{"product_id":"the-love-of-my-afterlife-a-gma-book-club-pick-isbn-9780593816134","title":"The Love of My Afterlife: A GMA Book Club Pick","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003eGOOD MORNING AMERICA\u003c\/i\u003e BOOK CLUB PICK \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAN INSTANT \u003ci\u003eUSA TODAY\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER! \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This book has it all. Humor, heart, and a heroine I was desperately rooting for. Kirsty Greenwood has a new fan!”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eColleen Hoover\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA recently deceased woman meets “the one” in the afterlife waiting room, scoring a second chance at life (and love!) if she can find him on earth before ten days are up…\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf she wasn’t dead already, Delphie would be dying of embarrassment. Not only did she just die by choking on a microwaveable burger, but now she’s standing in her ‘shine like a star’ nightie in front of the hottest man she’s ever seen. And he’s \u003ci\u003esmiling\u003c\/i\u003e at her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs they start to chat, everything else becomes background noise. That is until someone comes running out of a door, yelling something about a huge mistake, and sends the dreamy stranger back down to earth. And here Delphie was thinking her luck might be different in the afterlife.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Delphie is offered a deal in which she can return to earth and reconnect with the mysterious man, she jumps at the opportunity to find her possible soulmate and a fresh start. But in a city of millions, Delphie is going to have to listen to her heart, learn to ask for help, and perhaps even see the magic in the life she’s leaving behind…“This madcap romantic comedy may just be \u003ci\u003ethe \u003c\/i\u003eromance novel of the summer, with its unique, funny, and heartfelt tale.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kirsty Greenwood’s \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e is an utterly charming romcom that is as hilarious as it is poignant. Reading this book is like receiving a big hug from a dear friend.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eCarley Fortune\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eEvery Summer After\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kirsty Greenwood’s \u003ci\u003eThe Love of my Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e takes a slice out of \u003ci\u003eThe Good Place\u003c\/i\u003e to create a cheeky rom-com full of light and laughter.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eElle\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[O]ne-of-a-kind premise that you’ll want to dive right into…Simply put, it’s a *heaven-sent* book.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Greenwood weaves themes of loneliness, grief and self-discovery into a romance filled with laugh-out-loud moments.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[H]ilarious...\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePeople\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Confident and hilarious, I lost a whole day to it and I don’t regret a second. Gave me \u003ci\u003eThe Good Place\u003c\/i\u003e crossed with \u003ci\u003eThe Dead Romantics\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Ex Hex \u003c\/i\u003evibes, quirky and romantic and oh so gorgeously memorable - I only wish I’d written it first!\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJosie Silver\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If I died in the middle of reading \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife \u003c\/i\u003eby Kirsty Greenwood, I hope I'd have the wherewithal to bring it to the afterlife waiting room with me! I had the best time reading this book and NEEDED to know how everything was going to turn out for Delphie. I spent part of the book literally spit-laughing at the witty banter, surprising references, and hilarious hijinx Delphie got herself into; part of the book trying to figure out which side character I'd want to play in the adaptation; and part of the book charmed into a puddle on the floor. I'm going to be telling every person in my life to read this book.\"\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eAlicia Thompson\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLove in the Time of Serial Killers\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s funny, warm, and does all the things that a good rom-com does.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eYulin Kuang\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I think the challenge in writing rom coms can be to have the laughs interspersed in a story that has real heart – Kirsty does this with aplomb.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eSophie Cousens\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A brilliant tongue-in-cheek romp that turns Meant-To-Be on its head. Complicated, dreamy, and hilarious, Kirsty Greenwood can make a romantic out of death itself. \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003ci\u003eWhere’s Waldo\u003c\/i\u003e for soulmates, and it’s \u003ci\u003eperfect.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eAshley Poston\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of\u003ci\u003e The Dead Romantics\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e is a gorgeously addictive romp of a romantic comedy, with added magic. I adored it.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eClare Pooley\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Authenticity Project\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s hard for a romantic comedy to stand out from the crowd these days. But in \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e, Kirsty Greenwood has delivered one of the sweetest—but not cloying!—love stories I’ve read in quite some time.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eReader's Digest\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[T]he emotions are sweeping, the humor feels straight out of a network sitcom.... Fans of \u003ci\u003eThe Good Place\u003c\/i\u003e should snap this up\u003cb\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“...