Squared Away by Alicia Dill Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Squared
Away
by
Alicia Dill
Genre:
Thriller
Almost
two years after she left the army and her best friend, Concepcion
Chapa, Joells McCoy receives a cryptic voicemail from an Iraqi
contact looking for Concepcion. When Joelle can't reach her “battle
buddy”, she's told Concepcion died in a car accident, while working
for the FBI.
But
Joelle has questions and those questions launch her into the arms of
an FBI agent – one of Concepcion's former colleagues – and a
search for her friend that will bring her from small town Missouri,
to Miami, and then on to Kosovo.
Over
the course of a year, Joelle will search for her friend, with the
help of Concepcion's former FBI colleagues, and try to come to terms
with what their battle-tested friendship really means in her life.
And why Concepcion would disappear without so much as a goodbye.
“Absolutely
amazing! It felt like I was back in country! Alicia captured the
essence of what it is to be a female Soldier and the everlasting bond
we develop with our sisters-in-arms! “
-First
Sgt. Sara Maniscalco, Army Veteran, National Guard
Check
out Alicia Dill's podcast interview with NPR!
On
this hour of Talk of Iowa, Host Charity Nebbe and Dill discuss
"Squared Away," Dill's first novel, which is inspired by
her time in the military.
The
author will also send a hand written post card to the first 10 people
to show proof of purchase of Squared Away! Please email
jess@mindbuckmedia.com
!
Prologue
September 7, 2007
“What am I doing here?” I
whispered, but saying the words aloud didn’t give me any further
insight. The seconds ticked by. The hourglass of my life sifted away
from me, one grain of sand at a time. Being deployed in one of the
most dangerous places on planet Earth, I considered my mortality far
too often. How long did I have left? How would I spend it? Two
questions a twenty-six-year-old should not be asking. It was my last guard duty, on my last
deployment. Military life was not for me. After six years serving, I
knew it, and the Army knew it. When I had explained my job as a
military journalist to my family, it had all sounded so much more
exciting than it turned out to be. I couldn’t stomach the idea of
another year of soldiering. Being assigned to guard duty instead of
working on the camp magazine was like sticking a fork in me—I was
done. Instead of writing stories and using my degree, I was trying
not to fall asleep on my M16. It was loaded, after all. Sure, the
money was great, but as an investment in my own sanity, I was getting
out. “McCoy, it’s quitting time, you
lucky…” The voice of Private First Class Jacob Glass trailed off
as he yelled up the steps of the guard tower. He thankfully stopped
himself before he said something degrading. This was the new world
order where educated, empowered women were also stuck on watch. I briefed Glass on the day’s
inactivity and cleared my weapon in a nearby container. I packed my
gear in the small pockets of my Camelbak and headed down the ancient
steps of the station. No one had to tell me twice. As I walked to the dining facility, I
tried to make my meal options sound appealing. A hot meal was never a
possibility when working a shift that ended just before midnight. The
second shift guards received bottom-of-the-barrel leftovers after the
local cooks stopped serving at eight p.m. My only hope was for a
stocked salad bar and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After I assembled a chicken salad for
dinner, I added the sun-dried tomato salad dressing my little sister
had sent me from home. I was a foodie at heart. I valued my slim
hips, so I had to be creative with my meals. I grabbed a Styrofoam container at the
beginning of the line and took my dinner to go. On the walk to my room, I took a good
look around. The way the endless black sky continued was beautiful. I
thought about my family far away. I considered my grandma smoking her
nightly cigarette on the porch in her southern Missouri home. They
were under this sky, too, in some other time. As I entered the cramped living
quarters, I saw my roommate and best friend of six years, Sergeant
Concepcion Chapa. I owed her my life literally and figuratively after
an amateur move on my part. It had happened when we were running near
the base; she ran ahead and tripped me. I fell to my knees, and she
pulled my T-shirt, dragging me back toward her. I pulled my
headphones out , “Why’d you trip me?” She pointed ahead on the path where a
horned viper head peeked out while its body was burrowed under the
sand. With a combat boot, snakes were less threatening, but with
tennis shoes and bare calves, hemorrhagic bleeding wasn’t how I
wanted to go out. I never let her run ahead again. She was watching a pirated copy of one
of the latest popular movies back in the States. With her headphones
on, she didn’t hear me come in. I set my food down and jumped on
the bed, where her tiny frame was sprawled out in front of my MacBook
Pro. “Dammit, McCoy, you ruined the sexy
mood I was creating in my head. This is the best part,” she said. A
very naked eighteen-year-old muscular man was having fake sex with a
plastic surgeon’s golden ticket, a forty-something blonde cougar. “Monkey puke, monkey puke,” I
lifted her earphones off her head. The phrase monkey puke was
something my dad sang when the brief sex scenes of movies raced by my
young eyes. He was too lazy to fast-forward, and movie night was too
sacred of a time to put my sisters and me to bed early. I later
decided this was the reason I became shy during all nude and kissing
scenes. Concepcion knew about my aversion to nudity and used it
against me whenever possible. After I riled my battle buddy, I walked
to the communal bathroom to get ready for the night. Searching the
mirror, I smiled at my reflection, an old habit for applying makeup.
