Home-loving Gillian thinks she’s happy – she has a safe, reliable job working at her local library, good friends, and a sweet gig as the choir accompanist for her church. But her orderly life is turned upside down on her 25th birthday when she inherits the contents of a safety deposit box that will send her on a trip to Ireland.
Workaholic Pete has always done his billionaire-father’s bidding, so when his dad sends him to Ireland to fetch his little step-sister he can’t refuse.
But billionaire JW has a few tricks up his sleeve and the journey he’s planned takes Gillian and Pete on a trip they’ll never forget. Castles, boating on the River Liffey, the haunted ruins of the Hell’s Fire Club, and the breathtaking beauty of the Irish countryside—this is one journey that has more twists and turns than either of them could ever have imagined, and it leads the to difficult decisions. Will Gillian abandon her orderly life? Will Pete defy his father and give up his fortune for love?
COMING APRIL 20
In my efforts to write rapidly,
which I wrote about in this post, I asked my friend, Lori Herter, if I could use her novel, The Thin Place, for a road map. She said yes.
Lori is a brilliant writer in my critique group and I really liked her novel but I'd always thought it a shame Glenna didn't end up with Doyle. So, that's what I started out to write. If you were to read Irish Wishes and The Thin Place, you would see they're wildly different books.
When I first started the book, I would read a chapter of Lori's then try to create my own. The problem was, Lori has a much more lyrical style that I really admire. In comparison, I felt like my sentences were choppy and simplistic. The entire exercise stymied me and my writing became sluggish, laborious, and--in general--not fun.
The entire point was to write rapidly, and if that was my goal, I was failing. It wasn't until I set Lori's book down and stopped comparing her writing style to mine that my characters came alive and I started to enjoy myself in the Irish countryside.
Next week, I'll be starting a new book and project. I'm calling it the Julia Quinn experiment. Because I don't know Ms. Quinn, (although I did meet her once at a book signing and thought she was as charming as her books. Although, fair warning, her books are VERY steaming. I skip over her sex scenes. That's a whole other blog post.) I don't have her permission. But because I'm so confident (especially after my Thin Place experiment) that my book will be totally different from hers, I'm pretty sure she won't mind...or sue...or win even if she did...which she won't because she's super smart.
Here's the first chapter of my novel, Irish Wishes. You can read the first chapter of Lori's The Thin Place here.
CHAPTER ONE
Gillian
lacked faith in numbers. Of course, since she was a librarian and not a math
teacher, this was to be expected. Words were to be trusted; numbers, especially
when it came to predicting the future, were far less reliable.
Floe
felt differently and she slammed her hand on the table to emphasize her words.
“It’s the power of three!” Some people called them twins from different
mothers, because in looks—moderate height, fair skin and hair, green eyed—they
were similar. Even their staunch Christian values were the same, but when it
came to numerology, they differed dramatically.
Why
three had any more power than five or ten, Gillian didn’t know, but rather than
point this out to her friend, she sipped her tea and glanced around the crowded
and noisy sidewalk café willing for someone to come and rescue her. Typically,
she couldn’t go anywhere without someone she knew from the school or choir
stopping for a chat, but not today.
“The
whole thing…it’s suspicious, isn’t?” Gillian picked off a morsel of her donut
and put it in her mouth. She andFlora were supposed to be celebrating the end
of the school year—not arguing. She almost regretted ever tellingFlora about
the mysterious safety deposit box. “I mean, why send did the attorney send the
notification to the school and not the house? If it had gotten lost in the
mail, there was a real chance I wouldn’t have even seen it until after the
break.”
“It
came at the perfect time,”Flora said.
“Well,
it came on my twenty-fifth birthday, as my mom had arranged.”
“Probably
because she didn’t want your gram to get a hold of it. Which is also why the
letter was sent to the school instead of the house.”
Gillian
frowned at her donut. It had turned her fingers sticky and somehow she’d
managed to eat half of it without even noticing. “But my mom couldn’t know I
would be working at the school.” Her voice cracked as it often did when she talked
about her mom. In just five years, she’d be the same age as her mom had been
when she’d died.
“But
she might have known you’d be raised by your grandmother.”
Gillian
held up her hand and twisted it so the emerald cut sapphire and surrounding
diamonds caught the sun and sent shoots of light across the table.
“There
were three things in the safety deposit box, right?”Flora asked.
“Yes,
but I really don’t see—”
“Things
come in threes! It’s a proven fact.”
“By
who? As far as I know, only triplets come in threes.”
ButFlora
was on a roll and didn’t want to listen. “First, you got the letter about the
safety deposit box—which contained three things. Second, the offer from
Traverse Magazine. And third, they both arrived right as school ended for the
summer.”
