{"product_id":"on-mystic-lake-isbn-9780345471178","title":"On Mystic Lake","description":"\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BESTSELLER • A poignant and tender story of love, loss, passion, and the fragile threads that bind families together from the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of\u003ci\u003e The Women\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A beautifully simple, deeply compassionate story.”—Diana Gabaldon\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnnie Colwater's only child has just left home for school abroad. On that same day, her husband of twenty years confesses that he's in love with a younger woman. Alone in the house that is no longer a home, Annie comes to the painful realization that for years she has been slowly disappearing. Lonely and afraid, she retreats to Mystic, the small Washington town where she grew up, hoping that there she can reclaim the woman she once was—the woman she is now desperate to become again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn Mystic, she is reunited with her first love, Nick Delacroix, a recent widower unable to cope with his grieving, too-silent six-year-old daughter, Izzie. Together, the three of them begin to heal, and, at last, Annie learns that she can love without losing herself. But just when she has found a second chance at happiness, her life is turned upside down again, and Annie must make a choice no woman should have to make. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eOn Mystic Lake\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Marvelous . . . a touching love story . . . You know a book is a winner when you devour it in one evening and hope there’s a sequel. . . . This page-turner has enough twists and turns to keep the reader up until the wee hours of the morning.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Superb . . . I’ll heartily recommend \u003ci\u003eOn Mystic Lake\u003c\/i\u003e to any woman . . . who demands that a story leave her in a satisfied glow.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Washington Post Book World\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A luminescent story . . . Kristin Hannah touches the deepest, most tender corners of our hearts.”\u003cb\u003e—Tami Hoag\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Excellent . . . \u003ci\u003eOn Mystic Lake\u003c\/i\u003e is an emotional experience you won’t soon forget.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eRocky Mountain News\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Propels readers forward to the final chapter.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“A beautifully simple, deeply compassionate story.”\u003cb\u003e—Diana Gabaldon\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Marvelous . . . a touching love story . . . You know a book is a winner when you devour it in one evening and hope there’s a sequel. . . . This page-turner has enough twists and turns to keep the reader up until the wee hours of the morning.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Superb . . . I’ll heartily recommend \u003ci\u003eOn Mystic Lake\u003c\/i\u003e to any woman . . . who demands that a story leave her in a satisfied glow.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Washington Post Book World\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A luminescent story . . . Kristin Hannah touches the deepest, most tender corners of our hearts.”\u003cb\u003e—Tami Hoag\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Excellent . . . \u003ci\u003eOn Mystic Lake \u003c\/i\u003eis an emotional experience you won’t soon forget.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eRocky Mountain News\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Propels readers forward to the final chapter.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eKristin Hannah \u003c\/b\u003eis the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of many acclaimed novels, including \u003ci\u003eThe Great Alone, The Nightingale, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Firefly Lane\u003c\/i\u003e. She and her husband live in the Pacific Northwest.\u003ci\u003eFrom Part One\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe true voyage of self-discovery\u003cbr\u003elies not in seeking new landscapes\u003cbr\u003ebut in having new eyes.\u003cbr\u003e--Marcel Proust\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChapter One\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRain fell like tiny silver teardrops from the tired sky. Somewhere behind a bank of clouds lay the sun, too weak to cast a shadow on the ground below.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eIt was March, the doldrums of the year, still and quiet and gray, but the wind had already begun to warm, bringing with it the promise of spring. Trees that only last week had been naked and brittle seemed to have grown six inches over the span of a single, moonless night, and sometimes, if the sunlight hit a limb just so, you could see the red bud of new life stirring at the tips of the crackly brown bark. Any day, the hills behind Malibu would blossom, and for a few short weeks this would be the prettiest place on Earth.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eLike the plants and animals, the children of Southern California sensed the coming of the sun. They had begun to dream of ice cream and popsicles and last year's cutoffs. Even determined city dwellers, who lived in glass and concrete high-rises in places with pretentious names like Century City, found themselves veering into the nursery aisles of their local supermarkets. Small, potted geraniums began appearing in the metal shopping carts, alongside the sun-dried tomatoes and the bottles of Evian water.