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Cypress Point

Cypress Point

4.3 14
by Diane Chamberlain

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It is not a love Joelle D'Angelo would ever have chosen. But it is one she can't deny.

Joelle D'Angelo's best friend, Mara, is left with brain damage after she suffers an aneurysm during the delivery of her son. Alone and grieving, Joelle turns to the only other person who understands her pain: Mara's husband, Liam. And what starts out as comfort between


It is not a love Joelle D'Angelo would ever have chosen. But it is one she can't deny.

Joelle D'Angelo's best friend, Mara, is left with brain damage after she suffers an aneurysm during the delivery of her son. Alone and grieving, Joelle turns to the only other person who understands her pain: Mara's husband, Liam. And what starts out as comfort between friends gradually becomes something more. Something undeniable. Now all Joelle needs is a miracle.

Torn by guilt and the impossibility of her feelings for Liam, Joelle seeks help from someone she's not even sure she believes in--a healer named Carlynn Kling Shire. Joelle sets out to find Carlynn, knowing that Mara needs something conventional medicine can't supply. And hoping that if Mara is well, Joelle's feelings for Liam will end.

Her search leads her to a mansion in Monterey, California, and into the life of a woman shrouded in mystery. And as Joelle is guided down an unfamiliar path by a woman who is clearly keeping her own secrets, she discovers that some love is doomed, while some love can survive anything.

Editorial Reviews

Romantic Times
. . . a thoughtful and fascinating drama.
Publishers Weekly
Healing, be it psychological, physiological or spiritual, informs this humane but too-familiar novel from veteran writer Chamberlain (The Courage Tree, etc.). The daughter of '60s free spirits, Joelle D'Angelo is a recently divorced, naturally empathetic social worker at a coastal California hospital. Unfortunately, she's madly in love with co-worker Liam Sommers, who just happens to be married to her best friend, Mara. Things are particularly tricky because Mara, once a brilliant psychiatrist, suffered brain damage caused by an aneurysm while giving birth to her son, Sam. Liam has remained a dutiful husband to his near-comatose wife, visiting her every opportunity he gets, but that doesn't stop him from sleeping with (and impregnating) Joelle in a moment of weakness. Into this tangled thicket of guilt, misery and self-abnegation comes Carlynn Shire, an elderly doctor with "mystical" healing powers, whose aid Joelle enlists to resuscitate Mara, for Liam's sake. Carlynn's past is revealed through a series of flashbacks: her initial discovery of her preternatural abilities, her romance with husband-to-be Alan Shire and her troubled but loving relationship with her insecure twin sister, Lisbeth. The novel's two narrative threads, Carlynn's past and Joelle's present, flow inexorably toward a "twist" ending that feels contrived and predictable. It's difficult to dislike Chamberlain's well-paced tale, especially since its protagonists are such an inherently sympathetic, good-hearted lot. Still, there are few surprises and fewer original insights into love, loss and self-sacrifice to be found here. Agent, Ginger Barber. National advertising; teaser chapter in January paperback edition of The Courage Tree. (Feb.) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Product Details

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4.34(w) x 6.62(h) x 1.08(d)

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Big Sur, California, 1967

The fog was as thick and white as cotton batting, and it hugged the coastline and moved slowly, lazily, in the breeze. Anyone unfamiliar with the Cabrial Commune in Big Sur would never know there were twelve small cabins dotting the cliffs above the ocean. Fog was nothing unusual here, but for the past seven days, it had not cleared once. Like living inside a cloud, the children said. The twenty adults and twelve children of the commune had to feel their way from cabin to cabin, and they could never be sure they'd found their own home until they were inside. Parents warned their children not to play too close to the edge of the cliff, and the more nervous mothers kept their little ones inside in the morning, when the fog was thickest. Those who worked in the garden had to bend low to be sure they were pulling weeds and not the young shoots of brussels sprouts or lettuce, and more than one man used the dense fog as an excuse for finding his way into the wrong bed at night — not that an excuse was ever needed on the commune, where love was free and jealousy was denied. Yes, this third week of summer, everyone in the commune had a little taste of what it was like to be blind.

The fog muffled sound, too. The residents of the commune could still hear the foghorns, but the sound was little more than a low moan, wrapping around them so that they had no idea from which direction it came. No idea whether the sea was in front of them or behind.

But one sound managed to pierce the fog. The cries came intermittently from one of the cabins, and the children, many of them naked, would stop their game of hide-and-seek to stare through the fog in the direction of the sound. A couple of them, who were by nature either more sensitive or more anxious than the others, shuddered. They knew what was happening. No secrets were ever kept from children here. They knew that inside cabin number four, Rainbow Cabin, Ellen Liszt was having a baby.

