Leah Lockhart is more than her astrology. She'll search the world to prove it.
Leah Lockhart is proudly science-minded and woo-woo averse. But the life she’s carefully curated is knocked suddenly off course, first by a destabilizing case of vertigo, and then by an astrology reading that claims she’s living way out of line with what was written in her stars.
Incensed, Leah sets off on a mission to prove that astrology is bogus by comparing her life to that of her Star Twins around the world—people born under her exact same map of the stars. But her even deeper guides on a whirlwind journey through Venice, Istanbul, New Orleans, and beyond turn out to be three people already in her orbit: the mother she thinks abandoned her, the father she thinks saved her, and the former boy next door whose love could be the path to her truest self.
Leah Lockhart is more than her astrology. She'll search the world to prove it.
Leah Lockhart is proudly science-minded and woo-woo averse. But the life she’s carefully curated is knocked suddenly off course, first by a destabilizing case of vertigo, and then by an astrology reading that claims she’s living way out of line with what was written in her stars.
Incensed, Leah sets off on a mission to prove that astrology is bogus by comparing her life to that of her Star Twins around the world—people born under her exact same map of the stars. But her even deeper guides on a whirlwind journey through Venice, Istanbul, New Orleans, and beyond turn out to be three people already in her orbit: the mother she thinks abandoned her, the father she thinks saved her, and the former boy next door whose love could be the path to her truest self.
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Overview
Leah Lockhart is more than her astrology. She'll search the world to prove it.
Leah Lockhart is proudly science-minded and woo-woo averse. But the life she’s carefully curated is knocked suddenly off course, first by a destabilizing case of vertigo, and then by an astrology reading that claims she’s living way out of line with what was written in her stars.
Incensed, Leah sets off on a mission to prove that astrology is bogus by comparing her life to that of her Star Twins around the world—people born under her exact same map of the stars. But her even deeper guides on a whirlwind journey through Venice, Istanbul, New Orleans, and beyond turn out to be three people already in her orbit: the mother she thinks abandoned her, the father she thinks saved her, and the former boy next door whose love could be the path to her truest self.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780593716076 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 05/06/2025 |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Chapter
One
I snapped my laptop shut, prepared to call this a 4.5-star week. My team had delivered two sets of twins with zero NICU needs, my running club had made the thrilling annual transition out of long pants and into shorts, and Dad and I had found the time to change every wall of my new condo from nineties pastels to a tranquil Sea Mist. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then remembered that my brand-new bob took 50 percent less time to blow-dry. Five stars it was.
With one precise kick against the second drawer of my desk, my rolling chair and I were perfectly positioned to see out the left dormer window of my office. And there she was: beautiful Sandy Hook Bay. It was late May, making six thirty p.m. Magic Hour. A fried-egg sun shot its rays across the water, turning the streaky clouds above into pink cotton candy. And if I squinted, I could see the Manhattan skyline straight ahead.
Thanks, Grandad, I thought, part two of the daily ritual.
Dr. Peter Lockhart Sr. had bought this gingerbread Victorian as the offices of LWM because of this very view, planting himself in this second-floor office for all forty years of his career. I moved in once he retired and had no plans of taking over Dad's larger space downstairs. He'd always needed closed shades to focus. My requirement was sun streaming through a window. I took one more glance before heading down to find another precious detail that had remained consistent since Dad retired: our office manager, Edie. She was restocking snacks in the kitchen.
"That's still way too many Werther's Originals . . . ," I teased.
"No such thing," Edie replied, dumping a full bag of the gold-foiled candies into the bin. She reserved two, popping one in her mouth with little-kid delight and handing the other to me like the surrogate grandma she'd become.
"Ready for the Friday Dot-and-Cross?" I asked, unwrapping my candy. This was our term for the sessions Grandad instituted at the very start of Lockhart Women's Medical: five-minute meetings to ensure every i was dotted and t crossed before the weekend.
"Clipboard at the ready," Edie said, grabbing her wooden relic off the table and lowering her massive glasses down her nose.
"Great. For scheduling: I'm watching Becca Alton closely. If there's no movement by next Wednesday, she'll likely want to induce. Jeanie Lands's glucose came back high but borderline, so I want to run it again Tuesday. Just schedule her for a tech appointment." Edie scribbled furiously: seventy years old, but still the high school class secretary at heart. "For the office: I'm worried about the A/C holding up this summer."
"And the roof, if we get the kind of storms we had last year," Edie added.
