Interview with the Lovely and Talented USA Today bestselling author Sarah Morgan + my review courtesy RT Magazine of First Time In Forever

I'm so happy to bring back a personal favorite author of mine, whose Harlequin series romance introduced me to her brilliance and her foray into full length novels only solidifies her status as master storyteller. Please welcome Sarah Morgan chatting with me from all the way across the pond probably from her brand new cottage office, she's talking about her latest full length novel and debut to a brand new trilogy set on Puffin Island Maine, First Time In Forever.
You have the floor my friend!

Sarah's New Office

• ISBN-13: 9780373785049
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Publication date: 2/24/2015
• Format: Mass Market Paperback
• Pages: 384

 

Overview

Windswept, isolated and ruggedly beautiful, Puffin Island is a haven for day-trippers and daydreamers alike. But this charming community has a way of bringing people together in the most unexpected ways…

It's been a summer of firsts for Emily Donovan. From becoming a stand-in mom to her niece, Lizzy, to arriving on Puffin Island, her life has become virtually unrecognizable. Between desperately safeguarding Lizzy and her overwhelming fear of the ocean—which surrounds her everywhere she goes!—Emily has lost count of the number of "just breathe" pep talks she's given herself. And that's before charismatic local yacht club owner Ryan Cooper kisses her…

Read an Excerpt:

It was the perfect place for someone who didn't want to be found. A dream destination for people who loved the sea.

Emily Donovan hated the sea.

She stopped the car at the top of the hill and turned off the headlights. Darkness wrapped itself around her, smothering her like a heavy blanket. She was used to the city, with its shimmering skyline and the dazzle of lights that turned night into day. Here, on this craggy island in coastal Maine, there was only the moon and the stars. No crowds, no car horns, no high-rise buildings. Nothing but wave-pounded cliffs, the shriek of gulls and the smell of the ocean.

She would have drugged herself on the short ferry crossing if it hadn't been for the child strapped into the seat in the back of the car.

The little girl's eyes were still closed, her head tilted to one side and her arms locked in a stranglehold around a battered teddy bear. Emily retrieved her phone and opened the car door quietly.

Please don't wake up.

She walked a few steps away from the car and dialed. The call went to voice mail.

"Brittany? Hope you're having a good time in Greece. Just wanted to let you know I've arrived. Thanks again for letting me use the cottage. I'm really…

I'm—" Grateful. That was the word she was looking for. Grateful. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I'm panicking. What the hell am I doing here? There's water everywhere and I hate water. This is— Well, it's hard." She glanced toward the sleeping child and lowered her voice. "She wanted to get out of the car on the ferry, but I kept her strapped in because there was no way I was doing that. That scary harbor guy with the big eyebrows probably thinks I'm insane, by the way, so you'd better pretend you don't know me next time you're home. I'll stay until tomorrow because there's no choice, but then I'm taking the first ferry out of here. I'm going somewhere else. Somewhere landlocked like…like…Wyoming or Nebraska."

As she ended the call the breeze lifted her hair, and she could smell salt and sea in the air.

She dialed again, a different number this time, and felt a rush of relief as the call was answered and she heard Skylar's breathy voice.

"Skylar Tempest."

"Sky? It's me."

"Em? What's happening? This isn't your number."

"I changed my cell phone."

"You're worried someone might trace the call? Holy crap, this is exciting."

"It's not exciting. It's a nightmare."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to throw up, but I know I won't because I haven't eaten for two days. The only thing in my stomach is a knot of nervous tension."

"Have the press tracked you down?"

"I don't think so. I paid cash for everything and drove from New York." She glanced back at the road, but there was only darkness. "How do people live like this? I feel like a criminal. I've never hidden from anyone in my life before."

"Have you been switching cars to confuse them? Did you dye your hair purple and buy a pair of glasses?"

"No. Have you been drinking?"

"I watch a lot of movies. You can't trust anyone. You need a disguise. Something that will help you blend in."

"I will never blend in anywhere with a coastline. I'll be the one wearing a life jacket in the middle of Main Street."

"You're going to be fine." Skylar's extrafirm tone suggested she wasn't at all convinced by what she was saying.

"I'm leaving first thing tomorrow."

"You can't do that! We agreed the cottage would be the safest place to hide. No one is going to notice you on an island crowded with tourists. It's a dream place for a vacation."

"It's not a dream place when the sight of water makes you hyperventilate."

"You're not going to do that. You're going to breathe in the sea air and relax."

"I don't need to be here. This whole thing is an over-reaction. No one is looking for me."

"You're the half sister of one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood, and you're guardian to her child. If that little fact gets out, the whole press pack will be hunting you. You need somewhere to hide, and Puffin Island is perfect."

Emily shivered under a cold drench of panic. "Why would they know about me? Lana spent her entire life pretending I don't exist." And that had suited her perfectly. At no point had she aspired to be caught in the beam of Lana's spotlight. Emily was fiercely private.