In the small clearing at one side of the cabin, nineteen-year-old Johnny Angel split firewood. The day was warm despite the fog, and he'd taken off his Big Brother and the Holding Company sweatshirt and hung it over the railing of the cabin's rickety porch. Felicia, the midwife, was inside with Ellen, boiling string and scissors on the small woodstove, and he told himself they needed more firewood, even though he'd already chopped enough to last a week. Still, he lifted the ax and let it fall, over and over again, mesmerized by the thwack as it hit the logs. Every minute or so, he stopped chopping to take a drag from his cigarette which rested on the cabin railing, and he could feel his heart beating in his bare chest. The hand holding the cigarette trembled — from the strain of chopping wood, he told himself, but he knew that was not the complete truth. He winced every time a fresh shriek of pain came from the cabin's rear bedroom, and he was quick to pick up the ax again, hoping that the chopping would mask the sound.

When would it be over? The labor pains had started in earnest in the middle of the night, and as he and Ellen had planned, he'd run — stumbling in the darkness and the fog — to the Moonglow Cabin to awaken Felicia. Felicia had grabbed her bag of birthing paraphernalia and returned with him to Rainbow, and she'd held Ellen's hand, speaking to her in a calming voice. It had shocked him to see Ellen in the glow of the lantern. She looked terribly young, younger than eighteen. She looked like a frightened little girl, and he felt unable to go near her, unsure of what to say or how to touch her. How to help. Her face was sweaty and she was gulping air. Johnny was afraid she might throw up. He hated seeing anyone throw up. It always made him feel sick himself.

He'd left the two women together and walked outside to the woodpile. But he hadn't known it would take so long. How many hours had passed? All he knew was that he was on his second pack of Kools, and the menthol was beginning to make his throat ache.

Felicia had asked him if he wanted to be in the room with Ellen, and he'd stared at her, wild-eyed with surprise at the question. Hell, no, he didn't want to be in that room. So he'd left. Now he felt like a coward for declining the offer. He knew that some men were fighting for the right to be in the delivery room these days, and that two of the men here at Cabrial had stayed with their women while they delivered. But he was not like those men. He couldn't imagine being any closer to Ellen's pain and fear than he was right now. Besides, that was no delivery room Ellen was in. She was lying on the old double mattress on the bare floor in the tiny bedroom they had shared for the past six months, her butt resting on newspapers, which Felicia claimed were made sterile by the printing process. Felicia was no obstetrician. She was not even a real midwife, merely the mother of four kids who were, right now, playing hide-and-seek in the fog.

When he and Ellen had first talked about it, the idea of Felicia delivering their baby had sounded fine, even appealing; after all, women used to help other women deliver babies all the time. But now that it was happening, now that Ellen's screams made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, many things about the commune that had previously sounded appealing seemed ludicrous. His parents had rolled their eyes in disgusted resignation when he told them that he and Ellen were moving into a Big Sur commune. He told them about the large stone cabin that housed a common kitchen and huge dining room, where the commune residents took turns cooking and cleaning up and doing all the other tasks that were part of living together in a group, and his mother had asked him why he never bothered to help her cook and clean up. His parents scoffed at the names of the cabins — Rainbow, Sunshine, Stardust — and they showed real alarm when he told them there was no phone on the commune. Then they threatened him: If he dropped out of Berkeley and moved into the commune, he could expect no more money from them for school or for anything else, ever. That was fine, he said. There was little need for money in the commune. They would live off the land. They would take care of each other.

Right now, he would give just about anything to have his mother with him. She had no idea he was about to become a father. Wouldn't she be mortified to know that her first grandchild was being born this way, far from medical care, not to mention out of wedlock? Johnny could only imagine what she would say about the ritual that would follow the birth, when Felicia would take the placenta and bury it somewhere on the commune grounds, planting a tree, a Monterey cypress, above it, tying the baby's spirit to this beautiful place. Johnny loved the idea, despite the fact that he had not even known what a placenta was before moving here.