Gillian
pulled a face. “The summer was going to come no matter what. It always does.”
“But
don’t you see? If the offer from Traverse Magazine had come at any other time
of the year, you wouldn’t be able to go. And since you discovered all that
money in the safety deposit box, you can afford to go.”
“Leslie
Tremaine, that’s the editor of Traverse Magazine, offered to pay all my
expenses.” Even she heard the touch of wonder in her voice. “Doesn’t that seem
weird to you?”
“Why?
You’re a gifted photographer and writer.”
“But
there are thousands, maybe even millions of blogs. How did she find mine? I
mean, very few people actually do.”
“Did
you ask her?”
“No,
I didn’t want to look a gift-horse in the mouth.”
“I
never understood what that even means,”Flora muttered.
“It
means if someone gives you a horse, don’t inspect its teeth. It’s rude. But I
don’t want to get to Ireland and find the whole thing is some sort of ruse.”
Floe
shook her donut in Gillian’s face. “That is exactly something your gram would
say. Along with that whole gift-horse saying. Did you tell her about the safety
deposit box?”
Gillian
fought back a wave of guilt. “No. I’m not sure I’m going to.” She’d never been
very good at keeping secrets, especially from Gram. Her grandmother had an
eerie sixth sense that had terrified Gillian for years.
“You
shouldn’t,”Flora said, her disdain for Gram dripping in her voice. “Have you
had the chance to read the diary, yet?”
“Of
course. I stayed up all night.” She smiled at the memory. “Reading her writing
was like being introduced to someone I thought I knew, but didn’t. Someone
witty and charming.”
“And
probably beautiful.”
“I
already knew that about her.” Memories of her Marilyn Monroe-beautiful mom
flashed in Gillian’s head.
“Did
the diary mention your father at all?”
Gillian
shook her head. “But it does mention some of my mom’s friends.” She took a bite
of her donut, chewed and swallowed before adding, “I’d like to meet them.”
“Another
reason to go to Ireland.”
“I
know, but…”
“But
what?”Flora asked.
Gillian
scrunched her nose. “It’s all too neat and tidy. Contrived, even.”
“You
like neat and tidy! You thrive on neat and tidy! You’re a librarian, for Pete’s
sake.”
A
sudden vision of her stepbrother, Pete, flashed in her mind. Tall, lanky, honey
blond hair falling across his forehead, baby blue eyes framed by surprisingly
dark lashes. She banished his memory to the back of her mind…where he belonged.
“What
is it?”Flora asked, sitting up.
“What’s
what?” Gillian asked, returning to the here and now. Rose Arbor. A tiny town in
near the Washington coast, where she’d lived with her grandmother since her
mother’s death ten years ago.
“That
look!”
“What
look?”
“You
had a wistful sort of look on your face.”
Gillian
schooled her expression and gave a half-hearted, I don’t know what you’re
talking about sort of shrug. She had to be careful withFlora. They’d been friends
since their senior year of high school. Both were new to Rose Arbor—making them
outsiders in the small, tight-knit community. Gillian and her gram frequently
moved, for no reason that Gillian could point to, during the first five years
after Gillian’s mother’s death whileFlora had been a runaway taken in and
nurtured by the Pastor’s wife. They’d banned together in choir, and after
graduation, they’d both worked hard to put themselves through college.
It
had surprised both of them when they ended up back in Rose Arbor working at the
middle school, but they were practically sisters now. Flora could read Gillian
like a book from Gillian’s library.
Floe
sighed. “You’re hopeless. I’m telling you, if you don’t go, I will.”
Gillian
cocked her head. “Would you come with me?”
“Serious?”Flora
brightened.
“Sure.
If you’ll come with me, I’ll go. I’ll even pay for your flight.”
“When
would we go?”
Gillian
shrugged. Now that she’d made the offer, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go
through with it because there was still the matter of how in the world she’d
explain it all to Gram.
As
if bidden, Gillian’s phone buzzed with a text. She pulled it out of her cat
shaped backpack and frowned at the text. “It’s from Gram. She needs me to pick
up her hemorrhoid cream from the pharmacy.”
“Your
gram texts?” Surprise flickered acrossFlora’s face.
“No,
she gets Harold to do it.” Gillian texted a
yes before dropping the phone back into her bag. She zipped it up as if
that could keep her gram’s interruptions to a minimum.
“Who’s
Harold?”
“The
man next door. He pretty much does everything Gram tells him to do. She pays
him with baked goods.”
“Interesting…”Flora
murmured. “Let’s get back to planning our trip! I can’t go until after Sue’s
wedding.”