Lana, on the other hand, had demanded attention from the day she was born.

It occurred to Emily that her half sister would have enjoyed the fact she was still making headlines even though it had been over a month since the plane crash that had killed her and the man reputed to have been her lover.

"Journalists can find out anything. This is like a plot for a movie."

"No, it isn't! It's my life. I don't want it ripped open and exposed for the world to see and I don't—" Emily broke off and then said the words aloud for the first time. "I don't want to be responsible for a child." Memories from the past drifted from the dark corners of her brain like smoke under a closed door. "I can't be."

It wasn't fair to the girl.

And it wasn't fair to her.

Why had Lana done this to her? Was it malice? Lack of thought? Some twisted desire to seek revenge for a childhood where they'd shared nothing except living space?

"I know you think that, and I understand your reasons, but you can do this. You have to. Right now you're all she has."

"I shouldn't be all anyone has. That's a raw deal. I shouldn't be looking after a child for five minutes, let alone the whole summer."

No matter that in her old life people deferred to her, recognized her expertise and valued her judgment; in this she was incompetent. She had no qualifications that equipped her for this role. Her childhood had been about surviving. About learning to nurture herself and protect herself while she lived with a mother who was mostly absent—sometimes physically, always emotionally. And after she'd left home, her life had been about studying and working long, punishing hours to silence men determined to prove she was less than they were.

And now here she was, thrown into a life where what she'd learned counted for nothing. A life that required the one set of skills she knew she didn't possess. She didn't know how to be this. She didn't know how to do this. And she'd never had ambitions to do it. It felt like an injustice to find herself in a situation she'd worked hard to avoid all her life.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and she heard Skylar's voice through a mist of anxiety.

"If having her stops you thinking that, this will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you. You weren't to blame for what happened when you were a child, Em."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Doesn't change the fact you weren't to blame. And you don't need to talk about it because the way you feel is evident in the way you've chosen to live your life."

Emily glanced back at the child sleeping in the car. "I can't take care of her. I can't be what she needs."

"You mean you don't want to be."

"My life is adult-focused. I work sixteen-hour days and have business lunches."

"Your life sucks. I've been telling you that for a long time."

"I liked my life! I want it back."

"That was the life where you were working like a machine and living with a man with the emotional compass of a rock?"

"I liked my job. I knew what I was doing. I was competent. And Neil and I may not have had a grand passion, but we shared a lot of interests."

"Name one."

"I— We liked eating out."

"That's not an interest. That's an indication that you were both too tired to cook."

"We both enjoyed reading."

"Wow, that must have made the bedroom an exciting place."

Emily struggled to come up with something else and failed. "Why are we talking about Neil? That's over. My whole life now revolves around a six-year-old girl. There is a pair of fairy wings in her bag. I don't know anything about fairy wings."

Her childhood had been a barren desert, an exercise in endurance rather than growth, with no room for anything as fragile and destructible as gossamer-thin fairy wings.

"I have a vivid memory of being six. I wanted to be a ballerina."

Emily stared straight ahead, remembering how she'd felt at the age of six. Broken. Even after she'd eventually stuck herself back together, she'd known she wasn't the same.

"I'm mad at Lana. I'm mad at her for dying and for putting me in this position. How screwed up is that?"

"It's not screwed up. It's human. What do you expect, Em? You haven't spoken to Lana in over a decade—" Skylar broke off, and Emily heard voices in the background.

"Do you have company? Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Richard and I are off to a fund-raiser at The Plaza, but he can wait."

From what she knew of Richard's ruthless political ambitions and impatient nature, Emily doubted he'd be prepared to wait. She could imagine Skylar, her blond hair secured in an elegant twist on top of her head, her narrow body sheathed in a breathtaking designer creation. She suspected Richard's attraction to Sky lay in her family's powerful connections rather than her sunny optimism or her beauty. "I shouldn't have called you. I tried Brittany, but she's not answering. She's still on that archaeological dig in Crete. I guess it's the middle of the night over there."

"She seems to be having a good time. Did you see her Facebook update? She's up to her elbows in dirt and hot Greek men. She's working with that lovely ceramics expert, Lily, who gave me all those ideas for my latest collection. And if you hadn't called me I would have called you. I've been so worried. First Neil dumped you, then you had to leave your job, and now this! They say trouble comes in threes."

Emily eyed the child, still sleeping in the car. "I wish the third thing had been a broken toaster."

"You're going through a bad time, but you have to remember that everything happens for a reason. For a start, it has stopped you wallowing in bed eating cereal from the box. You needed a focus and now you have one."

"I didn't need a dependent six-year-old who dresses in pink and wears fairy wings."