The thirteenth child. He was adding freshly split wood to the pile by the cabin porch when it suddenly occurred to him that his son or daughter would be the thirteenth child on the commune, and although he was not ordinarily superstitious, that thought filled him with fear. He didn't want his kid to start out with the deck stacked against him. Lighting another cigarette, he wondered if he and Ellen had treated this whole pregnancy as too much of a lark. They'd talked about how the baby would look. They would never cut his hair. They would let him run around naked, if that's what he wanted. He'd never be ashamed of his body. He — or she — would grow up here in the Cabrial Commune, free of the stifling rules and restraints of the rigid world outside, being taught by other adults who shared their values. They'd discussed names: Shanti Joy, if the baby was a girl, and Sky Blue for a boy. He'd imagined his son or daughter one day going to school in the northernmost cabin, where two of the women and one of the men spent most weekdays teaching the commune's children. It had sounded like the perfect way to live. Now he feared they were playing with fire.

Arms aching, he lit another cigarette and sat down on the porch step just as Ellen began to wail, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sound. Did he love Ellen? She'd looked like a stranger to him when he'd brought Felicia back to the cabin earlier. A young girl, glistening with perspiration, strands of dark hair stringy around her face, her body taking up far more than her share of the mattress. God, she'd put on a lot of weight. She was going to end up looking like Felicia, like a big earth mother type with long, frizzy graying hair. Ellen already had the bones for it. He growled at himself. Shouldn't matter. Looks shouldn't matter at all. He'd probably look like hell himself if he were in her position right now. He was a son of a bitch for even thinking about it.

Crushing the butt of his cigarette beneath his sandaled foot, Johnny stood up. He ran his hand over his dark, sparse beard, the beard of a boy, not a man, and stared into the fog. If the day had been clear, he would have been able to see the ocean from here, beyond a few of the other cabins, beyond where the cliffs plummeted down to the sea. Today, though, his gaze rested on nothing more than drifting clouds of cotton.

He became aware of the silence almost instantly. The wailing and moaning had stopped, and he turned toward the cabin door. Was it finally over? Shouldn't the baby cry or something?

He heard the rapid pounding of footsteps across the splintery living-room floor of the cabin, and Felicia pushed open the screen door. Her face was flushed, and she looked like a wild woman.

"Get help, Johnny!" she said. "The baby's not breathing. Get that woman who came last night. Penny's friend. Carlynn. She's a doctor."

He turned and ran in the direction of Cornflower, Penny's cabin, hoping he'd be able to find it quickly in the fog. He'd managed to find her cabin in the middle of the night several times during the past couple of months, when Ellen had encouraged him to go to the older woman for sex, since she had not felt up to it, and sure enough, his feet seemed to know the way.

He remembered seeing the new woman in the dining room the night before, but he hadn't known her name. She was an old friend of Penny's, someone had told him, just here for a visit. He'd found himself staring at her. She was a small and slender woman with large blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair that framed her face in an uncombed, unkempt and utterly appealing way. She was probably in her mid-thirties, nearly his mother's age. But she didn't took like anyone's mother. Nor did she look like a doctor.

He burst into the living room of the cabin to find Penny and Carlynn sitting on opposite ends of the old sofa, sewing. They looked up at the sudden intrusion, hands and threaded needles frozen in midair.

"The baby's not breathing!" he said.

In an instant, Carlynn dropped her sewing and ran toward the door. He and Penny followed close behind.

"Which way?" Carlynn called as she stepped into the fog.

Johnny grabbed her arm and ran with her toward Rainbow, but he stopped short at the front step of the cabin.

"In there," he said, pointing.

Carlynn wrapped her hand around his wrist and nearly dragged him up the steps with her. "Your girlfriend will need you," she said, and he knew she was giving him no choice.

The inside of the cabin was hot from the woodstove, the steaming air hitting him in the face as he ran with Carlynn through the living room and into the bedroom. Ellen was crying, shivering as if she were cold, and she reached a hand toward him. A strange scent, a mixture of seawater and copper, filled his head and made him feel dizzy, but he sat down on the bed next to Ellen. Holding her hand, leaning over to kiss her damp forehead, he felt a tenderness inside him that was so sudden it made his chest ache and his eyes bum. He kissed her fingers, rubbed her arms. He was a weak and stupid idiot for making her endure this alone, he thought as he bent over to hug her. He should have been with her throughout the whole ordeal.

Her legs were still spread, her feet flat on the mattress. From where he sat, Johnny had a clear view between her knees of Felicia and Carlynn hovering over something. His child. The thirteenth child.

"The cord was wrapped around her neck," Felicia said to Carlynn.

Carlynn nodded. She leaned over the infant and puffed into the baby's nose and mouth. Johnny waited for the cry, but it was only the sound of Ellen's weeping that filled the room.

Carlynn puffed some more, and then Felicia sat back on her thick haunches, tears in her eyes.

"She's gone," she said, touching Carlynn's shoulder.