“That
works,” Gillian said. She polished off her donut, and her mood lifted. “Are we
really doing this?”
“Absolutely!
Why wouldn’t we?”
“What
if it’s a scam?”
Floe
laughed. “It’s an all expense paid trip to Ireland! What could go wrong?”
#
Gillian
walked the few blocks from Olympic Avenue, Rose Arbor’s main street, to her
gram’s house on the corner of Elm and Maple. Steam rose from the sidewalk,
sending the scent of warm and wet cement into the air. Petrichor, the smell
that lingers when rain falls after a prolonged dry spell, caused by a chemical
reaction.
Where
had she learned that word? From Pete. He had liked science and had majored in
biology before getting his business degree. What was he doing now? Why would
she care? He and her stepfather had abandoned her long ago. She didn’t need to
spare either of them a thought.
Mrs.
Pratchett, a gray-haired woman dressed in a floral housecoat and wearing fuzzy
slippers on her feet, and her yappy Pekinese, Pansy, rounded the corner.
“Hello,
dear,” Mrs. Pratchett called in her cultured British accent that always made
Gillian think of a Master Piece theater production.
“Good
afternoon, Mrs. Pratchett.” She stooped to tickle Pansy between the ears. Pansy
received the attention as if it was her due.
“Headed
home, are you?”
Gillian
stood and nodded.
Mrs.
Pratchett leaned forward to whisper, “Well, I thought I’d give you a heads up.
That Tod Bingham is parked in front of your grandmother’s house.” She winked
conspiratorially. “Just in case you want to take another loop around the
neighborhood.”
“Oh,
thank you.” Gillian bit her lip. She didn’t mind Tod. They’d been friends in
high school, but his over-eagerness wore on her. She knew that if she’d agree
to it, he’d marry her in a second even though they’d never even been on a date.
“If
you’d like,” Mrs. Pratchett said, “I could give you Pansy’s lead and you could
take her to the park.”
“Oh,
no. Thank you, though.” She’d rather face Tod than walk Pansy.
Mrs.
Pratchett wilted with disappointment. “Well, maybe some other time.”
“Sure
thing. Have a good day.”
When
Gillian caught sight of the patrol car parked in front of her Gram’s bungalow,
her steps faltered. What was Tod doing here? With her lips pressed into a
straight line and feeling like she was walking before a firing squad, she
passed through the front gate and climbed the steps up the porch. She listened
to the murmured conversation for a moment, catching the words break-in and trespassers, before she pushed open the door.
The
conversation halted as soon as she entered.
Her
gram sat on the sofa holding a pair of knitting needles in her hands and a ball
of yarn in her lap. Gram ordered her clothes from a catalog company that sold
cardigans, floral blouses, and coordinating polyester pants in bright colors.
Her sunny clothing usually sharply contrasted with her mood and facial expressions
that ranged from distaste to dissatisfaction.
Tod
stood in the center of the room, looking, as he always did, like a St. Bernard.
He not only had the same build and fuzzy hair—albeit close-clipped—but he also
always had a Dudley Do-Right, hopeful expression that Gillian found sweet but
also annoying.
Chester,
the cat, jumped off the sofa and came to rub himself against Gillian’s ankles.
“What’s
going on?” Gillian asked, scooping up Chester and hugging him to her chest.
But
then she spotted her mom’s diary on the coffee table and a terrible dread swept
through her. She moved to snatch it up, but Gram dropped the needles, grabbed
the book, and shook it in Gillian’s face.
“Do
you want to tell me about this?” Gram’s face flushed an angry red and the
whites of her eyes took on a yellow hue.
“It’s
my mother’s diary,” Gillian said in a strangled voice.
Gram’s
tight gray curls shook with fury. “How did it get in the house?”
“I
brought it here.” Gillian skated Tod a curious glance. “Why did you call the
police?”
“When
I found it in your room,” Gram straightened her spine and squared her shoulders,
“I thought for sure someone had broken in.”
Gillian
edged closer, hoping to get her fingers on the diary. If she needed to, she
could take on her gram. “What were you doing in my room?”
“Just
tidying up.”
Tidying up?
Her room was as clean and sterile as the library. “You don’t need to tidy up my
room.”
“It’s
my house, isn’t it? I can go in any room I like.”
Gillian
blinked as a sudden thought rocked through her. With the money from the safety
deposit box, she could afford to move out.
As
if she could Gillian’s thoughts, Gram snorted, horse-like. “This is a lie! I
knew your mother much better than you ever will and this did not belong to her.
Where did it come from?”
“An
attorney notified me of a safety deposit box.”
