And the Mountains Echoed

 

And the Mountains Echoed 

By Khaled Hosseini

A few weeks ago, my sister Amanda asked if I’d read, “And the Mountains Echoed.” I hadn’t, but I loved The Kite Runner so that has a way of fast-tracking anything else Khaled Hosseini has written straight to the top of the pile.

Dare I say...some writers tell stories...Hosseini composes them.

Within a few pages, there is no doubt you’re in the hands of a master. His words don’t just describe…they linger…they make you feel something. 

The novel opens with a quiet invitation: “Let me tell you a story…” And my only thought was, yes…please, take your time.

So, I did what any sensible person would do…I turned the heating pad on, poured a glass of wine and politely dismissed the world for a while.

We begin in a small Afghan village in the 1940s, where a father tells his children a haunting tale…one that feels less like a bedtime story and more like a warning whispered through generations. By morning, a journey to Kabul sets off a chain of events that stretches across continents and decades, threading lives together in ways both delicate and devastating.

At its core, this is a novel about love…but not the easy, polished kind. This is love under pressure. Love that survives distance, silence, sacrifice. Love that shows up uninvited, sometimes unrecognized, and often at a cost. Hosseini writes it with an honesty that feels almost intrusive…almost as if you’ve stumbled into something sacred.

One line stopped me cold…so much so that I had to call Vee just to read it aloud:
“They say, find a purpose in your life and live it. But sometimes, it is only after you have lived that you recognize your life had a purpose…”
It’s the kind of sentence that doesn’t just resonate…it rearranges something. Don’t you think?

What stayed with me most, though, is the idea of echoes. Not just in name, but in nature. Every choice in this book…every act of love, desperation, or survival…travels. It reverberates. It finds its way into other lives, other years, other hearts. Watching those ripples unfold is as beautiful as it is unsettling.

Characters wrestle with impossible truths, quiet compromises, and the kind of moral gray areas that don’t resolve neatly. Some stay when leaving might be easier. Some leave and spend a lifetime wondering if they ever really did. And through it all, there’s that persistent question…does a different path mean a better one…or just a different kind of loss?

This isn’t a novel that hands you answers. It hands you reflection.

By the end, I found myself circling a quieter realization…maybe life isn’t about perfectly choosing the “right” path, but about inhabiting the one you’re on…shaping it, enduring it, softening it where you can. We don’t always get clarity in the moment. Sometimes meaning arrives late, like an echo returning long after the sound has faded.

And that’s exactly what this book does.

It echoes.

Long after the final page, it lingers…not loudly, but persistently…settling into the spaces you didn’t realize were empty. It reminds you that what we do, especially in love or desperation, doesn’t disappear. It carries. It connects. It comes back.

Some stories end when you close the book.

This one just grows quieter, and deeper…until you realize you’re still listening.

I See You’ve Called in Dead

 

I See You’ve Called in Dead 

By John Kenney

Cindy chose this book for our next book club, and my immediate reaction was…sounds uplifting, lol and I wonder how this will go.  It seems that honest narratives about death would be really hard to write, in my humble opinion.  I thought the premise itself was instantly intriguing, and Kenney walked a careful line between dark humor and genuine introspection. I think he pulls it off. There are some funny parts…the kind where you laugh and then immediately question your moral compass.

At the center of the story is Bud Stanley, an obituary writer who is, somewhat ironically, afraid to live. Bud is armed with a sharp, self-deprecating wit, especially in his exchanges with Tim, his wheelchair-bound friend and former art dealer, who often feels like the only person fully awake in the room.

The plot kicks into motion when Bud, drunk and spiraling, writes his own obituary. In a twist of bureaucratic absurdity, his newspaper, already itching to fire him, finds itself in a bind. After all, you can’t exactly fire a dead man. Bud, recognizing an opportunity wrapped in a clerical glitch, begins attending the funerals of strangers, hoping proximity to death might finally teach him something about life.

And oddly enough…it does.

As Bud drifts from wake to wake, inserting himself into the grief of strangers (which is not, by most standards, a normal hobby), he begins to reconnect with people, with meaning, with himself. There’s something quietly compelling about watching a man come back to life by lingering in rooms meant for goodbye.

One of the most meaningful moments in the book, to me, is Bud reflecting on his mother’s obituary…just seventy-four words. Seventy-four. That’s all it took to summarize an entire life. And yet, none of the real things made it in…the small, human details that actually are a life:

how she loved the beach
how she did a little hip shake when a song she liked came on
how she hummed when she was happy
how she leaned over the toaster on cold mornings, warming her face
how she’d smile and raise her eyebrows twice…their little secret

It makes you wonder: what would be left out of yours?

Maybe the real exercise isn’t writing your own obituary…but asking someone who loves you to write it for you. That version might be the truer one.