I held in a sigh. This was the downside of a century-old property. "Right. Which means also the front porch. Let's get my uncle in to give us an estimate on replacing both, and let's hope the family discount is steep. But to end on good news: I need to place an order with you for two more blues. It's twins for Hallie and Jon." Newborn hats handcrafted by Edie were the LWM signature gift-with-delivery.
Her eyes went extra wide. "Ohdeargod . . . Two boy babies become two boy toddlers lickety-split. Those two church mice are not ready for that."
I shook my head. "I know, but please don't tell them that when they come in next week."
Edie pursed her always-mauve lips to say she'd try but probably fail. "Okay. My list is just to check in with the hospital board on Monday about our equipment order and the rest of the staff about staggering summer vacation schedules. I'll give you those two days before and after your birthday for the Cape May trip with Charlotte. Need more?"
"Not until we hire the second doctor."
"About that . . ." Her eyes went from class secretary to school principal.
"I promise I'm reviewing résumés."
The clipboard lowered with Edie's gaze. "I want you to promise you're not secretly waiting for some fourth-generation Lockhart to get through med school."
"Ruby will be ten this year and shows signs of excellent bedside manner," I joked, sort of.
Now Edie shook her head at me. "All right then, there's one more thing I want to raise," she said. "We've had a few more requests for patients to bring their doulas to their appointments." She pronounced the word as if it were a controlled substance. "Are we still allowing that?"
"You know we allow patients to bring doulas or any supportive birth partner into their experience here, Edie."
She leaned in close even though we were the only two people left in the office. "Well, then the least they could do is wear a bra, Leah."
I tried hard not to encourage her with a laugh. I failed. Sometimes Edie was seventy on the inside, too.
Thanks to the prime location of my new home, I had time for a quick run before girls’ night at Charlotte’s. I’d spent years renting a little bungalow closer to the hospital, watching for one among a very prized row of bay-side condos to come on the market. Again. I’d missed my chance and a way better price almost a decade ago. Shane and I had just celebrated six months together when Mrs. Biddle put hers up for sale. That was five months longer than any relationship I’d had since med school, but I wasn’t sure if he was the one, and it didn’t seem wise to buy myself a condo that he didn’t like while I waited to decide. Shane grew up in Pennsylvania with a family that preferred giant lawns over water views. I should not have been surprised when he announced he wanted us to move there four months later. My “no” was instant. My devastation over missing out on that condo lasted until one finally came on the market again. This time I made an offer without having to consult anyone but my accountant, a silver lining of still being single. One perk of the wait: I ended up with a unit steps from the head of the Henry Hudson Trail. Tonight I was out and back from the picturesque, three-mile loop to Conover Light Beacon in thirty minutes. The actual five-star end to the week.
I cooled down at the kitchen table and gave my work email one final check. Friday evenings tended to bring last-minute questions, like Can I paddleboard at twenty weeks? Do I have to put more sunscreen than usual on my belly? And Will the green curry from Kunya Siam make me go into labor? Answers: yes, no, and it hasn't made anyone yet. But I found a very surprising subject line tonight: Hi from David Remy. A little gasp escaped me. My David Remy?
Hey Leah-Hope you've been well. I regret to inform you that I'm writing to officially call off our pen pal arrangement. You've owed me a return letter for twenty-six years and three months. I'm sorry, but I have my standards.
I laughed out loud. It was him. That sense of humor was one reason I'd developed a crush on David soon after the Remys moved into the house behind ours the summer before fourth grade. Another was the pitch-perfect dimples I could picture now as if he were reading to me through the screen. Why had I stopped writing after he moved back down to New Orleans?
Still, I'm willing to bury the hatchet. I'm living in Manhattan for the next few months to do some specialty work at a PT clinic in North Jersey. (I'm a physical therapist. Those sprained wrists and ankles from our tumbles on the jetty really inspired me.) I've been thinking about coming down to visit the old stomping grounds. Would love to see you if you're around. Bonus if our creek hasn't succumbed to global warming. Let me know. -David
I'd sat down on a kitchen stool to read, but David's last line lifted me to my feet. Our creek. There had always been a little stream of water running through the ravine between our two houses, but I barely knew it was there until David moved in. We'd begged our dads to build a bridge across. In the end, they-a doctor and an engineer-supervised while my contractor uncle handled the job. How many hours had David Remy and I spent talking on that bridge? How many times had we maybe, almost, I-was-so-sure-we-would kiss?
I reread the note, grinning all the way through, then did what any thorough woman would: typed David Remy into a Google search. The Remys moved the summer before we started eighth grade. That was right around the time I was starting to wonder if I should try for that terrifying transition out of the Friend Zone. But it also lined up with the bitter end of my parents' marriage. David and I tried to keep in touch, but the truth is he got lumped into a time that I was eager to box up and put in the basement. I shifted at the counter, even now eager to move on from those memories.
