Photographer Suzanne Paris is an expert at running away. On
her own since the age of fourteen, her specialty is
navigating life's twists and turns without staying in any
place too long. Trying to outrun trouble from her ex-fiance
Anthony deSalvo, she hops off an Atlanta bound bus and lands
in the tiny town of Walton, Georgia. Upon her arrival, she
meets Mayor Joe Warner, a widower with six children by his
side trying to heal the wounds from a broken heart.
Needing a place to stay, Suzanne quickly becomes entwined
with Joe and his extended family. Sparks fly between these
two lost souls, but neither is willing to take a chance on
getting hurt. In order to make ends meet, Suzanne takes a
part-time job at Joe's Aunt Lucinda's lingerie shop just
until she comes up with a plan. What she doesn't expect is
to fall in love with this charming town causing her to
question whether she can ever leave.
As her relationship with Joe intensifies, her bond with his
kids grows making her feel as if she has finally found a
home. When trouble comes knocking on her door, Suzanne's gut
reaction is to flee but the kindness of strangers causes her
to second guess her usual response. If she stays and allows
Joe into her heart, she risks his finding out the truth
about her past. Yet leaving him behind is a choice she just
does't want to make.
AFTER THE RAIN is the sequel to my personal favorite,
Falling Home. Together, these two novels capture the true
essence of White's masterful storytelling. In this latest
release, the cast of secondary characters add richness to
the plot making a completely captivating book. The
tenderness between Joe and Suzanne best encapsulates those
unforgettable moments of what true love really feels like.
If you're looking for a story that will take your breath
away, there is nothing quite like a visit to White's
unforgettable town of Walton, Georgia.
From "one of the best new writers on the scene today"
(The Huffington Post) comes the sequel to
Falling Home, a novel set in the picaresque town of
Walton, Georgia, where one woman is about to discover that
the best journey is the one that brings you home....
Freelance photographer Suzanne Paris has been on her
own since she was fourteen—and she has no intention of
settling down, especially not in a tiny town like Walton,
Georgia. She's here to hide out for a little while, not to
form connections. Her survival depends on her ability to
slip in and out of people's lives, on never staying in one
place for too long.
But no one in Walton plans on
making things easy for Suzanne. For one thing, it's a town
where everyone knows everyone else—and they all seem
intent
on making Suzanne feel right at home. For another, Suzanne
can't help but feel drawn to this tight-knit
community—or to
the town's mayor, Joe Warner, and his six kids. But Suzanne
can't afford to stick around, even if she's finally found a
place where she belongs. Because someone is looking for
her—someone who won't stop until her life is
destroyed...
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Tides change. So does the moon. With the unfailing
constancy of brittle autumn closing in on bright summer,
things always changed. If Suzanne had ever had faith in
anything, it was in knowing that all things were fleeting.
And for good reason. The highway of life was littered with
the roadkill of those who didn't know when to change lanes.
Almost asleep now, Suzanne brushed the pads of her
fingers across her forehead, then down the bridge of her
nose to the small, pointed bone of her chin. Yes, it was
still her. One thousand miles, a quick dye job, and the
surgical removal of her life had not completely obliterated
her. Just smudged the edges.
The hissing of the bus's brakes brought Suzanne awake
from her almost–doze. She pushed herself away from
the images of a soft bed and dark Italian suits and opened
her eyes wide to stare out at the anonymous highway rolling
outside her window. A waxing moon smiled down at her with
a crescent grin, and she touched the glass as if to bring
it closer. "God's smile," she whispered to no one,
recalling something her mother had once told her. Absently
she let her fingers fall to the charm on the gold chain
around her neck, finding comfort in touching the small
heart through her shirt.
A sign on the overpass above them beamed at her through
the murky glass: Welcome to Walton. Where Everybody Is
Somebody. She craned her neck as the bus slid under the
overpass, partially obscuring the sign, but wanting to make
sure she had read it right. The bus slowed to a stop, and
the door opened with a loud gasp. An older woman, wearing
red high heels and with hair puffed out in a tight bouffant
like a halo, stood at the back of the bus and began walking
forward.
The driver followed the woman off the bus, and Suzanne
listened as the luggage compartment was opened. With a
squeal, the woman greeted somebody who had been waiting.
She listened as a deep male voice, definitely not that of
their Hispanic driver, greeted the passenger. His voice
carried an accent that would have placed him in rural
Georgia no matter what corner of the world he might
travel. Suzanne smiled to herself, content not to be so
burdened.
The driver seemed to be taking a long time pulling out
the woman's luggage. From the snippets of conversation,
Suzanne gathered that there was a piece missing. She
rested her head on the back of her seat and continued to
listen. She heard the Georgia man speak again, and there
was something about his voice that pulled at her, something
thick and rich like dark syrup. It soothed and cajoled, as
if the voice had had years of practice.
Disturbed by the effect the man's voice was having on
her, she turned away, but only to catch sight of the sign
again. Welcome to Walton. Where Everybody Is Somebody.
She sat up, watching as the light trained on the sign
dimmed, then brightened, flickering at her like a winking
eye. With a hand that trembled slightly, she pulled at the
chain around her neck until the charm fell on the outside
of her Tee–shirt. Tucking in her chin to see it
better, she turned the gold heart over in her hand to read
the tiny, engraved words.
A life without rain is like the sun without shade. With
short, unpolished nails, she scraped the charm from her
palm and flipped it over. R. Michael Jewelers. Walton.
She pressed her forehead against the window, forcing
herself to breathe deeply and recalling the woman who had
given her the necklace. Walton. The name shifted her jaw,
as if moved by her mother's invisible hand, but she shook
her head. It was a million–to–one shot that it
was the same town. It would take sheer
luck—something that had always run on a parallel with
her life, never intersecting.
As she stared out the window, a small shape darted from
the grass on the other side of the highway and onto the
shoulder of the road. Headlights from an approaching car
appeared on the horizon, two pinpoints gradually growing
larger. The shape moved into the arc cast by a
streetlight, and Suzanne recognized the pointed head and
thin, whiplike tail of an opossum.
Pushing her hands against the window in an impotent
offer to help, she glanced again at the approaching car,
then back at the animal, its quivering nose pointing into
the road. "Don't," Suzanne mouthed, but slowly the animal
waddled into the lane and stopped, watching as the car bore
down on it.
The entire scene was too much like her mother's
fascination with the bottle, complete with Suzanne's own
helplessness, and she shut her eyes on the inevitable, only
opening them when she could hear the dying strains of a
country song from the radio of the car as it passed.
Peering out the glass, she could make out the small animal
in the middle of the road, curled into a tight little ball
under the crescent moon. It wasn't dead, but it wasn't
doing anything to prevent another onslaught, either.
Abruptly she stood and announced to no one in
particular, "I'm getting off here."
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