There are people in this world we pass right by without giving a second thought. They are almost invisible. Yet some of them have amazing stories to tell, if we'd only take the time to listen . . .
Aaron Miller was an old, worn-out Vietnam vet, a handyman in a trailer park. Forty years prior, he saved the lives of three young men in the field only to come home from the war and lose everything. But God is a master at finding and redeeming the lost things of life. Aaron is about to be found. And the one who finds him just might find the love of his life as well.
Expert storyteller Dan Walsh pens a new tale filled with the things his fans have come to love--forgiveness, redemption, love, and that certain bittersweet quality that few authors ever truly master. Fans old and new will find themselves drawn into this latest story about how God cares for everyone.
My Review: If you could see me now, you'd notice that I am standing while applauding. I just finished reading this excellent novel, and the author, Dan Walsh, deserves my standing ovation.
This Christian fiction causes the reader to run the gamut of emotions. The characters are believable; the plot is well drawn. Prepare to enjoy this read! There are few works that capture the reader's attention as well as this one.
Buy a copy, and pick up a box of tissues while you're at it. When you finish reading, you might want to stand with me to applaud.
Thank you to Donna Hausler at Baker Publishing Group for my copy.
Available September 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.
Giveaway: Starting today and running until next Monday, September 17th, Dan Walsh is celebrating the release of his new novel, The Reunion, with a ten book giveaway contest! Five winners will each receive a signed copy of The Reunion, as well as his third novel, The Deepest Waters. (He’s including this book because it was named a finalist for an ACFW Carol Award for book-of-the-year). Click here to enter the contest!
Danica Greene has always hated flying, so it was almost laughable that the boy of her dreams was a pilot. She married him anyway and she and Etsell settled into a happy life in the small Iowa town where they grew up. But when the opportunity to spend three weeks in Alaska helping a pilot friend presents itself, Etsell accepts and their idyllic world is turned upside down.
Ell is gone only a few days when his plane mysteriously vanishes shortly after takeoff, leaving Danica in a free fall. Etsell is gone, but what exactly does gone mean? Is she a widow? An abandoned wife? Or will Etsell find his way home to her? Danica is forced to search for the truth in her marriage and treks to Alaska to grapple with the unanswerable questions about her husband’s mysterious disappearance. But when she learns that Ell wasn’t flying alone, the bits and pieces of the careful life that she had constructed for them in Iowa take to the wind.
My Review: Here is a romance with a twist. Through flashbacks, the author tells the story of Danica and Etsell (Dani and Ell)--meeting, falling in love, and marrying while quite young. Ten years into marriage, and Ell, a man who loves flying a small aircraft, leaves Dani, who has a white-knuckle fear of flying, for a three-week business trip in Alaska, and goes missing. The characters are fleshed out so well that connections are made with this reader. The author is adept in bringing characters to life.
The story is compelling; I became anxious to find out how the plot ends. The conclusion, although somewhat expected, felt abrupt. This is one of those books, the reader did not want to end.
Some profanity is used.
Reading Group Guide is included. If you're in a book club, this one will definitely help the discussion.
Thank you to Anne Staszalek from AuthorsOnTheWeb for my copy.
Generous Anne Staszalek from AuthorsOnTheWeb is allowing me to host a book giveaway for one (1) copy!
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"But Mother is always dying," is Gillian Ormsby's sarcastic response when her younger, favored sister tells her that she has to go take care of their hypochondriac mother. Much against her will, since she and her mother never have gotten along, Gillian arrives in California to find the garden and yard dead, the blinds all drawn, and her mother indeed in bed--waiting to die. But when Gillian talks with the doctor, he assures her there's no medical reason behind her mother's state.
Now on a mission to restore her mother to health, Gillian insists Mother get out of bed, eat, exercise, and hopefully, choose to live. She also sets about reviving the garden to its former glory, enlisting the help of Adam, a handsome man who owns a family gardening business with his father. Gillian is delighted when a pair of hummingbirds appear, and her friendship with Adam grows.
Soon, Mother's health improves, and one day she announces she and her friend Enzio are going on a cruise. Before Gillian has time to turn around, her mother is gone, and she is left high and dry again, and wondering, what is she going to do with the rest of her own life?
My Review: How nice to read a contemporary work. The protagonist, Gillian, is a successful New York businesswoman. She's climbed her way to the top of the corporate heap, but then, the bottom drops out of her world. Her sister, back home in California, calls for Gillian to come home because their mother is dying. During Gillian's weekend visit, she discovers that her company has been bought out, and she is out of a job! Gillian is left to figure out what she wants to do with the remainder of her life. Stay in California? Return to New York? Change careers?
The author realistically paints the mother/daughter portrait and stress of the two sisters. Each sister thinks that the other is the one that "mother loved best." Each time the sisters communicate, the tension can be cut with a knife. This sure sounds familiar to me!
However, a handsome neighbor sparks romance, causing Gillian's life to become even more complex.
I connected to Gillian as she organizes and thinks through her options. She analyses much the same as me. This is a good read, and comes with a Reading Group Guide.
Thank you to Sarah Reck at FaithWords for my copy.
In addition to furnishing me my review copy, Sarah Reck at FaithWords is allowing me to host a book giveaway for two (2) copies of this book!
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In this debut novel, Peter is a simple man who lives by a simple truth--a person gains strength by leaning on his constants. To him, those constants are the factory where he works, the family he loves, and the God who sustains him. But when news of job cuts comes against the backdrop of an unexpected snowstorm, his life becomes filled with far more doubts than certainties.
With humor and a gift for storytelling, Billy Coffey brings you along as he spends his snow day encountering family, friends, and strangers of his small Virginia town. All have had their own battles with life's storms. Some have found redemption. Others are still seeking it. But each one offers a piece to the puzzle of why we must sometimes suffer loss, and each one will help Peter find a greater truth--our lives are made beautiful not by our big moments, but our little ones.
My Review: The narrator in this delightful book is Peter Boyd, and the plot is about one day in his life. He represents Everyman, someone with whom we can all connect.
Each chapter can stand on its own and yet is an individual gem strung together into a frame story that ends up a stunning necklace of a tale. Each one of these pearls of wisdom should be read over and over again. Included is a trip to a grocery store where Peter learns life's lessons taught by examples from the people he encounters. We witness Peter as he plays with his children, interacts with his wife, and fills out a job application. During this time, he reflects on his life's goals.
I think this would make a wonderful Christmas gift.
Thank you to Bonnie at Christian Fiction Blog Alliance and Faith Words for my copy.
In addition to furnishing me my review copy, the generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host a book giveaway for one (1) copy of his hardback book!
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Without A Word: How a Boy's Unspoken Love Changed Everything is a riveting memoir that blends remarkable achievement with passion, sacrifice, love, pain, and human interest. It takes the reader into the lives of a celebrity couple, Pro Football Hall of Famer Jim Kelly, and his wife, Jill, to reveal the Kelly family's private struggle and how seven years with their severely disabled, terminally ill son, Hunter, unfolded in a redemptive and transforming manner.
