From the publisher: “Dan West wonders which is more important to him: Helping his long-time friend win back his business after being accused of stealing money from the company, or coaching his eleven-year-old son’s soccer team trying to win an improbable championship. Money and prestige don’t motivate Dan. Rather, family, work and coaching soccer are the underpinnings of his life. He revels in the simple joys like hanging out with his wife Jill, mentoring a young lawyer at his firm, and watching the boys connect on three passes before drilling the ball into the back of the net. Dan always knew to keep it steady—not to get too high or he might get knocked off his perch. And he did, until he and the boys’ soccer team achieved unimagined success. Before he can grasp how good he has it, tragedy rips a hole in his family.
James Rosenberg, author of the bestseller Legal Reserves, strikes a new chord in his exploration of what makes a life and how to put it back together after it is shattered. The Jersey is a beautifully written, profoundly touching, and relatable story of love, loss and the redemptive power of a group of motivated eleven-year-old kids…”
About the Author: James Rosenberg is a 3rd generation trial attorney with plenty of stories to tell. Inspired not only by the courtroom stories his father and grandfather used to tell him when he was a child, but also by the wild adventures he’s encountered through his own experience as a lawyer. James is fascinated by the intricate, interpersonal dynamics of every trial he’s endured. Whether it’s the raw emotion on display in court, the tension in the air that builds until someone wins, or the impact that a case’s decision has on the parties involved, James is always paying attention and keeping tabs on what’s happening.
In his debut novel, Legal Reserves, James flexes his creative muscle outside of the courtroom to share his stories, with a fictional twist, through the eyes of archetypes he knows well. James’ second novel, The Jersey, moves away from the legal thriller genre and in this new story explores elements of family life and youth sports with a series of dramatic twists and turns.
A native of Pittsburgh and a graduate of Taylor Allderdice High School and the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, James has been a trial attorney in Pittsburgh for almost 30 years. He started writing legal thrillers as a stress reducer and finds this creative outlet to be a fun and meaningful diversion from his day job.
When he’s not trying cases, he’s either dreaming up his next book idea, spending time with his wife and three kids, or both.
You can follow James on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. His website is www.JamesRosenbergAuthor.com.
September 2006
The crisp lettuce glistened in the spinner. I stood at the counter cutting carrots and celery. Small bubbles formed at the edges of the water in the pot. I was ready to add the noodles. Jill sat on the couch reading a magazine. “How’s it looking, Honey?” she asked.
“The salad’s in the bowl. The mac and cheese will be done soon. Have you picked out a movie yet?”
“I found one on the Cuban missile crisis starting in five minutes.”
“I think I can make it,” I said while bringing over the salad and dressing to her on the couch. Jill placed them on the ottoman we used as a table when we watched movies. As she leaned forward, Jill groaned and grabbed at her stomach.
“Another contraction?” I asked, almost in passing. Jill had been having contractions for weeks and the baby seemingly was no closer to arriving.
“This preterm labor is getting old.”
“It’s not so preterm at this point,” I responded. “You’re due in ten days.”
“Can’t wait to meet the little guy—I still say it’s a boy.”
“I’m betting on a girl, but you know it would have been easy to find out.”
“That would have taken the fun out of it.”
“True, but at least we could have finished the nursery by now.”
I walked back into the kitchen and put the milk, butter, and cheese into the pot to mix with the noodles. In less than a minute, the macaroni was ready. I brought the dish to Jill, who was lying on her side on the couch. Jill’s belly created a noticeable bulge in her shirt and shorts. She rolled over to get to her feet.
“My stomach hurts. I think I need to go.” I helped her up and watched her waddle toward the bathroom with her hands locked together under her stomach.
She returned two minutes later to report a wasted effort. We scooped the food onto our plates and turned up the volume. Jill took a bite and remarked, “You have become such a fine cook. Mr. Kraft should thank you for keeping the company in business.”
The movie began with planes hurtling toward an unknown destination. Jill groaned before we had a chance to find out where they were headed. “My stomach hurts, I think I may have eaten something bad.”
“Sweetheart, do you think this might be something else?”
“No, I’m just feeling funky.”
We tried to return to the movie, but Jill rolled on her side and moaned, “Oh god, another sharp pain.” I stood and demanded we go to the hospital. Jill began to protest but was hit with another contraction. Her face clenched in pain, she struggled to her feet.
“Intense,” she said, grabbing me for support. “We should get checked out.”
We walked toward the front hall where we had placed her bag. I grabbed it, and when I turned back to her, Jill was on her knees. Her head rested on the floor in front of her.
I ran to her side. “What is it, baby?”
“I can’t get up.”
Stunned, I begged, “Let’s get to the hospital.”
Jill couldn’t raise her head. “No, it’s time.”