"Wait a minute—" There was a pause and then the sound of a door clicking. "Richard is talking to his campaign manager, and I don't want them listening. I'm hiding in the bathroom. The things I do in the name of friendship. You still there, Em?"

"Where would I go? I'm surrounded by water." She shuddered. "I'm trapped."

"Honey, people pay good money to be 'trapped' on Puffin Island."

"I'm not one of them. What if I can't keep her safe, Sky?"

There was a brief silence. "Are we talking about safe from the press or safe from other stuff?"

Her mouth felt dry. "All of it. I don't want the responsibility. I don't want children."

"Because you're afraid to give anything of yourself."

There was no point in arguing with the truth.

"That's why Neil ended it. He said he was tired of living with a robot."

"I guess he used his own antennae to work that out. Bastard. Are you brokenhearted?"

"No. I'm not as emotional as you and Brittany. I don't feel deeply." But she should feelsomething, shouldn't she? The truth was that after two years of living with a man, she'd felt no closer to him than she had the day she'd moved in. Love wrecked people, and she didn't want to be wrecked. And now she had a child. "Why do you think Lana did it?"

"Made you guardian? God knows. But knowing Lana, it was because there wasn't anyone else. She'd pissed off half of Hollywood and slept with the other half, so I guess she didn't have any friends who would help. Just you."

"But she and I—"

"I know. Look, if you want my honest opinion, it was probably because she knew you would put your life on hold and do the best for her child despite the way she treated you. Whatever you think about yourself, you have a deep sense of responsibility. She took advantage of the fact you're a good, decent person. Em, I am so sorry, but I have to go. The car is outside and Richard is pacing. Patience isn't one of his good qualities and he has to watch his blood pressure."

"Of course." Privately Emily thought if Richard worked harder at controlling his temper, his blood pressure might follow, but she didn't say anything. She wasn't in a position to give relationship advice to anyone. "Thanks for listening. Have fun tonight."

"I'll call you later. No, wait—I have a better idea. Richard is busy this weekend, and I was going to escape to my studio, but why don't I come to you instead?"

"Here? To Puffin Island?"

"Why not? We can have some serious girl time. Hang out in our pajamas and watch movies like we did when Kathleen was alive. We can talk through everything and make a plan. I'll bring everything I can find that is pink. Get through to the weekend. Take this a day at a time."

"I am not qualified to take care of a child for five minutes, let alone five days." But the thought of getting back on that ferry in the morning made her feel almost as sick as the thought of being responsible for another human being.

"Listen to me." Skylar lowered her voice. "I feel bad speaking ill of the dead, but you know a lot more than Lana did. She left the kid alone in a house the size of France and hardly ever saw her. Just be there. Seeing the same person for two consecutive days will be a novelty. How is she, anyway? Does she understand what has happened? Is she traumatized?"

Emily thought about the child, silent and solemn-eyed. Trauma, she knew, wore different faces. "She's quiet. Scared of anyone with a camera."

"Probably overwhelmed by the crowds of paparazzi outside the house."

"The psychologist said the most important thing is to show her she's secure."

"You need to cut off her hair and change her name or something. A six-year-old girl with long blond hair called Juliet is a giveaway. You might as well hang a sign on her saying 'Made in Hollywood'"

"You think so?" Panic sank sharp claws into her flesh. "I thought coming out here to the middle of nowhere would be enough. The name isn't that unusual."

"Maybe not in isolation, but attached to a six-year-old everyone is talking about? Trust me, you need to change it. Puffin Island may be remote geographically, but it has the internet. Now go and hide out and I'll see you Friday night. Do you still have your key to the cottage?"

"Yes." She'd felt the weight of it in her pocket all the way from New York. Brittany had presented them both with a key on their last day of college. "And thanks."

"Hey." Sky's voice softened. "We made a promise, remember? We are always here for each other. Speak to you later!"

In the moment before she hung up, Emily heard a hard male voice in the background and wondered again what free-spirited Skylar saw in Richard Everson.

As she slid back into the car the child stirred. "Are we there yet?"

Review of Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend + Q&A w/author Matthew Dicks

New Release Feature Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend
Plus Q&A w/ Matthew Dicks

It is my pleasure to announce that Matthew has agreed to be my featured author in June of 2013 when the General Fiction Forum reads this incredible novel together.

Debbie - Matthew Welcome to the General Fiction book club forum at B&N.com

For those of you who don’t know Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend is narrated by Budo who is the imaginary friend of an autistic boy named Max.

Matthew I have to admit that the premise of this novel grabbed me, can you tell me where the idea came from and tell us a bit about the novel too.

Matthew - The idea for the book originates back in in childhood.

When I was about ten years old, I was speaking to my mother about a trip that we had made to Roger William’s Park in Providence, Rhode Island.  I was reminding her of an afternoon spent in the Japanese Gardens, and how Johnson Johnson and I played tag on the connecting islands in the middle pond.