The light of Hunter's love through his brief and silent life shone into the shadowed corners of Jill and Jim's lives resulting in Jill believing that Jesus Christ was authentic, her learning to forgive Jim of past indiscretions, and finally resulting in Jim's seeking and finding God.
My Review: My husband, an avid football fan, spotted this book written by the wife of quarterback Jim Kelly. He read a page and declared, "Oh, it's a sad book." But he was wrong. Although this memoir is about a sad occurrence, it is not a sad read, but rather a book of hope, promise, and forgiveness. The author shares how she was able to overcome the impossible tragedy of watching her sick child's struggles by trusting in Jesus. This is a book of encouragement.
Hunter, the son of Jill and Jim Kelly taught those around him how to love.
In addition to furnishing me my review copy, the generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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Charles Swindoll discusses the challenges, struggles, and priorities of the church in the twenty-first century. He reveals the problems inherent in the entertainment-based postmodern church and shows how a return to biblical teaching will restore its strength and impact.
Now being replaced by a feel-good message instead of what Christians need to know to stand strong in a world that's lost its way--Swindoll exposes the problems of--and solutions for--the postmodern evangelical church.
Just as he opened readers' eyes with his bold statements in The Grace Awakening, now he offers a straightforward volume revealing how to reestablish a life-altering church with Christ as Lord and Master. Illuminating and empowering, this volume will ignite a revolution in the way Christians "do church" for years to come.
My Review: Swindoll uses God's intention for the church as a foundation to examine what went wrong with some of our churches in this volume which is chock-full of illustrations, stories, and anecdotes. Giving people a feel-good message instead of what Christians need to hear may increase the numbers, but where is the depth that needed to deal with sin in our current world?
The author gives his opinion about "worship wars" and entertaining sermons instead of expository preaching. Quoting Acts 2:42, four essentials for any church are listed on page 15: teaching, fellowship, breaking of bread, and prayer.
With October being Pastor Appreciation Month and Christmas coming, I think this is a terrific gift idea for any pastor.
In addition to furnishing me my review copy, the generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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1886, New York City: Charlotte Gleason, a rich heiress from England, escapes a family crisis by traveling to America in order to marry the even wealthier Conrad Tremaine. She soon decides that an arranged marriage is not for her and persuades her maid, Dora, to take her place.
What begins as the whim of a spoiled rich girl wanting adventure becomes a test of survival amid poverty beyond Charlotte's blackest nightmares. As for Dora, she lives a fairy tale complete with gowns, jewels, and lavish mansions--yet is tormented by guilt and the presence of another love that will not die.
Will their masquerade be discovered? Will one of them have second thoughts? There is no guarantee the switch will work. It's a risk. It's the chance of a lifetime.
My Review: A lovely tale of America's Gilded Age unfolds as the pages turn on this historical romance. Lottie teaches Dora and the reader that "the first rule of being a lady" is to be "polite, prompt, pretty, and proper," and the second rule is to "smile." That sounds doable, but with the rules of dining, the restrictions of proper clothing, and propriety, we see our characters struggle. Each girl wants to be free and marry for love, but is that possible?
Along with a look at the extravagant party given to introduce their special visitor from England to the Four Hundred of society's elite, held inside the mansion owned by the nouveau riche fictional Tremaine family, the reader experiences the horrible conditions of Five Points, the first American slums, where three to four babies would suffocate each night in the airless tenements. What a contrast!
I read this novel straight through; I did not want to put it down. Although I guessed at the ending, I was never certain that I was guessing correctly. If historical fiction is your genre, grab this one.
Discussion questions are included.
Thank you to Bonnie at Christian Fiction Blog Alliance and Bethany House for my Advance Reading Copy.
If you would like to read the first chapter, click here.
I am willing to give away my copy of this book. Note: This is an Advanced Reader Copy. It is illegal to resell ARCs.
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Whether you consider angels to be divine messengers, spiritual guides, or the stuff of legend, you will find something to marvel at in this awesome book.
Fischer's original art, inspired by classic images from art history, is crafted into astoundingly intricate three-dimensional pop-ups with fold-outs and moveable parts. Angels brings to life the most captivating stories of these celestial beings, from the angels of the zodiac to Biblical angels to angels in the arts and popular culture.
Chuck Fischer's paintings hang in some of the finest residences in the world. His designs have been reproduced on holiday ornaments and home furnishings, including wallpaper and fabrics in the permanent collection of the Cooper-Hewitt Museum. He is the author of five previous pop-up books: The White House, Great American Houses and Gardens, Christmas in New York, Christmas Around the World, and the forthcoming In The Beginning. He lives in New York and Florida.
My Review: Thanks to Hachette Book Group for my copy of this colorful pop-up book. No one does pop-up books as well as Chuck Fischer!
Although children will enjoy it, in no way is this a children's book; it is created for adults and is a comprehensive study of angels arranged into three sections: "Messengers," "A Hierarchy of Angels," and "Secular Angels." Text is interspersed throughout the book by inserting booklets--themselves tiny works of art. A good idea is having the "Acknowledgment" and the "Image Credit" pages as pull-outs.
This volume is smaller than other works of the author; perhaps because the price is less than the others. Nonetheless, it is large enough to do the job. I would encourage careful handling to preserve this treasure. This would make a marvelous gift.
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for ONE (1) copy of this special book!
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Simon Tofield's animations have taken YouTube by storm. Now, the feline Internet phenomenon makes his way onto the page in this first-ever book based on the popular animated series.
Simon's Cat depicts and exaggerates the hilarious relationship between a man and his cat. The daily escapades of this adorable pet, which always involve demanding more food, and his exasperated but doting owner come to life through Tofield's charming and hilarious illustrations.
My Review: If you own a cat, (ahem!) I mean if you are owned by a cat, you'll love this book.
Although I do not have a cat currently living in my home, I have enjoyed the antics of cats. Simon Tofield accurately draws the joys and frustrations of Simon while his famous cat attempts to do battle with fish and birds, torment dogs, avoid cat collars, obtain a never-ending supply of food, and find a comfortable napping spot. I chuckled out loud with the trip to the veterinarian and again when Simon had to rescue the cat from the tree.
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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Joyce Meyer is not satisfied with the status quo. She believes that we each need to become a revolutionary and practice love every day. And if Joyce has her way, the revolution will spread - person by person, house by house, town by town, until the old culture of selfishness and greed gives way to a new culture of concern for others.
The book is a revolutionaries' manual, a hands-on primer for bringing the Golden Rule to life in the twenty-first century. Meyer starts out by giving some stunning statistics. Right now...210,000 children will die this week because of poverty; 640 million children do not have adequate shelter; every day, 3,000 children are abducted into the sex-trafficking industry; every day, 16,000 children die from hunger-related causes. She goes on to say that although crisis is global, the solution is local. We can't solve the world's problems, but that isn't a reason to remain idle.
