{"product_id":"safe-harbour-isbn-9780440237624","title":"Safe Harbour","description":"In her fifty-ninth bestselling novel, Danielle Steel tells an unforgettable story  of survival...of how two people who lost everything find hope...and of the extraordinary  acts of faith and courage that bring —and keep— families together...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On a windswept  summer day, as the fog rolls across the San Francisco coastline, a solitary figure  walks down the beach, a dog at her side.  At eleven, Pip Mackenzie's young life has  already been touched by tragedy; nine months before, a terrible accident plunged  her mother into inconsolable grief.  But on this chilly July afternoon, Pip meets  someone who fills her sad gray world with color and light.  And in her innocence  and in his kindness, a spark will be kindled, lives will be changed, and a journey  of hope will begin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e From the moment the curly-haired girl walks up to his easel  on the sand, Matt Bowles senses something magical about her.  Pip reminds him of  his own daughter at that age, before a bitter divorce tore his family apart and swept  his children halfway across the world.  With her own mother, Ophélie, retreating  deeper into her grief, Pip spends her summer at the shore the way lonely children  do: watching the glittering waters and rushing clouds, daydreaming and remembering  how things used to be.  That is, until she meets artist Matt Bowles, who offers to  teach the girl to draw—and can't help but notice her beautiful, lonely mother.  At  first, Ophélie is thrown off balance by her daughter's new companion—until she realizes  how much joy he is bringing into their lives, despite the sadness she sees in his  eyes.  As their newfound friend works his subtle magic, mother and daughter slowly  begin to heal, to laugh again, to rediscover what they have lost.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When summer ends,  and Ophélie and Pip must leave the beach for the city, the season of healing continues.   Gathering her newfound strength, Ophélie begins a volunteer job at a city outreach  program, where she works with the homeless, and can no longer ignore the blessings  in her own life.  But as soul-sharing phone calls and autumn beach getaways deepen  Ophélie and Matt's friendship, fate strikes another blow.  Out of the blue, Matt  must confront unfinished business from his past.  Days later, Ophélie is struck by  a stunning betrayal by someone she trusts.  And as these events reverberate in two  already wounded hearts, something extraordinary happens.  Out of the darkness that  has shadowed them both comes an unexpected gift of hope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With grace and compassion,  Danielle Steel explores the fragile bonds between mothers and daughters, husbands  and wives, family members and lifelong friends.  Her haunting, impassioned novel  takes us across the complex landscape of loss—to the blessings that arise from even  the darkest tragedies.  At once a story of triumph and a moving elegy to those who  suffer and survive, Safe Harbour is perhaps her most powerful and life-affirming  novel to date.\"[A] quiet, poignant romance...easy to like.\"—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\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 It was one of those chilly, foggy days that masquerade as summer in  northern California, as the wind whipped across the long crescent of beach, and whisk-broomed  a cloud of fine sand into the air. A little girl in red shorts and a white sweatshirt  walked slowly down the beach, with her head turned against the wind, as her dog sniffed  at seaweed at the water's edge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The little girl had short curly red hair, amber-flecked  honey-colored eyes, and a dusting of freckles across her face, and those who knew  children would have guessed her to be somewhere between ten and twelve. She was graceful  and small, with skinny little legs. And the dog was a chocolate Lab. They walked  slowly down from the gated community toward the public beach at the far end. There  was almost no one on the beach that day, it was too cold. But she didn't mind, and  the dog barked from time to time at the little swirls of sand raised by the wind,  and then bounded back to the water's edge. He leaped backward, barking furiously,  when he saw a crab, and the little girl laughed. It was obvious that the child and  the dog were good friends. Something about the way they walked along together suggested  a solitary life, as though one could sense that they had walked along this way often  before. They walked side by side for a long time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Some days it was hot and sunny  on the beach, as one would expect in July, but not always. When the fog came in,  it always seemed wintry and cold. You could see the fog roll in across the waves,  and straight through the spires of the Golden Gate. At times you could see the bridge  from the beach. Safe Harbour was thirty-five minutes north of San Francisco, and  more than half of it was a gated community, with houses sitting just behind the dune,  all along the beach. A security booth with a guard kept out the unwelcome. There  was no access to the beach itself save from the houses that bordered it. At the other  end, there was a public beach, and a row of simpler, almost shacklike houses, which  had access to the beach as well. On hot sunny days, the public beach was crowded  and populated inch by inch. But most of the time, even the public beach was sparsely  visited, and at the private end, it was rare to see anyone on the beach at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The child had just reached the stretch of beach where the simpler houses were, when  she saw a man sitting on a folding stool, painting a watercolor propped against an  easel. She stopped and watched him from a considerable distance, as the Lab loped  up the dune to pursue an intriguing scent he seemed to have discovered on the wind.  The little girl sat down on the sand far from the artist, watching him work. And  she was far enough away that he was not aware of her at all. She just liked watching  him, there was something solid and familiar about him as the wind brushed through  his short dark hair. She liked observing people, and did the same thing with fishermen  sometimes, staying well away from them, but taking in all they did. She sat there  for a long time, as the artist worked. And she noticed that there were boats in his  painting that didn't exist. It was quite a while before the dog came back and sat  down next to her on the sand. She stroked him, without looking at him, she was looking  out to sea, and then from time to time at the man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After a while, she stood up and  approached a little bit, standing behind him and to the side, so he remained unaware  of her presence, but she had a clear view of his work in progress. She liked the  colors he was working with, and there was a sunset in the painting that she liked  as well. The dog was tired by then, and stood by, seeming to wait for a command.  