Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

James Patterson has had more New York Times bestsellers than any other writer, ever, according to Guinness World Records. Since his first novel won the Edgar Award in 1977 James Patterson's books have sold more than 375 million copies. He is the author of the Alex Cross novels, the most popular detective series of the past twenty-five years, including Kiss the Girls and Along Came a Spider. He writes full-time and lives in Florida with his family.

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Excerpt

Katie

KATIE WILKINSON sat in warm bathwater in the weird but wonderful old-fashionedporcelain tub in her New York apartment. The apartment exuded "old" and "worn"in ways that practitioners of shabby chic couldn't begin to imagine. Katie'sPersian cat, Guinevere, looking like a favorite gray wool sweater, was perchedon the sink. Her black Labrador, Merlin, sat in the doorway leading to thebedroom. They watched Katie as if they were afraid for her.

She lowered her head when she finished reading the diary and she set theleatherbound book on the wooden stool beside the tub. Her body shivered.

Then she started to sob, and Katie saw that her hands were shaking. She waslosing it, and she didn't lose it often. She was a strong person, and always hadbeen. Katie whispered words she'd once heard in her father's church in Asheboro,North Carolina. "Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, are you anywhere, my Lord?"

She could never have imagined that this small volume would have such adisturbing effect on her. Of course, it wasn't just the diary that had forcedher into this state of confusion and duress.

No, it wasn't just Suzanne's diary for Nicholas. She visualized Suzannein her mind. Katie saw her at her quaint cottage on Beach Road onMartha's Vineyard.

Then little Nicholas. Twelve months old, with the most brilliant blue eyes.

And finally, Matt.

Nicholas's daddy.
Suzanne's husband.
And Katie's former lover.

What did she think of Matt now? Could she ever forgive him? She wasn't sure. Butat least she finally understood some of what had happened. The diary had toldher bits and pieces of what she needed to know, as well as deep, painful secretsthat maybe she didn't need to know.

Katie slipped down farther into the water, and found herself thinking back tothe day she had received the diary?July 19.

Remembering the day started her crying again.

ON THE morning of the nineteenth, Katie had felt drawn to the Hudson River, andthen to the Circle Line, the boat ride around Manhattan Island that she and Matthad first taken as a total goof but had enjoyed so much that they kept comingback.

She boarded the first boat of the day. She was feeling sad, but also angry.Oh, God, she didn't know what she was feeling.

The early boat wasn't too crowded with tourists. She took a seat near the railof the upper deck and watched New York from the unique vantage point of thebrooding waterways surrounding it.

A few people noticed her sitting there alone? especially the men.

Katie usually stood out in a crowd. She was tall? almost six feet, with warm,friendly blue eyes. She had always thought of herself as gawky and felt thatpeople were staring at her for all the wrong reasons. Her friends begged todiffer; they said she was close to breathtaking, stunning in her strength. Katiealways responded, "Uh-huh, sure, don't I wish." She didn't see herself that wayand knew she never would. She was an ordinary, regular person. A North Carolinafarm girl at heart.

She often wore her brunette hair in a long braid, and had since she was eightyears old. It used to look tomboyish, but now it was supposed to be big-citycool. She guessed she'd finally caught up with the times. The only makeup sheever wore was a little mascara and sometimes lipstick. Today she wore neither.She definitely didn't look breathtaking.

Sitting there on the top deck, she remembered a favorite line from the movieThe African Queen: "Head up, chin out, hair blowing in the wind, theliving picture of the hero-eyne," Bogart had teased Hepburn. It cheered her abit?a titch, as her mother liked to say back home in Asheboro.

She had been crying for hours, and her eyes were puffy. The night before, theman she loved had suddenly and inexplicably ended their relationship. She'd beencompletely sucker punched. She hadn't seen it coming. It almost didn't seempossible that Matt had left her.

Damn him! How could he? Had he been lying to me all this time?months andmonths? Of course he had! The bastard. The total creep.

She wanted to think about Matt, about what had happened to separate them, butshe wound up thinking of times they'd shared, mostly good times.

Begrudgingly, she had to admit that she had always been able to talk to himfreely and easily about anything. She could talk to Matt the way she talked toher women friends. Even her girlfriends, who could be catty and generally hadterrible luck with men, liked Matt. So what happened between us? That'swhat she desperately wanted to know.

He was thoughtful?at least he had been. Her birthday was inJune, and he had sent her a single rose every day of what he called "yourbirthday month." He always seemed to notice whether he'd seen her in a certainblouse or sweater before, her shoes, her moods?the good, the bad, andoccasionally the stressed-out ugly.

He liked a lot of the same things Katie did, or so he said. Ally McBeal, ThePractice, Memoirs of a Geisha, The Girl with the Pearl Earring. Dinner,then drinks at the bar at One if by Land, Two if by Sea. Waterloo in theWest Village; Coup in the East; Bubby's on Hudson Street. Foreign movies at theLincoln Plaza Cinema. Vintage black-and-white photos, oil paintings that theyfound at flea markets. Trips to NoLita (North of Little Italy) and Williamsburg(the new SoHo).

He went to church with her on Sundays, where she taught a Bible class ofpreschoolers. They both treasured Sunday afternoons at her apartment?with Katiereading the Times from cover to cover, and Matt revising his poems,which he spread out on her bed and on the bedroom floor and even on thebutcher-block kitchen table.

Tracy Chapman or Macy Gray, maybe Sarah Vaughan, would be playing softly in thebackground. Delicious. Perfect in every way.

He made her feel at peace with herself, completed her circle, did something thatwas good and right. No one else had ever made her feel that way before.Completely, blissfully at peace.

What could beat being in love with Matt?

Nothing that Katie knew of.

One night they had stopped at a little juke bar on Avenue A. They danced, andMatt sang "All Shook Up" in her ear, doing a funny but improbably good Elvisimpersonation. Then Matt did an even better Al Green, which completely blew heraway.

She had wanted to be with him all the time. Corny, but true.

When he was away on Martha's Vineyard, where he lived and worked, they wouldtalk for hours every night on the phone?or send each other funny e-mails. Theycalled it their "long-distance love affair." He had always stopped Katie fromactually visiting him on the Vineyard, though. Maybe that should havebeen her early-warning signal?

Somehow, it had worked?for eleven glorious months that seemed to go by in aninstant. Katie had expected him to propose soon. She was sure of it. She hadeven told her mother. But, of course, she had been so wrong that it waspathetic. She felt like a fool?and she hated herself for it.

How could she have been so stupefyingly wrong about him? About everything? Itwasn't like her to be this out of touch with her instincts. They were usuallygood; she was smart; she didn't do really dumb things. Untilnow. And, boy, had she made a doozy of a mistake this time.

Katie suddenly realized that she was sobbing and that everyone around her on thedeck of the boat was staring at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, and motioned for them to please look away. She blushed.She was embarrassed and felt like such an idiot. "I'm okay."

But she wasn't okay.

Katie had never been so hurt in her life. Nothing came close to this. She hadlost the only man she had ever loved; God, how she loved Matt.

Copyright © 2001 James Patterson. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-316-96944-3