LOVE REVOLUTION focuses on personal behavior on the local scale. It's not just a call to action; it is a call to being: being the person who goes out of your way to encourage someone who's out of hope; being the one who smiles at a stranger; being the one who is willing to do something for nothing. The paradox: when we do something for nothing, what we often get is something far greater.
My Review: Rather than complain about the ugly problems of the world, this book challenges the reader to be part of solutions. The author asks, "What have you done today to make someone else's life better?" This is a book that will challenge the reader to put Christian love into action by stepping outside comfort zones.
John Maxwell writes about an interesting concept called, "The Compliment Club." Joyce Meyer proposes a "pay it forward" style of blessing others with time, talents, thoughts, words, deeds, and money.
Fans of Joyce Meyer will not be disappointed with this one.
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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One of the biggest stars in tennis, Serena Williams has captured every major title. Her 2009 Australia Open championship earned her the #1 world ranking for the third time in her illustrious career - and marked only the latest exclamation point on a life well and purposefully lived.
As a young girl, Serena began training with an adult-sized racquet that was almost as big as her. Rather than dropping the racquet, Serena saw it as a challenge to overcome-and she has confronted every obstacle on her path to success with the same unflagging spirit. From growing up in the tough, hardscrabble neighborhood of Compton, California, to being trained by her father on public tennis courts littered with broken glass and drug paraphernalia, to becoming the top women's player in the world, Serena has proven to be an inspiration to her legions of fans both young and old.
Her accomplishments have not been without struggle: being derailed by injury, devastated by the tragic shooting of her older sister, and criticized for her unorthodox approach to tennis. Yet somehow, Serena always manages to prevail. Both on the court and off, she's applied the strength and determination that helped her to become a champion to successful pursuits in philanthropy, fashion, television and film. In this compelling and poignant memoir, Serena takes an empowering look at her extraordinary life and what is still to come.
My Review: The book reads easily beginning from Serena's childhood, through the divorce of her parents, on to the death of her oldest sister, Tundre, until the present day. Statistics are given for all the matches Serena has played and all her opponents, along with who won and who lost. Some play by play is given in the more important games, especially those against her sister, Venice. Many photographs are included in the book.
Unfortunately, Serena uses this forum to promote her religion - Jehovah Witness. She goes on for pages advocating this way of thinking and makes many references to her beliefs.
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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Overcoming Adversity and Reaching Your Greatest Potential
In a world filled with dysfunction, futility, and confusion, people are looking for meaning and significance. They want to break through the barriers holding them back.
BREAKING THE BARRIERS offers three foundational pillars to equip readers for overcoming the most difficult obstacles in their lives. These three pillars teach readers how to: -Take on the character of God the Father -Take on the wisdom of the Son -Take on the discipline of the Spirit.
Through dynamic stories of people who have overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, and the powerful example of the author who has overcome great adversity in his own life, this book shows readers that God is on their side and desires for them to fulfill the dreams and purposes he has placed in their hearts.
My Review: This easy-to-read book will help anyone find inspiration and help when overcoming adversities of life. Using the Bible as the foundation, and drawing truths found in his own learned life lessons as well as those of others, the author shares a step-by-step guide to becoming all we are destined to be. Each chapter ends with a specific prayer meant to assist the reader.
The book can be read cover to cover or a chapter at a time which makes it ideal for group studies.
The author quotes his friend, "Pride is like bad breath; everyone knows you have it except you."
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
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After her brother dies in a trauma room, nurse Claire Avery can no longer face the ER. She's determined to make a fresh start--new hospital, new career in nursing education--move forward, no turning back.
But her plans fall apart when she's called to offer stress counseling for medical staff after a heartbreaking day care center explosion. Worse, she's forced back to the ER, where she clashes with Logan Caldwell, a doctor who believes touchy-feely counseling is a waste of time. He demands his staff be as tough as he is.
Yet he finds himself drawn to this nurse educator . . . who just might teach him the true meaning of healing.
My Review: I'm hooked on Grey's Anatomy, and now I'm hooked on anything that Candace Calvert writes. This is her first novel, so I'm hoping that there will be many more to come. Her experience as an ER nurse shines through the pages that I could not turn quickly enough. If medical programs interest you, this book would be worth your time.
The plot is an intricate one with twists and turns that keep the reader guessing. Characters are believable. Although this is a romance, it's not typical. Claire and Logan keep the reader wondering whether or not romance might develop. I won't tell as I don't want to ruin it for you. It's not the typical Christian fiction either. One character is a God follower, but others are not. Added into the plot is a bit of a whodunit when money disappears. It's simply a good read.
I am willing to give away my ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) copy of this book. ARC is an uncorrected proof, meaning there may be a few typos here and there. Once you read it, you cannot resell it (like on eBay) because it is illegal to resell ARCs.
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AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Don’t die, little girl.
Dr. Logan Caldwell pressed the heel of his hand against Amy Hester’s chest, taking over heart compressions in a last attempt to save the child’s life. Her small sternum hollowed and recoiled under his palm at a rate of one hundred times per minute, the best he could do to mimic her natural heartbeat. A respiratory therapist forced air into her lungs.
Don’t die. Logan glanced up at the ER resuscitation clock, ticking on without mercy. Twenty-seven minutes since they’d begun the code. No heartbeat. Not once. Time to quit but . . .
He turned to his charge nurse, Erin Quinn, very aware of the insistent wail of sirens in the distance. “Last dose of epi?”
“Three minutes ago.”
“Give another.” Logan halted compressions, his motionless hand easily spanning the width of the two-year-old’s chest. He watched until satisfied with the proficiency of the therapist’s ventilations, then turned back to the cardiac monitor and frowned. Asystole—flatline. Flogging this young heart with atropine and repeated doses of epinephrine wasn’t going to do it. A pacemaker, pointless. She’d been deprived of oxygen far too long before rescue.
Logan pushed his palm into Amy’s sternum again and gritted his teeth against images of a terrified little girl hiding in a toy cupboard as her day care burned in a suffocating cloud of smoke, amid the chaos of two dozen other burned and panicking children.
“Epi’s on board,” Erin reported, sweeping an errant strand of coppery hair away from her face. She pressed two fingers against the child’s arm to locate the brachial pulse and raised her gaze to the doctor’s. “You’re generating a good pulse with compressions, but . . .”
But she’s dead. With reluctance, Logan lifted his hand from the child’s chest. He studied the monitor display and then nodded at the blonde nurse standing beside the crash cart. “Run me rhythm strips in three leads, Sarah.” After he drew in a slow breath of air still acrid with the residue of smoke, he glanced down at Amy Hester, her cheeks unnaturally rosy from the effects of carbon monoxide, glossy brown curls splayed against the starched hospital linen. Dainty purple flower earrings. Blue eyes, glazed and half-lidded. Tiny chin. And lips—pink as a Valentine cupid—pursed around the rigid breathing tube, as if it were a straw in a snack-time juice box. Picture-perfect . . . and gone.
