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Josie followed a strict set of rules. That’s how it was growing up in a predominately Irish Catholic community in the sixties. There was a certain etiquette that you were expected to adhere to. Josie was taught very early on not to air her dirty laundry in public. What happened in your home, stayed in your home, or there would be hell to pay. No whining or crying about each little adversity that fell into your path. Fear played a substantial role in child rearing. Children were to be seen, not heard. With a dangerous cop for a father, a mad beauty for a mother, a grandmother in denial and unforgiveable deeds secreted away within the shadows of Dead Man’s Woods, Josie had been forced to find a way to survive. No one had a clue about what was going on behind closed doors at the McGinnis home. For the outside world, Josie played her role to the best of her ability because to do anything less would be deadly. For years, she had witnessed the smiles that granted approval to her picture-perfect family. Little did any of them know that behind the welcoming entry to their charming home, the flawless facade would fall away as quickly as the lock was set in place. Fortunately, for Josie, she had been an excellent student from infancy. She learned her lessons well from a cruel instructor that left her no other choice than to be vigilant. She spent years practicing for a moment in time that she knew would come for her. She garnered courage from her beloved dog, Apache, who saw her through the very worst of it. He was true and brave and was half her soul.
