Hi guys! Today we’re celebrating the publication od “Before We Were Yours” by Lisa Wingate – out tomorrow, published by Quercus. This book sounds incredibly intriguing and I can’t wait to read it. In the meantime, I have an extract from chapter 1 for you, and really guys, just have a look how beautifully it’s written! The story itself is about two families, generations apart, that are forever changed by a heartbreaking injustice, inspired by true story. Enjoy!
Aiken, South Carolina, Present Day
I take a breath, scoot to the edge of the seat, and straighten
my jacket as the limo rolls to a stop on the boiling-
News vans wait along the curb, accentuating the importance
of this morning’s seemingly innocuous meeting.
But not one moment of this day will happen by accident.
These past two months in South Carolina have been all
about making sure the nuances are just right—
shaping the inferences so as to hint but do no more.
Definitive statements are not to be made.
Not yet, anyway.
Not for a long time, if I have my way about it.
I wish I could forget why I’ve come home, but even the
fact that my father isn’t reading his notes or checking the
briefing from Leslie, his über-efficient press secretary, is an
undeniable reminder. There’s no escaping the enemy that
rides silently in the car with us. It’s here in the backseat,
hiding beneath the gray tailored suit that hangs a hint too
loose over my father’s broad shoulders.
Daddy stares out the window, his head leaning to one
side. He has relegated his aides and Leslie to another car.
“You feeling all right?” I reach across to brush a long
blond hair—mine—off the seat so it won’t cling to his trousers
when he gets out. If my mother were here, she’d whip
out a mini lint brush, but she’s home, preparing for our second
event of the day—a family Christmas photo that must
be taken months early . . . just in case Daddy’s prognosis
He sits a bit straighter, lifts his head. Static makes his
thick gray hair stick straight out. I want to smooth it down
for him, but I don’t. It would be a breach of protocol.
If my mother is intimately involved in the micro aspects
of our lives, such as fretting over lint and planning for the
family Christmas photo in July, my father is the opposite.
He is distant—an island of staunch maleness in a household
of women. I know he cares deeply about my mother, my
two sisters, and me, but he seldom voices the sentiment out
loud. I also know that I’m his favorite but the one who confuses
him most. He is a product of an era when women
went to college to secure the requisite MRS degree. He’s not
quite sure what to do with a thirty-
year-old daughter who graduated top of her class from Columbia Law and actually
enjoys the gritty world of a U.S. attorney’s office.
Whatever the reason— Perhaps just because the positions of perfectionist daughter and
sweet daughter were already taken in our family—I have always been brainiac daughter.
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