He signaled for the ventilations to stop and checked the code clock again. “Time of death—9:47.”
There was a long stretch of silence, and Logan used it to make his exit, turning his back to avoid another glance at the child on the gurney . . . and the expressions on the faces of his team. No good came from dwelling on tragedy. He knew that too well. Best to move on with what he had to do. He’d almost reached the doorway when Erin caught his arm.
“We’ve put Amy’s parents and grandmother in the quiet room the way you asked,” she confirmed, her green eyes conveying empathy for him as well. “I can send Sarah with you, if—”
“No. I’ll handle it myself,” Logan said, cutting her off. His tone was brusquer than he’d intended, but he just wanted this over with. “We need Sarah here.” He tensed at a child’s shrill cry in the trauma room beyond, followed by the squawk of the base station radio announcing an ambulance. “There are at least five more kids coming in from the propane explosion. We’ll need extra staff to do more than pass out boxes of Kleenex. I want nurses who know what they’re doing. Get them for me.”
***
Why am I here?
Claire Avery winced as a child’s painful cry echoed up the Sierra Mercy emergency department corridor and blended with the wail of sirens. Almost an hour after the Little Nugget Day Care explosion, ambulances still raced in. Fire. Burns. Like my brother. No, please, I can’t be part of this again.
She leaned against the cool corridor wall, her mouth dry and thoughts stuttering. Being called to the ER was a mistake. Had to be. The message to meet the director of nursing didn’t make sense. Claire hadn’t done critical care nursing since Kevin’s death. Couldn’t. She wiped a clammy palm on her freshly pressed lab coat and stepped away from the wall to peer down the corridor into the ER. Then jumped, heart pounding, at the thud of heavy footfalls directly behind her.
She whirled to catch a glimpse of a man barreling toward her with his gaze on the ambulance entrance some dozen yards away. He looked a few years older than she was, maybe thirty-five, tall and wide shouldered, with curly dark hair and faded blue scrubs. He leveled a forbidding scowl at Claire like a weapon and slowed to a jog before stopping a few paces from her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing his stethoscope before it could slide from his neck.
“I’m . . . waiting,” Claire explained, awkwardly defensive. “I was paged to the ER.”
“Good. Then don’t just stand there holding up the wall. Let’s go. The charge nurse will show you where to start.”
“But I—,” she choked, her confusion complete.
“But what?” He glanced toward sounds at the ambulance bay and then back at her.
Claire cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He shook his head, his low groan sounding far too much like a smothered curse. “If that question’s existential, I don’t have time for it. But if you’re here to work, follow me. Erin Quinn will tell you everything you need to know.” He pointed toward a crew of paramedics racing through the ambulance doors with a stretcher. A toddler, his tiny, terrified face raw and blistered behind an oxygen mask, sat bolt upright partially covered by a layer of sterile sheets. “See that boy? That’s why I’m here. So either help me or get out of the way.” He turned and began jogging.
Speechless, Claire stared at the man’s retreating back and the nightmarish scene beyond: burned child, hustling medics, a flurry of scrubs, and a hysterically screaming parent. Help or get out of the way? What was she supposed to do with that ultimatum? And what gave this rude man the right to issue it?
Then, with a rush of relief, Claire spotted the Jamaican nursing director striding toward her. This awful mistake was about to be cleared up.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” Merlene Hibbert said, her molasses-rich voice breathless. “As you can imagine, there have been many things to attend to.” She slid her tortoiseshell glasses low on her nose, squinting down the corridor. “I see you already met our Dr. Caldwell.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Logan Caldwell? Sierra Mercy Hospital’s ER director?
Merlene sighed. “I’d planned to introduce you myself. I hope he wasn’t . . . difficult.”
“No, not exactly,” she hedged, refusing to imagine a reason she’d need an introduction. “But I think there’s been a mistake. He thought I’d been sent down here to work in the ER.” Tell me he’s mistaken.
“Of course. A natural mistake. He’s expecting two more agency nurses.”
Claire’s knees nearly buckled with relief. “Thank goodness. They need help. I can see that from here.” She glanced at the ER, where patients on gurneys overflowed into the hallway. A nurse’s aide held a sobbing woman in her arms, her face etched with fatigue. Styrofoam coffee cups, discarded cardboard splints, and scraps of cut-away clothing littered the floor. All the while, the distant cries of that poor child continued relentlessly.
“Yes, they do,” Merlene agreed. “And that’s exactly why I called you.”
“But I’ve been at Sierra Mercy only a few months, and my hours are promised to the education department—to train the students, write policies, and demonstrate new equipment.” Claire floundered ahead as if grasping for a life preserver. “I’ve interviewed to replace Renee Baxter as clinical educator. And I haven’t done any critical care nursing in two years, so working in the ER would be out of the—”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Merlene said. Her dark eyes pinned Claire like a butterfly specimen on corkboard. “I need you to assess my staff to see how they’re coping emotionally. I don’t have to tell you this has been one miserable morning.” She studied Claire’s face and then raised her brows. “You listed that in your résumé. That you’ve been recently trained in Critical Incident Stress Management?”
CISM? Oh no. She’d forgotten. Why on earth had she included that? “Yes, I’m certified, but . . .” How could she explain? Merlene had no clue that Claire’s entire future—maybe even her sanity—depended on never setting foot in an ER again. It was the only answer to the single prayer she’d clung to since her firefighter brother’s death in a Sacramento trauma room two years ago. Being helpless to save him left her with crippling doubts, sleep-stealing nightmares, and . . . She’d mapped her future out meticulously. The move to Placerville, a new hospital, a new career path, no going back. Everything depended on her plan.
Claire brushed away a long strand of her dark hair and forced herself to stand tall, squaring her shoulders. “I understand what you’re asking. But you should know that I haven’t done any disaster counseling beyond classroom practice. I’m familiar with the principles, but . . .” What could she possibly offer these people? “Wouldn’t the chaplain be a better choice?”
“He’s going to be delayed for several hours. Erin Quinn’s my strongest charge nurse, so if she tells me her ER team is at risk, I believe it. They received six children from that explosion at the day care. Four are in serious condition, and a two-year-old died.” Merlene touched the amber and silver cross resting at the neckline of her uniform. She continued, frowning. “Dr. Caldwell’s working them ragged. An agency nurse threatened to walk out. Security’s got their hands full with the media. . . . You’re all I can offer them right now.”
