Intersections, Karen F. Uhlmann

Hello readers and followers!

Thank you for stopping in for the book tour of Karen F Uhlmann’s Intersections, a gripping novel of love, addiction, and family tragedy.  I wish to thank Simone Jung at Books Forward for the invite.

Intersections Synopsis:

Charlotte Oakes would watch a police officer recording traffic everyday at an intersection in her neighborhood. Four-to-five times a week, he would sit there hoping to catch the suspect of a fatal hit-and-run that killed a young child. Karen wondered what he might be going through. She explores this and more in her compelling drama,  Intersections (May 6, 2025, She Writes Press), the story of a fatal hit-and-run in a quiet Chicago neighborhood, the police officer and suburban mother who both witness the tragedy, and the bond  they form over their shared grief–with one big secret: the mother believes the killer is her daughter.

Intersections – Excerpt:

Charlotte Oakes hurried through Lincoln Park on a bright chilly November afternoon.
She was running late and should have taken a cab, but Chicago had so few perfect days that she
had wanted to walk. It was nearly three, time to drive her daughter to the dentist. Libby was
home for Thanksgiving. The visit was not going well. Libby’s visits rarely did. This was
Charlotte’s failing. Only bad mothers had troubled kids. Good mothers had children who grew up
to be artists, investment bankers, owners of craft breweries.
Libby was twenty-three and less than two months out of rehab. She worked at J. Crew in
Manhattan while she waited to become famous. Perhaps a TV star. Libby had refused to move
back home after treatment. “Infantilizing” was the word she had used. Libby had learned plenty
of lingo in rehab to throw at her mother. “Enabler” was another.

Charlotte was late because she had gone to see Emory. She did not like the word “lover,
but that was the closest she could come to describing him. She was still basking in the afterglow
of her visit, replaying the way he had kissed her, carried her to his couch. Maybe, just maybe,
they could have a life together someday.
She was, of course, being ridiculous.
It was all a fantasy. She kicked at some of the red and gold leaves that littered the path.
Emory would never leave his wife who was Chicago aristocracy—which was the difference
between Charlotte and Emory. One of many. He claimed he was happy with his wife, but happy
people didn’t have affairs. She knew that much. And she would leave her unhappy marriage for a
shot at happiness—selfish though it might be. And she had been selfish this afternoon. She
should have been home with Libby. Then she wouldn’t be rushing.

As she approached the corner, a small girl dressed in a puffy green coat over a fairy
costume darted into the crosswalk. A woman, balancing a toddler on her hip, dashed into the
street after her. The woman lunged for the girl’s hand, as a familiar-looking car flew through the
intersection. Was that her car? Charlotte heard a thump. The girl tumbled to the ground, pink tutu
billowing. Her gold foil crown glinted in the gutter, squashed. The woman and her toddler were
splayed across the curb.
The girl’s head lay in a puddle of blood. So much blood. Charlotte froze for a second
before her instincts kicked in, and she ran toward the child. A dark-haired man, who must have
been her father, got there first and began CPR. Charlotte turned and rushed to the woman on the
curb. She was badly bruised, bleeding, and cradling a small, sobbing girl. Charlotte started
punching 911 into her cell phone.
“I called. Stay with me. Please.” Her skin was pale and bluish, the color of shock. Her
eyes wide and glazed. Her blond bob matted with blood. She pulled her toddler closer, and the
child howled in pain. Her arm dangled at her side—broken.
“Are you hurt?” Charlotte asked, before she realized this was a stupid question.
“My daughter.” The woman’s eyes were locked on the child lying still in the street and
the man bent over her. “My husband.” Blood still streamed from the girl’s head. It soaked the
father’s gray parka, his jeans. Charlotte willed herself not to vomit. She knew she would never
unsee this. Worse, the parents and sister would never unsee the small body in the street. Their
daughter, their sister. A family had been destroyed in a second.
“I’m here,” she said. That was all she could do. Not nearly enough. The two
women sat on the cold curb. The father continued CPR. The city went silent. The only

sounds were the father’s breaths and the toddler’s sobs. Time stood still as if this
moment, this nightmare, would last forever.

Wow!  Grab a copy of Intersections with a cup of tea and enjoy!  Thank you again for stopping in at The Cozy Book Blog.

Best,

Diane-Lyn