This is a paperback book.
On a secluded part of the island, where there are no laws, people built a treehouse. This is a three-story makeshift treehouse with a cupola at the top where you can see the entire island. It has a rickety ladder and a tire swing. In this neighborhood, everyone does what they want. Neighbors help neighbors, and sometimes when there is chaos and mayhem, things get a bit sticky. But in the end, family always comes together, especially when trouble is brewing. Family is not always blood. Sometimes it is those who spend time with you that do not judge, but they always love you no matter what. People are so different, but together in numbers, there is strength.
An excerpt from the book:
Daven quickly climbed the ladder. “Whitley, take cover! The police officers are driving by again!” He grabbed Whitley’s arm and pulled him to the ground. He then crawled on his knees under the window, and they crouched in the corner.
The police car’s horn blared once and then drove off, as if he were trying to aggravate them.
Mack climbed the long, rickety ladder to reach the third floor of the treehouse. “Man, I don’t know what you did to tick off the police, but Harry sped away, and he looked mad.” He shook his head. The police station was one city away, going east. For Officer Harry to check on the guys on the beach, it took a long hour just to drive there. They hardly saw him. The neighborhood was usually quiet.
Daven and Whitley stood up and dusted themselves off. The salt water threw a haze into the air. Their fort was so high, there was a salty cloud settling in around them.
Whitley laughed, “He doesn’t want us having this treehouse. He is jealous.”
Mack shook his head. “You’re going to get us all in trouble.”
Shane climbed the ladder and as he stood next to Mack, the treehouse teetered a bit.
Mack stared at his brother. “I don’t think these planks can hold all four of us. Where did you get all this wood?”
“That old run-down house that burned up a while back, there was a stack of wood untouched. No-one is there anymore, so I thought I would clean up the place. If you want to call it recycling, then I am helping the community,” he beamed.
The wood was creaking underfoot.
Daven carefully walked to the ladder and said, “I’m out of here,” as he climbed down. His wife was calling him for supper.
*This is a comical scenario that may or may not have happened on the west end of the island
If you want to read more of this story, purchase the book. Thank you for your support.
Check out more product from Becka L. Jones at www.BeckaLJones-Author.com or Etsy.com/shop/BeckaLJonesWriter
