Regan Kane arrived in San Diego with nothing but a violin, his car and what feels like a lifetime of grief. Although he’s surrounded by friends and music, one delivery from the post office reminds him that the past is always just around the corner. When he befriends a local bartender, Regan wonders if letting go is what he wants to do at all.
Georgia Hall has spent most of her life in the shadows of her mother's mental illness. Pushing away those around her ensures they won't get hurt when she succumbs to the same fate.
All of that unravels when she meets Regan. As her life spins out of control and the line between reality and fairytale blurs, she has to make a choice to trust or fall.
Regan and Georgia are searching for healing among the wreckage. Will doing so together make moving on all the more sweet?
Or will the secrets and darkness of the past drive them apart?
Just one more locked door separated me from the visiting area. Another nurse greeted me at the door and escorted me in.
“How is she today?” I checked my backpack and jewelry at the nurses station before going further.
Daniel, the nurse who seemed to always be here, gave a stern nod. “Not excitable. We’re not sure yet if the sedatives haven’t fully worn off or or if she’s back on the immobility end.”
I swallowed hard as we entered the large, bright space, gilded with damaged dreams, disappointment, and fear. The sign out front scribbled something about hope, but I’d only ever been in here when hope failed.
Daniel started discussing some of the protocols they’d put in place over the last twenty-four hours, but as soon as I saw her slender figure in the wheelchair by the window, all other attention fled my body as I walked toward her. She was facing me, and I mumbled a small prayer under my breath that she’d recognize me.
“Mama,” I whispered, kneeling in front of her, trying to find the focus of her eyes.
Her head didn’t move, but her eyes did. The empty brown holes fluttered over my face before settling on my eyes. They opened a little wider, just as her lips parted.
Please, please let her say something.
She titled her head to the side, her greying brown hair laying over one shoulder, and with a slight smile she quietly spoke. “Baby.”
Tears clouded my view of the far-away woman I still called mama. Taking her hand, I smiled and nodded.
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Andrea is a 2005 graduate of Cornell University and does not currently use her degree in Development Sociology. She does, however, use her people skills and love for writing every day. She and her partner, Charles Sheehan-Miles, live and write together in Massachusetts
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