She Always Wore Red

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Angela Hunt

and her book:

She Always Wore Red

Tyndale House Publishers (April 23, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Christy-Award winner Angela Hunt writes for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected in novels from this versatile author. With over three million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 100 works ranging from picture books (The Tale of Three Trees) to novels.

Now that her two children have reached their twenties, Angie and her husband live in Florida with Very Big Dogs (a direct result of watching Turner and Hooch and Sandlot too many times). This affinity for mastiffs has not been without its rewards--one of their dogs was featured on Live with Regis and Kelly as the second-largest canine in America. Their dog received this dubious honor after an all-expenses-paid trip to Manhattan for the dog and the Hunts, complete with VIP air travel and a stretch limo in which they toured New York City.

Afterward, the dog gave out pawtographs at the airport.

Angela admits to being fascinated by animals, medicine, psychology, unexplained phenomena, and “just about everything” except sports. Books, she says, have always shaped her life— in the fifth grade she learned how to flirt from reading Gone with the Wind.

Her books have won the coveted Christy Award, several Angel Awards from Excellence in Media, and the Gold and Silver Medallions from Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year Award. In 2007, her novel The Note was featured as a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel. Romantic Times Book Club presented her with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2006.

In 2006, Angela completed her Master of Biblical Studies in Theology degree and completed her doctorate in 2008. When she’s not home reading or writing, Angie often travels to teach writing workshops at schools and writers’ conferences. And to talk about her dogs, of course.


Visit her at her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Chapter One

The nameless cadaver on the cover of my anatomy textbook—a middle-aged man who is no longer black, white, or brown—would be counted among the orange in a census of the embalmed.

Someone should have adjusted the tint before they juiced him.

I flip the book open and study the color photographs of the cadaver’s aortic arch and brachiocephalic veins, then close my eyes and try to commit the multisyllable words to memory. Here I am, near the end of my first semester of mortuary school, and I’m still having trouble keeping my veins and arteries straight.

Behind me, an irate mother in the carpool line is honking, though we have a good three minutes before kindergarten dismissal. She probably has to pick up her child and get back to work before the end of her lunch hour. While I sympathize with her impatience, I wish she’d lay off the horn so I can concentrate.

I open one eye and examine the book propped on my steering wheel. The right internal jugular branches off the right and left brachiocephalic veins, which lie outside the brachiocephalic trunk. Brachiocephalic sounds like some kind of dinosaur. Bugs would like that word.

I turn the book sideways, but the photograph on the page looks nothing like a prehistoric animal. In fact, I find it hard to believe that anything like this jumble of tunnels and tubes exists in my body, but skin covers myriad mysteries.

I snap the book shut as the bell at Round lake elementary trills through the warm afternoon. The kindergarten classes troop out into the sunshine, their hands filled with lunch boxes and construction paper cutouts. The tired teachers stride to the curb and peer into various vehicles, then motion the appropriate children forward.

My spirits lift when my red-haired cherub catches my eye and waves. Bradley “Bugs” graham waits until his teacher calls his name and skips toward me.

“Hey, Mom.” He climbs into the backseat of the van as his teacher holds the door.

“Hey yourself, kiddo.” I check to make sure he’s snapped his seat belt before smiling my thanks at his teacher. “Did you have a good morning?”

“Yep.” He leans forward to peek into the front seat. “Do we hafta go home, or can we stop to get a snack?”

My thoughts veer toward the to-do list riding shotgun in the front passenger seat. I still have to run to the grocery store, swing by the dry cleaner’s to pick up gerald’s funeral suit, and stop to see if the bookstore has found a used copy of Introduction to Infectious Diseases, Second edition. Textbooks are usually pricey, but medical textbooks ought to come with fixed-rate mortgages. Still, I need to find that book if I’m going to complete my online course by the end of the semester.

“I’ll pull into a drive-through,” I tell Bugs, knowing he won’t mind. “You want McDonald’s?”

He nods, so I point the van toward Highway 441.

“Mr. gerald make any pickups today?” Bugs asks.

I ease onto the highway, amazed at how easily my children have accepted the ongoing work of the funeral home. “none today.”

“See this?”

I glance in the rearview mirror and see Bugs waving his construction paper creation. “Yes.”

“It’s a stegosaurus. Can I give it to gerald?”