Momentarily I was frozen, terrified by overwhelming feelings of impotence and dread. Jill’s guttural moan snapped me back to reality. I pulled my flip phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. I said to Jill, sounding more confident than I felt, “I’m calling an ambulance and have to grab a couple of things. I’ll be back in less than a minute. Don’t move.”
“Not an issue,” Jill groaned as she writhed on carpet.
I had sheets, towels, and blankets in my hand and was talking to 911 when I returned to Jill, who was lying on the floor immediately beneath our wooden steps.
“Please get someone here as soon as possible. She’s in labor. Help us.”
I stood over Jill and placed sheets around her. Her face had lost all color and signaled her terror.
“Don’t worry, 911’s on the phone, and Jessie’ll help us,” I said, trying to find anything useful to say.
Sweat covered Jill’s face as she raised her hips, so I could gently take off her shorts and underwear. I inspected between her legs and reported, “I need you here. We’re about to have a baby.” A small thatch of brown hair appeared as the baby was beginning to crown.
“Thank god we went to Lamaze,” I muttered, knowing the irony because we had missed most of the classes and had not paid attention during the ones we attended.
Jill was lying on her back with her legs spread. Her eyes alternated between shut tight and wide-open staring at the ceiling. Her breath was labored but controlled.
“The baby’s sliding out on its own. The whole head is out. How are you?”
“Just peachy. How the hell do you think?” Jill grunted back. I took her question as rhetorical and focused on the task at hand. We avoided more small talk.
Jill began to breathe in staccato fashion and the baby continued to ease its way out. I guided its head, but did not need to do much to assist. Within two minutes the baby was all the way out, and I was holding him. The only thing still connected was the umbilical cord.
I used the towels to wipe off the baby and gently cleaned out its nose and mouth. His brief wail told me he was breathing. I cut the cord and tied it off as Jessie instructed.
Jessie informed me to tell Jill she could deliver the placenta. After a few pushes, Jill had completed the task.
Jill, covered in sweat and exhausted, rested next to me. I cradled our new baby. “It’s a boy, Babe, it’s a boy.” I placed him on Jill’s chest, and she gently stroked him.
As we admired our son, the front door opened and two tall paramedics rushed in. They surveyed the scene, and one exclaimed, “I guess we’re not delivering any babies today. Is everyone okay?” They both got on their knees. One checked out Jill, while the other examined the baby.
“This will be an amazing story to tell your friends,” one of the paramedics said. “Mom and son appear to be fine, but we should get you to the hospital.” Before we had a chance to agree, Jill’s mother, quickly followed by her dad, burst through the front door.
Estelle glanced around the room, unable to process the scene before her. “We saw the ambulance,” Jill’s mom blurted out. “Is everything okay?”
I slowly walked toward them. “Estelle, Russell, are you ready for some big news?” I asked.
Jill’s dad gently took the baby, now wrapped in a blue blanket. Confusion covered his face. “What happened?”
“Jill said she didn’t like hospitals, so we decided to have him here,” I joked. “Not the best idea.”
Russell examined the baby’s eyes and quickly checked his breathing and heart rate, despite having forbidden himself to play doctor with his grandchildren. Only under these unusual circumstances was he willing to make an exception; Russell allowed himself this one opportunity to check out the baby in his role as a doctor.
“He appears to be fine, but I think baby and Jill need to go to Magee to get examined properly,” Jill’s dad said.
“Jill deserves her night in the hospital to rest,” Estelle said, beaming at her new grandson. “Does he have a name?”
Jill caught my eye. We had known what names we would give to the baby if it was a boy or a girl. Jill nodded, signaling she wanted me to tell her parents.
I handed the baby back to Russell. “I would like you to meet your grandson, Charley.”
The door to the house was open. Sunlight streamed through the doorway and reflected off the floor. We stood in the entranceway as Jill held Charley. I poured over the sheath of papers in my hands.
Nick Costello, our insurance agent, waited as I concentrated. We had talked with him many times before, but this was the first time we had met.
“I wanted to bring the check over personally,” Nick said, “and get a chance to congratulate you. Nothing’s typical about what happened here.”
I shuffled my feet and shook my head. “Next time we do it the traditional way.”
“Smart idea. The floors are beautiful,” he said, handing me a check.
Charley’s birth by the stairs had ruined the carpet. We had known hardwood lurked underneath but hadn’t gotten around to removing the carpet.
“We never liked the carpet anyway,” Jill said.
“You got the insurance company to pay for the floors. Congratulations on all your good fortune. Charley’s beautiful.”
“Thank you so much for everything,” Jill said as she closed the door behind Nick.
“I think Charley’s ready to eat.” She walked toward the family room and her favorite place to feed Charley.
This excerpt from The Jersey is published here courtesy of the author and should not be reproduced without permission.
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