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eFor nineteen years, Annie Colwater had awaited spring with the breathless anticipation of a young girl at her first dance. She ordered bulbs from distant lands and shopped for hand-painted ceramic pots to hold her favorite annuals. \u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eBut now, all she felt was dread, and a vague, formless panic. After today, nothing in her well-ordered life would remain the same, and she was not a woman who liked the sharp, jagged edges of change. She preferred things to run smoothly, down the middle of the road. That was where she felt safest--in the center of the ordinary, with her family gathered close around her.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eWife.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eMother.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eThese were the roles that defined her, that gave her life meaning. It was what she'd always been, and now, as she warily approached her fortieth birthday, it was all she could remember ever wanting to be. She had gotten married right after college and been pregnant within that same year. Her husband and daughter were her anchors; without Blake and Natalie, she had often thought that she might float out to sea, a ship without captain or destination. \u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eBut what did a mother do when her only child left home?\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe shifted uneasily in the front seat of the Cadillac. The clothes she'd chosen with such care this morning, navy wool pants and a pale rose silk blouse, felt wrong. Usually she could take refuge in fashionable camouflage, by pretending to be a woman she wasn't. Designer clothes and carefully applied makeup could make her look like the high-powered corporate wife she was supposed to be. But not today. Today, the waist-length brown hair she'd drawn back from her face in a chignon--the way her husband liked it, the way she always wore it--was giving her a headache. \u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe drummed her manicured fingernails on the armrest and glanced at Blake, who was settled comfortably in the driver's seat. He looked completely relaxed, as if this were a normal afternoon instead of the day their seventeen-year-old daughter was leaving for London.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eIt was childish to be so scared, she knew that, but knowing didn't ease the pain. When Natalie had first told them that she wanted to graduate early and spend her last quarter in London, Annie had been proud of her daughter's independence. It was the sort of thing that seniors at the expensive prep school often did, and precisely the sophisticated sort of adventure Annie had wanted for her daughter.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eAnnie herself would never have had the courage for so bold a move--not at seventeen, not even now at thirty-nine. Travel had always intimidated her. Although she loved seeing new places and meeting new people, she always felt an underlying discomfort when she left home. \u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe knew this weakness was a remnant of her youth, a normal by-product of the tragedy that had tainted her childhood, but understanding her fear didn't alleviate it. On every family vacation, Annie had suffered from nightmares--dark, twisted visions in which she was alone in a foreign land without money or direction. Lost, she wandered through unfamiliar streets, searching for the family that was her safety net, until, finally, sobbing in her sleep, she awoke. Then, she would curl into her husband's sleeping body and, at last, relax.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe had been proud of her daughter's independence and courage in choosing to go all the way to England by herself, but she hadn't realized how hard it would be to watch Natalie leave. They'd been like best friends, she and her daughter, ever since Natalie had emerged from the angry, sullen rubble of the early teen years. They'd had hard times, sure, and fights and hurt feelings, and they'd each said things that shouldn't have been said, but all that had only made their bond stronger. They were a unit, the \"girls\" in a household where the only man worked eighty hours a week and sometimes went whole days without remembering to smile.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe stared out the car window. The concrete-encrusted canyons of downtown Los Angeles were a blur of high-rise buildings, graffiti, and neon lights that left streaking reflections in the misty rain. They were getting closer and closer to the airport.\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eShe reached for her husband, touched the pale blue cashmere of his sleeve. \"Let's fly to London with Nana and get her settled with her host family. I know--\"\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003e\"Mom,\" Natalie said sharply from the backseat. \"Get real. It would be, like, so humiliating for you to show up.\"\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eAnnie drew her hand back and plucked a tiny lint ball from her expensive wool pants. \"It was just an idea,\" she said softly. \"Your dad has been trying to get me to England for ages. I thought . . . maybe we could go now.\"\u003cbr\u003e        \u003cbr\u003eBlake gave her a quick look, one she couldn't quite read. \"I haven't mentioned England in years.\" Then he muttered something about the traffic and slammed his hand on the horn.#1 New York Times bestselling author of The Nightingale","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300112912613,"sku":"NP9780345471178","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345471178.jpg?v=1767734099","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/on-mystic-lake-isbn-9780345471178","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}