn’t want to drive herself all the way back to Austin. There were only a dozen or so cars left and, thank god, Kelly’s was one of them. Paula pulled up as close as she could get to the beach, where two guys shielded their eyes and yelled at her to turn off the headlights. Their harsh voices made her cower. Scared to leave the car, she leaned forward to search for Kelly in the dying light of the bonfire through the windshield. There! Paula leaped out of the car and ran.
“Kelly!” Paula’s voice was trapped in her throat, the way it sometimes happened in nightmares, her scream only a whisper that nobody could hear. “Kelly!” Paula flung herself onto the sandy gravel next to Kelly, who was lying on a towel, up close against another body.
“Jesus, Paul! You scared the shit out of me.”
Kelly was still there, making out with the same guy, like everything was normal, like nothing had happened. The relief Paula felt surged through her with such vigor that she hunched forward and gagged.
Kelly scrabbled away from her and made a noise of disgust. “She’s wasted,” she said to the guy. “Can you get her some water?” He nodded and meandered off.
Then she turned to Paula. “What have you been doing? I thought you’d gone home or something.”
Paula sputtered, unable to speak. She began to shake, suddenly cold. She didn’t know what was happening to her body. She couldn’t reconcile what had happened over the past hour or more with the fact that she was now physically back where they’d started the evening, when she’d been merely unhappy. When she was unaware that she was about to be violently attacked.
Kelly looked at Paula’s arm, the blood caked through her sweater sleeve, all the way to her hand. “You’re bleeding. What the fuck happened to you? Did you fall down?” She leaned down and sniffed dramatically near Paula’s lower half. “Did you pee yourself?”
Paula moaned quietly and began to cry held-back tears that dragged what was left of her makeup down her cheeks.
Kelly shook out the towel she’d been on and wrapped it around Paula’s shoulders. “Okay, okay, let’s get you home. I stopped drinking a while ago, so I’m okay to drive. We can stop at Whataburger if you want. You should probably eat something to soak up all the alcohol. I just want to get my new guy’s phone number—and his name—then we can go.” She looked around to see where he’d gone. The last few partygoers were packing up to leave. Someone emptied their cup onto the bonfire with a splash and a sizzle.
“No,” Paula said, finally able to form words. “We need to go home now.”
“He’ll be back. What’s another couple minutes?”
Minutes? Paula couldn’t bear being there another second. “Now. Come on.” She gave the car she’d escaped in a wide berth, pulling Kelly toward hers, making desperate, guttural sounds.
Kelly yanked her arm away. “For fuck’s sake, Paula. You can’t just get shit-faced and expect me to drop everything to take you home when you get sick. That’s hardly fair.”
But Paula kept dragging her friend, despite Kelly’s protestations as she looked for the guy she’d been making out with, and then they were at her car and Paula was riffling through Kelly’s purse, searching for her keys. She needed to get away from there, to get the screaming voice out of her head.
“What is with you?” Kelly swatted Paula’s hand, pulled out the keys, and unlocked the car. “Make sure you put the towel down first. I don’t want my seat to stink like piss.”
Paula scrambled inside, locked her door, tried to make herself small. She peered out at the road. Would he have had time to walk all the way back to the cove? What if someone else had come along and given him a ride so he could look for her? What if he was hiding, preparing to ambush the car? “Hurry,” she said.
Kelly stood on the sill of her open door and called out with great drama, “Goodbye, whoever you are. May we meet again!” When nobody called back, she sighed and let herself drop into her seat. “I hope you’re happy. He was a really good kisser.”
“Just go.”
“Is this about Will? I told you, Paul—that wastoid isn’t worth getting drunk over. Tonight was supposed to be your fresh start.”
“It’s not about Will,” Paula said, although in part, it was. If she hadn’t been pining for him, if she hadn’t wanted to find a phone so she could call him, she wouldn’t have been lured away from the party.
Kelly pulled out onto the road, fishtailing a little in the loose gravel. “Hang on! I might actually still be a little drunk after all.” She laughed.
Paula was still shaking. Her jaw ached so much that her ears were ringing. Her body hurt all over. She angled the air vent away from her face, hugged herself tightly, and said nothing.
“Okay, what’s going on with you? I’ve seen you drunk plenty of times but I’ve never seen you act like this. You mixed, didn’t you? You should’ve stuck with the wine coolers. You know if you switch fuel in the middle of a flight, you’re in for a crash landing.” Kelly patted her on the arm that wasn’t covered in blood. “Did you have that trash can punch? I bet that shit was nasty. Remember what I told you about only drinking from a bottle or can you open yourself? You never know if somebody spiked it with something bad.”
“Someone tried to kill me,” Paula said in barely a whisper. Saying it aloud had a literal sobering effect.