“Matt,” she said.  “You know Johnson Johnson wasn’t real.  Right?”

“Huh?”

“You know Johnson Johnson was your imaginary friend.  Right?”

“No,” I said, thinking my mother was crazy.  “Johnson Johnson.  The boy who lived with us for a while.”

“Matt, there was no Johnson Johnson.  He was imaginary.”

“No. Johnson Johnson.  The boy who lived with us.  Like Jessica.” 

Jessica was a foster child who had come to live with my family for about six weeks, and she was one of several children who my parents would take in from time to time when I was young.  In my mind, Johnson Johnson had been just another one of these kids.  The first of them.

But it turns out that Johnson Johnson was not real.  I had made him up.  Even with a brother and a sister, I had somehow needed someone else to keep me company, and so I invented Johnson Johnson, who my mother had always assumed was named after Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder. 

I couldn’t believe it.  Years later I would watch the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a story about technology that allows people to erase unwanted sections of their lives, and I instantly understood the concept and sympathized with the characters.  In a single stroke, hundreds of memories of my childhood had been altered forever.  The boy who I thought had accompanied me to all of my early  adventures had suddenly been erased, and for weeks afterward, I would find my mind stumbling upon memories in which Johnson Johnson still existed.  Memories in need of erasing. 

I mentioned this to a fellow teacher a couple years ago, and she said it would make the basis for an excellent book. I thought she was crazy, but my agent and wife agreed, so I began writing. I have learned to always listen to my wife and agent.

What I ended up with is a story told by Budo, the imaginary friend to a boy named Max. Max is an unusual child who is operating somewhere along the autistic spectrum, and he has come to rely on his imaginary friend for many things. But Budo has his own life as well, separate from Max, in which he meets and befriends other imaginary friends, navigates the world of human persons and worries about his continued existence in the very tenuous life of an imaginary friend. When Max finds himself in great peril, only Budo can save him. In doing so, however, Budo must risk his own existence as well. It’s a story about friendship, courage, love and the power of imagination.

This is your third novel, did this release feel as exciting as the first?

Every release is thrilling, and it is my most sincere hope that they never begin to feel like old hat. I am continually stunned by the idea that something I made up in my head can take on a tangible form and ultimately end up in the hands of readers around the world. While this release is a little less nerve-wracking than the first because I know what to expect now, it is just as exciting as the first. 

What are you working on now

I have a few projects in the works. I’m in the process of finishing my next novel, and I am also working on several children’s book and a memoir. I’ve also partnered with a musician to write a rock opera that was recently picked up by a Hartford playhouse for a two week run, so we are busy getting that script into shape as well. I have many irons in the fire at the moment, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you research for your novels do you do it from a desk or do you go out in the field as well.

Most of my research takes place at the dining room table, which is where I do the majority of my writing. My process is to write first and repair later, so when research is required, I tend to make an educated guess rather than stopping the flow of the story in order to ensure that my facts are correct. I would much rather get the story on the page first before worrying about what details are in need to changing.

The exception to this rule has been my memoir. In writing it, I have begun investigating aspects of my own life to ensure that memory and reality are simpatico. It’s been an interesting process. I have found myself treating my former self as an entity separate from the current version of myself, and when I question old friends, relatives and former coworkers about my past, I speak about myself as someone other than me, which has brought about a number of odd stares.

Your bio says that you’re an active teacher, a published author of not just fiction, an owner of a DJ company, a husband and father and soon to be father again –congratulations, plus more. That’s a very active schedule, how do you fit it all in

I am not picky about the way in which I get things done. I like to tell people that I write in the spaces of my life. If my daughter is taking a bath and I have fifteen minutes to myself, I will try to write six good sentences in that time. I think that people are far too precious with their time, insisting on the right atmosphere, music, or beverage in order to write or accomplish a similar goal. I write whenever I can. Having the summer free from my teaching job helps, of course, but I have not missed a day of writing in at least seven years, whether that is ten minutes with a scrap of paper or eight hours at the laptop.

It also helps that I don’t sleep much. When you can feel good after just four or five hours of sleep, you have a serious leg up on a lot of people who require more time in bed.

It also says you’re a reader but doesn’t list your genre(s) of choice, so what kind of reading to you enjoy, do you have any favorite authors.

I read from almost every genre except romance, and I may give that a try at some point. I split my reading almost evenly between fiction and nonfiction. My favorite author of all time is Kurt Vonnegut, but some of my other favorites include Bill Bryson, Stephen King, Toni Morrison, Nicholson Baker, David Sedaris, Nora Ephron and (of course) William Shakespeare.

You said that you narrowly avoided dying twice by the age of 18, did these events change the way you live, the way you look at life in general, does it enter into your writing at all.