Claire’s heart pounded in her throat. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to sprint into the northern California sunshine; fill her lungs with mountain air; cleanse away the suffocating scents of fear, pain, and death; keep on running and not look back. It would be so easy. Except that these were fellow nurses in that ER; she’d walked in their shoes. More than most people, Claire understood the awful toll this work could take. The staff needed help. How could she refuse? She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Relief flooded into Merlene’s eyes. She handed Claire a dog-eared sheaf of papers. “Here’s our hospital policy for staff support interventions. Probably nothing new there.” She gestured toward her office a few yards away. “Why don’t you sit down and review it for a few minutes before you go in? You can report to me later after I make my rounds.”
Before Claire could respond, the ambulance bay doors slammed open at the far end of the corridor. There was an answering thunder of footsteps, rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the faded vinyl flooring.
Logan Caldwell reappeared, shoving past a clutch of reporters to direct incoming paramedics. He raked his fingers through his hair and bellowed orders. “Faster! Get that stretcher moving. Give me something to work with, guys. And you—yeah, you, buddy—get the camera out of my face! Who let you in here?” The ER director whirled, stethoscope swinging across his broad chest, to shout at a tall nurse who’d appeared at the entrance to the ER. “Where are those extra nurses, Erin? Call the evening crew in early; a double shift won’t kill anyone. We’re working a disaster case here. Get me some decent staff!”
Claire gritted her teeth. Though she still hadn’t officially met him, there was no doubt in her mind that Logan Caldwell deserved his notorious reputation. Dr. McSnarly. The nickname fit like a surgical glove. Thank heaven she didn’t have to actually work with him—the man looked like he ate chaos for breakfast.
Claire turned to Merlene. “I’ll do the best I can,” she said, then drew a self-protective line. “But only for today. Just until the chaplain comes.”
“Of course. Very short-term.” Merlene began walking away, then stopped to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, a word of caution: Dr. Caldwell hates the idea of counseling. I’d watch my back if I were you.”
Claire hesitated outside the doors to the emergency department. She’d reviewed the summary of steps for an initial critical stress intervention and was as ready as she’d ever be. Considering she’d never done any peer counseling before. I’m a fraud. Why am I here?
She shut her eyes for a moment, hearing the din of the department beyond. It had been stupid to put the CISM training on her résumé. She’d taken the course last fall and participated reluctantly in the mock crisis situations, mostly because it would look impressive on her application for the clinical educator position. But afterward Claire knew that she could never volunteer as a peer counselor. Never. It felt too personal, too painful.
Healing the healers, they called it, the basis for the work of volunteer teams that waded into horror zones after events like 9/11, the killer tsunami in Indonesia, and the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And a Sacramento, California, trauma room after a warehouse fire that killed seven firefighters.
Claire fought the memories. Yes, the counseling teams made sure that caregivers took care of themselves too, assessing them for burnout and signs of post-traumatic stress. Like difficulty making decisions, sleeplessness, nightmares, and relationship failures. Claire knew the symptoms only too well. She’d struggled with most of them herself these past two years, exactly the reason she’d run away from that Sacramento hospital—after refusing its offer of stress counseling—and never looked back.
But here she was at another ER door, peeking inside through a narrow panel of bulletproof glass. And now she was responsible for helping these people deal with everything she was trying so hard to forget and expected to offer the kind of counseling she’d never accepted herself. Beyond ironic—impossible and completely at odds with her plan.
Claire raised her palm and pushed the door inward.
Heal my heart and move me forward. She’d prayed it every single day.
So why was her life slamming into reverse?
The essence of Sierra Mercy ER hit Claire’s senses like an assault. Sounds: anxious chatter, a burst from the overhead PA speakers, beeping of electronic monitors, inconsolable crying, and painful screams. Smells: nervous perspiration, stale coffee, surgical soap, bandaging adhesive, the scorched scent of sterile surgical packs . . . and of burned hair and flesh.
No, no. Claire’s stomach lurched as she clutched her briefcase like a shield and scanned the crowded room for the charge nurse. Find Erin Quinn. Concentrate on that.
She took a slow breath and walked farther into the room, searching among the eddy of staff in multicolored scrubs—technicians, nurses, and registration clerks. She forced herself to note the glassed-in code room, a small central nurses’ station and its large dry-erase assignment board, the semicircular arrangement of curtained exam cubicles with wall-mounted equipment at the head of each gurney, and the huge surgical exam lights overhead.
Claire tried to avoid the anxious faces of the family members huddled close to the tiny victims. Because she knew intimately how much they were suffering. No, much worse than that. I feel it. I still feel it.
When she’d agreed to do this for Merlene, she’d hoped this smaller ER—miles from the Sacramento trauma center and two years later—would be somehow different, but nothing had changed. Especially how it made Claire feel, the same way it had in those weeks after Kevin’s death. Unsure of herself for the first time in her nursing career, she’d been antsy, queasy, and clammy with doubt. Dreading the wail of approaching sirens and jumping at each squawk of the emergency radio. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the irrational certainty that the very next ambulance stretcher would be carrying someone she loved, someone she’d be unable to save, and . . .
A cry in the distance made Claire turn. Her breath caught as the young charge nurse opened a curtain shielding a gurney.
A child, maybe three years old, rested upright in a nest of blue sterile sheets, tufts of his wispy blond hair blackened at the tips—some missing in spots—reddened scalp glistening with blisters. One eye had swollen closed, and his nose was skewed a little to one side by the clear plastic tape securing a bandage to his cheek. The other blue eye blinked slowly as if mesmerized by the drip chamber of the IV setup taped to his arm. An oxygen cannula stretched across his puffy, tear-streaked face.
Beside him, a stainless steel basin, bottles of sterile saline, and stacks of gauze squares sat assembled on a draped table. Burn care: control pain, cool the burn to stop it from going deeper, monitor for dehydration, and prevent tetanus and infection. All the bases covered. Unless the burns are horrific and complicated, like Kevin’s. Unless there is profound shock, heart failure, and . . . No, don’t think of it.
Claire exhaled, watching as Erin Quinn pressed the button on a blood pressure monitor and efficiently readjusted the finger probe measuring the child’s lung status. She made a note on a chart and moved back to the bedside as the child stirred and cried out.
“Mommy?”
“Mom’s getting a bandage on her leg, Jamie, remember?” she explained gently, then caught sight of Claire and acknowledged her with a wave. She called to another nurse across the room. “Sarah, can you finish the ointment on Jamie’s scalp? watch him for few minutes?” After giving a brief report to the petite blonde nurse, she crossed to where Claire stood.
“Good, you found me,” Erin said, noting Claire’s name badge and offering a firm handshake. Strands of coppery hair had escaped from her ponytail, and her blue scrubs were splotched with snowy white burn ointment. She nodded as Claire glanced once more at the injured boy. “Second-degree burns. No explosion trauma, otherwise he’d be on a chopper ride to Sacramento. But Jamie’s got asthma, and the smoke stirred things up. So . . .”
“He needs close observation,” Claire finished. “I understand.”