“An
attorney?” Gram’s eyes narrowed with suspicions. “What attorney? Where’s his
office?”
Doubts
tickled in the back of Gillian’s mind. Of course, if her mom had taken out a
safety deposit box, it would have been in a bank in New York—not Portland. But
that diary…it had to belong to her mother, she was sure of it. “Give it back!”
Gram
stood and moved to the fireplace where flames blazed.
Horror
swept through Gillian. “Don’t you dare!” She darted in front of her Gram. “Tod!
Do something!”
“Now,
Mrs. O’Hare,” Tod lumbered toward the crackling fire, “don’t do anything you’ll
regret.”
“I
can’t have this trash in my home!” Gram announced.
Gillian
darted forward and plucked the book from grandmother’s fingers.
Gram
froze. “Where’d you get that ring?”
Gillian
held out her hand, admiring once again the sparkling stone and intricate gold
setting. “In the safety deposit box.”
Gram
clutched her heart, staggered back to the sofa, and fell onto it. A puff of
dust settled around her.
“Gram?
Are you okay?” Gillian asked, worry replacing anger.
“Mrs.
O’Hare? Would you like me to call an ambulance?” Tod asked.
Gram
pinned Gillian with a steely gaze. “Get that book out of this house!”
“Gram,”
Gillian began.
“Get
out! Get out!” Gram shrieked. “This is my house and I can say who and what
belongs here and what doesn’t.” She pointed a wavering finger at Gillian. “GET
OUT!”
Gillian
stared at her grandmother with an open mouth.
Tod
took Gillian’s elbow and steered her from the room and out onto the porch.
“She
doesn’t mean it,” Gillian said in a shocked whisper. “She can’t really mean
it.”
Tod
gave her a sympathetic glance and rubbed her back. She eased away from his
touch.
“Do
you have somewhere to go?” he asked.
She
nodded. “Floe, Jessie, or Cynthia.” She had lots of friends who would probably
be happy to share a sofa for a few nights.
Tod
shuffled his feet. “I was going to say, you’re always welcome to stay with me.
It’s not much, and I’d have to tidy up…bachelor, you know?”
“That’s
sweet, Tod, but not necessary.”
Gram
appeared in the doorway with a shotgun in her hand. She cocked it. “Are you
still here? I want you off my property immediately!”
“Gram!”
Gillian gasped. “She’s lost it!” she said to Tod.
“Give
me the gun, Mrs. O’Hare,” Tod said, looking, for once, officious. He tossed the
words, “Get out of here, Gillian,” over his shoulder. “Go somewhere safe!”
#
Gillian
sat on the edge ofFlora’s bed with her hands between her knees.Flora sat beside
her with a comforting arm around Gillian’s shoulder.
“You
have to go,”Flora said.
“No,
I can’t go,” Gillian insisted.
“It’s
another sign.”
“This—according
to your scorekeeping—makes four signs, and there’s nothing magical about four.”
Floe
shook her head. “You were right before. Summer comes no matter what, so that
wasn’t a sign. But this is.”
“I
can’t leave her!”
“You
don’t have a choice,”Flora insisted.
“She
needs help!”
“Of
course, she does. But you don’t have to be the one who provides it. Have you
called her sisters?”
“Yes,
but you know they’re all as crazy as she is.” Gillian sucked in a deep breath.
Just thinking of her great aunts gave her a panic attack. The last time the
three sisters had been together, they’d watched Fox news and gotten in a
shouting matching over political issues that they all agreed with. It was
craziness that they could scream at each other even when they all shared the
same opinions. “Auntie Mae and Auntie Sarah said they would be here tomorrow.”
“Just
another reason for you to leave.”
True.
“I
don’t have a suitcase. I don’t have any clothes.” Gillian bit her lip,
immediately recognizing her mistake and wishing she could take back her words.
Floe
grinned and bounced off the bed. “You, my sister, have come to the right
place!” She disappeared out the door. “Come and see what I just found!”Flora
called from the next room.
“I
can’t pillage your stash!” Gillian said, not moving.
Floe
returned with her arms full of clothes. “You can and you will!”
Floe
ran an online clothes business where she found clothes at local thrift stores
and garage sales, dollied them up and resold them at outrageous prices. Even
though she’d dreamed of being a fashion designer, she’d chosen to get a degree
in math because she considered it practical and she liked a teacher’s lifestyle
and benefits. But her online business was quickly outperforming her teacher’s
salary.
Gillian
wasn’t about to take her inventory. “I can buy my own clothes,” Gillian said.
Floe,
ever the savvy business-woman, rubbed her hands together in glee. “Did someone
just say shopping?”
