In 1974 San Francisco, runaway Maddy finds a refuge alive with artists, wanderers, and old secrets. Magic hums beneath everyday life, friendships twist, and truths surface from the dark—forever altering those who walk this enigmatic, unpaved lane.
The Lost are found on shinbone laneShinbone Lane
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For reasons they can't quite explain, the lost always find themselves on Shinbone Lane…
San Francisco, 1974. Sixteen-year-old runaway Maddy is escaping the blame for a crime she didn't commit. Miles from home, she is taken under the wing of the elderly Clara and her neighbor Ted, and soon finds a place among the kaleidoscope of personalities on the oddly named Shinbone Lane.
Ted's three-story Italianate Victorian house overflows with travelers, free spirits, and artists. His backyard is a haven for all who are willing to see its magic. But burdened dancer Eloise Watkins can't tolerate the transient "riffraff" in her neighborhood. Their frivolity flies in the face of her grief over friendship lost and her daughter who's missing. And nobody — nobody— understands.
But like all who tread on it, Shinbone Lane has secrets of its own. And like all secrets, they lie uneasily in the dark, until the truth emerges to lay the past to rest.
At the intersection of magic and reality lies Shinbone Lane and its lively cast of characters who intertwine in the mesmerizing brew of life.
An excerpt from Shinbone Lane
With a backpack full of dreams slung over her shoulder, Maddy entered the weathered Greyhound station. She took in the sweat-and-patchouli air as Keeley's parting words swarmed her mind. "Nothing lasts forever. Look at the Beatles. No more songs from them, mind-blowing as they were. That's how life is, cupcake."
Maddy merged with the rumpled crowd and slinked forward. Fear clogged her throat as she slumped into a vacant seat. Head cast down in the City of Saint Francis, the storied City by the Bay, she brushed tendrils of her thick brown mane from her face, pulled out a sketchbook, and drew a few lines in charcoal.
Boots shiny as black sapphire came into view, followed by a swirling lavender hem. A woman plopped with an oof! beside her. "Hello," the stranger said, her voice layered with years of joy and sorrow.
"Um, hi," the youth mumbled. She flipped to a blank page.
A few yards away lurked a paunchy man with gold front teeth. He'd tried to pull Maddy toward him when she'd exited the bus. She'd batted him with her pack and fled inside, where she'd thought of pleading with an agent for a free ticket home, but then she remembered. She no longer had a home.
Soft as a good-night prayer, the woman hummed the melody to "Moon River" while Maddy sketched her skirt. It struck the budding artist how easy she'd had it since she'd run away eighteen months ago. Her fifteenth birthday. She'd slipped through her bedroom window, hugged a tulip tree that had heard her every whispered hope, and sprinted past remnants of smashed pumpkins and scattered candy wrappers to Highway 68. There she stuck out her thumb. Within minutes, a van of dropouts from Antioch College, where her dad worked as an administrator, pulled over. They'd just set off to visit friends scattered across the country and said she could come along.
Keeley, who at age twenty had already published a children's book, took Maddy under her wing. They baked bread for a commune in the Smoky Mountains, sang and passed the hat on Philadelphia street corners, made sandwich boards for a theater in Kansas City, cooked breakfast for a dude ranch near Tombstone, sold jewelry in campgrounds across North America—anything and everything to get by under the table. But then Keeley fell in love with a glassblower in Los Angeles and joined him on a journey to Machu Picchu in Peru. No one else invited.
One by one, others in the group pulled away to follow divergent stars. Maddy panhandled and caught a Greyhound north. A guy she met in the Rockies had scribbled his phone number on a matchbook. "Come to San Francisco sometime. I'll take you around my hometown," he'd said. He could spin a yarn better than Arlo Guthrie, and his voice was resonant as a Martin guitar. But his eyes were midnight pools of sorrow. Maddy never thought she'd actually call him. Her companions were family, after all. Ha! What a jolt to see the truth. No one was family. He'd seemed okay, but what if he wasn't? He might try to force himself on her. Or he might be looking for love. She was the wrong person for that. Stupid love. It's always trouble.
Now, on a windy May morning in 1974, in the city that stole Tony Bennett's heart, sixteen-year-old Maddy pondered what to do next. No more Keeley. No more protector. And only a handful of hippie stragglers left in The Haight. She stopped drawing to brush her bangs aside and rub her itchy brow.
Praise for Shinbone Lane
Laura McHale Holland's delightful Shinbone Lane captures echoes of San Francisco's Summer of Love, with a few surprising twists. Set in a quirky corner of the city peopled by old friends, new friends and one very lonely – and rather chatty – magical pigeon, Holland's novel reminds us that despite kind intentions, utopias often mask a dark underbelly.
— Rayne Wolfe, author of Toxic Mom Toolkit and former New York Times regional Staff Writer
Shinbone Lane is full of charm, humor, and memorable characters. In a delightful blend of magical realism, mystery, and social commentary, the author explores themes of friendship, family, and the search for truth.
— Rebecca Rosenberg, bestselling author of Champagne Widows Novels
Step by step I was drawn into the Shinbone Lane neighborhood. The inhabitants in the lane were easy to visualize and believable — and that includes the colorful pigeons that added a supernatural magical quality to the novel. Interpreting touch as psychologically touched, the author engages all five senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, as well as a merry-go-round of emotions including surprise, sadness, shock, disgust, anger, and happiness. When I completed the novel I felt satisfaction similar to that of the feeling when I place the last missing piece into a jig-saw puzzle. In short, I enjoyed reading this novel. It was skillfully written with a memorable storyline, suspense and humor.
— Ruth Stotter, master storyteller, educator, author, and founder of the Storytelling Program at Dominican College
I’ve read most of Laura McHale Holland’s books, and Shinbone Lane is hands-down my favorite. It’s captivating, well-crafted, and fun.
— Jeff Hartman, author of How to Win The Nobel Peace Prize and The End of the War