From the author of The Wishing Tide comes a stunning new novel about two summers, one journal, and the secrets that can break and open our hearts....   Pragmatic, independent Lily St. Claire has never been a beachgoer. But when her late father leaves her a small house on Hideaway Key—one neither her mother nor she knew he owned—she’s determined to visit the sleepy spit of land along Florida’s Gulf Coast. Expecting a quaint cottage, Lily instead finds a bungalow with peeling shutters and mountains of memorabilia. She also catches a glimpse of the architect who lives down the beach….   But it’s the carton of old journals in the front room that she finds most intriguing. The journals were written by her mother’s sister, an infamous beauty whose name has long been banned from the St. Claire home. The journals tell a family tale Lily has never heard, of her mother and her aunt as young girls in Tennessee and the secrets that followed them into adulthood. As she reads, Lily gains a new understanding: about her family and about herself. And she begins to open her heart—to this place, these people, and the man next door. But can she ever truly learn to trust, to believe that love is not a trap but a harbor? And is it true that hearts, even broken ones, can be forged anew? Praise for the Novels of Barbara Davis:   “With some books, it is difficult to pick just ‘one thing’ to highlight.  The Wishing Tide  by Barbara Davis is one of those books.”— USA Today   “You can practically taste the salt in the air and feel the sand underfoot…Atmospheric, suspenseful and very romantic.”—Erika Marks, Author of It Comes in Waves   “A poignant, mysterious and heartfelt story.”—Diane Chamberlain, Author of Necessary Lies “Davis has a gift.”—Historical Novel Society "A captivating read about fighting for the life you want and daring to believe that happily ever after can exist outside of fairy tales."—Barbara Claypole White, Award-Winning Author of  The In-Between Hour "Filled with wonderful descriptions of North Carolina's Outer Banks...[a] book about love and loss and finding your way forward."—Anita Hughes, Author of  Lake Como "Davis's writing is heartfelt and effective."— Kirkus Reviews After spending more than a decade in the jewelry business, Barbara Davis  decided to leave the corporate world to pursue her lifelong passion for writing. She is the author of The Wishing Tide and The Secrets She Carried . She currently lives near Raleigh, North Carolina with the love of her life, Tom, and their beloved ginger cat, Simon. Written by today’s freshest new talents and selected by New American Library, NAL Accent novels touch on subjects close to a woman’s heart, from friendship to family to finding our place in the world. The Conversation Guides included in each book are intended to enrich the individual reading experience, as well as encourage us to explore these topics together—because books, and life, are meant for sharing. Visit us online at penguin.com. Some books seem to write themselves, while others come into the world kicking and screaming—thrashing, gut-wrenching, bloody. But the one thing I know for sure is that no book makes it onto the shelf without a team of midwives, that dedicated circle of family, friends, lovers, and professionals without whom our work might never come into the world. And so, without further ado . . . PROLOGUE June 21, 1953 Mims, Tennessee Something was wrong. Bad wrong. A rooster tail of scorched yellow earth kicked up as the pickup rounded the corner onto Vernon Dairy Road. I cut my eyes sideways at Mama, rigid behind the wheel, but bit my bottom lip to keep silent. I didn’t like the look on her face, like she’d just been told the Rapture was coming and she’d been caught off guard. But mostly, she looked tired. Beneath the streaky traces of last night’s powder, her face was pale and strained, her eyes puffy and red, though whether that was to do with tears or drink, I couldn’t say. Both, probably. Beside me, Caroline was mute, huddled against the passenger-side armrest, her beloved rag doll, Chessie, clutched to her chest, wide green eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond the cracked windshield. Her hair was snarled from sleep, a coppery halo around her pale young face. We’d barely gotten breakfast down—milk and hunks of leftover corn bread—before Mama shooed us from the table and out of the house. I thought of the battered suitcase bumping around in the back of the truck, then tried not to think about it. I didn’t want to remember the way Mama’s eyes slid away from mine when I spotted it, or how the sleeve of my sister’s blue dress had spilled out from one corner. There was something ominous about that sleeve, something ominous, too, in the way Mama had pressed that old hand-me-down doll into Caroline’s hands as she herded us out the door and across the front yard, past the empty plastic swimming pool and the old tire swing Daddy put up the summer he went away for the