My two near-death experiences, in addition to surviving an armed robbery, have greatly dictated the way in which I live my life. Like it or not, there is not a day, and oftentimes not an hour that goes by that the thought of my mortality does not enter my mind. It is this mindset that propels me from bed before sunrise every morning wanting to make the most of my day, whether that is making time to play with my kids to working hard to teach my students, write my books, improve my golf game or grow my business. The awareness of time passing and the fragility of life are ever-present with me in a way that is difficult for most people to imagine, and for good or ill, this is the reason I manage to get so much done.

In terms of my writing, I think that Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend marks the first time that these experiences have impacted my fiction. It wasn’t planned when I began writing, but I quickly came to know Budo as a character who was just as concerned about his continued existence as I am, and for even greater reason. The lifespan of your average imaginary friend is frighteningly short, and Budo knows this. Many of the fears and anxieties over my own mortality are reflected in the way in which Budo feels about his own mortality.   

Now for something unrelated to writing, what’s at the top of your bucket list

I’ve been fortunate in knocking off a few of those things recently, including becoming involved in the live storytelling circuit in New York City, primarily through The Moth. My goal was to someday tell a story for a Moth audience, and I was fortunate enough to win on my first try. Since then I have won twice more and competed in two GrandSLAM championship events, but I have yet to win one. That remains a goal.

I’d also like to give a TED Talk someday, and publishing a children’s book has also been goal for a long time. I’d like to write something that my three year old daughter can read sometime before she is a teenager. She is decidedly unimpressed with my books so far. I’d also like to find my way to teaching writing on the college level someday, though leaving my fifth graders behind is hard to imagine. 

Matthew I know after reading your blog and website that I would love to meet you in person, do you tour with your books and do you have any specific B&N events or signings planned.

My book release will actually be taking place at the Barnes & Noble in West Hartford, CT, which is the town where I teach. They have always been great to me, and I am thrilled to be able to kick things off there. We are in the process of planning the rest of the tour, and I hope to include other Barnes & Noble stores as well.

 Matthew thank you so much for taking the time out of your incredibly busy schedule to answer my questions and good luck with the sale of the book. I look forward to the next one too.

I urge my readers here to check out Matthew’s wonderful website, it’s an eclectic grouping of information that is fun, interesting and educational and his piece about this release day is especially poignant and a tribute to his wife.
And here is the address of the Barnes & Noble where Matthew’s book kick off will take place

Barnes & Noble

Blue Back Square
60 Isham Road
West Hartford, CT 06107
860-236-9900

Here is the code to listen to a sample of the audio book http://media.us.macmillan.com/video/olmk/macmillanaudio/MemoirsOfAnImaginaryFriend.mp3

 My Review of Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend
Matthew Dicks
St. Martin’s Press
ISBN13: 9781250006219
320 pages

Budo and Max are best friends, Max created Budo from his imagination. Budo is Max’s imaginary friend. Budo is different from other imaginary friends, he’s been alive for longer than any imaginary friend he knows and he looks more human than a lot of imaginary friends do, that’s because Max is different than most boys his age. Max lives inside himself a lot, he doesn’t like to be touched and sometimes he get’s “stuck” inside himself too, this makes him a target for bullies and the other kids don’t know how to act around him so they mostly avoid him. Imaginary friends can see other imaginary friends even though they are only visible to the friend that created them and Budo has befriended and lost many imaginary friends since he’s been alive. Budo loves Max’s mom and dad, he loves Max’s school and most of his teachers, but not all of them. Budo also hopes that since Max is different that means that he won’t “disappear” like other imaginary friends have done, maybe Max will need him forever or at least a long, long time, because the one thing that scares Budo is disappearing.

I have to admit that several things caught my attention about this novel, first the title and second the premise, so after being reeled in by those things I was totally hooked when I started reading the book.
The narrative is intelligent, witty, innocent and adult. The story is told by Budo the imaginary friend of an 8 year old suspected autistic boy named Max, we follow Max and Budo through their very interesting life and the lives of the people and imaginary friends around them, and then something happens which gives the novel a very different feel as they get caught up in a dangerous situation and how they go about getting out of it. It’s about life, it’s about death, it’s about being brave, being scared and doing the right thing even at the cost of your own survival to help those you love, it’s a journey into unknown danger and how to persevere. And if you’re anything like me by the end of the read you’ll have been dragged through the gauntlet of emotions and wish you had a friend like Budo too.
Thank you Mr. Dicks for this very impressive novel and I can’t wait until you join us for the month next June and I’m also looking forward to journey with you as I read another of your novels.

Matthew's other novels

         

Buy the book(s) here visit the author's website here

Interview with Jayde Brooks – Daughter of Gods and Shadows

Please welcome to the blog Jayde Brooks who is here talking about her debut-sort of- Daughter of Gods and Shadows.
Enjoy!