“I think he’d like that.” I force a smile as an unexpected wave of grief rises within me. like a troublesome relative who doesn’t realize she’s worn out her welcome, sorrow often catches me by surprise. Gerald, the elderly embalmer at Fairlawn, has become a surrogate father for my sons. Thomas, my ex-husband and my children’s father, has been gone for months, but in some ways he’s never been closer. He lies in the Pine Forest Cemetery, less than two miles from our house, so we can’t help but think of him every time we drive by.

I get Bugs a vanilla ice cream cone at the McDonald’s drive-through, and then we run to the grocery store and the dry cleaner. I’ll call the bookstore later. no sense in going there when a simple phone call will suffice.

Finally we turn into the long driveway that leads to the Fairlawn Funeral Home.

Gerald has poured a new concrete pad next to the garage, and as I park on it, Bugs notices that the call car is gone. “uh-oh.” He looks at me. “Somebody bit the dust.”

I press my lips together. A couple of months ago I would have mumbled something about the old station wagon maybe needing a wash, but now I know there’s no reason to shield my children from the truth—we are in the death care industry. The squeamishness I felt when we first arrived vanished the day I walked into the prep room and gloved up to help gerald lay out my ex-husband.

“Come in the house,” I tell my son. “I’ll pour you a glass of milk.”

A Sweet Christian Romance: Gentle Touch by Angela Hunt

I've posted about several of Angela Hunt's novels.  When I saw Gentle Touch (Portraits Series #7) on Bookmooch I decided to give it a try.  It is a sweet Christian romance novel about a top-notch, efficient but non-emotionally involved oncology nurse and her new boss, Dr. Superwonderful but Touchy-feely too.  Jacquelyn has a great life with things going her way.  She even has a boyfriend who, though he doesn't put her first in his life, is nice to have when he is there.  She is Nurse of the Year at work.  Then he shows up.  Jonah is gorgeous, and all the patients love him.  Instead of efficiently moving them through the process, he talks to them, and gets involved in their lives. They clash.  Then she finds that she has breast cancer.  Guess who she picks as her doctor?  Jonah has some baggage in his past.  It is a romance novel, so guess how it ends?

Like most (if not all) of Hunt's writing, this is Christian fiction.  Part of what happens is that both characters renew their faith and there is discussion of how God is with us in hardship.

Gentle Touch (Portraits Series #7) is a fun light read which never strays far from the standard romance format.

Disclosure:  The title links take you to Amazon.  If you purchase something after clicking one of them, I get a small commission.

Blog Tour: The Fine Art of Insincerity

The Fine Art of Insincerity: A Novel

About the Book:

Three grown Southern sisters have ten marriages between them—and more loom on the horizon—when Ginger, the eldest, wonders if she’s the only one who hasn’t inherited what their family calls “the Grandma Gene”: the tendency to like the casualness of courtship better than the intimacy of marriage. Could it be that her two sisters are fated to serially marry, just like their seven-times wed grandmother, Mrs. Lillian Irene Harper Winslow Goldstein Carey James Bobrinski Gordon George? It takes a “girls only” weekend, closing up Grandma’s treasured beach house for the last time, for the sisters to really unpack their family baggage, examine their relationship DNA, and discover the true legacy their much-marrying grandmother left behind . . .

My Comments:
I've read and enjoyed several of Angela Hunt's books in the past so I was pleased to accept a review copy of her latest, The Fine Art of Insincerity.  Hunt does a great job of showing how these sisters' childhood affected their adult lives, for good and for bad.  I can't say that I particularly liked any of the three, but by the end of the book I was cheering for all of them.  Hunt allows them to learn the value of love between sisters and love between spouses.

I guess there is something about a death in the family that draws people together, and yet opens wounds that never  heal unless they are exposed.

The Fine Art of Insincerity is not a fluffy feel-good read, but it does have a hopeful ending and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  While classified as Christian fiction, it is on the subtle end of the spectrum and unless you hate references to God and faith, the Christian elements shouldn't bother you.  I'd say it fits the category of "women's fiction" as well if not better than Christian fiction.  Grade:  A- 

The Note II--my review

I guess I was bound to be disappointed, as much as I loved The Note, but I was hoping Angela Hunt could write a sequel that I would love as much as the original. Unfortunately, she did not. She wrote a Hallmark movie--sappy sweet, cast with beautiful people and all tied up with a bow at the end. I can't say much about plot details without them being a spoiler either for this book or for The Note, so I won't say much except that the main character is a newspaper columnist whose column is titled Heart Healer. The story focuses on a statement she made in one column "Passion. It should always be tempered with caution. Especially when it comes to affairs of the heart." and a reader's disagreement with that statement.

