New York Times Bestselling Author of The Strangers on Montagu Street and The Beach Trees is characterized by the Huffington Post as "one of the best new writers on the scene today and Fresh Fiction says she is "the ultimate voice of women's fiction." Karen, the author of fifteen previous books, says she writes "grit lit." She grew up in London but
now lives with her husband and two children in Alpharetta, Georgia.
She is back today to share an excerpt of her new book Sea Change. She has graciously agreed to giveaway one book to a lucky reader who comments on today's and Monday's blog posts. So please leave your comments.
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Back Cover Copy...
For Ava Whalen, a new marriage and a move to St. Simons Island means a new beginning. But what she doesn’t realize is that her marriage will take her on an unexpected journey into the deep recesses of her past that will transform her forever…
For as long as she
can remember, Ava Whalen has struggled with a sense of not belonging, and now,
at thirty-five, she still feels stymied by her family. Then she meets child
psychologist Matthew Frazier, and thinks her days of loneliness are behind her.
After a whirlwind romance, they impulsively elope, and Ava moves to Matthew’s
ancestral home on St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia.
But after the
initial excitement, Ava is surprised to discover that true happiness continues
to elude her. There is much she doesn’t know about Matthew, including the
mysterious circumstances surrounding his first wife’s death. And her new home
seems to hold as many mysteries and secrets as her new husband. Feeling adrift,
Ava throws herself into uncovering Matthew’s family history and that of the
island, not realizing that she has a connection of her own to this place—or
that her obsession with the past could very well destroy her future.
Ava
Antioch, Georgia
April, 2011
I stood outside my parents’ house
feeling the heat from the black asphalt through my leather flats. My mother’s impatiens bloomed in the clay
planters that flanked the front door of the ranch-style house I’d called home
for most of my thirty-four years. Even
the heat wouldn’t dare defy my mother by making her flowers wilt; Gloria Whalen
ruled her garden as she’d ruled her five children and disobeying her was as
much of a rarity as a January snow in Georgia.
A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades as the heat beat down
on me and my new husband as if it were the middle of July instead of just
spring. I tried to explain to Matthew
that summers were like that in west Georgia, so sudden that spring was like a
cool evening sandwiched between winter and high summer. Matthew was from the coast, so I figured he
already knew a thing or two about heat and humidity.
Matthew held my hand as I faced my
father and four brothers, my siblings ranging in age from fifty-five down to
forty-five, assembled as either a farewell party or as a show of force to the
stranger I’d chosen to marry. Even now,
standing in a suburban setting, they could still be identified as the funeral
directors they were. Whalen and Sons had
been in my father’s family for three generations, and the serious, solicitous
expressions on all five faces was more genetic now than learned.
Their assorted wives and my various nieces and nephews remained inside by
unspoken assent, perhaps gathered in sympathy around my mother’s bedroom door,
a door she’d refused to open since I’d arrived that morning. I’d called the day before, the day of my
wedding, to give her time to adjust.
Even Phil Autry, my fiancé of four years, seemed to have taken the news better
than she had.
I let go of Matthew’s hand and
hugged my father. He held on tightly for
a moment, then released me to hold me at arm’s distance. I was used to this. Despite being the youngest and the only girl,
and being reassured that I’d been what my parents had hoped and prayed for,
they’d always seemed too wary of their good fortune to hold me tightly. It was as if by holding me close the vagaries
of fortune that had given me to them would notice and take me away.
“Can I try and talk with Mama?” I didn’t really want to. I hated to leave with things unspoken between
us, but I didn’t want her to think that I was desperate for her approval. I’d outgrown that need along with Clearasil
and braces.
My father shook his head. “Give her time, Ava. She’ll come around. It’s just been a shock. To all of us.” He paused and settled me with a stern
look. “You know how Gloria doesn’t like
surprises. She’ll come around.”
I hoped my expression conveyed my
doubt about the sincerity of his words.
My mother had been vaguely upset when I told her I was married. Although she didn’t admit it, I knew she’d
always planned a large wedding in her garden with all the frills for her only
daughter. It wasn’t until I told her I
was moving to St. Simons that she’d had her meltdown. She had four daughters-in-law who lived
within spitting distance, all more than eager and willing to cater to my mother
and treat her like the matriarch she was accustomed to being. I’d grown up looking out my bedroom window,
able to see three of my brothers’ houses, all the same except for different
colored doors, with neat grass, and identical black sedans in the
driveways. It had always made me wonder
which house on this street would be mine one day. The thought gave me nightmares---even more
nightmares than I’d had after my oldest brother, Stephen, had taken me to the
embalming room. It wasn’t the cold
reality of death that had scared me; only the thought of not living the life I
had.
I went down the row of my brothers—standing in birth order from youngest
to oldest as was their habit—David, Joshua, Mark and Stephen—and hugging
each. Matthew followed shaking each hand
before turning to my father.
“I’ll take good care of her, sir.”
“You’d better. She’s very precious to us.” My father cleared his throat, uncomfortable
with any expectations of expressed affection.
