{"product_id":"full-circle-isbn-9780440126898","title":"Full Circle","description":"The 1960s.  Kennedy.  Martin Luther King.  Civil rights.  Viet Nam.  Tana Roberts comes of age in this turbulent decade, and begins a journey that will lead her from New York to the South during the heat of racial unrest.  A thoroughly modern young woman, she yearns for a career and is willing to sacrifice everything to get it.  And it's only much later that Tana discovers that she can have it all.  Career.  Love.  And peace of mind.  As she comes of age, at last, and comes full circle.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Danielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel is one of the best!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Few modern writers convey the pathos of family and material life with such heartfelt empathy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Philadelphia Inquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel pulls out all the emotional stops. . . . She delivers!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDanielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e has been hailed as one of the world’s most popular authors, with over 650 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include \u003ci\u003eCountry, Prodigal Son, Pegasus,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eA Perfect Life, Power Play, Winners, First Sight, Until the End of Time, The Sins of the Mother, \u003c\/i\u003eand other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of \u003ci\u003eHis Bright Light,\u003c\/i\u003e the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death; \u003ci\u003eA Gift of Hope, \u003c\/i\u003ea memoir of her work with the homeless; \u003ci\u003ePure Joy, \u003c\/i\u003eabout the dogs she and her family have loved; and the children’s book \u003ci\u003ePretty Minnie in Paris.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On the afternoon of Thursday, December 11, 1941, the country was still  in a daze.  The casualty list was complete, the names of those killed had already  been released, and slowly, slowly, in the past few days, the monster of vengeance  was raising its head.  In almost every American breast pounded a pulse that had been  unknown before.  It had finally hit us at home, and it wasn't simply a matter of  Congress declaring war.  There was much more to it than that, much, much more.  There  was a nation of people filled with dread, with rage, and the sudden fear that it  could happen here.  Japanese fighter planes could appear overhead at any time of  day or night and suddenly wreak destruction in cities like Chicago and Los Angeles,  Omaha. . . Boston. . . New York. . . it was a terrifying thought.  The war was no  longer happening to a distant, remote \"them,\" it was happening to us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And as Andrew  Roberts hurried east in the chill wind, his coat collar up, he wondered what Jean  would say.  He had already known for two days.  When he had signed his name, there  hadn't been any doubt in his mind, yet when he'd come home, he had looked into her  face and the words had caught in his throat.  But there was no choice now.  He had  to tell her tonight.  Had to.  He was leaving for San Diego in another three days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Third Avenue El roared overhead, as his feet pounded up the front steps of  the narrow brownstone in which they lived.  They had lived there for less than a  year, and they hardly even noticed the train anymore.  It had been awful at first,  at night they had held each other tight and laughed as they lay in bed. Even the  light fixtures shook as the elevated train careered by, but they were used to it  now.  And Andy had come to love the tiny flat.  Jean kept it spotlessly clean, getting  up sometimes at five o'clock to make him homemade blueberry muffins and leave everything  immaculate before she left for work. She had turned out to be even more wonderful  than he'd thought and he smiled to himself as he turned the key in the lock.  There  was a chill wind whistling through the hall and two of the lights were burned out,  but the moment he set foot inside, everything was cheery and bright.  There were  starched white organdy curtains, which Jean had made, a pretty little blue rug, slipcovers  she had gone to a night class to learn how to make.  And the furniture they'd bought  secondhand shone like new beneath her hardworking hands.  He looked around now, and  suddenly felt the first shaft of grief he had felt since he signed up.  It was an  almost visceral ache as he thought of telling her that he was leaving New York in  three days, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes as he realized that he didn't  know when he'd be back. . . when. . . or even if. . . but hell, that wasn't the point,  he told himself.  If he didn't go to fight the Japs, then who the hell would? And  if they didn't, then one of these days the bastards would be flying overhead and  bombing the hell out of New York. . . and this house. . . and Jean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He sat down  in the armchair she had upholstered herself in a deep, cozy green, and was lost in  his own thoughts. . . San Diego. . . Japan. . . Christmas. . . Jean. . . he didn't  know how long he'd been sitting there when suddenly, startled, he looked up.  He  had just heard her key in the lock.  She flung the door wide, her arms filled with  brown bags from the A\u0026amp;P, and she didn't see him at first, and then jumped as she  turned on the light, and saw him smiling at her, his blond hair falling over one  eye as it always did, the green eyes looking straight at her.  He was still as handsome  as he had been when they first met.  He had been seventeen then, and she had been  fifteen. . . six years. . . he was only twenty-three.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hi, sweetheart, what are  you doing here?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I came home to see you.