At five feet nine inches, I was taller than many other female
soldiers, but less elegant or sophisticated than the rest of the
women in my family. Instead of waif-thin, I was lean and athletic, my
coffee-colored long hair pulled back, making my features look harsh
in the halogen lights. I considered how soon it would be until I
would be able to wear my hair down for good. The strands were
breaking off after being in a tight bun throughout the years. I examined my pores up close and
thanked my expensive and rigorous skincare regimen. My time there was
showing on my face, and no amount of miracle cream could fix my
sunken eyes perpetually looking tired. They were supposed to be my
best feature, according to Concepcion. They changed in intensity,
from shades of green to hazel, as often as my mood. As a Gemini, I
was a different person depending on the day. I would pay for these
years of stress on my body. I heard the door of the bathroom open
and close while I had my face pressed up to the mirror. In another
world, I would be able to obsess in private, but not in the Army.
Before I could see who it was, a hand slapped my toweled behind.
Concepcion. Payback was sooner than I imagined. “Get out of your head, girl. You’ll
get another migraine.” I turned around and shook my head. I
didn’t respond. What she said was true. My migraine diagnosis was
another check in the “con” category for staying in the service. I listened as the water turned on. I
hoped Concepcion hadn’t moved my stuff away from the good shower. I
needed hot water to release some of the tension in my shoulders from
holding up a gun all day. The good shower meant temperature control
was possible. I looked in the mirror to see her taking the shower
next to mine. Good girl. “Are you ready to be out of this
sandbox?” The noise of the shower between us. “Can I get a hell
yeah, Sergeant?” “What are you saying?” She didn’t
hear me. Showers here were mostly private, but I
was feeling giddy about leaving this place. As much as I bitched, we
were lucky we had running water. It was worse in Afghanistan. Concepcion sang out louder so I could
hear. She did a great Cher impression, and I could tell she was also
in a good mood for our last night. I peeked outside the shower stall to
see if anyone else had come in since I’d entered. I wasn’t ready
to entertain the whole camp. I screamed out the next verse while I
rubbed some remaining sand into my skin, exfoliating the sweat as
best I could. Her energy was infectious. She was as excited as I was
to get back home. I was going to miss our Cher-in-the-shower time. Concepcion’s voice was stronger than
mine, but that was okay with me. My stomach dropped a bit when I
considered leaving her at the airport. Like the Army, she was a
constant in my life. She’d saved me from myself more than a few
times. I was going to miss my friend.
ALICIA
DILL spent six years as an Army soldier and globally published print
journalist. She remains involved with many service members who
continue to put their lives in harm's way throughout the world. It's
because of that bond, the Missouri native wrote her debut novel in a
series of untold stories of sisters in uniform. She joined the Army
National Guard at the age of seventeen and received her degree in
journalism and international studies at the University of Iowa. After
her service, she was published by several weekly newspapers in Iowa,
Missouri, and Illinois with over 75,000 readers. She continues
writing in Iowa City, Iowa and enjoys traveling the world with her
next book in mind.
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