[I]s ‘quirky’ incarnate—with so much heart and comedy that readers will find it difficult not to laugh while reading.”\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003ePittsburgh Post-Gazette\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Greenwood offers a charming, unique twist on a plethora of the best romance tropes. Sure to be a favorite of readers who love Sophie Cousens and Katy Birchall.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I smiled throughout Kirsty Greenwood’s delightful \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife, \u003c\/i\u003echeering along at Delphie’s mad-cap romp through London in search of a magic kiss that would, literally, give her another chance at life. An enchanting story of found family, laugh-out-loud chaos, the magic of discovering purpose, and a truly dreamy love story. I adored every page!\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eUzma Jalaluddin\u003c\/b\u003e, author of internationally bestselling \u003ci\u003eThree Holidays and a Wedding\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nobody does smart, sexy, relatable romantic comedy like Kirsty Greenwood. \u003ci\u003eThe Love of My Afterlife\u003c\/i\u003e made me cackle like a maniac, but it’s packed with gut-punching raw emotion too, and so much beautiful truth. Reading it is like hanging out with your funniest and cleverest best friend  - I never wanted it to end.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eIsabelle Broom\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eKirsty Greenwood \u003c\/b\u003eis an internationally bestselling author of funny, fearless romantic comedies about extraordinary love. When she’s not writing books she composes musicals and explores London where she lives with her husband.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis cannot be how I die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt really, really can't.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNaturally I know not everyone is blessed with the whole old-lady-from-Titanic option; drifting off into a toasty sleep, memories of making love to a peak Leonardo DiCaprio there to soften the blow of perishing. But choking to death at the age of twenty-seven? Delphie, no.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I gasp for air, my brain seems unable to compute how I might save myself from this horror show and instead fixates entirely on the mortifying circumstances via which it's playing out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a start I'm choking on a burger. Not even a premium or homemade burger but a cheap microwaveable one I grabbed from the corner shop after work. And then there are the clothes I'm wearing as I choke: pickle-green socks paired with the worst of all my nightwear-an over-washed, oversized atrocity with a cartoon of a grinning star above the slogan Honey, It's Time to Sparkle and Shine! My TV is paused a quarter way through The Tinder Swindler, and my laptop is lit with one solitary tab: a Google page on which I have enquired, \"Are microwaveable burgers real meat?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho's going to find me in this state? My despicable downstairs neighbour Cooper, who will definitely sneer when he sees my nightie? The police? Rummaging through my private belongings, hunting for evidence of possible foul play? They'd have a tricky time finding anyone with a motive, considering I only know three people in all of London-Leanne and her mum, Jan, from the pharmacy where I work, and old Mr. Yoon from next door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh god, what if it's old Mr. Yoon who discovers me? That must not happen-his heart is way too fragile to handle something as grim as this. Sweet Mr. Yoon! If I'm gone, there won't be anyone to check he's properly extinguished his cigarettes before he goes to sleep. And who will make him a breakfast that isn't just a bowl of boring old cardboardy All-Bran?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the thought of Mr. Yoon gazing sorrowfully into his cereal cupboard, I fling myself over to a rickety kitchen chair and slam my body over the top in a bid to self-Heimlich. I once saw Miranda on Sex and the City do this, and she survived, shaken but emotionally wiser for the experience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI bash my diaphragm down onto the chair over and over again. Then I clasp my hands together and thump myself in the stomach. Ow. Nothing. Am I punching myself in the correct place? I do it again, this time a little lower. And then again, higher up. It's not working! This chunk of bun and possibly not-real meat is lodged in my gullet and I believe it intends to stay there. Shit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI race from one side of my tiny living room to the other, searching for something, anything at all that might help me. My beloved Broad City baseball cap hanging from the hook on my front door? Useless! Box of unopened Blackwing pencils on the kitchen table? Come on, Delphie! My eyes zero in on my phone, peeking out from beneath a sofa cushion. I grab it to call an ambulance, but my hands are trembling so much that I can't get a grip. The phone tumbles to the floor, skidding under the edge of my TV stand to live with an entire habitat of dust plus an antidepressant I dropped last month and never quite got around to retrieving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eArgh. Everything's going dark around the edges. My tongue feels weird, heavy, like it's lolling. Is my tongue lolling? My knees collapse and I flail theatrically to the ground, head landing with a thud on the lovely soft stripy rug I spent the last three months saving up for.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh god.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think . . . I think this is actually it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy grand finale.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy expiration date.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe End.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHere lies Delphie Denise Bookham.