And yet… while I liked it, I didn’t quite love it.

It’s been hard to pinpoint why, but I think it’s a bit like a conversation that almost turns meaningful…right before someone changes the subject.

The characters are interesting, though sometimes kept at arm’s length, and the premise does a lot of the heavy lifting. You keep reading because it’s unusual and thoughtful…but you’re left wishing it dug just a little deeper into the messier, more uncomfortable truths it circles.

Still, there’s something that undeniably resonates about Bud’s journey. At its core, this is a story about being stuck…stuck in fear, in routine, in the past, and the quiet, often awkward ways we try to claw our way back into living. There’s a kind of revelation to that kind of awakening, and it stays with you.

One passage, in particular, captures the whole idea beautifully…a reminder that life is less about grand turning points and more about the accumulation of small, seemingly insignificant choices:

“𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘣. 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵-𝘪𝘧𝘴…𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘶𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘒𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴' 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯. 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

It’s funny. It’s sad. It’s a little unsettling. It’s true…it is truly a portrait of living.

I recently heard someone say that we die twice: once when our body does, and again when people stop saying our name.

That thought stayed with me. It made this story feel heavier in hindsight.

Because in the end, I See You’ve Called in Dead isn’t really about death…it’s about noticing the life we’re already in, before it quietly slips into seventy-four words.

 

Strangers

 

Strangers 

By Belle Burden

When my friend Stephanie asked if I would read Strangers and share my thoughts, I was genuinely touched, and curious. What I found was a memoir that is, at its core, an intimate portrait of a marriage unraveling. But it’s also a book that left me frustrated, conflicted, and questioning far more than it answered.

Belle Burden tells the story of a life that, on the surface, appears enviable: Manhattan apartments, elite schools, Ivy League pedigrees, trust funds, and summers in Martha’s Vineyard. The details accumulate in a way that feels almost excessive…private tennis clubs, waterfront homes, high-end decorators. At times, these glimpses into extreme privilege feel less like context and more like a barrier to connection. While Burden gestures toward humility through her commitment to public service as a lawyer, there’s a noticeable lack of acknowledgment that such choices are often only available to the very wealthy.

That absence of self-awareness becomes one of the memoir’s central weaknesses. Not because privilege negates pain…it doesn’t…but because without reflection, the emotional weight of her story can feel ungrounded. Her marriage ends abruptly after the discovery of her husband’s affair, and we are asked to accept that everything had been “fine.” I found that difficult to believe. The emotional distance, his coldness toward both her and their children, and her complete shock suggest a deeper disconnect that the memoir never fully interrogates.

Structurally, the book moves between past and present, tracing their courtship alongside the collapse of their relationship. This shifting timeline mirrors the author’s own attempt to make sense of what happened. What did she miss? When did things change? Or are some endings simply unknown? The book leans into this ambiguity, which feels honest, but also, at times, very frustrating.

One of the more unsettling aspects for me was Burden’s detachment from her own financial reality. As a lawyer, her lack of awareness about her household finances, and her complete reliance on her husband felt less like trust and more like willful disengagement. It raises a broader question: why do so many women still abdicate financial responsibility, even today? Life is not a fairytale, and this memoir is, in many ways, a stark reminder of that.

Beyond the personal story, the book unintentionally opens up larger questions about marriage itself. Why do we continue to elevate and idealize romantic partnerships to such an extent? Why are traditional paths…marriage, children still treated as defaults, especially for women? The book doesn’t directly ask these questions, but it certainly invites them.

For me, reading this as someone who has never been married and does not have children added another layer. My life, rich in friendship, independence, and self-sufficiency, stands in quiet contrast to the world Burden describes. I couldn’t help but reflect on the importance of knowing oneself…financially, emotionally, and practically. No one is coming to save you. Not even in marriage.

Ultimately, I would not call this a great love story, nor would I frame it as a feminist manifesto. Instead, it reads as a personal reckoning…a story of endurance, confusion, and hard-earned awareness. It’s about learning to live with unanswered questions and moving forward anyway.

The takeaway is simple, if not easy: communication matters. Awareness matters. And perhaps most importantly, no one is immune to upheaval…not even those who seem to have everything.

Overall, this book serves less as a story of heartbreak and more as a cautionary tale.

Woman Down

 

Woman Down 

By Colleen Hoover

Woman Down is a strange mix of thriller and dark romance that I can only describe as weird, unhinged, and somehow still completely addictive. It pulled me in, even while making me uncomfortable more than once.

The story follows Petra Rose, a bestselling author dealing with major writer’s block after a wave of career controversies. Hoping to find inspiration, she isolates herself in a lakeside cabin to work on a new novel about a dangerously attractive cop. Then, at 5 a.m., reality starts to blur with fiction when an actual (very attractive) detective shows up at her door investigating a nearby accident, and from there, things spiral fast.