• ISBN-13: 9780312591113
• Publisher: St. Martin's Press
• Publication date: 2/3/2015
• Edition description: First Edition
• Pages: 368

 

Overview

Eden Reid is not interested in prophesy. The problem is that a doozy of a prophesy is bearing down on her. Such is the case when you’re a twenty-four-year-old from Brooklyn, New York who is about to discover she is an ancient god. A truly powerful one. And with power comes problems.

A truly formidable demon is gunning for her; a zombie-like pandemic is spreading across the country, creating creatures who are hungry for flesh, fast on their feet and clever; and there is the mysterious, handsome stranger with powers of his own who claims to have been her lover from a time and a life that Eden cannot remember. He promises to help awaken her powers for the upcoming war. A war where there is only one prize: survival…in Daughter of Gods and Shadows from debut author Jayde Brooks.

Interview with Paige Harbison- Anything To Have You

Please welcome Paige Harbison celebrating her third published novel for Harlequin Teen. She's talking today about her latest release Anything To Have You!

• ISBN-13: 9780373210886
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Publication date: 1/28/2014
• Pages: 304

Overview

Nothing should come between best friends, not even boys. ESPECIALLY not boys.

Natalie and Brooke have had each other's backs forever. Natalie is the quiet one, college bound and happy to stay home and watch old movies. Brooke is the movie—the life of every party, the girl everyone wants to be.

Then it happens—one crazy night that Natalie can't remember and Brooke's boyfriend, Aiden, can't forget.

PRAISE FOR PAIGE'S WORK

"The dialogue is fast paced....The issues she presents are real and the consequences which occur are life-changing." -VOYA

"[An] entertaining and believable drama....Harbison makes it easy to sympathize with and understand both girls.....A realistic look at the difficulty of searching for a direction in life and pursuing one's desires honestly." -Publishers Weekly

"Harbison's good, solid prose displays real insight into the dynamics of the girls' friendship." -Kirkus Reviews

Interview with Emilie Richards author of No River Too Wide + Review

I'm so pleased to welcome to the blog another favorite author of mine and I'm a bit ashamed this is the first time. I've read almost everything she's written, enjoyed both her stand-alones and her series and it's about time I've gotten around to inviting her to the blog.
She is here today to talk about her just released yesterday novel #3 in her Goddess Anonymous series, No River Too Wide.
Please enjoy our short chat and I've included my review courtesy of RT Reviews below.
Emilie its all yours!

• ISBN-13: 9780778316343
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Publication date: 6/24/2014
• Series: Goddesses Anonymous Series , #3
• Pages: 496

 

Overview

Some betrayals are like rivers, so deep, so wide, they can't be crossed. But—for those with enough courage—forgiveness, redemption and love may be found on the other side.

On the night her home is consumed by fire, Janine Stoddard finally resolves to leave her abusive husband. While she is reluctant to involve her estranged daughter, she can't resist a chance to see Harmony and baby Lottie in Asheville, North Carolina, before she disappears forever.

Read an Excerpt:

In an Oscar-worthy performance, Harmony Stoddard put all the enthusiasm she could muster into her voice. "I just know you're going to love spending time with your grandma, Lottie."

In reality she wasn't sure that her nine-month-old daughter, happily exercising her chubby little legs in her bouncy chair, was going to love the upcoming visit one bit, but she continued the charade.

"And your daddy will be there. You remember Davis, right? You've seen him twice. He even held you once."

Of course, not with any enthusiasm, but Harmony's job was to ready Lottie to be carried off by strangers and to make her baby girl think this was going to be a terrific afternoon. By her own critical standards, she was doing an admirable job, even if she was developing a roaring headache from the effort.

She wasn't surprised at the good face she was able to put on upcoming events. After all, she had been raised by a mother able to turn a day rimmed with fear and foreboding into an adventure. So many afternoons she and Janine had baked cakes and cookies, or set the dinner table with their best china and carefully folded napkins, pretending they were a normal mother and daughter brightening their happy little home.

In reality, of course, their preparations had only been a pantomime. Pretending all was normal had helped them get through the hours until Rex Stoddard walked through the door to lavishly compliment them or—more memorably—knock Janine to the floor.

Sadly, Janine Stoddard wasn't the grandmother on her way to see Lottie. That grandmother, Grace Austin, was Davis's mother. Lottie's father had only recently gotten around to telling his family about his nine-month-old blessed event. Harmony didn't know if her ex-boyfriend had been too embarrassed, or if the baby's arrival had simply slipped his mind.

Whatever the reason, Davis's father had no interest in meeting Lottie, but his mother was curious and expected Davis to produce her new granddaughter. So producing Lottie was the activity of the day.

"Let's make sure we have everything you need," Harmony continued in her own mother's chirpy counterfeit voice. "Diapers, just in case one of them is willing to change you. Your sippy cup. Spring water. Snacks you can feed yourself."