At the end of the book there is a note from Hunt, who explains that the setting and a character name have changed from The Note. Actually they were changed when The Note was made into a Hallmark movie. I think a big difference in the books is that while Hallmark took The Note and made it into a movie (which I'll assume had Hallmarks usual sweet style) The Note II was written to be a Hallmark movie, and it shows. This book has a center section with glossy photos of the movie, which stars Genie Francis and Ted McGinley.

While characterized as Christian fiction, I stated that religion played almost no part in The Note and that I thought anyone could enjoy the book, even if not Christian. The Note II is more obviously Christian. We go to church with Peyton and hear part of the sermon. Peyton mentions God in some of her columns. The religious aspects aren't overbearing, but they are there, not really relevant to the story and probably are enough to turn off someone who doesn't want to read about religion in a novel.

If I hadn't read The Note, I might have been happier with The Note II. As it is, I'd characterize it as fair--a quick easy read, another visit with friends from The Note, but nothing exceptional.

First Wildcard will tour this book next month.

Review: Five Miles South of Peculiar

Five Miles South of Peculiar: A Novel

About the Book:

Darlene Caldwell, reigning matriarch of Sycamores, a spacious Southern estate in northern Florida, is having a birthday—her fiftieth. Her younger sister, Nolie, is helping Darlene’s boyfriend, Henry, plan a huge celebration that will involve almost everyone in the small town of Peculiar. But Darlene doesn’t know the party planners have invited her twin sister, Carlene, to come from New York for the festivities—after all, it’s Carlene’s birthday, too, and before Carlene went off to become a famous singer on Broadway she was toasted as Peculiar’s Buttercup Squash Festival Queen.

    So Nolie and Henry send off the invitation…and are stunned when Carlene actually shows up, dragging luggage and a load of family baggage in her wake. Can these sisters reach an understanding and learn to live together in peace?

My Comments:

I loved it.  What more is there to say?  There is no relationship quite like that between sisters.  Love, support, jealousy, insecurity, and how many more emotions, come up when sisters come together.  Darlene and Nolie have never left the small town in which they were raised.  Carlene has been in New York, singing on Broadway, since she finished high school.  She's been back to visit, but those visits have been few and brief, and no one knows why.  Darlene and Carlene are twins, and used to be close.  They aren't anymore--but neither knows the reason the other pulled away.  Nolie is younger and has always been the baby of the family, even though she is now near forty.  After a humiliating end to a romantic relationship years ago, she has chosen to remain a semi-child in the family home.  She has never risked that type of love again.  

All three sisters are stuck; while life is pleasant enough for all of them, none of them have really grown in the last few years, they are stagnating.  This is the story of what happens when external events bring change and therefore growth to their lives.  

Like most of Angela Hunts books, Five Miles South of Peculiar is considered Christian fiction.  Like most of them, it is heavy on the fiction, light on the Christian.  One of the main characters is a preacher; however he doesn't preach, or pray very much.  I think most people who enjoy what is considered "women's fiction" would like this, whether or not they like religious fiction.  

I'd like to thank the publisher for providing a complimentary review copy.  I was not obligated to write a positive review, but in this case I couldn't do anything else.  Grade:  A.  

My Reviews of Other Books by Angela Hunt:

Gentle Touch

The Fine Art of Insincerity 

Doesn't She Look Natural

The Note II

The Note

She Always Wore Red

First Wildcard: The Note II

Click here for my review

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Angela Elwell Hunt

and the book:

The Note II: Taking a Chance on Love

Tyndale House Publishers (April 2, 2009)

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.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 228 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (April 2, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414332955
ISBN-13: 978-1414332956



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

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?


Copyright ©2009 by Angela Hunt. Used with permission from Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.

Click here for my review

The Note: My Review

If you check my Goodreads account, you'll see that I have very few five star books. You'll see the same thing if you check my Amazon reviews. I rarely give five stars to a book because I think if I do so very often, there is no rating for the exceptional book. The Note by Angela Hunt is a five star book.