"She's gone."

"No!" Ellen wailed, and Johnny leaned over to press his wet cheek to hers. "No, please."

"Shh," he said.

Carlynn lifted the baby, and for the first time Johnny could see the infant, her tiny arms flopping lifelessly at her sides, her skin a pale, grayish blue. Carlynn held the baby in a strange embrace, her hands flat against the infant's chest and back, her lips pressed against the bluish temple. The woman's eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering slightly against her cheeks, her breathing slow and deep, and the room grew still. Ellen stopped crying. She lifted herself on her elbows to be able to see better, and for a moment, Johnny wondered if Carlynn were mentally ill. What was she doing?

Carlyan drew in a long, deep breath, then let it out in a slow wash of warmth against the baby's temple. Within seconds, the infant let out a muted whimper. Johnny listened hard, praying for another sound from his child. Carlynn breathed again against the baby's temple, and suddenly a cry filled the room. Then another. The baby grew pink between the woman's hands, and in the hushed room, she wrapped a piece of an old flannel blanket around the infant and handed her to Ellen.

Johnny leaned over to nuzzle his woman and his child, a wrenching ache of love and gratitude in his chest, while outside the cabin, the fog rose into the sky, and for the first time in a week, Big Sur was bathed in sunlight.

Copyright © 2001 Diane Chamberlain

Meet the Author

Diane is the award-winning author of more than 12 novels. Her books focus on relationships between men and women, parents and children, sisters and brothers, and friends. Her books, which have been set in such locales as Southern California, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and the caverns in the Shenandoah Valley, often feature a combination of family drama, romance, intrigue and suspense.

Diane was born and raised in Plainfield, New Jersey, and attended Glassboro State University. She also lived for many years in both San Diego and northern Virginia, where she still resides.

Diane received her master's degree in clinical social work from San Diego State University. Prior to her writing career, she was a medical social worker at Sharp Memorial Hospital in San Diego and Children's Hospital in Washington, D.C. She also was a psychotherapist in private practice in Alexandria, Va., working primarily with adolescents. Diane's background in psychology and her work in hospitals has given her a keen interest in understanding the way people tick, as well as the background necessary to create real, living, breathing characters.

Several years ago, Diane was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, which has changed the way she works: She occasionally types using voice recognition software. She feels fortunate that her arthritis is not more severe and that she is able to enjoy everyday activities as well as keep up with a busy travel schedule.

When not writing, Diane enjoys fixing up her house, playing with her three-legged Bernese Mountain Dog, Bruin, getting together with her friends and grown stepdaughters, and singing with an interfaith gospelchoir.

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Cypress Point 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 13 reviews.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
This book was incredible!! Keeps you interested all of the way to the very end. I could not get through it fast enough. I don't have time to read alot of books, but when one as good as this comes along, I make the time!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I read this book in a day. It was WONDERFUL. Great story with a surprise ending. Highly recommend this book, as well as other novels by Diane Chamberlain
Guest More than 1 year ago
I thought this was such a great book, I couldn't put it down. It was greatly written and I recommend it to everyone!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Once again you will find yourself with another of Diane's books you won't want to put down until you get to the very end. This is a story about true friendship, an impossible situation, secrets, love, surprise ending. This is one of Diane's best. I highly recommend it.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Joelle¿s best friend Mara Summers suffers a brain damaging aneurysm while giving birth. Joelle helps Mara¿s spouse Liam cope but soon falls in love with him. One night they lose control and make love. To her shock, after failing to become pregnant with her former husband who has since sired a baby with another woman, Joelle is expecting.

Liam remains divided between his love for Mara and feelings of guilt for his love for Joelle. Also feeling culpability, Joelle turns to ailing healer Carlynn, who once saved her life when she was stillborn and apparently dead at birth, to help Mara. Carlynn realizes she must heal Joelle and Liam, which will help Mara more than any miracle she might perform. As she nears death, Carlynn reveals to Joelle a secret shared by her spouse and the widow of her twin sister so that the latter might find a happy medium within this bizarre triangle.

Diane Chamberlain provides fans of relationship dramas with an interesting tale starring a strong ensemble that will remind the audience of the works of Barbara Delinsky and Belva Plain. The story line floats back forth between the present and the past, but never anchors the reader to either era. Still the characters are a powerful fully developed group whose struggles for love and happiness turn CYPRESS POINT into a pleasant tale that readers will appreciate.

Harriet Klausner

Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Filled with magical rainbows it is!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
And besides it's IRIS!!!! ISIS IS EGYPTIAN!!!!