And it was yet another little while before she approached again, and stood near enough  for the artist to notice her at last. He looked up, startled, as the dog bounded  past him, sending up a spray of sand. It was only then that the man glanced up and  saw the child. He said nothing, and went on working, and was surprised to notice  that she hadn't moved, and was still watching him, when he turned his head again,  and mixed some water in his paints.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They said nothing to each other, but she continued  to watch, and finally sat down on the sand. It was warmer, keeping low in the wind.  Like her, the artist was wearing a sweatshirt, and in his case jeans, and an old  pair of deck shoes that were well worn. He had a gently weathered face and a deep  tan, and she noticed as he worked that he had nice hands. He was roughly the same  age as her father, in his forties somewhere. And as he turned to see if she was still  there, their eyes met, but neither smiled. He hadn't talked to a child in a long  time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you like to draw?\" He couldn't imagine any other reason why she'd still  be there, except if she were an aspiring artist. She would have been bored otherwise.  In truth, she just liked the silent companionship of being close to someone, even  a stranger. It seemed friendly somehow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sometimes.\" She was cautious with him.  He was, after all, a stranger, and she knew the rules about that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What do you like  to draw?\" he asked, cleaning a brush, and looking down at it as he talked. He had  a handsome, chiseled face, and a cleft chin. There was something quiet and powerful  about him, with broad shoulders and long legs. And in spite of sitting on the artist's  stool, you could see he was a tall man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I like to draw my dog. How do you draw  the boats if they aren't there?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He smiled this time as he turned toward her, and  their eyes met again. \"I imagine them. Would you like to try?\" He held out a small  sketch pad and a pencil, it was obvious that she wasn't going anywhere. She hesitated,  and then stood up, walked toward him, and took the pencil and pad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can I draw my  dog?\" Her delicate face was serious as she inquired. She felt honored that he had  offered her the pad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sure. You can draw anything you like.\" They didn't exchange  names, but just sat near each other for a time, as each worked. She looked intent  as she labored on the drawing. \"What's his name?\" the artist inquired as the Lab  sailed past them, chasing birds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mousse,\" she said, without raising her eyes from  her drawing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"He doesn't look much like a moose. But it's a good name,\" he said,  correcting something on his own work, and momentarily scowling at his painting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's a dessert. It's French, and it's chocolate.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I guess that'll work,\" he said,  looking satisfied again. He was almost through for the day. It was after four o'clock  and he'd been there since lunchtime. \"Do you speak French?\" he said, more for something  to say than out of any real interest, and was surprised when she nodded. It had been  years since he'd spoken to a child her age, and he wasn't sure what he should say  to her. But she had been so tenacious in her silent presence. And he noticed, as  he glanced at her, that aside from the red hair, she looked a little like his daughter.  Vanessa had had long straight blond hair at that age, but there was something similar  about the demeanor and the posture. If he squinted, he could almost see her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"My  mom's French,\" she added, as she sat, observing her own work. She had encountered  the same difficulty she always did when she drew Mousse--the back legs didn't come  out right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Let's take a look,\" he said, holding a hand out for the sketch pad,  aware of her consternation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I can never do the back part,\" she said, handing it  to him. They were like master and student, the drawing creating an instant bond between  them. And she seemed strangely comfortable with him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll show you. . . . May I?\"  he asked her permission before adding to her efforts, and she nodded. And with careful  strokes of the pencil, he corrected the problem. It was actually a very creditable  portrait of the dog, even before he improved it. \"You did a good job,\" he observed,  as he handed the page back to her and put away his sketch pad and pencil.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Thank  you for fixing it. I never know how to do that part.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You'll know next time,\" he  said, and started putting his paints away. It was getting colder, but neither of  them seemed to notice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Are you going home now?\" She looked disappointed, and it  struck him as he looked into the cognac-colored eyes that she was lonely, and it  touched him. Something about her haunted him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's getting late.\" And the fog on  the waves was getting thicker. \"Do you live here, or are you just visiting?\" Neither  knew the other's name, but it didn't seem to matter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm here for the summer.\"  There was no excitement in her voice, and she smiled seldom. He couldn't help wondering  about her. She had crept into his afternoon, and now there was an odd, undefinable  link between them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"At the gated end?\" He assumed she had come from the north end  of the beach, and she nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you live here?\" she asked, and he gestured with  his head in the direction of one of the bungalows just behind them in answer. \"Are  you an artist?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I guess so. So are you,\" he smiled, glancing at the portrait of  Mousse she was holding tightly. Neither of them seemed to want to leave, but they  knew they had to. She had to get home before her mother did, or she'd get in trouble.  