From acclaimed author Cathy Lamb comes a warm and poignant story about mothers and sons, family and forgivenessand loving someone enough to let them be true to themselves. . .
Jaden Bruxelle knows that life is precious. She sees it in her work as a hospice nurse, a job filled with compassion and humor even on the saddest days. And she sees it in Tate, the boy she has raised as her son ever since her sister gave him up at birth. Tate is seventeen, academically brilliant, funny, and loving. He's also a talented basketball player despite having been born with an abnormally large headsomething Jaden's mother blames on a family curse. Jaden dismisses that as nonsense, just as she ignores the legends about witches and magic in the family.
Over the years, Jaden has focused all her energy on her job and on sheltering Tate from the world. Tate, for his part, just wants to be a regular kid. Through his blog, he's slowly reaching out, finding his voice. He wants to try out for the Varsity basketball team. He wants his mom to focus on her own life for a change, maybe even date again.
Jaden knows she needs to let goof Tate, of her fears and anger, and of the responsibilities she uses as a shield. And through a series of unexpected events and revelations, she's about to learn how. Because as dear as life may be, its only real value comes when we are willing to live it fully, even if that means risking it all.
Beautifully written, tender and true, A Different Kind of Normal is a story about embracing love and adventure, and learning to look ahead for the first time. . .
|Product dimensions:||5.60(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.20(d)|
About the Author
Cathy Lamb is the bestselling author of twelve novels, including The Man She Married, No Place I’d Rather Be, What I Remember Most, The Last Time I Was Me, Henry’s Sisters and Julia’s Chocolates. She lives with her family in Oregon and can be found online at cathylamb.org.
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a different kind of normal
By CATHY LAMB
KENSINGTON BOOKSCopyright © 2012 Cathy Lamb
All right reserved.
Chapter OneMy mother told me all about the witches in our family. She heard the stories from her mother, who heard them from her mother, and so on, all the way back to the mid-1800s, in London, where the twins, Henrietta and Elizabeth, started The Curse.
Henrietta and Elizabeth were inseparable from the time they reached across their mother's bosom for the other's hand. Their mother was considered to be the best witch of them all, whatever that silly statement means, and she taught the twins. They practiced their spells in the forest behind the fountains and statues on the manicured estate their mother's wealthy, titled family owned.
The twins eventually, reluctantly, agreed to marry wealthy, titled men. They did not feel it necessary to tell their husbands of a few wild years, sins committed and sins omitted, handsome men here and there, and their mother agreed, she of a colorful past herself. "It's our secret, dears," she told her daughters, a pinky tilted up as she drank her tea. "Husbands don't need to know much."
The twins' elegant estates, with lands adjacent to each other, soon held all the herbs they needed for their spells, plus Canterbury bells, hollyhocks, lilies, irises, sweet peas, cosmos, red poppies, peonies, and rows of roses, which is what their mother and grandmother grew, too.
Together Henrietta and Elizabeth had eight children who would later prove to be both saints and raucous sinners, especially the girls, as is often the case in witch families, or so I'm told.
Sadly, though, in their late thirties the twins' friendship fell apart because of a fight over, of all things, a tea set. At least that's what started it. Henrietta bought the delicate white teacups, pitcher, and creamer with the pink flowers, knowing Elizabeth loved it, coveted it, but Henrietta could not resist. They were elegant, from India, hand painted, and the flowers looked as if they could talk if let loose for but a moment. There was only that one set and when Elizabeth found out what Henrietta had done, so sneakily, she was overcome with anger.
Other rigid resentments and prickly problems, built over decades of twinship started to explode, as if the teapot had cracked in half and exposed the fine fissures between the two women. They stopped speaking to each other entirely, despite their children's pleas that they reconcile, until one pleasant Sunday in front of the church.
It wasn't hot that morning, which was fortunate, as the heat could spread such rancid diseases, like scarlet fever and tuberculosis, and it wasn't cold, which could cause a plain cough to become pneumonia in no time. There was a bit of wind, which carried off the natural odors of raw sewage, animals, rot, refuge, defecation, moldy vegetables, decaying meat, dead bodies, vagrant children, and people who had rarely bathed in their lives.
It was a perfect sunny day with no warning of the generational damage to come.