Erin smiled. “Hey, I really appreciate your coming here. We’ve had a horrible shift, and my staff are workhorses, but the Hester child was a real heartbreaker. We worked a long time to save her, but it didn’t happen. And only last weekend we had the first drowning of the season. Junior high boy fishing on the river. Overall my crew seems to be coping fairly well, but today might be that last straw, you know? So I have a couple of issues I’d like to discuss with you. I can spare about ten minutes to fill you in. Will that be enough to get you started?”
“Yes . . . okay.” Claire tried to recall the details of her review. How much could she offer here? One person couldn’t do more than a brief assessment and let the staff know more assistance was available. At least she’d found the self-help pamphlets. “But first I should tell you that I left a message for the hospital social worker because if an actual debriefing is needed, then a mental health professional is required. That’s policy.” She swallowed, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “The debriefing should be done tomorrow or the next day.”
“What?” Erin shot her a look that clearly implied Claire was the one who needed mental help. “Tomorrow? I called you here because we need help now. Didn’t Merlene tell you that?” She pressed her fist to her lips. “Look, I’ve had a lab tech faint, the media’s harassing family members in the waiting room, and an agency nurse threatened to walk out. Walk out, when I’m short-staffed already! I’m sorry if I seem testy, but I’m responsible for the quality of nursing care here. My team needs help, and I’ll do everything it takes to make that happen. Merlene told me you were a trained peer counselor. Aren’t you?”
She hated herself. Erin Quinn was right. Claire needed to do whatever she could for these people. Somehow. She reached into her briefcase and grabbed a sheaf of glossy pamphlets. “Yes, I’ve been trained. And I can start an initial assessment, get things going in the process. I promise I’ll do as much as I can to help, and . . .” Her voice faltered as heavy footsteps came to a stop behind her. She fought an unnerving sense of déjà vu and impending doom.
“Help?” A man’s voice, thick with sarcasm, prodded her back like the devil’s pitchfork.
Claire turned, several pamphlets slipping from her fingers.
It was time to officially meet the newest threat to her plan, Dr. Logan Caldwell.
A Miracle Girls Novel Ana, Christine, Riley, and Zoe have grown closer than ever over the past few months, but summer is over and it's time to put their friendship to the test.
It's been a little over a year since Christine Lee's mom passed away in a tragic car accident. Now her dad is engaged to Candace--"The Bimbo"--and Christine couldn't be less thrilled. When her attitude starts to take a toll on her schoolwork, the administration forces her to attend counseling sessions. At least she gets to skip gym class!
But with her father's wedding inching closer, Christine is growing even more bitter. To make matters worse, the Miracle Girls are beginning to drift apart. Christine's anger and the pressures of high school threaten to break the girls up when they need each other the most. Will they find a way to join together to help Christine come to terms with her mother's death . . . and her father's remarriage?
My Review: I enjoyed this delightful teen novel. Written in the voice of Christine, a teenager, the story peels away like an onion--layer by layer--as she moves through the grieving experience from the recent death of her mother, to the idea of a new step-mother. Added to the mix are driving, dating, and her roller coaster relationship with her friends, the Miracle Girls.
When Christine listens to Handel's Messiah, I find descriptive writing at its best. That scene along with another brought me to tears. This may have been written for teens, but it touched my old heart, and I give it a big thumbs up.
If you would like to read the first chapter, click here.
The generous folks at Hachette Book Group are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
Winners are restricted to the US and Canada. No PO Box mailing addresses, please.
Leave your email address in code in your comment (Please do not ask me to look it up! It's the only thing I ask of you.) Example of email in code: you[at]yourmail[dot]com
I'll close the comments at 6 PM EST June 27th and pick the winners. I will contact the winners via email to get their mailing information. The winners will have three days to respond. If I do not hear from a winner within three days, I will select another winner(s).
If you're interested, just say so in a comment with that all-important email address in code.
Newspaper columnist Peyton MacGruder has returned to her job after covering the story of an ill-fated Pan World flight. Having recently discovered Christine, the daughter she gave up to an adoption agency nineteen years ago, she is reluctant to commit to the handsome sportswriter Kingston Danville. She feels she owes it to Christine to set her love life aside and make up for lost time.
But when a reader challenges Peyton’s advice to “let caution trump passion,” Peyton determines to learn the reason behind her reader’s cynicism...and in the process, discovers answers to her own heart-rending dilemma.
A sequel to Angela Hunt’s best-selling novel, The Note, on which the Hallmark movie was based. This novelization based on the Hallmark movie sequel will contain color images from the second movie.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Christy Award winner Angela Hunt writes books for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected. With over three million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of The Tale of Three Trees, The Note (which became a Hallmark holiday film), and more than 100 other titles. Angela has won gold and silver medals from ForeWord magazine’s Book of the Year Award and has received the Lifetime Achievement Award from a major readers’ magazine.
My Review: If you enjoy a good love story, here's one for you. Actually, this quick-to-read novel contains two love stories.
There is a theme of taking the initiative to step out and ask forgiveness of those you've wronged so that you can move forward with life. Lead with your heart, not your head. This story begins where the The Noteleaves off.
Everyone knows that the book is better than the movie, and in this case, that certainly proves true. I enjoyed reading the thoughts of the protagonist, Peyton. Her thoughts need to be "heard." In the movie, the viewer is forced to "read between the lines." In the book, the reader peeks inside her brain to better understand her thought process. Discussions questions are included.
If you would like to read the first chapter, see here.
With one elbow propped on her desk, Peyton MacGruder chewed on the edge of a fingernail and glared at the clock on the wall. On days like this, when she was twenty minutes away from her deadline and far from finished with her column, she could swear that the minute hand swept over the clock face at double speed.
She transferred her gaze to the computer monitor and fluttered her fingers over the keyboard. Some days the magic worked and the words flowed. Other days she might as well be typing gibberish.
She skimmed the half-completed column on her screen and tried to focus her thoughts. Last week a reader had written that she was afraid to trust a brother-in-law who had stolen from her in the past. Peyton had answered that forgiveness was important, but experience could not be ignored. And when it came to matters of the heart, caution should always trump passion. Dozens of readers had e-mailed, filling her in-box with responses, most of them supportive.
Now she was working on a recap that included reader comments, but everything she’d written so far looked like extended self-congratulation. She needed a corroborating opinion . . . and any column could be improved with an appropriate quote, couldn’t it? She reached for her dictionary of popular quotations, scanned the index, and jabbed her finger at an appropriate entry. Smiling with satisfaction, she propped her reading glasses on the end of her nose and worked the quote into her piece:
And so, dear readers, when it comes to dealing with relationships, perhaps we should keep the words of Eumenides in mind. That venerable sage once wrote, “There are times when fear is good. It must keep its watchful place at the heart’s controls. There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.”
Perhaps a happy heart is, at its core, a cautious heart.
There. She leaned back and clicked the word count tool. Seven hundred words—not bad. The dragon lady shouldn’t have to cut any of this column.