My eyes stung as I looked down the
row again at my brothers, each face mirroring the same sympathy. I’d never felt
as separate from them as I did then, the lone dandelion in a garden of
sunflowers. I was suddenly unsure of my
reasons for leaving, if what I felt for Matthew was only a temporary balm for
the constant restlessness that had dogged me since I was old enough to reason
with the world around me.
I turned back to my father. “Tell Mama that I love her and that I’ll call
when I’m settled.” I began to babble,
something I’d always done when my emotions threatened to spill over. “My roommate is packing up all of my stuff
and sending it, and I told her to keep the furniture and we’re having somebody
bring my car. And Matthew’s positive I won’t have a problem finding a job with
my background and credentials. So
there’s no need to worry, okay?” I
wasn’t sure why I was rambling about things we’d already discussed. Maybe a part of me wanted him to break down
and tell me why I had to be kept at arm’s distance. Or maybe I was killing time waiting for my
mother to run out of the house and hug me and explain to me why, after all the
years of feeding me and clothing me and teaching me right from wrong, she could
let me go without saying goodbye.
Matthew
touched my arm. “It’s a long
drive. If we want to get there before
dark, we should go now.”
As we turned toward the car, I heard
my name shouted. I turned to find my
mother’s mother, my Mimi, walking as quickly as she could considering her
ninety-one years and her insistence on still wearing heels—albeit low ones—and
holding something in her hands. I’d said
goodbye to her earlier as she’d stood guard at her daughter’s closed bedroom
door and wondered with some lingering hope if she’d brought a reconciliatory
message from my mother.
“Ava!” she called again, confirming
that she had my attention. She stopped
in front of us, her blond hair—courtesy of Clairol—streaming around her
face. We waited as she caught her breath
and I eyed the treasure in her hands.
“You don’t want to forget this,” she
said, stretching out her arms. Sitting
in her opened palms was a square wooden music box, the old-fashioned kind that
when you opened the lid you could look inside to see the working mechanisms
underneath a clear glass cover. The lid
was dented and stained with watermarks, but even though I hadn’t seen the box
in a number of years, I was sure the mechanism inside still worked. It had been refurbished by my brother,
Stephen, when I’d found it nearly twenty-seven years before.
After a brief hesitation, I reached
out to her, allowing her to gently place the music box in my hands. Of all the things I was leaving behind me, I
wondered why this would be the one thing she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t.
“Just to remind you,” she said,
patting my fingers as I closed them over the top of the box.
“Of what?”
She had the odd gleam in her eye
that always reminded me that she was half Cherokee, raised in the mountains of
Tennessee without much of a formal education but was still the smartest person
I knew. “That some endings are really
beginnings. If you don’t remember
anything I’ve ever tried to teach you, remember that.”
She enveloped me in a tight hug as I
smelled the reassuring scent of talcum powder and Aqua Net. “I will.”
Mimi glanced up at Matthew and I thought for a moment her expression was
one of accusation. But when I looked
back at her face, it was gone.
We said our goodbyes and with one
last glance toward the house, I climbed into the passenger seat of the silver
sedan and allowed Matthew to shut the door.
I didn’t look back at my grandmother, or my father and brothers,
standing like despondent scarecrows who’d failed to protect their crops,
identical in their tall, narrow builds, their hair the same shade of dark brown
that matched perfectly with the somberness of their black pants.
I didn’t look back because once, long ago, Mimi had told me it was bad luck,
that if you looked back it meant you’d never return. It’s not that this place held so much meaning
for me; I’d always known I’d leave, even though until now I’d never figured out
where I’d go. I suppose it’s one of the
reasons why I’d never set a wedding date with Phil, having always felt beneath
the surface of my life the constant current of restlessness. A sense that there was something more waiting
for me somewhere else. The moment I’d
met Matthew, I felt that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for.
Thanks for stopping by today. Wasn't this just a great read? You can connect with Karen online at www.karen-white.com
www.authorkarenwhite.wordpress.com
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6 comments:
This is great, Karen! Thank you so much for sharing.
It's awfully hard to write in first person,but you make it seem so easy. Drew me right into the story.
Special Note:
Karen is on tour this week. Since Monday she has been in S.C cities- Columbia, Greenville, and Spartanburg,continuing in N.C. cities Hendersonville,Charlotte,Southern Pines and Salisbury.So if you see Karen today it will be a miracle. Love the excerpt hope you did to.
Wow!
Thanks for the opportunity to read this excerpt. It looks like another "must read" for me.
Congratulations Anne! You're the winner of Karen's book SEA CHANGE. Contact us at kfwwriters at gmail dot com and give us your snail mail address and we'll send your information on to Karen. Thanks again for visiting our blog.
Sea Change is a great read. It's reminiscent of Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. It has the same mysterious, haunted feel that Rebecca holds. The journeys from the past to the present are fascinating as the story unfolds. The characters are fantastic. White keeps you guessing on who to trust. One of my favorite characters is Mimi. She's Ava's ninety-one year old grandmother. Despite her age, she has no intention of slowing down. She's a feisty, spirited woman that made me laugh. I enjoyed this book thoroughly.
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