Henrietta and Elizabeth wore their whalebone corsets, white petticoats, beribboned hats, and elaborate, heavy dresses. They reached out white gloved hands to their proper husbands as they debarked from their horse-drawn carriages. Both couples and well-polished children were ready to show off their devoutness to the Lord, though church bored Henrietta and Elizabeth into an almost comatose state, the vicar droning on and on endlessly until both women thought they were perched on a shelf in hell.
The twins caught a glimpse of each other on the cobblestone path, each with a hand in the crook of their husbands' elbows. Their husbands had been chosen for their kindness, business success, and knuckleheadedness, which would allow the twins to carry on their usual witchery and spells with no interference from an observant male.
Henrietta thought Elizabeth made a face at her. Elizabeth thought Henrietta was haughty and, as if they'd been swept up by the devil's tail and smashed together, it all began.
They left the clueless, cultured husbands, locked elbows with each other to pretend friendship and deflect attention, and a quiet, but intense fight broke out, their fake smiles plastered hard on their furious faces.
Accusations were made about "stealing my precious tea set, I told you I wanted it ..." But then things escalated viciously, as fights between sisters often will. "You're always flirting with men like a peacock ... you are way too prideful about your children ... why you should get Maria married off immediately before she sleeps with another stable lad ... what about your son, Michael? Is there any girl he hasn't tumbled through the hay with? Your gowns are too low cut ... you talk incessantly ... always competing with me ... you think your herb garden is better than mine, it never has been ... you have to be joking, my herbs are always better than yours, stronger, that's why we use them in the spells all the time...."
And then, the source of true bitterness and jealousy, "I should have been married to Oliver, not you, he was interested in me before you wore your purple dress with almost your entire bosom hanging out.... My bosom was not out.... Oliver would never have been interested in you with that nose.... My nose? Dear, a big nose can be hidden with powder, but big buttocks, horse buttocks, balls and tarnation, that's not hideable, is it?"
Henrietta started to mutter and Elizabeth, knowing a spell was coming forth, slapped a hand over Henrietta's mouth. Henrietta grabbed Elizabeth's flowered hat and Elizabeth clutched a handful of Henrietta's heavy skirt. Soon they toppled to the ground, rolling, whispered curses tossed through the air, uncaring about the lace petticoats flying up, the tearing silks and satins. They were quiet in their fury, because they had no desire to advertise their witchliness. Neither wanted to be burned alive at the stake or flogged or drowned or have their clitorises checked for being too pointy, one irrefutable indication of a true witch.
And they didn't want it for the other, either, despite the delicate tea set with the pink painted flowers and their mutual love for Oliver.
The deadly dull vicar sprinted out of the church, black cassock flying. He was young and naïve, and hadn't a clue how to handle two women locked in a combative fight whispering to each other. My heavens, and praise the Lord, this would not do! Especially on the Lord's Day! He had an important sermon planned, too, about how women must submit to their husbands! Submit to your master!
Their husbands, chatting the pompous chat of self-satisfied, privileged men nearby, rushed over, shock pounding all the way around their lace collars and past their white underthings. What had happened to their demure, lovely wives? What on earth were they doing? This was church, and yes, it was tiresome to be told you were going straight to hell to burn as a sinner, but still! No fighting on the front lawn, surely they knew that?
Their children watched, surprised but highly amused, especially the teenage girls, who had already joyfully learned how to quietly rebel and not get caught. Look at their fighting mothers! Pulling hair and slapping, their dresses flipped over their knees!
The witches' last, frantic roll together marked the beginning of decades of tragedy that affected someone in each generation of one of the witch's families. In the ensuing struggle one witch hissed out a spiraling curse, and before the other witch could deflect it by shooting off a defensive spell, the husbands and vicar were forcibly separating them, their feet kicking, skirts whipped up.
"What has gotten into you, Elizabeth?" Philip Compton loved his family, but he was brought up around royalty and pompous, unearned titles, and this behavior was unseemly, improper! What was his wife doing on top of her twin sister? This was extraordinary!
"For God's sake, Henrietta!" Oliver Platts was handsome, but dense like cheese, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing! He was running for political office, too. Didn't Henrietta know they had appearances to keep up?