After a quick proofread, Peyton clicked Send and addressed the file to Nora Chilton, senior features editor. Another click and away it went.
She turned as something slapped the surface of her desk. Mandi Hillridge, an overenthusiastic intern from the University of North Carolina Wilmington, stood in the aisle, her arms filled with folders. Peyton picked up the envelope Mandi had tossed her way and studied the return address. “Am I supposed to know this Eve Miller?”
Mandi shifted her burden from one arm to the other. “I doubt it. I think she’s a reader.”
Peyton ran her fingertip across the ragged edge. “Why has this letter been opened?”
“Because Phil Brinker didn’t check the address before he tore into it. Our stellar mailroom staff mistakenly delivered it to him while he was in New York working on that story about the media covering the media. He just got back and told me to bring it to you.” Mandi stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “You want me to go fuss at the guys in the mailroom? One of them’s kinda cute.”
Peyton glanced over the short walls of the reporters’ cubicles and saw Nora stepping out of the elevator. “No.” She propped both elbows up on her desk. “I want you to get me two Tylenol. Extra strength.”
“You have a headache?”
“Not yet.”
Mandi turned in time to see Nora approaching, a folded newspaper in hand. Even from her desk Peyton recognized the distinctive banner that contained her byline and staff photo. Had Nora come down to complain about a column that had already run? She wouldn’t, unless one of the higher-ups sent her to confront Peyton about some obscure point.
“About that headache—” Mandi lowered her voice—“I’ll bring the bottle.”
The young woman hurried away as Nora approached Peyton’s desk. The editor waved the paper before Peyton’s anxious gaze and nodded. “By the way, about this column last week? You were absolutely right.”
“That’s a nice change.” Peyton managed a smile. “About what?”
“Passion. It should always be tempered with caution. Especially when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
Peyton straightened in her chair, not certain why the editor had felt compelled to personally deliver this bit of elaboration. “You speaking from conviction or firsthand experience?”
Nora managed a coy smile. “None of your business. Anyway, you’ve been doing really good work lately. I had my doubts at first, but you’ve grown into the job.”
“You came all the way down here to pat me on the back?”
“Actually, I came down here to tell you that in addition to writing the Heart Healer, I’m going to need you to handle a feature or two for the Lifestyles section. We got the call last night; Marlo Evans had a baby boy, so she’ll be out on maternity leave for the next several weeks.”
Peyton dropped her head to her hand and groaned. “Why not use freelancers?”
“Because I don’t have the patience or the finances to deal with neophytes. The budget cuts have made it necessary for all of us to pick up the slack now and then. Besides—” her mouth curved in a wry smile—“you’re fast and you’re good at researching. A feature or two shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
“But I’m swamped with—” Peyton swallowed the rest of her complaint as sports editor King Danville moved into her line of vision. A warm feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and brought a smile to her lips. Would she ever stop feeling all gushy and girly whenever King approached her desk?
King glanced at the features editor before returning Peyton’s smile. “Hello, Nora.”
Nora’s chin dipped in a stiff nod. “Kingston.”
Like a flower seeking the sun, Peyton shifted to face the man who had recently brought new joy to her life. “I was just telling Nora that these days I don’t have time to keep up with my column and write a weekly feature, no matter how occasional it is.”
Nora glanced from Peyton to King and then arched a brow. “Perhaps if you temper your newfound passion, you’ll find the time.”
King grinned as the editor smiled and moved toward the elevator; then he pulled a white bottle from his jacket pocket and shook it. Peyton placed the familiar rattle within seconds: Extra Strength Tylenol, as requested.
“Ran into Mandi in the coffee room,” King explained. “She said you were going to need these.”
“She was right.” Peyton sighed. “Nora seems to think I can sit down and whip up a decent feature while I’m outlining my next column. I don’t know where she got the idea that I’m some kind of writing machine.”
“Maybe from the fact that you write so fast you make the rest of us look like we’re moving backward.”
Peyton shook her head, unwilling to accept praise she didn’t deserve. She knew the truth—she could turn an assignment around quickly because outside the newspaper office she had no life. While other writers struggled to work amid the pressures of family schedules, children’s homework, school events, sporting activities, and the needs of a spouse, Peyton only had to take care of herself and her two cats.
At least that’s the way things were before King and Christine came into her life. The situation was a little different now, and she was feeling the pressure.
“I’m not that fast,” she insisted. “And I’m not that versatile.”
“Then don’t cave so quickly, MacGruder. Just because Nora’s your boss doesn’t mean you have to let her push you around.”
“I was ready to push back until she played the guilt card. When she mentioned the budget cuts, I realized how lucky I am to even be employed. How can I not agree to write whatever she wants?”
“That’s what I like about you—you’re a solid team player.”
“I’m a pushover.”
King smiled and stepped to the side of Peyton’s desk. “In that case, I’d better prescribe two of these—” he held up the bottle of pain relievers—“or one of these.” Before Peyton could point out that they were surrounded by coworkers in cubicles, he bent and pressed a kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes, ready to forget about an audience of staff reporters, clerks, and copy editors, but the kiss didn’t last.
She looked up at him, unsatisfied.
“Do any good?” he asked.
“Not sure. Try again. Maybe increase the dosage.”
He bent, his lips warming hers with more passion this time. When he finally pulled away, Peyton exhaled a long sigh of happiness . . . and the writers around her erupted into applause.
Peyton grinned as her cheeks warmed. “They approve.”
“I don’t give a fig about them. What did you think?”
“Um . . . better.”
“Only better? Well, you know what they say about practice making perfect . . .”
As the other reporters hooted and King leaned in for yet another kiss, Peyton pressed her palm against the center of his chest. “You know, it’s this kind of temptation that led to Marlo Evans’s maternity leave. And in turn, to my impending headache. So maybe we should get back to work.”
With a roguish grin, King straightened and stepped away from her chair. “Yes, ma’am.”
“But after work—” Peyton squinted at him—“would you want to go for a jog with me and Christine? We wanted to run the paths down by the shoreline.”
King shook his head. “Enticing offer, but I’ve got to run out to the university after I finish up today. David needs to talk to me about something. He says it’s important.”
Peyton nodded, once again reminded that their relationship was not as simple as it would have been if they’d met in their twenties. She had Christine to consider, and King had David. Both children, hers and his, were nearly grown, and both had been forced to deal with the aftermath of their parents’ unwise decisions.
“MacGruder.” King’s voice, warm and insistent, drew her from her thoughts. “Maybe I’ll stop by your place later.”
“I’d like that.” Peyton offered him a forgiving smile. “I’ll be waiting.”
King took two steps toward his office, then halted. “Hey—” he turned, propping his arms on the cubicle wall—“I found an interesting e-mail in my in-box this morning. A friend in New York said my name recently came up in a board meeting at the Times.”
Peyton felt a frigid finger touch the base of her spine. “The New York Times?”