“That’s right. That’s why you have to be careful. From now on, bottles and cans only.”
Paula shook her head and started to cry again. Kelly sighed dramatically, her forbearance so fake that it made Paula want to either hit her or cry harder or both.
“It wasn’t the punch!” She shoved her bloodied arm in front of Kelly. “Someone actually tried to kill me!”
They were still on the road out of the park, not quite to the highway that would take them back to town. Kelly pulled over to the shoulder and turned to Paula. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Nearly hysterical, alternately gasping and hiccuping in between phrases, Paula sketched out the story: she did drink the trash can punch, in fact, and it had made her drunk and weepy. The details were fuzzy. She must’ve been talking about her ex-boyfriend, Will, and some nice guy had overheard and offered to take her to a pay phone so she could call him. She accepted and he drove her somewhere—to the middle of nowhere, it seemed—and when she realized that he wasn’t being nice, that he was going to hurt her for some reason, she got scared and threw up inside the car. He hit her in the jaw and body; then he pulled a knife and pressed it against her throat. She fought him off—she had no idea how—cutting her arm in the process, and then he chased her through the woods. He fell, hard, maybe hard enough to knock him out, or even kill him. She didn’t stay to check. She ran away, back to his car, which she drove to find Kelly, who was now staring at her with her mouth open. When Paula finished speaking, she sucked in as much air as she could and held it, trying to stop the hiccups.
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not! It happened! Look at me.” Paula held up her arm again, as if Kelly could see underneath the blood-caked sweater and into the knife gash and beyond to all the parts inside her body that would, for the rest of her life, she assumed, carry the evidence of her terror.
“I am looking, okay?” Kelly seemed both aghast and doubtful. “He really had a knife? And you fought him off? You’re saying the keys to his car were still in the ignition?” Yes, yes, yes. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me in the first place? I thought you were just drunk. Should we go to the police?”
She hadn’t thought that far. When the guy had been chasing her and grabbed her shirt from behind, she’d stopped running. Still going fast, he’d tripped over her left foot and gone down hard in front of her. For a moment she hadn’t moved. Neither had he. Arms and legs splayed, he’d lain face down in the dirt. He could’ve broken his neck when he fell. She’d felt first an instinct to check him for signs of life, then another, stronger impulse: to run. She should’ve made sure he was alive before she did. A good person would’ve done that. What if she’d really killed him? Didn’t she have an obligation to tell the authorities about a possible death? “Maybe?”
“If we go to the police, we’ll get in huge trouble,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “We were drinking. You were drunk. We’re still underage. And I may have done a line or two of cocaine earlier. How’s that going to look on our law school applications?”
“You did cocaine?”
“Just a little. Don’t worry, it’s worn off.” Then she asked more rapid-fire questions Paula couldn’t answer: “What was his name?” And “What did he look like?” And “What kind of car was it?”
She wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure. She hadn’t paid attention to the car; she could only recall that it was dark. Black or gray. Maybe even green. The guy’s face was a total blank. His hair was dark, too, but she couldn’t remember his features. He’d seemed friendly. The more she concentrated, the less certain about everything she became. A sense of shame and culpability began to work its way into her thoughts. You asked for this. Maybe she did. “I just wanted to call Will.”
“Why would you go off with a stranger like that?” Kelly looked at her with what appeared to be genuine horror.
Paula glared at her. “What do you mean? You went off with a stranger, too. You were making out with some random guy whose name you didn’t even know!” Paula banged her fist on the dash so hard the glove compartment door fell open. Until that moment, she’d never wondered—not seriously—why she and Kelly were still friends.
Kelly looked at her hard, then reached over and slammed the glove box door shut. Without a word, she threw the car into drive and took off, whipping up a cloud of dust behind them.
They drove in silence for a moment. Paula cradled her hurt arm with the other. Again, her mind went back to the woods. She remembered her body, strung out from all the adrenaline, running over rocks and roots, crashing through mesquite trees, her small purse banging against her hip, the guy right behind her. She heard again the rustle of underbrush and their panting breaths—from the vantage of her disembodied consciousness it was almost peaceful—then felt his hand grabbing her shirt, jolting her back to fear. Stop. She’d heard it out loud, a female voice, maybe her own, and she had. She’d come to a dead stop, legs planted on the dry ground, and he’d tripped over her. Then she’d started running again.
Her purse. Where was it? “Oh my god,” Paula said, patting herself down.
“What?”
“I can’t find my purse.” Frantic, she searched the floor with her hands. “It’s not here!”
Kelly slowed the car. “Are you sure?”
“My license is in there. My keys.” She’d had it in the woods. Had she dropped it? No, she remembered it hanging across her body when she got back to his car. Had she somehow left it inside?