"Ladies, let's take a moment to pray," the vicar said, shaking, the women's perky hats long gone, their thick, auburn hair curling wildly over heaving bosoms. He felt himself growing hot at the sight of the bosoms, and the hair, and the red cheeks! Oh, shame to him! Those bosoms were enough to make him forget his vows and certainly his chastity. He dropped his head, his pale white hands clasped together tight. Oh, deliver us, Lord! Save us from the devil and devilish thoughts about bosoms! "Lord, we ask for your forgiveness today ..." His voice trembled as bosoms frolicked through his prayer. "We are all sinners, unworthy of you...."
Henrietta and Elizabeth were having none of that droning, praying stuff. As everyone else bent their heads, they leaped at each other again with guttural cries, but their husbands, on alert, grabbed them midflight and shoved them back into their carriages, dresses askew, gloves gone.
In bed that night, the husbands, to their immense relief, had their docile, fawning wives back again. The witches pretended they had been overtaken by the stifling heat; perhaps it was the tomatoes they had both eaten the day before? Maybe the porridge had been poisoned? Could the devil had crawled inside of them? It took a few well-placed caresses, some dewy eyes, long kisses, a lifting of the nightgown, and soon their husbands, who saw only what they wished to see, rolled off to their side of the bed, mollified.
But in the pitch, thick blackness of the night, one witch shook with shame and guilt, and the other shook in complete and absolute terror. Both clutched the necklaces they always wore, the same necklaces they had given to their daughters. There were three charms: a cross, a heart, and a star. A cross for Jesus, a heart for family, and a star to represent the power of witchcraft.
Henrietta and Elizabeth were never friends again. How could they be with spells like that flying around recklessly? But they missed each other desperately and cried harsh, lonely tears, in private, often.
The Curse began immediately, afflicting the baby the witch didn't even know she was pregnant with yet. He was born with only one arm. Henrietta cried over him, cursing her twin.
Elizabeth cried, too. She had never meant for the spell to be so strong, so insidious, and within ten years, her guilt killed her. She toppled over in her summer garden, right between the thyme and mint.
Her sister witch cried for a year. Henrietta became an attentive second mother to Elizabeth's children. When she died at seventy-six years old, right before her eyes went blank, she sat straight up in bed, stared into a corner, her wrinkled face transformed with an illuminating smile. She held up a hand, as if she was reaching out to hold another's, and said, "Elizabeth, I have missed you, sister...."
At least, that's the story I was told by my mother.
Her mother told her.
Her mother told her, and so on, who heard it from the daughter of one of the witches, who stood close by and listened with increasing fright as her mother and her mother's twin sister spewed out intricate, menacing spells. The daughter recognized the final spell and clasped a hand over her mouth. The other witch's daughter did the same.
Their mothers had taught them all they needed to know.
And that spell, well, that one was a doozer. On that pleasant Sunday morning, in London, in front of a church and a vicar who was fascinated by heaving bosoms, the damage was done. In each generation, The Curse reappears.
But I don't believe in witches, or curses, or spells.
No, I don't.
I really don't.
It's a legend. A story. A colorful history to laugh and chuckle about in our family line.
It is a fanciful tale. I am sure of it.
I am, at least, 90 percent sure.
Chapter TwoHe was born with a big head.
Not a slightly larger head than normal, but a huge head, as if another head had been added on and then shrunk down to about half the size, without the eyes/nose/mouth features, before getting stuck on the first head. One eye was higher than the other.
Most would call it a deformity, a mistake, a handicap. In the future, they would pity him, or be disgusted, uncomfortable, mean. Oh, how mean they would be.
When my baby nephew arrived from between my sister's shaking legs at the hospital, bluish in color, he wasn't breathing. His head seemed to be pulsing, his veins engorged, the fontanel swollen.
I thought he was dead. I thought he'd been dead a long time and I stifled a ragged, anguished cry.
My own mother, the baby's nana, America's most famous soap opera actress, a woman who is ambitious, focused, and rational, cried out, "Oh my God, it's The Curse again."
"No it's not—" I grabbed her arm. "Don't even say that!"
"It is, Jaden, it is." She sank against the wall, her slender legs giving out, her pink lace, couture dress, designed especially for her by Ruben, a new designer, wrinkled as she slid. "It's The Curse."
"Move, people, move!" one doctor, in blue scrubs, shouted over my sister's piercing screams. "We've got seconds, make 'em count. Move!"