A social media account popped up on my screen first-like mine, David's was private-but below that were articles, speaker bios, and thumbnail images of a shockingly handsome man who appeared to be a very accomplished physical therapist. I squinted at the headshot, stomach fluttering. The David Remy I knew was a short kid with messy curls drowning in a usually stained polo shirt. This was a man: obviously tall with a tight haircut and arms that filled out every crisp button-down. Wrong guy? I wondered. Then I noticed a picture featuring those dimples, two half-crescent dips off the end of each side of his smile. My own mouth turned up instantly. My David Remy. According to the next link, he'd grown up to be tenured faculty at LSU, recently honored by the American Physical Therapy Association for work with a trauma-informed program developed for veterans. It's too bad there's no such thing as a middle school reunion, I thought, scrolling through the rest of his very long bio. Adult David Remy would have been the surprise star at ours.
I made a mental note to email him back something extremely clever after dinner at Charlotte's, then shut my laptop and bent over to slip it into my work bag. The whole room suddenly shifted with me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the bizarre dizzy feeling, then stepped a foot out to steady myself. With that, everything settled back to normal. I pushed too hard during the run, I thought as I brought my body level. My blood sugar must just be low. I reached for a banana from the bowl on my counter, a quick reset. Then I felt myself break into a ridiculous giggle at a ridiculous thought: Or maybe David Remy can still make me weak in the knees.
Chapter
Two
"Leah, is that you, finally?" Charlotte yelled from the kitchen.
"Oh, good. She'll know the answer," I heard Jeni add.
"If this is about intermittent fasting, I'm leaving!" I called out.
I had been serving as the walking WebMD to my cousin's friend group for years. Recent topics included Is all Botox fine now? And How much bigger is it okay for your left boob to be? But I was happy to oblige. This younger set had saved me from weekends of Turner Classic Movies and takeout these past few years while my high school friends were tied up with two-kids-and-a-Goldendoodle life. I entered the kitchen to find them huddled around one of Charlotte's color-coordinated charcuterie boards.
"It is about intermittent fasting. How did you know?" Jeni eyed me. She was still in running clothes from her own jog. I felt guilty that I never texted her to join mine.
"Educated guess," I said. "I see a dozen women a day, five days a week, one hundred percent of whom have the same social media."
"Right," said Anne, looking found-out. She spent a lot of time online promoting her own family business and even more popular home décor hacks. "So, what's the deal?"
"There's not enough peer-reviewed research for me to say it's good, which in my world means it's bad."
"Told you she'd say that." Charlotte gloated, popping a pepper from the red section of the board into her mouth.
"Well, I want to see whatever research there is," Rayna said as she threw her pile of curls into a clip. She was the contrarian of the group. "Kate Baylock lost fifteen pounds-"
"Fifteen?" Jeni interrupted.
"Thank. You. I thought the same thing when she told me," Anne added, eyes rolling.
The cool-clique lunch tables of my youth had become kitchen islands. I had stayed neutral then because I hated drama. The same rationale applied now, plus the fact that 75 percent of the women whom these women gossiped about were my patients. This meant I would not be sharing the surprise message from David Remy. Charlotte knew enough about him to make a mountain out of an email, and I suspected my status as single was a favorite topic when I wasn't at the island. Though, in fairness, the only three dates I'd been on in the past three years were to their credit as aspiring yentas.
I slid over to Charlotte's fridge to pour myself a glass of my favorite pinot grigio but stopped short at the sight of a man draping a black tablecloth over her dining room table. A man . . . wearing a cape?
"Did you hire a magician for the night?" I asked Charlotte, not at all kidding. Her signature head-tilt-nose-scrunch confirmed why. Charlotte had a bleeding heart that knew no bounds and a cherubic face to match. She'd recently been hostess to a town-council hopeful, a fledgling yoga teacher, and three foster dogs that were currently yapping in her yard. They were in addition to the two she and her saintly husband, Beau, had already adopted.
"Not exactly," she said, then she turned to the group. "Okay! Surprise activity for tonight! The other day the incredibly charming Nova came into the coffee shop. We got to talking, and turns out he's an experienced astrologer looking to expand his online business with IRL group events. He just needs to figure out the timing of things, so I offered us up as a trial! He's in the other room to give us all mini astrology readings right now!"
The room erupted in oohs and aahs. My reaction was internal and opposite: I would have almost preferred a magician.