Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [67]
Sam’s Letters to Jennifer
The Lake House
The Jester (Andrew Gross) The Beach House (Peter de Jonge) Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas
Cradle and All
When the Wind Blows
Miracle on the 17th Green (Peter de Jonge) Hide & Seek
The Midnight Club
Black Friday (originally published as Black Market) See How They Run (originally published as The Jericho Commandment) Season of the Machete
The Thomas Berryman Number
For more information about James Patterson’s novels, visit www.jamespatterson.com.
Contents
PROLOGUE: Jane’s Michael
PART ONE: Once Upon a Time in New York
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
PART TWO: Twenty-three Years Older, but Not Necessarily That Much Smarter
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
PART THREE: Candles in the Wind
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Sixty-three
Sixty-four
Sixty-five
Sixty-six
Sixty-seven
Sixty-eight
Sixty-nine
Seventy
Seventy-one
Seventy-two
Seventy-three
Seventy-four
Seventy-five
Seventy-six
Seventy-seven
Seventy-eight
Seventy-nine
Eighty
Eighty-one
Eighty-two
Epilogue: Strawberries with Whipped Cream
Eighty-three
About the Authors
Table of Contents
One EVERY DETAIL of those Sunday afternoons is locked in my memory, but instead of explaining me and Michael right off, I’ll start with the world’s best, most luscious, and possibly most sinful ice cream sundae, as served at the St. Regis Hotel in New York City. It was always the same: two fist-sized scoops of coffee ice cream, swirled with a river of hot fudge sauce, the kind that gets thicker, gooey and chewy, when it hits the ice cream. On top of that, real whipped cream. Even at eight years old, I could tell the difference between real whipped cream and the fake-o nondairy product you squirt from a can. Across from me at my table in the Astor Court was Michael: hands down the handsomest man I knew, or have ever known, for that matter. Also, the nicest, the kindest, and probably the wisest. That day his bright green eyes watched me gaze at the sundae with undisguised delight as the white-coated waiter set it in front of me with tantalizing slowness. For Michael, a clear glass bowl o
Two I SNUGGLED CLOSER to Michael at our table. “Want to know something?” I asked. “It’s kind of a bummer.” “What?” he asked. “I think I know what my mother and Jason are talking about. It’s Howard. I think Vivienne’s tired of him. Out with the old, in with the new.” Howard was my stepfather, my mother’s third husband. The third one I knew about, anyway. Her first husband had been a tennis pro from Palm Beach. He’d lasted only a year. Then had come Kenneth, my father. He’d done better than the tennis pro, lasting three years. He was really sweet, and I loved him, but he traveled a lot for business. Sometimes I felt as if he forgot about me. I’d heard my mother tell Jason that he’d been “spineless.” She didn’t know I’d overheard. She’d said, “He was a good-looking jellyfish of a man who will never amount to anything.” Howard had been around for two years now. He never traveled on business and didn’t seem to have a job, other than helping Vivienne. He massaged her feet when she was tired,
Three VIVIENNE STRODE TOWARD our table as if she owned the St. Regis. Jason trailed along behind her. No one in the Astor Court would have believed that this beautiful woman with the perfect makeup, the perfect skin, the perfect tan, was in any way related to the pudgy eight-year-old with frizzy hair and smudges of fudge sauce on both cheeks. But there we were. Mother and daughter.