When Fiona wakes up to find herself in a remote alpine forest with no idea how she got there, can she piece together what happened in time to save her son? And is it just a coincidence that her ex-husband has recently bought a log cabin in the very same remote woods where she is found?
Reviews have called it “a taut psychological thriller” and “the literary page turner of the year!”
The place: Our lovely Jen Chun-Pagano is saving our bacon by hosting this one last minute （mwah, mwah Jen!!!! Forever grateful!） and she has asked for a start time of seven o’clock sharp.
PSA: The Thankfulness Turkey is looking a little bare!!! Please, everyone, remember to take your kiddos to tape on their “Thankfulness Feathers”！！！！！！ （Red, yellow, or orange construction paper only, please and black markers work the best. You can’t miss it—It’s the Giant Wooden Turkey right by the Cottonwood Welcome Sign!）
Katie will be selling BRACELETS at FALL FEST to raise money for her MOCK TRIAL TEAM’S trip to SUNNY CALIFORNIA! WE APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT!
And speaking of THANKFULNESS, as always, I remain thankful for YOU, my wonderful book club family! xoxoxoxoxo
*True story: two members of my sister-in-law’s book club almost came to blows when they discussed this!
Although my SIL swears the tensions had been brewing before
And I know from firsthand observation that they are not as refined as are we, the classy ladies of Cottonwood
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Annie used her fingernail to scrape off the last stubborn spot of marinara sauce caked onto the lasagna pan. She set it on the drying rack.
The house was so quiet.
It was only seven thirty on Friday night. Mike was at work. Laurel was sleeping at Sierra’s house, and Hank had just gone to bed to be well-rested for his Fall Fest performance.
Annie stretched out on the couch and picked up the book club book. She couldn’t get into this one, had spent ten minutes rereading a single paragraph describing the gnarled tree branches in the deep dark forest. When her phone binged, she eagerly grabbed it from the side table.
A social media post from Janine.
PSAT prep:
Fall Fest set up:
Time to curl up with a good book and a cuppa, ladies! #livingthedream #momentofcalm #bookclubmama!
PSAT prep?
Even though she was alone in the room, Annie shook her head. Katie was in middle school.
Childhood should be preserved, Annie always counseled parents, don’t tangle up your ambitions in their futures. Laurel was at the top of her class, but working hard, Annie had always believed, was an honest expression of Laurel’s identity.
Last week, though, Laurel had failed to turn in an English paper.
Annie only learned about it when Laurel’s teacher referenced it in the teachers’ lounge. He’d assumed it was a mistake. Questioned about it by Annie, however, Laurel had shrugged.
I’ll take the fail, she’d said.
With great self-control, Annie had managed not to spout clichés at Laurel, but they’d been right there on her twitchy lips: you’re not seeing the big picture, ninth grade is right around the corner and it COUNTS, these are the mistakes that IMPACT YOUR FUTURE.
And, ugh, the feelings that churned inside Annie for the rest of the night: disappointment and frustration bordering on hysteria. The sinking pit-in-her-stomach certainty that Laurel was perhaps like Annie after all.
Annie picked up the book again. Deb called this kind of novel dingbat lit.
The main character Fiona was so hysterical that she could barely make a pot of coffee without fainting. When she suspected someone of being a murderer, did she call the police?
No, Fiona went alone to visit the murder suspect, and Annie hated herself for caring when Fiona wound up chloroformed and bound in the trunk of a car. What did you expect, Fiona?
These are the mistakes that impact your future.
Some of Laurel’s recent decisions would fit well in a dingbat-lit novel.
Skipping off to the mall without telling a parent, her surly I’ll take the fail. And she had started to dress like Sierra. Teeny miniskirts. Caked-on eye makeup.
Well, that was a little dramatic. Laurel had worn that outfit once.
Fiona, Annie reminded herself, was a fictional character. Laurel was nothing like Fiona: she was smart, much smarter than Annie ever had been.
Well—Laurel was book smart, which didn’t mean she hadn’t inherited a self-destructive streak.
That was the flip side of Cottonwood: these kids were adored, but they were coddled house cats. For all of Annie’s complaints about the benign neglect of her own childhood, at least she’d had freedom to learn by trial and error.