Immediately, the doctors—already sweating the difficult labor and delivery, berating my sister for not getting any prenatal care, for this should not have happened, this birth should not have happened, this bigheaded baby should not have happened—went to work.
"Shit," I heard one of the frantic doctors whisper. "Aw, shit."
"Baby's not breathing!" another doctor shouted.
"Mother's bleeding ... oh my God, mother's hemorrhaging!"
The bluish, throbbing baby and my sister were surrounded, and I was pushed aside, but those words sent panic skittering through my body, tears blurring my vision.
Brooke collapsed back on the bed, all blood draining from her face, as she screeched one more time, her green eyes rolling back in her head, neck arched, as if it were her last breath. Her auburn hair, the same color as mine, the same as my mother's, was glued to her head from sweat.
The doctors and nurses, a wall of blue-scrubbed people, continued barking orders and shouting, some fighting to save my sister's life, the blood gushing out, spilling from the gurney to the floor, and others fighting to save the baby's life.
My mother was half-lying on the floor, as white as her daughter. She put her trembling hands up in the air, her perfectly polished red nails twitching as she whispered a chant, something to do with freeing the living spirits, jasmine, and love force, and when she was done she uttered, finally, a prayer, "Dear God, get in here right this minute and help us, damn it."
I tried to get to my sister, to hold her seizing body, to bring life back to the fading green eyes that seemed to be only half with us, but they wouldn't let me near her.
"Get out, get out!" one nurse yelled at me, pushing me toward the door as I fought.
"I want to be with my sister! Let me stay with Brooke!"
Oh no, that could not happen. No staying. "We're taking care of them! Go, go!"
"Move the family out of the way, out of the way!"
The baby, his head swollen, was placed in an Isolette in seconds as the doctors whipped him out of the room and raced into the corridor.
I tried to run after the baby, my mother wobbling behind me on her heels in shock, but two nurses stopped us at the swinging white doors of the ICU, grabbing our arms, holding us close, our hands outstretched toward the baby as we cried, we pleaded. They were gentle, they were firm, both men strong and immovable. We could not go. They were sorry.
The doors slammed shut, locking, as that teeny-tiny body was rolled away into the sterility of a white corridor, more doctors rushing to meet him.
"Help Brooke," my mother gasped, pushing me with weak hands back into the hospital room, as she tumbled straight down. The nurses lunged to help my mother and no one noticed me this time as I raced back into my sister's room. There was blood all over. I didn't know someone could bleed that much and still live. She was covered in doctors and nurses, an oxygen mask over her face, cloths between her legs.
"Okay," one of the doctors panted. "We're moving mother, on three." Again, for the second time in less than two minutes, a family member was whipped out of the hospital room and rushed behind those swinging, locking white doors, where my mother and I couldn't go.
We couldn't go there.
Couldn't go with my sister, couldn't go with my brand-new nephew.
Excerpted from a different kind of normal by CATHY LAMB Copyright © 2012 by Cathy Lamb. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I really enjoyed this book. Love all of her books and this did not disappoint.
Another great read by Cathy Lamb!!
Cathy lamb is so gifte in what she can do with words. Amazing the emotions she evokes with mere words and there are many deep emotions in this book. There is never a dull moment with her colorful characters. So glad to be able to share this book with my daughter but i'll be recommending it to many others. Thank you cathy for another epic tale.
