Widowed by an unspeakable tragedy, accomplished photographer Camille Palmer has made her peace with the past and is content with the quiet safety of life with her teenage daughter, Julie, in a sleepy coastal town. Then the arrival of a mysterious package breaks open the door to her familyβs secret past. In uncovering a hidden history, Camille has no idea that sheβs about to embark on an adventure that will shake her complacency and utterly transform her.
Camille, Julie, and Camilleβs father, Henry, return to the French town of Henryβs youth, sparking unexpected memories for himβrecollections that will lead them back to the dark days of the Second World War. And it is in the stunning ProvenΓ§al countryside that they will uncover their familyβs surprising history.
While Provence offers answers about the past, it also holds the key to Camilleβs future. Along the way, she meets an American historian who stirs a passion deep within herβa feeling that she thought sheβd never experience again.
Brilliantly written and infused with Susan Wiggsβs trademark style, this hugely popular author has created her biggest, most powerful story yet in MAP OF THE HEARTβan instant New York Times bestseller on the hardcover list. MAP OF THE HEART beautiful and heartfelt novel that celebrates the bonds of family and pays homage to the sacrifices of the past.
About the Book
Map of the Heart
by Susan Wiggs
Series
n/a; standalone
Genre
Adult
Contemporary Romance
Publisher
Avon Books
Publication Date
April 24, 2018
AmazonΒ |Β Barnes & NobleΒ |Β Google PlayΒ |Β iBooks
Excerpt
A carβs headlights swept across the front of the house, and crushed shells crackled under its tires. She glanced at the clockβnine p.m.β and went out onto the porch, snapping on the light. Her heart flipped over. Mr. Ponytail Professor was back.
βDid you forget something?β she asked when he got out of the car. βMy manners,β he said.
What the . . . ? βPardon me?β βDo you drink wine?β he asked.
βCopiously. Why do you ask?β
He held out a bottle of rosΓ©, the glass beaded with sweat. βA peace offering. Itβs chilled.β
She checked the labelβa Domaine de Terrebrune from Bandol. βThatβs a really nice bottle.β
βI got it from a little wine shop in the village.β
She nodded. βGrand Crew. My father was one of their suppliers. Heβs retired now.β
βHe was in the wine business, then.β
βHe owned an import and distributing firm up in Rehoboth. And why are we having this conversation?β
βI came back to apologize. I got halfway across the bridge and started feeling bad for yelling at you, so I turned around and came back.β
She caught herself staring at him like a smitten coed with a crush on her professor. She flushed, trying to shake off the gape-mouthed attraction. βOh.β An awkward beat passed. βWould you like to come in?β She held open the door.
βThought youβd never ask.β
In the kitchen, she grabbed some glasses and a corkscrew. What was he doing back here? βActually, you did forget somethingβyour sunglasses.β She handed them over.
βOh, thanks.β He opened the wine and poured, and they brought their glasses to the living room and sat together on the sofa. He tilted his glass toward her. βSo . . . apology accepted?β
She took a sip of the wine, savoring the cool, grapefruity flavor of it. βApology accepted. But I still feel bad about your film.β
βI know. You made a mistake. I should have been more understanding.β He briefly touched her arm.
Okay, so maybe he wasnβt such a jerk. She stared at her arm where he had touched it. Why was this stranger, whose one-of-a-kind film sheβd ruined, taking care of her? Watching him, she tried to figure it out. βIβve never screwed up a project like that,β she said.
βSo what happened?β
βEverything was going fine until I got a phone call from the local hospital that my daughter had been brought in by ambulance. I dropped everything and ran out the door.β
βThe girl I met earlier? Oh, man. Is she all right?β
βYes. Yes, Julieβs fine. Sheβs upstairs now, onlineβher favorite place to be.β
βSo what was the emergency?β
βShe was in a surf rescue classβmost kids around here take it in ninth grade. She hit her head and got caught in a riptide.β A fresh wave of panic engulfed Camille as she pictured what could have happened.
βThank God sheβs okay.β
Camille nodded, hugging her knees to her chest. βI was so scared. I held myself together until . . . well, until you showed up. Lucky you, getting here just in time for my meltdown.β
βYou should have said something earlier. If Iβd known you rushed off because you got a call about your kid, I wouldnβt have been such a tool.β He offered a half smile that made her heart skip a beat.
At least he acknowledged that heβd been a tool. βWell, thanks for that, Professor Finnemore.β
βCall me Finn.β
She took another sip of wine, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. βYou look like a Finn.β
βBut not a Malcolm?β
βThatβs right. Malcolm is totally different.β
He grinned, flashing charm across the space between them. βHowβs that?β
βWell, buttoned down. Academic. Bow tie and brown oxfords.β He laughed aloud then. βYou reduced me to a clichΓ©, then.β
βGuilty as charged.β
βWant to know how I pictured you?β Without waiting for an answer, he rested his elbow on the back of the sofa and turned toward her. βLong dark hair. Big dark eyes. Total knockout in a red striped shirt.β He chuckled at her expression. βI checked out your website.β
Oh. Her site featured a picture of her and Billy on the βabout usβ link. But a knockout? Had he really said knockout? He was probably disappointed now, because on this particular night, she didnβt look anything like the woman in that photo.
βYou look just like your photo,β he said.
Wait. Was he coming on to her? No. No way. She should have looked at his website. Did history professors have websites?
She saw something flicker across his face, an expression she couldnβt read.
βGo ahead,β he said. βYou can look me up on your phone. You know you want to.β
She flushed, but did exactly that, tapping his name on the screen. The information that populated the web page surprised her. βAc- cording to these search results, youβre a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and a former intelligence officer. Youβre now a professor of history at Annapolis, renowned for tracing the provenance of lost soldiers and restoring the memories to their families. Youβre an expert at analyzing old photos.β
βThen we have something in common. If you ever come across something mysterious in a picture, I can take a look.β
She couldnβt decide if his self-confidence was sexy or annoying. In the βpersonalβ section of the page, it was noted that he had been married to βaward-winning journalist Emily Cutlerβ for ten years, and was now divorced. She didnβt read that part aloud.
βIβm renowned? You donβt say.β He shifted closer to her and peered at the screen.
βI donβt. Wikipedia says. Is it accurate?β
βMore or less.β He grinned. βI donβt know about the βrenownedβ part. Iβve never done anything of renown. Maybe choosing this exceptional wine. Cheers.β He touched the rim of his glass to hers and took a sip.
About Susan Wiggs
SUSAN WIGGSΒ is the author of more than fifty novels, including the beloved Lakeshore Chronicles series and her most recent, instant New York Times bestseller Family Tree. Her award-winning books have been translated into two dozen languages. She lives with her husband on an island in Washington Stateβs Puget Sound.
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Reblogged this on Viv Drewa – The Owl Lady.
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Love Susanβs π thanks, Viv!
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Reblogged this on Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung – Aus und ΓΌber Eslarn, sowie die bayerisch-tschechische Region!.
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Hi Michael, thanks for sharing Susan’s fantastic work!
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I’m new to Wiggs but after reading The Apple Orchard, I became an instant fan! This one looks even better. π
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I loved The Apple Orchard! Her Lakeshore Chronicles series of books are great reads also. She does a fantastic job with scene setting. Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. N!
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I’ll have to check out her Lakeshore Chronicles for sure. I agree, she has such a beautiful way of describing setting as well as characters. She makes her story come alive, as if by magic. π
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