\" He walked towards her and easily grabbed  the bags in his powerful arms, and she turned her big, dark brown eyes up to him  with the same look of awe she always wore when she looked up at him.  She was so  impressed with him, always had been, he'd had two years of college, going at nights,  had been on the track team in school, the football team for a few months till he  hurt his knee, and had been a basketball star when they met during his senior year.   And he seemed no less heroic to her now.  In fact, he seemed more so to her, and  she was so proud of him.  He had landed a good job. He sold Buicks in the biggest  dealership in New York, and she knew that he'd be the manager eventually. . . one  day. . . or maybe he'd go back to school.  They had talked about that.  But he brought  home a nice paycheck for now, and combined with her own, they did all right.  She  knew how to stretch a dollar more than a mile.  She'd been doing it for a long time.   Both her parents had died in a car accident when she was just eighteen, and she'd  been supporting herself since then.  Fortunately, she had just finished secretarial  school when they died, and she was a bright girl.  She'd had a job in the same law  firm now for almost three years.  And Andy was proud of her too.  She looked so cute  when she went off to work in the well-tailored suits that she made herself, and hats  and gloves she always bought so carefully, checking the styles in the magazines,  and then consulting with Andy to make sure they looked just right. He smiled at her  again now, as she peeled off her gloves, and tossed her black felt fedora onto the  big green chair.  \"How was your day, Cutie Pie?\" He loved to tease her, pinch her,  whisk her into his arms, nuzzle into her neck and threaten to ravish her as he walked  in from work.  It was certainly a far cry from her constantly proper demeanor at  work.  He dropped in to see her there once in a great while, and she looked so serious  and sedate that she almost frightened him.  But she had always been that kind of  girl.  And actually, she'd been a lot more fun since she'd been married to him.   She was finally beginning to relax.  He kissed her on the back of the neck now and  she felt a shiver run up her spine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Wait till I put the groceries away.  .  .   .\" She smiled mysteriously and tried to wrest one of the bags from his hand, but  he pulled it away from her and kissed her on the lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why wait?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Andy. . .  come on.  .  .  .\" His hands were beginning to rove passionately over her, pulling  off the heavy coat, unbuttoning the jet buttons on the suit jacket she wore underneath.   The grocery bags had long since been cast aside, as they suddenly stood, their lips  and bodies pressed tight against each other, until Jean finally pulled away for air.   She was giggling when they stopped, but it didn't discourage his hands.  \"Andy.  . . what's gotten into you. . . ?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He grinned mischievously at her, afraid to make  a remark that would shock her too much.  \"Don't ask.\" He silenced her with another  kiss, and relieved her of coat, jacket, and blouse, all with one hand, and a moment  later, her skirt dropped to the floor as well, revealing the white lace garter belt  with matching pants, silk stockings with seams, and a pair of absolutely sensational  legs.  He ran his hands across her behind, and pressed hard against her again, and  she didn't object as he pulled her down on the couch.  Instead she pulled his clothes  off as suddenly the elevated train roared by and they both started to laugh.  \"Damn  that thing.  .  .  .\" He muttered under his breath as he unhooked her bra with one  hand and she smiled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You know, I kind of like the sound of it by now.  .  .  .\"  This time it was Jean who kissed him, and a moment later their bodies were enmeshed  just as their mouths had been, and it seemed hours before either of them spoke in  the silent room.  The kitchen light was still on, near the front door, but there  was no light in the living room where they lay, or the tiny bedroom beyond. But even  in the darkness of the room, he could sense that Jean was looking at him.  \"Something  funny's going on, isn't it?\" There had been a small hard rock in the pit of her stomach  all week.  She knew her husband too well.  \"Andy. . . ?\" He still didn't know what  to say.  It was no easier now than it would have been two days before.  And it was  going to be even worse by the end of the week.  But he had to tell her sometime.   He just wished it didn't have to be now.  For the first time in three days, he suddenly  wondered if he'd done the right thing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't quite know what to say.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But  instinctively she knew.  She felt her heart lurch as she looked up at him in the  dark, her eyes wide, her face already sad, as it always was.  She was very different  from him.  There was always laughter in his eyes, always a quick line on his tongue,  a joke, a funny thought.  He had happy eyes, an easy smile. Life had always been  gentle with him.  But it was not so with Jean.  She had the tense nervousness of  those who have had hard times from birth.  Born to two alcoholic parents, with an  epileptic sister who died in the bed next to Jean when she was thirteen and Jean  nine, orphaned at eighteen, struggling almost since the day she was born, and yet  in spite of it all, she had a certain kind of innate style, a joie de vivre which  had never been allowed to bloom and which Andy knew would blossom in time, if nurtured  enough.  And he did nurture her, in every way he could.  But he couldn't make it  easier for her now, and the old sorrow he had seen when they first met suddenly stood  out in her eyes again.  \"You're going, aren't you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He nodded his head, as tears  filled the deep, dark eyes and she lay her head back on the couch where they'd just  made love.  \"Don't  look like that, baby, please.  .  .  .\" She made him feel like  such a son of a bitch, and suddenly unable to face her pain, he left her side and  strode across the room to fish a pack of Camels out of his coat.  He nervously tapped  one out, lit it, and sat down in the green chair across from the couch.  She was  crying openly now, but when she looked at him, she didn't seem surprised.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I knew  you'd go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I have to, babe.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She nodded her head.  She seemed to understand,  but it didn't ease the pain. It seemed to take hours to get up the courage to ask  the only thing she wanted to know, but at last she did.  \"When?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Andy Roberts gulped  hard.  It was the hardest thing he'd ever said.  \"Three days.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She visibly winced  and closed her eyes again, nodding her head as the tears slid down her cheeks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And for the next three days, nothing was ever normal again.  She stayed home from  work, and seemed to go into a frenzy, doing everything she possibly could for him,  washing underwear, rolling socks, baking him cookies for the train. Her hands seemed  to fly all day long, as though by keeping them as busy as she could, she would be  able to keep a grip on herself, or perhaps even on him. But it was no use, by Saturday  night, he forced her to put it all down, to stop packing the clothes he didn't need,  the cookies he'd never eat, the socks he could have done without, he took her in  his arms and she finally broke down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, God, Andy. . . I can't. . . how will  I live without you. . . ?\" He felt as though he had a hole in his guts the size of  a fist when he looked into her eyes and saw what he had done to her.  But he had  no choice. . . no choice. . . he was a man. . . he had to fight. . . his country  was at war. . . and the worst of it was that when he didn't feel sick over what he'd  done to her, he felt a strange, unfamiliar thrill of excitement about going to war,  as though this was an opportunity he might never have again, something he had to  do almost like a mystic rite, in order to become a man.  And he felt guilty about  that too.  And by late Saturday night, it had gotten to him too.  He was so torn  between Jean's clinging little hands and what he knew he had to do that he wished  it was already over with and he was on the train, heading west, but he would be soon  enough.  He had to report to Grand Central Station at five a.m. And when he finally  got up in the tiny bedroom to get dressed, he turned and looked at her, she was quieter  now, her tears were spent, her eyes swollen and red, but she looked a little bit  more resigned than she had before.  For Jean, in some terrible, desperate, frightening  way, it was like losing her sister, or her parents, again.  Andy was all she had  left.  And she would rather have died herself than lose him.  And suddenly he was  leaving her too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You'll be all right, won't you, babe?\" He sat on the edge of  the bed, looking at her, desperate for some reassurance from her now, and she smiled  sadly and reached a hand out for his.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll have to be, I guess, won't I?\" And  then she smiled again, almost mysteriously.  \"You know what I wish?\" They both knew  that, that he weren't going to war.  She read his thoughts, and kissed his fingertips.   \"Aside from that. . . I hope you got me pregnant this week.  .  .  .\" In the emotions  of the past few days, they had thrown caution to the winds.  He had been aware of  it, but there had been so much else going on.  He had just hoped that it wasn't her  dangerous time.  But he wondered now, as he looked at her.  They had been so careful  about that for the past year, they had agreed from the first that they didn't want  babies for a while, at least not for the first few years until they both got better  jobs, or maybe Andy went back to college for another two years.  They were in no  hurry, they were both young, but now. . . in the past week, their whole life had  turned upside down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I kind of wondered what was happening this week. . . . Do  you think you could have. . . ?\" He looked worried.  That hadn't been what he wanted  at all.  He didn't want her to be pregnant alone, with him God knows where, at war.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shrugged.  \"I might.  .  .  .\" And then she smiled again and sat up.  \"I'll  let you know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Great.  That's all we need.\" He looked suddenly upset, and then  glanced nervously at the bedside clock.  It was ten after four.  He had to go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Maybe it is.\" And then suddenly, as though she had to tell him before he left, \"I  meant what I said just now, Andy.  I'd like that a lot.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Now?\" He looked shocked  and she nodded her head, her voice a whisper in the tiny room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Excerpted  from \u003ci\u003eFull Circle \u003c\/i\u003e by Danielle Steel.  Copyright © 1984 by Benitreto Productions,  Ltd.  Reprinted by permission of Dell, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing  Group, Inc.  No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or republished without permission  in writing from the publisher.","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301118562533,"sku":"NP9780440126898","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440126898.jpg?v=1767727777","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/full-circle-isbn-9780440126898","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}