To save a client accused of murder, defense attorney Keera Duggan must fight a complex web of corruption in Robert Dugoni’s riveting new suspense novel, HER COLD JUSTICE, which releases on January 27th. The last Christmas that Robert spent with his mother was a special one for so many reasons. The morning before their big Christmas Eve party, he took his wife and his mother to confession, and he reluctantly joined them. He had an eye-opening conversation with the priest after confessing his sins, and his “penance” was connected to one of his books.
Christmas, 2023. I traveled to the Bay Area with my wife and two kids to celebrate Christmas Eve at my mother’s house --- the house that I grew up in. My mom always made Christmas Eve special for me and my nine siblings. She made my Nonno’s gnocchi and the red sauce to go with it. If you’ve ever made gnocchi, you know this is a time-intensive task. She also made fresh rolls and cooked a prime rib. The crowning piece to our meal were my Nonno’s homemade cream puffs --- stuffed with whipped cream and covered in chocolate. My Nonno never made it to Christmas Eve. I never knew him. My father lost his dad to cancer on April 27, 1962 at just 65 years old. But I knew my Nonno’s recipes intimately.
My mother carried on his traditions on that one unforgettable evening, even when 12 family members had grown to 65.
This Christmas Eve would be my last with my mom. She was sick, and despite being a tough old Irish lady, we all recognized the toll that such an evening took on her.
The morning before the party, my mother asked me to take her to confession. She could no longer drive herself. Her eyes were just one of many things failing. Out of nowhere, and quite unexpectedly, my wife also said she would join her. This left me in an awkward position. I couldn’t very well drive my mother and my wife to confession and not go. So, reluctantly, I also agreed to go.
When we walked into the church, there was a short line. My mom went first, then my wife. When my wife came out, suspiciously quick, she said it was a face-to-face confession with the priest, without any screen to shield my identity. “Oh, and it’s Father Michael.”
I’d known Father Michael for decades. He’d been our pastor when I attended Our Lady of Angels in Burlingame, California, and he had been to our house to say mass on Christmas Eve many times. Still, I was alarmed. Face to face? With a priest I knew and who knew me? I don’t want to say I kept my confessed sins rated PG, but I was discerning. When I finished, I stood to leave.
“Hold on a minute,” Father Mike said, with his thick Irish brogue. “I read your book. SAM HELL.”
Uh-oh. Not good. THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF SAM HELL included some autobiographical moments of the parish, the priests and the nuns, including our wicked principal, Sister Beatrice. I had no idea how Father Mike would respond.
He continued. “And I recognized quite a few of the characters in that book.”
“Did you?” I said.
“I did. And I believe you captured them perfectly.”
I smiled.
“I had just one question. What happened to Sam’s siblings…your nine brothers and sisters?”
“Sam isn’t me,” I explained. “He had no siblings.”
Father gave me a knowing gaze. Then he said, “I think he does. And I think those siblings would see themselves in your novel. As I did, and so many others.”
When I left the confessional, I went to my wife and told her of my encounter. Then I told her I needed to find nine copies of THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF SAM HELL and give one to each of my siblings as a Christmas present.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “But I think it’s my penance.”
“How is that a punishment?”
“It’s not. Sometimes a penance is doing something nice for someone else. I think Father wants me to give my siblings the book.”
“You don’t have a lot of time,” my wife said.
“I know. But I do have some friends.” I got online with my publisher, Amazon Publishing, told them my predicament, and quickly ordered nine copies of THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF SAM HELL. The estimated delivery date was the next day, Christmas Eve. I had no idea I would receive them in time.
On Christmas Eve, I waited as we prepared for the party, getting out the tables and the chairs and helping mom make all the food. Right around 2:00, my phone buzzed. The books had been delivered.
“What are you going to say?” My wife asked as I opened the first book to the title page. I didn’t have to think long. I wrote the meaning of SAM HELL --- that each of us has the ability to lead our own extraordinary life.
It is my Christmas wish for all my family and my friends.
Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Happy Hanukkah.
I wish you all an Extraordinary Life.
