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Destiny Jones is doing just fine on her own, thanks. From her thriving one-woman carpentry business to the loving support of her small-town community, Destiny has constructed a life as sturdy and polished as her best cabinets. Twenty years ago, Destiny’s world collapsed when her mother died and her father, Albert, abandoned his daughter to pursue acting in New York. His devastating exit taught Destiny a lesson in self-reliance that has kept her safe—and alone—ever since.
Now Albert Jones is back, begging for a second chance. Destiny suspects he’s simply staging another performance, starring himself as the prodigal father. Should she act on her misgivings? Or listen to her inner child, who still yearns for a family? When Albert divulges a shocking secret, Destiny’s life will again be turned upside down.
Kathleen Long’s warm, wise novel reveals the armor that has protected us in the past is often the very thing we must shed to fully live and love.
281 pages, Paperback
First published July 19, 2016
"You're four and a half months early for Christmas, and you haven't even remembered my birthday in at least 15 years, which begs the question: Why are you here?"
His green eyes measured me, their light dim. They focused momentarily, flickered with hope. "Is it your birthday?" he asked.
The pain of his not knowing stung, but I'd long ago learned to shove away my disappointment. "No, not even close."
"Can't a father visit his daughter?" he asked.
"A father can, yes. But you lack the basic qualifications, don't you think?"
Sydney had spent much of the day in bed, after a long night battling nausea. She slept now, and I did my best to keep Ella and her mood contained to the sitting room.
"I wish we never came here," she said, keeping her voice low but angry, in a manner that suggested she'd had plenty of practice not waking up her mother. "She was fine before we came here. Fine."
Tears streamed down her face, her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Now she's tired all the time, and her hair's falling out again." She pointed her finger at me. "It's your fault. You didn't even want us here, and now she's sick!"
"The rocks reminded me of us" - he pointed back and forth between us - "broken together."
"We're broken. But we're together."
"You are enough."
"Our broken pieces fit. We weren't perfect. We weren't smooth. But we belonged."