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe died just as she lived: alone, perplexed, wearing something a bit shit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Open your eyes . . . That’s it. Time to come to . . . Time to awaken . . . Aha, there you are! Hey, darling girl.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eT\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe stranger's voice is female, a wisp of melodic Irish cadence softening the edges. My eyes fly open. A woman smiles maniacally, small upturned nose barely an inch from mine. I take her in: springy butter-blond curls drawn into a high ponytail, voguish gold specs making the earnest green eyes she's using to openly gawk at me look twice their size. She's wearing an orange lipstick that's bled onto her large teeth, both rows fully exposed to form said maniacal smile. I squeeze my eyes shut. Then I open them again, try desperately to get my bearings. My insides immediately make a fuss when I realise that I'm not in my apartment, where I pretty much always am, but sitting in a strange plastic chair, legs propped up on a floral upholstered buffet like a nana.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere am I right now?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBobby McFerrin's \"Don't Worry, Be Happy\" echoes from some unknown direction, the reverberation of it eerie and dreamlike. Wide-eyed, I scan the room: pale blue painted walls, a row of aqua-green washing machines lined up in front of me, spinning and gurgling and puffing out warm lavender-scented air at even intervals. Hold up. Is this a launderette? What the hell am I doing in a launderette? How did I get here? When did I get here?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAbove the washers I spot a large framed photo of the bespectacled woman. She's doing a double thumbs-up, her smile at pageant-winner wattage. My gaze slides from the picture on the wall, back to the real-life version crouched beside my chair. She beams like she could not be more delighted to see me. Then she gives me a double thumbs-up exactly like the one in the photo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho is this? Where am I? \"Uh . . . uh . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy panicked brain refuses to assist me in delivering the questions aloud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Clever, right?\" The woman grins. \"No-one ever gets scared in a launderette! Seemed smart to offset such an objectively terrifying moment with the most calming environment I could imagine. And this is it-a lobby that looks and feels like a cosy little launderette! When I was younger and things got a little ARGH LIFE IS SO HARD, WAH WAH WAH, I'd take myself off to the local outfit and watch all the machines spinning around and around and around for hours. All those blossomy smells, all those sloshy sounds? So comforting, don't you think?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI flinch as the woman jumps up from her squat, proudly flinging her arms around the room like she's a game show host about to reveal the grand prize.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The blue on the walls is identical to the colour of the sky just before the sun sets in the last week of June. Took me an age to find the exact right chromaticity. It's this paint shade called Dehydrated Goose, discontinued in ninety-two. But I knew a guy who knew a gal who knew a guy who knew the right guy, and yeah, I eventually pulled it off.\" She presses her lips together and thrusts her hands into the pockets of her mustard dungarees, swinging lightly from side to side. \"The Higher-Ups made it quite clear they wanted a cleaner, more 'professional' aesthetic, but I said to them, I said, 'Guys, you can't expect me to be a top-tier Afterlife Therapist without allowing me full autonomy over the environment in which I therapize the deceased. I mean, come on, guys.' . . . Idiots. Idiots everywhere! It's a gorgeous shade though, isn't it?\" She gazes up at the walls, sighs happily, and runs her teeth over her bottom lip, dragging off a bunch more lipstick in the process. \"It almost changes hue with the light. Sometimes a chalky lilac grey. Sometimes denim blue. Like the eyes of Jamie Fraser. You know Jamie Fraser? From the Outlander books? What a ride. He's in my top-ten fictional romantic leads. Maybe actually top five. Maybe even top-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The deceased?\" I manage to cut in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh yeah . . . You're dead, sweetie. I'm sorry.\" She rubs my shoulder gamely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What? No . . . I . . . Is this a dream?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI urge my brain to wake itself up. This is the oddest dream I've ever had, and I once dreamed I ran a struggling hair salon with Tramp from Lady and the Tramp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You choked, remember?\" the chatty woman tells me. \"On a microwave burger? They are real meat, by the way. One hundred percent beef, or as I like to call it, bœuf. I recently started learning French in between client arrivals. Not that I'm bored or anything. Not really. Could things pick up a little around here?\" She shrugs a smooth, tanned shoulder, mouth bunching up to the side. \"Sure. But better a steady trickle of Deads than an ambush, I guess.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeads?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy gut spirals as I suddenly remember what happened in my apartment. The choking. I press a hand to my throat and start gasping for air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, it's okay. You're totally fine,\" the woman soothes, crouching back down so that she's eye level with me. \"All corporeal physical ailments are eliminated as soon as you arrive here. But the emotional transition period from living to not living can be . . . tricky. That's where I come in. I'm Merritt, twenty-eight years old-always will be-and my absolute favourite things are curry and romance novels, the hotter the better on both accounts. I'm your assigned Afterlife Therapist.