She paused a moment, wondering how that would work. Would Davis and Grace let messy little Lottie experiment with the lightly steamed vegetables Harmony had prepared, the little squares of whole wheat toast? Or would they lose patience and feed her French fries or crumbled-up hamburger from whatever restaurant they took her to?

The mystery was about to be solved. The bell at the bottom of the stairs pealed, and Velvet, Harmony's golden retriever, who had been sleeping on the sofa, gave one sleepy bark before closing her eyes to finish her nap.

Harmony took a deep breath. For better or worse, Lottie was Davis's daughter. Harmony had no right to dictate everything he did with her. After all, he did send regular support checks. Of course, if he didn't, he would have to explain his reasons to his stodgy employer when the state of North Carolina garnished his paycheck.

"Okay, off we go." She lifted the baby into her arms and settled her into the car seat to carry her downstairs. Harmony had insisted that Davis check the manuals for his car and the car seat to be sure he could use it safely. Luckily his Acura was new enough that she didn't really have to worry, which was a good thing, since she doubted he had bothered with his homework.

The doorbell rang again, longer this time, followed by a third blast. She smoothed the wisps of pale brown hair off Lottie's forehead, then hoisted the car seat and the diaper bag and carried both to the door, nudged it open with her hip and peered down at him.

"It takes a minute to get her into the seat, so next time you can ring once, Davis. If you'd like to take the diaper bag, that would help."

Davis, good-looking in a brooding sort of way, deepened his perpetual frown, but he came up the steps, stopped just below her and held out a hand. She swung the diaper bag in his direction, and he caught it. She followed him down, taking her time so she could grasp the rail. The stairway up to her garage apartment was wide and as safe as any outside stairway could be, but she always took her time, even when she wasn't carrying precious cargo.

The woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs was obviously Grace. She had the same vaguely dissatisfied expression as her son, the same dark hair, the same impatient, almost jerky, movements. Although she smiled politely, her eyes didn't change. She was examining Lottie, and not with grandmotherly affection.

"She seems small for nine months," Grace said. She didn't bother to smile at the baby, who was playing with a ring of plastic keys Harmony had given her. She continued her assessment. "Davis had more hair."

"I probably had less," Harmony said, struggling not to dislike Lottie's grandmother on sight. "She is small, but well within the normal range."

"Davis was walking by the time he was that age."

"You must have had your hands full."

Grace gave a humorless laugh. "We had a nanny until he was five, so my hands were full with better things. His father and I both traveled frequently for business."

"I'm sure she took excellent care of him."

"Of course she did," Grace said with obvious irritation. "We made sure of it."

Harmony thought one response was as pointless as another, so she gave none at all.

"We'll bring her back in a couple of hours," Davis said quickly, as if even he had picked up on his mother's animosity. "Mother's flying out early this evening. This is just a brief visit."

Harmony managed a tight smile. "I'll be waiting, and I'll have my cell phone with me if you have any questions."

"Oh, I think we can manage," Grace said. "Davis's sister has two children, and we see them frequently. Of course, that situation is very different. They live in a two-parent family."

"There's no point in bringing that up." Davis sounded annoyed.

"Why not? It's the truth. Your father and I are happy to be seen with them. We can show themoff to our friends."

The rest of the sentence was unspoken but clear. Not like this one.

"Your son proposed, and I declined," Harmony said, "so don't blame him. I hope you won't punish Lottie. Times have changed, and there are plenty of unmarried parents raising children."

"I doubt you have any idea what I consider appropriate."

Enough was enough. Harmony lifted her chin. "I doubt that I want to."

"Let's go," Davis told his mother. "As usual you've thrown a damper over the afternoon. Let's see what we can salvage."

Grace just smiled, as if his words had been a compliment.

Harmony watched them head toward Davis's car, and for the first time she felt a twinge of sympathy for Lottie's father. She'd just gotten a peek into Davis's childhood, and while the scenery surrounding him had probably been lovely, the actors and script had been B-movie grade, at best.

As Harmony watched, Grace got into the passenger's seat, leaving her son to set the car seat on the ground, open the rear door and finally juggle it inside to begin the process of trying to fasten it in place.

Like her own mother, Harmony yearned for the best in bad situations, so she had foolishly hoped Grace would welcome Lottie and shower the baby with unconditional love. Instead, it was clear Grace and Davis would take Lottie to a restaurant closer to Asheville, do their familial duty and return her well ahead of schedule. Their visits—if Grace visited again—would always be short and stressful. Eventually Lottie would refuse to go with them.

Harmony had chosen a real winner when she'd moved in with Davis almost two years ago.

"Men…"

Not for the first time she wished her own mother could be here with her. Without a doubt Janine Stoddard would fold her baby granddaughter into her arms and smother her with all the love she had to give-and was so rarely allowed to.

