From the bestselling author of Station Eleven and Sea of Tranquility— Gavin Sasaki was a promising young journalist in New York City until the day he was fired for plagiarism. The last thing he wants is to sell foreclosed real estate for his sister Eilo’s company in their Florida hometown, but he’s in no position to refuse her job offer. Plus, there’s another reason to go home: Eilo recently met a ten-year-old girl who looks very much like Gavin and has the same last name as his high-school girlfriend, Anna, who left town abruptly after graduation. Determined to find out if this little girl might be his daughter, Gavin sets off to track down Anna, starting with the three friends they shared back when he was part of a jazz group called “The Lola Quartet.” As Gavin pieces together their stories, he learns that Anna has been on the run for good reason, and soon his investigation into her sudden disappearance all those years ago takes a seriously dangerous turn. Look for Emily St. John Mandel’s bestselling new novel, Sea of Tranquility ! “[An] ingeniously constructed literary thriller.”— Minneapolis Star Tribune     “[An] elegant, hypnotic novel. . . . An elegy for lost—and perhaps only imagined—innocence.” — The Washington Post   “Compelling. . . . Perhaps all novelists can be said to wrestle with morality; Mandel seems to wrestle with it at greater length and in greater depth than most. . . . First-rate fiction.” — Dallas Morning News   “A novel noir that wears its influences proudly on the beige sleeve of its trench coat…. Delightful.” — Paste “Trumpets [Mandel’s] talents: her charismatic verbal grace and acuity, the rich atmosphere she creates.” — The Boston Globe   “Emily St. John Mandel is astonishing.” —Emma Straub, author of The Vacationers   “[Mandel] is a stunningly beautiful writer whose complex, flawed, and well-drawn characters linger with you.” —Sarah McCarry, Tor.com   “Fascinating.” — Booklist   “Riveting. . . . Evocative, intriguing, and complex, this novel is as smooth as the underbelly of a deadly, furtive reptile.” — Library Journal (starred review)   “A rewarding read.”  — Foreword magazine   “Result[s] in both sophistication and suspense.” — Publishers Weekly   “[Mandel’s] writing is pure elegance.” —Patrick DeWitt, author of Sisters Brothers EMILY ST. JOHN MANDEL's five previous novels include The Glass Hotel and Station Eleven, which was a finalist for a National Book Award and the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction and has been translated into thirty-five languages. She lives in New York City. One Anna had fallen into a routine, or as much of a routine as a seventeen-year-old can reasonably fall into when she’s transient and living in hiding with an infant. She was staying at her sister’s friend’s house in a small town in Virginia. The baby always woke up crying at four thirty or five a.m. Anna got up and changed Chloe’s diaper, prepared a bottle and bundled her into the stroller and then they left the basement where they were living, walked three blocks to the twenty-four-hour doughnut shop for coffee and across the wide empty street to the park. Anna sat on a swing with her first coffee of the morning and Chloe lay in the stroller staring up at the clouds. They listened to the birds in the trees at the edges of the park, the sounds of traffic in the distance. The climbing equipment cast a complicated silhouette against the pale morning sky. There was a plastic shopping bag duct-taped to the underside of the stroller. It held a little under one hundred eighteen thousand dollars in cash.   That morning at a music school in South Carolina, a pianist was sitting alone in a practice room. Jack had been playing the piano for four and a half hours and under normal circumstances his hands would have been aching by now, but he was high on painkillers and couldn’t feel it. There was an east-facing window in the practice room and the morning light had long since entered. The piano was illuminated, sun caught in the varnish and gleaming in the keys, the whole room shining, he was dizzy, his skin itched and he hadn’t slept all night. His roommate had gone to Virginia to rescue a girl whom Jack had imperilled and everything was coming apart around him, but so long as he kept playing he didn’t have to think about any of this, so he closed his eyes against the shine and launched once more into Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue .     Two Ten years later, in February, the showerhead in Gavin’s bathroom began to leak. The timing was inconvenient. His editor had assigned him to a story about Florida’s exotic wildlife problem, and he was leaving New York the following morning. Gavin stood in the bathroom watching the steady dripping of hot water, at a loss. It seemed to him that this was the sort of thing Karen would have taken care of, before she’d moved out, and he realized at the same moment that he wasn’t even sure where the landlord’s phone number was. On a piec