“You have an extra set of keys. We’ll get you a new license.”
“No.” She felt light-headed. The fear of returning to the car back at the cove was overpowered by the fear of the guy finding her purse, and in it her name and address and the keys to her house—if he hadn’t already. “We have to go back.”
Kelly sighed, then turned around and headed toward Baldwin Cove.
Back at the parking area, there were no cars anywhere in sight. None. Kelly leaned forward with her arms draped around the steering wheel. “Well?”
Paula got out and looked around in disbelief. There was some trash strewn around the parking lot—but no people and no cars. She’d parked it right there. Had she turned the ignition off? Had he returned for it? If so, then he was alive. And if he was alive, then she wasn’t guilty of murdering him. But also, he might now know who she was and where she lived. At that moment, she wasn’t sure which was worse.
Maybe someone else had taken it. Could the car have slipped into gear and rolled away? She jogged to the edge of the lake and looked in, trying to see beneath the moonlit surface. There! A flash of something between waves—a fender? Desperate to confirm its presence, she waded in, kicking around to make contact with the sunken car. Then a fish broke the surface and skittered away. Of course it was a fish, not a fender. Fish were nocturnal feeders, she knew. Her father used to take her night fishing for just that reason. How could she be so stupid? She stood knee-deep in the water, letting the cold sting her as punishment.
She turned around and surveyed the beach, the parking area, the road beyond it. The car really was gone. Either the guy had come back for it or someone else had taken it. Would he try to find her? Would the police?
What if they found his body? Wouldn’t they find it hard to believe she was innocent if she hadn’t reported the assault? You asked for this. She’d peed her pants in the car. Could it be traced back to her, like a fingerprint? She looked around again. How could she prove that she’d been taken against her will, that she’d fought for her life and won? The cut alone wasn’t enough; it could’ve been from a fall, like Kelly had thought, or a stray nail, or even self-inflicted. She had nothing but her own story, with its missing details and paltry descriptions. She hadn’t even thought to memorize the license plate number. And Kelly was right: she was drunk. Paula felt like she would be sick again, but there was nothing in her stomach to let go of.
She slogged back across the narrow stretch of beach where the party had taken place. The fire was out, the pit soaked with lake water. She kicked one of the plastic cups that had been left behind. Then she saw her purse lying in the gravel near where she’d found Kelly. The strap was broken; she must’ve torn it when she’d landed on the ground. She unzipped it and checked the contents. Her keys, wallet, driver’s license, college ID, lip gloss—everything was there.
“You found it,” Kelly said when Paula slid back into her seat. She sounded like she was talking to a small child who’d lost a toy.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Paula asked.
After a too-long pause, Kelly said, “I’m not saying that.”
“I swear it happened,” she said, hopelessness cracking her voice. “I wouldn’t make that up.”
“What do you want to do?”
Paula considered whether or not they should go to the police. Fear and panic still shimmered beneath her skin, but more than anything she wanted to go home. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“Okay,” Kelly said.
Soon they turned onto the state highway. At that hour they shared the road with only a few long-haul trucks. The silence between them felt like a wall. Paula wanted Kelly to believe her, to be on her side, to make her feel better. She’d never experienced anything as terrifying as what had happened tonight. She didn’t want to carry the memory of it around alone. She felt too alone already.
“You remember when we were little and we used to go to the barbershop on Saturdays with our dads?” Paula asked. “There was that canister of lollipops by the cash register. Then they’d take us for ice cream after.”
“Yeah.”
Paula closed her eyes and saw her late father sitting down, cape over his broad shoulders, the barber in his apron standing behind him. His best friend—Kelly’s father, Stan—in the chair next to his. “Remember how it smelled in there? Kind of musky and powdery at the same time? Aftershave, or whatever it was.”
“Aftershave, I think,” Kelly said.
“I have such strong memories of my dad smelling like that. I never smelled it again after they stopped going to the barbershop. But it was so weird, because tonight this guy smelled just like it. I know I was drunk, but I swear, it was like stepping back in time.” Paula leaned her head back against the seat. She was exhausted. Her body ached. Her heart ached worse.
“It’s going to be okay, Paul.”
Paula wasn’t so sure. All the way to her house and after Kelly dropped her off and as she lay mostly awake waiting for the sun to come up, Paula replayed the evening over and over in her mind, searching her memory for forgotten details. Each time, the experience seemed to slip further and further away. But she knew it had happened; she was sure of it, not only because she was hurt but because she felt changed. She just didn’t know by how much.
Excerpted from The Young of Other Animals: A Novel by Chris Cander. © 2024 Published by Little A Books, February 1, 2024. All Rights Reserved.
