Stunning her free-spirited mother by settling down in a quiet New England community, Sabine, a possessor of psychic abilities, helps unravel a local mystery with the help of Dan Smith, who has returned to the town of his childhood to claim the family business. Drawn back to Moose River Junction by the illness and subsequent death of his grandmother, up-and-coming film director Danforth Smith is torn between resuming his high-profile career complete with starlet girlfriend and staying in town to rescue the family theatre, care for his developmentally challenged uncle, and explore his growing feelings for reluctant psychic Sabine Heartwood. A vagabond heroine who has finally found a home, a responsible hero plagued by long-standing guilt, and a colorful cast of characters (including a flamboyant, fortune-telling mother and a pair of restless spirits with a tragic story to tell) blend beautifully in this well-written, multilayered contemporary romance, which gently and insightfully explores the many levels of love. It will appeal to readers of both romance (especially those with a paranormal twist) and women's romantic fiction. Wilson (Cameo Lake) lives on Martha's Vineyard, MA. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc. Sabine Heartwood decided to make Moose River Junction, Massachusetts, her permanent home after living a nomadic life with her mother, Ruby, a fortune-teller. Ruby senses that something important is on the horizon for her daughter and wants to help, so she finally answers her questions about their family secrets. Dan Smith, budding movie director, prefers New York to tiny Moose River Junction but comes home to help his dying grandmother and take care of his developmentally disabled uncle. Although he accepts his responsibilities, getting back to his former life is paramount to Dan, so when he and Sabine start a relationship, it's doomed from the beginning because of his need to leave and hers to stay. And it's complicated by Sabine's psychic ability once she uncovers a tragedy in Dan's family's distant past. Wilson's haunting and moving story about one's search for roots and discovery of what is truly important in life is reminiscent of Alice Hoffman's enchanting novels. Patty Engelmann Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Kristin Hannah A rich story, illed with interesting characters who leap off the page. -- Review From the time I was a little girl, the word "writer" held a special significance to me. I loved the word. I loved the idea of making up stories. When I was about twelve, I bought a used Olivetti manual typewriter from a little hole in the wall office machine place in Middletown, CT called Peter's Typewriters. It weighed about twenty pounds and was probably thirty years old. I pounded out the worst kind of adolescent drivel, imposing my imaginary self on television heroes of the time: Bonanza, Man from U.N.C.L.E. and Star Trek. Those are my earliest memories of my secret life of writing. For reasons I cannot really fathom, I never pursued writing as a vocation. Although I majored in English, I didn't focus on writing and it wasn't really until I was first married that I hauled out my old Olivetti and began to thump away at my first novel. This was, as I recall, an amorphous thinly plotted excercise in putting sentences together and has mercifully disappeared in some move or another. I didn't try anything more adventurous than some short stories and a lot of newsletters for various things I belonged to until we moved to Martha's Vineyard and I bought my first computer. My little "Collegiate 2" IBM computer was about as advanced as the Olivetti was in its heyday but it got me writing again and this time with some inner determination that I was going to succeed at this avocation. I tapped out two novels on this machine with its fussy little printer. Like the first one, these were wonderful absorbing exercises in learning how to write. What happened then is the stuff of day time soap opera. Writing is a highly personal activity and for all of my life I'd kept it secret from everyone but my husband, who, at the time, called what I did nights after the kids went to bed, my "typing." Until, quite by accident, I discovered that here on the Vineyard nearly everyone has some avocation in the arts. Much to my delight, I discovered a fellow closet-writer in the mom of my kids' best friends. For the very first time in my life I could share the struggle with another person. I know now that writers' groups are a dime a dozen and I highly recommend the experience, but with my friend Carole, a serendipitious introduction to a "real writer", Holly Nadler, resulted in my association with my agent. Holly read a bit of my "novel" and liked what she read, suggested I might use her name and write to her former agent. I did and the rest, as they say, is history. Not that it was an overnight success. The novel I'd shown Holly never even got sent to Andrea. But a third,