This book really leans into the idea of how far someone will go to find inspiration. But what starts as creative exploration quickly turns into obsession, dangerous attraction, and questionable decision-making. The line between research, obsession, and self-destruction gets blurred almost immediately, and every time I thought, “okay, this can’t get any worse,” it absolutely did.

Saint’s behavior (and honestly, Petra’s too) feels extreme in a way that’s hard to rationalize. It made me constantly question what I was reading. You meet a man, he deliberately scares you, physically oversteps, leaves literal marks on you, and your response is to hide in the bathroom like a frightened child, and then immediately pivot into attraction? That’s not tension…that sounds like a case study. At multiple points, I found myself thinking: where are her real friends??

And then, just when I thought the chaos had peaked, the story drops another layer…she’s married, with kids. Suddenly, the mess becomes even messier, and I was unexpectedly more invested. It’s chaotic in a way that keeps you hooked, even when your side-eyeing every decision being made.

Overall, Woman Down is bat shit crazy in the most compelling way. It’s unsettling, provocative, and definitely not grounded in normal behavior…but that’s also what makes it hard to put down. If you’re looking for something polished and realistic, this isn’t it. But if you want something that explores obsession, blurred boundaries, and the darker side of attraction in a way that keeps escalating, this one will absolutely stick with you.

Proceed at your own risk.

 

ISOLA

 

ISOLA 

By Allegra Goodman

My dear friend Mary chose Isola by Allegra Goodman for our next book club selection.  Even though I am no longer able to attend the gatherings, I still love reading the books my friends choose.  I have always believed a person reveals a little of themselves through the stories they’re drawn to…and Mary, a doctor, is clearly unafraid of deep, intense reads with shocking truths.  This book is exactly that. 

Before even starting, I was captivated by the cover. I imagined it as the edge of the island where Marguerite is abandoned…alone, exposed, and forced to survive.

When Mary texted the title, I immediately looked it up and read the Prologue. The opening line stopped me, “I still dream of birds. I watch them circle, dive into rough waves, and fly up to the sun.  I call to them but hear no answer. Alone, I stand on a stone island.”  That was it. I texted her back with, I still dream of birds…Immediately downloads book!

I love birds…what can I say? 

This novel is a powerful and often shocking story, made even more compelling by its roots in true history. Through the eyes of Marguerite de la Rocque, we witness a journey that redefines what it means to be a woman of worth, and the difference between simply having a life and truly living one.

Marguerite begins as a vulnerable heiress in sixteenth-century France, left in precarious circumstances after her father’s death. Her guardian, driven by greed, exploits her fortune for his own ambitions. When she is taken on a voyage to New France, she falls in love with his secretary…a decision that leads to a brutal act of revenge. She, her lover, and a loyal servant are abandoned on a desolate island.

I’ll admit, the story starts slowly. But once Marguerite reaches the island, I was completely drawn in. Her life there is both horrifying and mesmerizing.

There are moments in this book that are almost unbearable to read. At times, I found myself stunned…mouth literally open. One scene in particular stayed with me: her awakening as she watches a bear devour her dead lover… and then, despite never having fired a gun, she kills the bear herself. In that moment, you can feel her spirit shift…from a frightened young woman into a fierce survivor.

Isolation, introspection, resilience, transformation…this story holds all of it. And that transformation is profound.

The title, Isola…what did it mean?  I looked it up because it felt meaningful. Isola…Italian for “island.” But broken down, it becomes “I sola”…I alone. It reflects not only her physical isolation, but her emotional and spiritual solitude. What does it mean to be completely alone, with no hope of rescue?

This is an intense true story of survival and transformation. This is a beautiful story of redemption and faith.

I loved this paragraph:

“In my experience, God’s work was unexpected. His grace required interpreting. Wild thoughts, but I was wild. Ideas unbecoming, but what had I become? I, myself, was now an island, solitary. Brambles and five-petalled flowers were my garden. Rocks my furniture. Ocean waves my lessons. Sadness overwhelmed me and sank back. Then, like the tide, joy crept in on me again.”

It’s gritty. It’s beautiful. It’s haunting.

And it leaves you with a question that lingers long after the final page:
What truly makes a woman a woman of worth?

It isn’t a simple answer. 

It isn’t wealth…it isn’t circumstance, but perhaps it is what a woman endures, what she becomes, and who she is when stripped of everything else. Carved through survival, shaped by solitude, and revealed in who she becomes when she stands alone.

Isola.

Beach Read

 

Beach Read 

By Emily Henry

I picked up Beach Read on a flight to Texas, figuring I could finally finish it in the air. It started off lighthearted, almost Hallmark-y… and, if you don’t already know, I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.

The cover promises: “A breath of fresh air… steamy, smart, and perceptive.” Honestly? I wouldn’t have chosen those exact words.