Jaden Bruxelle is a young, extremely serious and professional hospice nurse. She has helped patients and their families through their final moments with tender loving care, respect and understanding. But, her main concern is for the welfare of Tate, the gifted young man who she has loved and cared for since her drug-addicted Sister; Brooke gave birth to him seventeen years ago and walked out of their lives. Jaden became his Mother (later known as “Boss Mom”) at 19. Tate’s birth was a difficult one and due to lack of prenatal care, use of drugs, etc., he was born with an enlarged head and eye placement issues. Tate is not mentally challenged—on the contrary, Tate is one brilliant, intuitive, loving individual, who wants to be accepted for who he is and be a part of “the group” at school but his fondest wish is to play basketball. Jaden quakes at the notion, afraid he’ll get hurt—especially since he has a shunt which could lead to serious consequences if dislodged. I have to say that Tate captured my heart right from the start. His outlook on life, the way he handles the size of his head (naming it “General Noggin”--don’t forget Bert, Ernie, Billy, Bob, and his eyes; “Roadrunner” and “Mickey Mouse”), trying so hard to fit in while being bullied and mistreated—then turning the other cheek. We could all learn much from Tate. What an extraordinary fellow! His personality shines through even more on his blog. Through all of the trials and tribulations, family is the anchor in both of their lives. To truly understand the Bruxelle Family roots, we are first transported back in time and “across the pond” and are introduced to witchly twin ancestors; Henrietta and Elizabeth who are supposedly responsible for “The Curse”. They married wealthy gentlemen and each gave birth to a daughter—Iris and Rosemary, who carried on their Mothers’ powers, almost losing their lives to a lynch mob, then escaping to America where their names became Faith and Grace. Their knowledge of herbs, spices, flowers, (and spells) have been passed down for generations—landing at Jaden’s feet. We meet Jaden’s soap opera queen, extremely outspoken but loving Mother; Rowan, who wants nothing more than the best for her children and grandchildren while dealing with the ever present feeling of loss for her beloved husband and missing daughter. Tate affectionately calls her “Nana Bird”. Ex-wrestler turned florist, muscled teddy bear, Jaden’s Brother, Caden, has his hands full being a single Dad to spitfire, adopted daughter; Dimini and perpetual motion, costumed triplets; Heloise, Harvey and Hazel. As strong as her love is for her family, Jaden has deep, romantic feelings for Tate’s talented neurosurgeon; Ethan Robbins hidden within, as she is aware there can’t be a romance due to his doctor/patient relationship with Tate. Or can it?? Ethan is the only one she trusts with her son’s care. The insight into Jaden’s hospice cases will tug at your heart—and you’re allowed (my opinion), to hiss and boo at slime-ball, Dirk. Will Tate get to play basketball on his High School’s team? Will Jaden and Ethan find love? You’ll chuckle, laugh out loud and, believe me, the tears will flow, within the pages of this Author’s latest masterpiece. You won’t be disappointed! All I can say is “Thank-you and more, more, more Cathy!” I’ll be waiting for more heartwarming tales and bet you will be too! Nancy Narma
My all time favorite author, great story
This one was well worth the wait. Cathy nailed the feeling of wanting to fit in for a person who is "different". An absolutely beautiful story with vivid characters. Strong emotions expressed from start to finish in the book and felt as a reader. What a gifted writer Cathy is.
I can sum this book up in one word: Beautiful! In true Cathy Lamb fashion, readers are brought a story that will make you laugh out loud, and is absolutely certain to bring forth tears of empathy and grief. It's what Cathy Lamb does best, and it's probably why she truly is my favorite author. Lamb's newest novel tells the story of 17-year old Tate. Born to a strung-out and drug-addicted mother (Brooke), and adopted at birth by his 19-year old aunt (Jaden), Tate's life will be anything but easy. Likely due to his biological mother's drug abuse and lack of any prenatal attention, Tate is born with a very enlarged head and lopsided eyes which make him appear freakish to strangers. To his family - his Boss Mom (adopted mom, Jaden), his Nana Bird (grandmother), and his uncle and cousins - Tate is beautiful. He's brilliant and funny, and he teaches his family that love and laughter heal tears. When Tate begs to go out for the basketball team, Jaden's overprotective and hovering tendencies begin to smother her enthusiastic son. Can Jaden put aside her fears and allow Tate to behave like a normal kid? Can she step back and allow him to handle, in his own way, the teasing of strangers without pounding them to a pulp with her bare hands? A Different Kind of Normal is what fans of Lamb have come to expect: a story of love and family, beautifully written with strong characters, some sadness, and a whole lot of humor. She simply never let's us down! Finally getting to read a new Cathy Lamb book is like being on a diet for a whole year; eating only fresh fruits and vegetables, but yearning for that warm chocolate lava dessert at your favorite restaurant. You finally decide to treat yourself, so you feel the need to eat it slowly and savor every single bite because you know - when you're done - you'll have to go right back to those ho-hum fruits and veggies you've been existing on for the last year. I've finished my "dessert." I wish I could say I ate it slowly and savored every single bite, but the truth is that I shoveled it in with a serving spoon in each hand. It's going to be a long year while I wait to see what Cathy Lamb has in store for us next.