The Note II is the subject of an upcoming First Wildcard tour and the book arrived yesterday. I've had The Note in my TBR someday pile for quite some time and decided that it needed to go to the top.

It is sometime prior to 9/11/01--because a small part of the action takes place in the World Trade Center in New York (and the book was copyrighted in 2001). A jet went down near Tampa. As the media frenzy is dying down, Peyton, a newspaper columnist, is given a note in a ziplock bag. Someone who lived next to the water recovered it, and thinks it was from one of the crash victims. It is from "Dad" to "T" and offers forgiveness. Peyton searches for the child to whom the note is addressed and learns about herself in the process. I don't want to give away too many details but when the story about the note breaks she ends up competing with a rising TV network news star so their relationship is part of the story, as is her relationship with an attractive co-worker and former boss. Another character is a somewhat eccentric former reporter turned prison minister.

The book is classified as Christian fiction. The message is forgiveness, which of course is an important Christian concept. However, I really think this is a book that anyone could read and enjoy. Other than the theme of forgiveness, I really can't think of any particularly Christian elements in the book. One of the characters is a Christian minister, and it is within that context that he thinks about the Note, but again, unless you are anti-religious, I don't think you should have a problem with it.

I case you couldn't tell, I loved this book and highly recommend it!

Faith n Fiction Saturday

The question Amy posted this week is as follows:

What are your reading goals for the new year? Do you have plans to read through the Bible or complete any Bible studies? Do you hope to expand your reading horizons or reread some old favorites? Do you want to read more fiction or non-fiction? Do you want to increase the amount of Christian fiction you read? Do you have any goals for reading as it relates to your blog?

My answer:

Pope Benedict declared June 28, 2008 to June 27, 2009 to be the Year of St. Paul, during which the faithful are asked to learn more about St. Paul and his writings. I'm working my way through Paul's New Testament writings, and will probably do a study like this one by Scott Hahn during Lent. I'm halfway through Hahn's Lamb's Supper (and unfortunately have been for quite some time; I really need to finish it--but I like my reading light and it has a lot to think about). I enjoyed Anne Rice's novels about Jesus and would like to read her reversion story, titled Called Out of Darkness.

As far as pleasure reading, I don't really make plans, except to work my way through my TBR stack. My friend Carrie suggested the Fr. Dowling mysteries and I have a few of those waiting for me. There are a couple of Emilie Richards books waiting on me and some by Angela Hunt. Since I've started doing book tours, I try to get the review books read first, and others later, but sometimes I' m just not in the mood for the next review book.

Thanks to Amy for hosting this; check out her blog to see other's choices.

Fairlawn Books

  Last year I read She Always Wore Red (The Fairlawn Series #2) and as my review indicates, really enjoyed it.  Now that it is summer, I'm taking my youngest to the library for Family Night and have about enough time during the story to go and get a book I know I want--as opposed to browsing to find one I'd like to try.  Since I liked She Always Wore Red (The Fairlawn Series #2), as well as The Note by the same author, Angela Hunt, I grabbed these books.

The Fairlawn trilogy begins with Doesn't She Look Natural (The Fairlawn Series #1).  In it Jennifer Graham, whose husband recently divorced her in favor of the young nanny, inherits a funeral home.  She plans to sell it, but while visiting it, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is Gerald, her uncle's assistant, she decides to keep it and to study to become a mortician.  While this book set the scene for the other two, I found it the weakest of the three, and had it been the first one I read, I'm not sure I would have continued with the series. By the time She Always Wore Red (The Fairlawn Series #2) comes, Jennifer is in school and working with Gerald.  Then a half-sister she didn't know existed shows up on her doorstep.  She's in a Better Place (The Fairlawn Series #3) is about Gerald's terminal illness and death.  It is also about Jennifer's desire for stability in life, and a realization that change can bring us to a better place.

These book manage to deal with serious themes without being overly heavy.  The descriptions of work in the morgue are fascinating and the whole trilogy reminds us that death is truly a part of life.  One thing I loved in the first book was when Jennifer described her encounter with the funeral director for her father's funeral as something that left her feeling taken advantage of--I don't have the book anymore and can't give you a direct quote--but I know that's exactly how my husband I and felt after my father-in-law's funeral.

Doesn't She Look Natural (The Fairlawn Series #1) is the weak link but I recommend reading as background to the other two books, which rate A's in my book.