She had escaped the baby-sitter who'd been talking for hours on the phone with her  boyfriend. The child knew that the teenaged baby-sitter never cared if she went wandering  off. Most of the time she didn't even notice, until the child's mother came home  and asked about her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"My father used to draw too.\" He noticed the \"used to,\" but  wasn't sure if it meant that her father no longer drew, or had left them. He suspected  the latter. She was probably a child from a broken home, hungry for male attention.  None of that was unfamiliar to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is he an artist?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, an engineer. And he  invented some things.\" And then, with a sigh, she looked at him sadly. \"I guess I'd  better go home now.\" And as though on cue, Mousse reappeared and stood beside her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Maybe I'll see you again sometime.\" It was early July, and there was still a lot  of life left in the summer. But he had never seen her before, and suspected she didn't  come down this way very often. It was a good distance for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Thank you for letting  me draw with you,\" she said politely, a smile dancing in her eyes this time, and  the wistfulness he saw there touched him profoundly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I liked it,\" he said honestly,  and then stuck a hand out to her, feeling somewhat awkward. \"My name is Matthew Bowles,  by the way.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shook his hand solemnly, and he was impressed by her poise and  good manners. She was a remarkable little soul, and he was glad to have met her.  \"I'm Pip Mackenzie.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's an interesting name. Pip? Is that short for something?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes. I hate it,\" she giggled, seeming more her own age again. \"Phillippa. I was  named after my grandfather. Isn't it awful?\" She screwed up her face in disdain for  her own name, and it elicited a smile from him. She was irresistible, particularly  with the curly red hair and the freckles, all of which delighted him. He wasn't even  sure anymore if he liked children. He generally avoided them. But this one was different.  There was something magical about her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Actually, I like it. Phillippa. Maybe one  day you'll like it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't think so. It's a stupid name. I like Pip better.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll remember that when I see you next time,\" he said, smiling at her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They seemed  to be lingering, reluctant to leave each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll come back again, when my mom  goes to the city. Maybe Thursday.\" He had the distinct impression, given what she  said, that she had either sneaked out or slipped away unnoticed, but at least she  had the dog with her. Suddenly, for no reason he could think of, he felt responsible  for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He folded his stool then, and picked up the worn, battered box he kept  his paints in. He put the folded easel under one arm, and they stood looking at each  other for a long moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Thank you again, Mr. Bowles.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Matt. Thank you for the  visit. Good-bye, Pip,\" he said almost sadly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Bye,\" she said with a wave, and then  danced away like a leaf on the wind, as she waved again, and ran up the beach with  Mousse behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He stood watching her for a long time, wondering if he'd ever  see her again, or if it mattered. She was only a child after all. He put his head  down then against the wind, and walked up the dune to his small weather-beaten cottage.  He never locked the door, and when he walked inside and set his things down in the  kitchen, he felt an ache he hadn't felt in years and didn't welcome. That was the  trouble with children, he told himself, as he poured himself a glass of wine. They  crept right into your soul, like a splinter under a fingernail, and then it hurt  like hell when you removed them. But maybe it was worth it. There was something exceptional  about her, and as he thought of the little girl on the beach, his eyes drifted to  the portrait he had painted years before of a girl who looked remarkably like her.  It was his daughter Vanessa when she was roughly the same age. And with that, he  walked into his living room, and sank heavily into an old battered leather chair,  and looked out at the fog rolling in over the ocean. And as he stared at it, all  he could see in his mind's eye was the little girl with bright red curly hair and  freckles, and the haunting cognac-colored eyes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Chapter Two\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ophelie Mackenzie took  the last winding turn in the road, and drove the station wagon slowly through the  tiny town of Safe Harbour. The town consisted of two restaurants, a bookstore, a  surf shop, a grocery store, and an art gallery. It had been an arduous afternoon  in the city for her. She hated going to the group twice a week, but she had to admit  that it helped her. She had been going to it since June, and had another three months  ahead of her. She had even agreed to attend meetings over the summer, which was why  she had left Pip with their neighbor's daughter. Amy was sixteen, liked to baby-sit,  or so she claimed, and needed the money to supplement her allowance. Ophelie needed  the help, and Pip seemed to like her. It was a comfortable arrangement for all concerned,  although Ophelie hated driving into town twice a week, even though it only took her  half an hour, forty minutes at most. As commutes went, aside from the ten-mile stretch  of hairpin turns between the freeway and the beach, it was easy. And driving along  the cliffs, on the winding road, looking out over the ocean relaxed her. But this  afternoon she was tired. It was exhausting sometimes listening to the others, and  her own problems hadn't improved much since October. If anything, it seemed to be  getting harder. But at least she had the support of the group, it was someone to  talk to. And when she needed to, she could let her hair down with them, and admit  how rotten she was feeling. She didn't like burdening Pip with her troubles. It didn't  seem fair to do that to a child of eleven.","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304990265573,"sku":"NP9780440237624","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440237624.jpg?v=1767736034","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/safe-harbour-isbn-9780440237624","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}