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe shoves out her hand to shake mine and I notice that she's wearing a different statement ring on every finger. One of them is a vintage-looking diamond rose, another is thick black enamel with a skull and crossbones dotted out in rubies. On her thumb is a silver band that reads Half Agony\/Half Hope. It's like she dipped her digits in a lost property box and didn't much care what came out. I can only stare, so she picks my limp hand up from where it dangles off the armrest and yanks it so enthusiastically that I sort of wobble back and forth in the chair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's my job to make sure you get settled in, don't freak out too much, answer any questions you may have, etc. etc. I will be your main point of contact going forward. Sound good? Oui?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo. No it does not sound good at all. Non.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm amazing at my job, don't worry,\" Merritt continues breezily. \"I started at Evermore-that's what we call it here-about six months after I died. I'm now the youngest woman to be made a full Afterlife Therapist. Most of the other therapists are old cronies in their sixties and seventies, but I guess I just showed a natural affinity for the role. Plus I'm ambitious as fuck.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Help,\" I whisper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The other therapists don't like it one bit-a hot young woman making waves. They steal all the incoming Deads away before I can get my hands on them.\" She looks down at her feet for a second, which I notice are shoeless, toenails painted Coca-Cola red. \"I could run circles around everyone here if I was just given a fair chance,\" she mutters grimly. \"Anyway, I won't bore you with all that. The point is that two of those old gobshites are on vacation right now, so they didn't get a chance to steal you! You're my first arrival in a whole week! Yay for me. Boo-hoo for you, obviously. But for me? Brilliant.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI watch dumbly as Merritt marches towards a door on the opposite side of the room, a flick of her forefinger indicating that I should follow her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Where . . . where are we going?\" I ask, my entire body now trembling so much that the words come out with a vibrato so rapid I sound like Jessie J.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My office, of course. I can't conduct the enrolment here in the lobby, can I? What if another Dead arrives while you're in the middle of answering an intimate question? Awkward. If there's one thing people always said about me back on Earth, it was that I was a very professional person. Privacy first. Don't fret. I've got you, babe.\" She sings the last bit in a Cher voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMerritt opens up the door, and I'm somewhat comforted to discover that it leads to a very nice, relatively normal-looking office. There are candles everywhere, the flames a warm shimmering pink colour. In the middle of the room stands a glass desk, covered with knickknacks, including three totally thriving plants, a waving Japanese lucky cat, and a desk tidy which is empty because the pens it's supposed to be holding are scattered haphazardly across the desk. On the far wall, there's a floor-to-ceiling bookcase absolutely stuffed with books, their spines all the colours of the rainbow. Every single one seems to be a romance novel. Titles like The Proposal, A Match Made in Devon, and The Bride Test. Merritt sees me looking and selects one of them-a pretty cloth-covered hardback of Persuasion by Jane Austen. She presses it to her chest and closes her eyes blissfully, like she's cuddling a puppy. \"You can totally borrow anything you like,\" she says, sliding the book back onto the shelf and dancing her fingers lovingly across the surrounding spines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Um, thanks.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMerritt sniffs the air, exhaling audibly. \"Roses and black currants. My signature scent.\" She points to a flickering white candle on a little wooden table. \"Gorgeous, right? We have a Diptyque store at Evermore. C'est magnifique. Ooh, we must find you a signature scent too. I bet you're a honeysuckle girl, am I right? Prone to introspection, sensitive heart but with a rich inner world. Plenty of passion bubbling beneath the surface.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI blink. What the fuck is happening right now? What is this place?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMerritt throws me a benevolent smile. \"Okay. I can see you're perturbed, which . . . absolutely. This situation is batshit, I know. When I first arrived here, I literally spewed. Why don't you take a seat, rest your bones a moment.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe indicates a white leather spinny chair in front of her desk and then, before I can rest, bones or otherwise, she claps her hands decisively.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right! Excellent. Okay.\" She plucks a clipboard from her desk and scans the paper atop it. \"First question is . . . Would you like to see your life flash before your eyes?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ex-excuse me?\" My teeth have started to chatter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I said, would you like to see your life flash before your eyes? We never used to offer the service, but of course Hollywood gave humans the impression that they got to see their lives pass before their eyes when they expire. And while I love me a well-trodden trope, that one is simply not based in reality. We had a few complaints from disgruntled Deads on arrival, so now we offer it, if you want it. Totally up to you, no presh.\"","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302577230053,"sku":"NP9780593816134","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593816134.jpg?v=1767740344","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-love-of-my-afterlife-a-gma-book-club-pick-isbn-9780593816134","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}