He chuckled. “Hard to imagine, huh? Moving from the Middleborough Times to the Gray Lady?”
“Your name came up in a board meeting? What does that mean, exactly?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ll keep you posted.”
As he walked away, exchanging gibes with other writers as he passed their desks, Peyton felt fear blow down the back of her neck. Any other journalist would be salivating at the thought of writing for the Times, but King never seemed to get ahead of himself. Contentment was one of his primary virtues, and Peyton hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on his ability to remain satisfied with the status quo.
What would she do if she lost him?
The thought struck like a blow to the chest, stealing her breath. Until recently, she had managed to keep herself detached from complicated personal relationships. But then the tragedy of a horrific plane crash taught her about the brevity of life and the importance of connection. Now she was desperate to understand two precious people, but understanding took time, and time was something she no longer possessed in abundance.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and steady her pulse. No one was abandoning her; the world had not shifted on its axis. Her imagination was simply working overtime, a tendency that nearly always resulted in needless worry and borrowed trouble.
With her gift for imagining disaster, maybe she should have been a novelist.
When she swiveled toward her computer, determined to set her fears aside and tackle her e-mail, her gaze fell again on the envelope from Eve Miller. The postmark was five days in the past, so by now the woman’s comments were old news. And in an electronic society, old news was dead news.
Peyton tossed the envelope into a bin filled with unopened letters and turned her attention to her in-box.
***
Peyton slid behind the wheel of her car, tossed her purse into the empty passenger seat, and fumbled with the buckle of her seat belt. When she was certain the car’s computer wouldn’t scold her for forgetting some vital procedure, she turned the ignition switch and waited for the automatic seat to slide forward, tilt, rise, and whatever else it did to adjust to her frame.
King had talked her into buying this vehicle last weekend, insisting that her old car was only a few miles away from imploding. “Ninety-eight thousand miles?” he exclaimed after glimpsing her odometer. “Good grief, MacGruder, are you going for some kind of endurance record?”
She had to admit the new vehicle was nice, but its myriad bells and whistles bewildered her. She hadn’t taken the time to read the manual, and she barely managed to sit through the salesman’s demonstration. “I don’t have time to fuss with fancy gadgets,” she told the desperate young man who had greeted her and King at the auto dealership. “So just point me toward something safe and inexpensive. Something I won’t have to give up chocolate to afford.”
Like a village matchmaker, the salesman grinned and fixed her up with this sleek blue machine, which he kept calling a crossover—a cross between a sedan and an SUV. She had a feeling the vehicle was too big to be economical or politically correct, but since an entire row of similar vehicles waited behind a fence at the dealership, the manager was probably eager to move his inventory. Regardless, the car earned good crash ratings, it used less gasoline than a tank, and it had the one accessory she couldn’t live without: a CD player.
Before putting the car in gear, Peyton punched the button of the stereo system and relaxed when the professional reader’s voice poured through the surround sound speakers. She’d bought this audiobook about mothers and daughters shortly after telling Christine the truth about their relationship—yes, they were reporter and reader, but they were also biological mother and daughter. Eighteen years and difficult circumstances had kept them apart, but a series of newspaper columns had brought them back together.
Now Peyton wanted nothing more than to be the mother she would have been if tragedy hadn’t intervened. A heaven-sent miracle had restored the child she’d been forced to surrender for adoption, and Peyton didn’t want to forfeit this second chance to love. And parent. And occasionally nag.
She and Christine were still in the midst of that awkward getting-to-know-you phase, but Peyton felt they’d made great strides in their relationship. They tried to talk every day, even if only briefly, and though Christine still lived in the house she’d inherited from her adoptive parents, she felt free enough to drop into Peyton’s home unannounced, as any daughter naturally would.
Still, Christine rarely called Peyton “Mom.” When necessary, she called Peyton by name . . . or she didn’t call her anything at all.
“By late adolescence,” a confident voice intoned as Peyton put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, “most daughters can be placed in one of three categories—distant, dissatisfied, or dependent. Do any of these words remind you of the young woman in your life?”
Peyton shook her head and shifted into drive. The author needed a fourth category for Christine—maybe delightful. They were still in the honeymoon phase, each of them unbearably grateful to have found the other. They might have disagreements later—in fact, they probably would—but for now Peyton was thrilled to be able to know and love the young woman who had never been far from her thoughts and prayers.
“Outstanding mothers devote most of their time to their children, instilling healthy values into daughters who will become outstanding mothers themselves,” the reader continued, “but unsuitable mothers abandon and abuse.”
Peyton winced at the author’s use of the word abandon.
“Bottom line, if you provide your child with what she needs—clothing, shelter, food, affection—you, concerned mother, are off the hook if your daughter makes unwise decisions. After you have taught your child right from wrong, your daughter has the freedom to choose . . . right or wrong. Do not blame yourself if she chooses to learn life’s lessons through negative experiences.”
Peyton frowned as she pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. Over the years, she’d covered dozens of stories involving teenage delinquents—wayward boys who got mixed up with guns and drugs, runaway girls who ended up on the street or in the hospital because they went looking for love in all the wrong faces. Behind every sad teenager’s story, Peyton found a distraught mother who couldn’t seem to understand how her child ended up in such a deplorable state.
She hated to admit it, but every time she interviewed one of those mothers, she’d walked away feeling resentful and slightly smug, convinced that she would have managed better if only given a chance. But now that she was being given an opportunity to mother a teen, she had no idea what she was supposed to do.
To make matters worse, her time of greatest influence would be limited. After the plane crash in which her father died, Christine had taken time off to grieve, but soon she’d go back to school and get busy with her studies. She’d probably meet a young man on campus and want to settle down. Then she’d center her world on her husband and her children, and she’d expect Peyton to focus on being a doting grandmother, not a mom. So this precious opportunity to parent her daughter would be relatively short-lived.
Peyton pulled up to the red light at an intersection and snapped off the CD player. The bookstores were loaded with books about how to parent newborns, toddlers, middle schoolers, and teens, but no one had much advice for brand-new parents of young adults.
No one even seemed to be able to answer Peyton’s most basic question: at eighteen, which did Christine need most: an authority figure or a friend?
The generous folks at Tyndale House Publishers are allowing me to host this book giveaway for five (5) copies!
Winners are restricted to the US and Canada. No PO Box mailing addresses, please.
Leave your email address in code in your comment (Please do not ask me to look it up! It's the only thing I ask of you.) Example of email in code: you[at]yourmail[dot]com
I'll close the comments at 6 PM EST June 25th and pick the winners. I will contact the winners via email to get their mailing information. The winners will have three days to respond. If I do not hear from a winner within three days, I will select another winner(s).
If you're interested, just say so in a comment with that all-important email address in code.
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There are people in this world we pass right by without giving a second thought. They are almost invisible. Yet some of them have amazing stories to tell, if we'd only take the time to listen . . .