I received this book from LibraryThing's early reviewer program. I absolutely adored this book from the first word. It is a beautiful redemptive story about the power of love and strong family ties. The story revolves mainly around Tate- a 17 yr old born with physical abnormalities- a very large head, one eye higher than the other, etc.- his mother was drug addicted at the time of his birth. The fierce, undending, indescribable depths of the love between all the family members is absolutely breath taking. I loved Cathy Lamb's style of writing and can not wait to read everything she ever wrote. Kudos to the nth degree!
We read this book for book club and a lot of the group loved it. I hated it as did several other members. I thought it was corny. The dialogue didn't seem real and the writing was marginal. She tried to throw every issue she could think of in one book orphanage in India, single dad's, assisted suicide etc. The book wasn't funny too me just absurd and badly written. She was so worried about him getting hurt playing basketball, but he did everything else under the sun and she didn't have a moments worry.
What a perfect book this was to read everything about it made you happy, sad, etc all the emotions. I of course have loved every cathy lamb book i have read and this one is no different. It is about a boy named Tate who is 17 and like any other highschool boy except one thing, he was born to a drug addict, brooke, his other mother, and was adopted by Jaden, Brooks sister, due to the fact that brooke left him at the hospital so Jaden, Boss Mom, is the greatest mom and she is very protective of Tate bc the drugs did a number on him while he was in the womb, he was born with an overly sized head, named GeneralNoggin. Tate does a great job at fending off dumb kids and parents that make fun of him but when he wants to go out for the basketball team Mom Jaden says no b/c tate has a shunt in his head and she is afraid...well after many many arguments mom gives in and its all great for a while....wont give any spoilers away but the characters are well defined, plot, setting r perfect! in cathy's books u want to b there, u want to meet the characters, see the town etc. Nanabird, aka tates grandma is a hoot and so are the rest of the family, this is a must read for any kid or parent that has ever had a bulling problem or have ever been made fun of for something, i know bc i have and was bullied some and made fun of as a kid for my weight issue so i can totally relate in some instances to tate. its a very refreshing hard look at life and it definitely makes you think. LOved it 5 stars would give it a perfect 10! thanks cathy when is the next one due! i will b buying it too!
A Different Kind of Normal had me laughing out loud and bawling my eyes out. It's the hilarious, sweet, endearing, and heart-breaking story of Tate and his mother, Jaden and their incredibly dynamic family. I really appreciated the characters' wit and how deeply they loved, supported, and protected one another.
I loved this book. It really hit home. One of the main characters in this book was born with a big head. The medical term for this is called Hydrocephalus. I have a relative that was born with this same condition. This made the book come alive for me because of that fact. Tate Bruxelle, was born with a big head. His real mother, Brooke, abandoned him after birth. She simply walked away from the hospital leaving Tate there. Jaden Bruxelle, the sister of Brooke, at nineteen years of age took Tate to raise as her own; giving him the care he would have never gotten if Brooke had stuck around. Tate called Jaden, Boss Mom. Jaden and Brooke’s mother Rowan Bruxelle, a Hollywood movie star, also played an important part in Tate’s life. Tate called Rowan, Nana Bird. Tate also had a name for his big head, General Noggin. There are many other supporting characters in this book that are just as loveable as the main characters. You will come to love them as I did. I experienced many emotions while reading this book. Laughter, oh my goodness there is so many laugh out loud moments in this book. There is anger, because some people are just plain mean. There are moments of great sadness and loss. Most importantly there is love and plenty of it. The family in this book is a very supporting family. The love just flows. The caring is outstanding. This book shows how a true family lives and even though it is fictional, you get good goose bump moments from it. I really loved that about this book. A family sticking together through thick or thin is what it is all about. I took away from this book that compassion is very important. Letting go of hurts is very important. Forgiveness is very important. Don’t spend your life hating what you can’t change but loving what you can. The author Cathy Lamb is a new author to me. This is the first book I have read of hers. It won’t be the last. She has a way with words describing each and every scene as if you were right there in it. She knows how to bring out compassion, support, caring, forgiveness, and love in her main characters. To sum it up, I just can’t say enough about this book. I wish to thank Kensington Publishers for providing me with an ARC copy of this book to read and review. The opinions expressed are mine alone.