But that, too, was a bad situation with no "best" to hope for. Right now, in a secluded house in Topeka, Kansas, her mother was probably preparing dinner for Harmony's father, hoping as she struggled for perfection that tonight Rex Stoddard would praise what she cooked and otherwise leave her in peace.

Sadly Harmony could only guess, because she hadn't talked to her mother in over a year. The last time she'd tried, Janine had told her never to call home again.

*
• *

From the audio journal of a forty-five-year-old woman, taped for the files of Moving On, an underground highway for abused women.

I was a happy child. My father worked in a factory, and my mother was a dressmaker who sewed and made alterations in a corner of the bedroom she shared with my father. She was always home when I returned from school. There were homemade cookies waiting and open arms for my friends.

Most of the money Mama made was turned over to my father, who decided how to spend it, but her wishes were always taken into account. Daddy was a kind man, generous in every way, who found joy in providing for his family and keeping us safe from harm. When our front door was closed at night, love, not fear, was locked inside with us.

Every Sunday we attended a church where God's mercy was preached from the pulpit. Every Monday I walked through a neighborhood of small, tidy houses to a school where I was expected to do my best. While neither of my parents had gone to college, they saved what money they could to guarantee I did. They wanted to give me the best.

Had they lived, my life would have been different, but in my third year of college, as they were on their way to visit me, a car traveling in the other direction crossed the interstate median directly in their path. The cars exploded on contact, ending a midday drinking binge for the driver and the lives of both my parents.

The accident left me without a compass. My sheltered background left me with little insight into people who were not decent and well-meaning. My parents left me with a yearning for what I had lost, but sadly they left me when I was too young to understand the difference between a marriage based on respect and one based on fear.

By the time nine months had passed, I had learned.

One month after their deaths, the Abuser came into my life.

Rex had done this before.

At two a.m., as she tossed underwear and socks into a canvas backpack, Janine Stoddard reminded herself this was not the first time her husband had stayed away all night without warning her ahead of time. Keeping her off guard was part of a strategy to keep her from leaving him. Sometimes, by piecing together hints in later conversations, she'd even concluded that Rex had stayed close to the house the whole time to see what she would do in his absence.

It wasn't enough that she obeyed every whim when he was at home. He wanted to be sure she followed his orders when he wasn't, too.

While their son, Buddy, was still alive, Rex had never needed to worry. At the first sign of his mother's defection, Buddy would have called his father. Of course, Rex's faith in Buddy had never been put to the test. Janine had loved her son too much to put that kind of pressure on him.

She couldn't think about Buddy. Not now.

It was possible Rex was observing her right this minute. He might be in his car in a vacationing neighbor's driveway, eyes trained on the road to see ifJanine tried to slip away. He might even be camping in the woods behind their house, with binoculars and night-vision goggles. Rex considered himself something of a survivalist, and while he was too much of a loner to drill on weekends or join a militia, he collected survival gear the way some men collected fishing lures or model airplanes. He kept all his equipment under lock and key in the same room where he kept an arsenal that included an AK-47 and an assortment of Rugers and Remingtons.

He liked to tell her exactly what each gun could do. Sometimes he gave his lectures with the gun pointed directly at her.

For a moment she was frozen in place, one hand raised toward the dresser, as she thought about those guns. Was she insane? Did she really believe that after all these years she might be able to pull this off? That Rex had really been fooled by her eager attempts to please him, by her waning interest in anything that wasn't centered on his needs, by her reluctance to go out in public without him?

For months now she had carefully waged a campaign to make her husband think his efforts to turn her into one of the walking dead had succeeded at last, that there was nothing left inside her except a desire to please him. The masquerade had given her hope and a reason to live. Having a plan, even a sliver of one, had slowly reinfused her with energy and purpose. As she had pretended to sink lower and lower, she had watched his reaction and gauged his state of mind.

Rex had believed her. She was almost certain. After all, not to believe would have been an admission that twenty-five years of his best efforts to subdue her hadn't borne fruit. He had set out to change his wife to suit his every need, and Rex Stoddard succeeded at everything he set his mind to. He was so superior to those around him that even the possibility he might fail never really entered his mind.

She had known that. She had used that.

But had she really convinced him? If she had, where was he tonight?

One more time, just one more, Janine forced herself to consider other possibilities. Rex wasn't a drinker. Had he been hurt, the police or the hospital would have called her. If his car had broken down on the way home from work, he would have driven home in a rental car, angry at the world and anxious to take his frustrations out on her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to picture the best scenario. Rex had probably gone off on an overnight business trip, as he was sometimes forced to. Truckers and trucking firms in the Midwest were the primary clients of Rex's insurance agency, and occasionally it was necessary to visit in person to settle claims or sell policies. He hadn't told Janine he was leaving, because he wanted her to think he was still in town, eyes trained on her from some hidden location.

Janine reminded herself that she had carefully practiced her escape. Her husband's most powerful weapon was fear.