Here I was, trapped in the middle seat, flanked by two chatty strangers who clearly didn’t understand the sacredness of plane reading. I even tried the classic desperate move…asking if one of them would swap seats. Spoiler: nope. Social cues? Ignored.

For about the first 150 pages, I was hooked. On the surface, it’s a seemingly perfect summer romance: two writers with creative block, January Andrews and Gus Everett, become neighbors and agree to swap genres. She’ll attempt literary fiction, he’ll tackle romance. Cute, right?

But… then the book dives into every. single. mundane. detail. Multi-page debates about attending events…should we go or not go…the logistical details of how they will get there, detailed travel plans, and how every minor interaction must reflect their feelings. And in between, every step of the way is interspersed with information on how January is feeling, how she thinks Gus must be feeling, and what this means for their relationship. I contemplated several times if I could even go on reading it…I did.

I don’t have high standards for a romcom. I like a little romance and some comedy. This book, however, offers neither in any satisfying way. Instead, it reads like a meditation on grief, healing, and the courage to confront vulnerability…complete with death, suicide, adultery, and cancer. And, ironically, despite the title, there’s zero reading on the beach.

Where’s the flirty banter? The sexual tension? The obstacles to overcome? I kept waiting for a spark, a laugh, anything remotely exciting…honestly, the airplane turbulence felt more thrilling than the plot.

After page 150, Beach Read became boring…unless, of course, I really was reading it on a beach, in a charming seaside cottage, next to the sexiest writing partner ever. If that’s your life, this might just be your summer fantasy. For the rest of us… maybe bring headphones. Or a better book.

 

We Are All the Same in the Dark

 

We Are All the Same in the Dark

By Julia Heaberlin

We Are All the Same in the Dark…aren’t we?

This book is a mystery wrapped in another mystery, layered with secrets, lies, and hate, all tangled in gossip, judgment, and obsession. It’s the kind of story that digs in and for me…kept me turning the pages.

I needed a book to hold me this weekend. Last Monday at 4 a.m., I was woken by shouting and gunshots. Twenty minutes later, my building was swarmed by police. A black sedan appeared, yellow crime tape went up, and then a coroner’s van. I heard it all. Traumatic. It turned out to be a crime of passion…my neighbor, someone I barely knew but who had always been kind in passing, was gone. I felt sadness, shock, and the weight of fragility. Coupled with everything else in my life, I craved a book to lose myself in, tucked safely at home. My sweet friend, Ginger, sent me this one. I loved the title, and as it turned out, it was a thriller, a crime novel, and exactly what I needed.

Small-town Texas cop Odette Tucker has never escaped the shadow of what happened ten years ago…the disappearance of Trumanell Branson (that name just sounds like someone from Texas), the quintessential girl-next-door, the town’s golden girl. Posters still scream for her return, and gossip points to Wyatt, Trumanell’s brother, as everyone’s prime suspect. Now, Wyatt discovers a strange, one-eyed girl alone in a field. What does he know? What does Odette know? Secrets, secrets, everywhere.

And dandelions…why dandelions? I looked them up: resilience, hope, joy, new beginnings, childhood innocence, the beauty of nature. It felt fitting, quietly symbolic amidst all the darkness.

There’s a paragraph I had to earmark:

"Strangers are powerful. They can mark you in twenty seconds. They can rob you at gunpoint, so you never feel safe again. They can mention you’re pretty at a party when no one else ever has, and then you don’t kill yourself that day or maybe any other day. It’s like a diamond tossed out of a car window you were lucky enough to catch."

Odette is that stranger for the narrator…she gave her an eye, a piece of paper, a lifeline. The paragraph ends hauntingly: “She is why I still exist, which is exactly why I need to find out why she no longer does.”

The words Odette passes along on a small piece of paper: tender, resilient, strong, resourceful, kind, empathetic…are the words inherited from a father to a daughter, from that daughter to a runaway. Wouldn’t we all be lucky to be described that way?

We are all the same in the dark. Angel’s mother used to whisper that when tucking her in. In the dark, all that remains is our soul.

And then there’s reality. 4 a.m. and gunshots. One in a trailer park might not register beyond the local radar…or in a small town, be quickly forgotten. But for me? It shakes the world awake. For a moment, it could have been a car backfiring, or even a minor earthquake (I’ve had five in the past two weeks).

I don’t usually gravitate toward crime thrillers, but I really enjoyed this one. I didn’t guess whodunnit…I wasn’t even close.

It all comes together in the end. The story is suspenseful, devastating, and utterly engrossing. And yet…even after the last page, questions linger. Who truly hides behind the masks of small-town faces? And how dark must a secret be before it consumes everything?

My friend Ginger said to pass the book along so if anyone would like to read it, let me know and I’ll send it to you.