- Dapatkan link
- X
- Aplikasi Lainnya
The Bad Daughter: A Novel
Description
Product Description
A gripping, edge-of-your-seat thriller of family intrigue and dark secrets, from the author of Someone Is Watching and See Jane Run.
There was no shortage of words she could use to describe her father, almost none of them complimentary. Serves you damn right, she thought.
A voice mail from her estranged sister, Melanie, sends Robin’s heart racing and her mind spiraling in a full-blown panic attack. Melanie’s message is dire: Their father, his second wife, and his twelve-year-old stepdaughter have been shot—likely in a home invasion—and lie in the hospital in critical condition.
It’s been more than five years since Robin turned her back on her father when he married her best friend. Five years since she said goodbye to her hometown of Red Bluff, California, and became a therapist. More than two years since Robin and Melanie have spoken. Yet even with all that distance and time and acrimony, the past is always with Robin.
Now she must return to the family she left behind. As she attempts to mend fences while her father clings to life, Robin begins to wonder if there is more to the tragedy than a botched burglary attempt. It seems that everyone—Robin’s mercurial sister, her less-than-communicative nephew, her absent brother, and even Tara, her father’s wife—has something to hide. And someone may have put them all in grave danger.
New York Times bestselling author Joy Fielding has written a gripping edge-of-your-seat thriller of family intrigue and dark secrets. The Bad Daughter explores the deadly differences between the lies we want to believe and the truths we wish not to know.
Advance praise for The Bad Daughter
“So expert is [Joy] Fielding at seeding clues that readers will never see the final plot twist coming. The acutely portrayed family dynamics lend pathos and a certain schadenfreudian frisson to the proceedings. An author who knows her way around suburban angst.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Fielding, a sure hand at psychological suspense, amps up tension nicely here as the narrative reaches a high-energy conclusion.”—Booklist
“[Keeps] the reader turning the pages until the bombshell final shocker.”—Publishers Weekly
There was no shortage of words she could use to describe her father, almost none of them complimentary. Serves you damn right, she thought.
A voice mail from her estranged sister, Melanie, sends Robin’s heart racing and her mind spiraling in a full-blown panic attack. Melanie’s message is dire: Their father, his second wife, and his twelve-year-old stepdaughter have been shot—likely in a home invasion—and lie in the hospital in critical condition.
It’s been more than five years since Robin turned her back on her father when he married her best friend. Five years since she said goodbye to her hometown of Red Bluff, California, and became a therapist. More than two years since Robin and Melanie have spoken. Yet even with all that distance and time and acrimony, the past is always with Robin.
Now she must return to the family she left behind. As she attempts to mend fences while her father clings to life, Robin begins to wonder if there is more to the tragedy than a botched burglary attempt. It seems that everyone—Robin’s mercurial sister, her less-than-communicative nephew, her absent brother, and even Tara, her father’s wife—has something to hide. And someone may have put them all in grave danger.
New York Times bestselling author Joy Fielding has written a gripping edge-of-your-seat thriller of family intrigue and dark secrets. The Bad Daughter explores the deadly differences between the lies we want to believe and the truths we wish not to know.
Advance praise for The Bad Daughter
“So expert is [Joy] Fielding at seeding clues that readers will never see the final plot twist coming. The acutely portrayed family dynamics lend pathos and a certain schadenfreudian frisson to the proceedings. An author who knows her way around suburban angst.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Fielding, a sure hand at psychological suspense, amps up tension nicely here as the narrative reaches a high-energy conclusion.”—Booklist
“[Keeps] the reader turning the pages until the bombshell final shocker.”—Publishers Weekly
Review
Advance praise for The Bad Daughter
“So expert is [Joy] Fielding at seeding clues that readers will never see the final plot twist coming. The acutely portrayed family dynamics lend pathos and a certain schadenfreudian frisson to the proceedings. An author who knows her way around suburban angst.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Fielding, a sure hand at psychological suspense, amps up tension nicely here as the narrative reaches a high-energy conclusion.”—Booklist
“[Keeps] the reader turning the pages until the bombshell final shocker.”—Publishers Weekly
Praise for Joy Fielding’s She’s Not There
“Fielding deftly weaves a thrilling tale that infuses the past and the present. . . . With her expert storytelling, she unravels the layers of her characters, along with the layers of her intricate plot, which will keep readers engaged.”—RT Book Reviews
“A captivating read from beginning to end . . . Fielding has delivered a home run that you will not be able to put down.”—The Free Lance–Star
Someone Is Watching
“A gripping, fast-paced psychological thriller . . . Fielding’s story of one woman’s search for justice, understanding, and internal peace is nothing short of arresting.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Engrossing . . . The characters pulsate with life.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“So expert is [Joy] Fielding at seeding clues that readers will never see the final plot twist coming. The acutely portrayed family dynamics lend pathos and a certain schadenfreudian frisson to the proceedings. An author who knows her way around suburban angst.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Fielding, a sure hand at psychological suspense, amps up tension nicely here as the narrative reaches a high-energy conclusion.”—Booklist
“[Keeps] the reader turning the pages until the bombshell final shocker.”—Publishers Weekly
Praise for Joy Fielding’s She’s Not There
“Fielding deftly weaves a thrilling tale that infuses the past and the present. . . . With her expert storytelling, she unravels the layers of her characters, along with the layers of her intricate plot, which will keep readers engaged.”—RT Book Reviews
“A captivating read from beginning to end . . . Fielding has delivered a home run that you will not be able to put down.”—The Free Lance–Star
Someone Is Watching
“A gripping, fast-paced psychological thriller . . . Fielding’s story of one woman’s search for justice, understanding, and internal peace is nothing short of arresting.”—Booklist (starred review)
“Engrossing . . . The characters pulsate with life.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
About the Author
Joy Fielding is the New York Times bestselling author of She’s Not There, Someone Is Watching, Now You See Her, Still Life, Mad River Road, See Jane Run, and other acclaimed novels. She divides her time between Toronto and Palm Beach, Florida.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
The tingling started in the pit of her stomach, a vague gnawing that quickly traveled to her chest, then spread upward and outward until it reached her neck. Invisible fingers wrapped around her throat and pressed down hard on her windpipe, cutting off her supply of oxygen, rendering her dizzy and light-headed. I’m having a heart attack, Robin thought. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.
The middle-aged woman sitting across from her didn’t seem to notice. She was too engrossed in her own troubles. Something about an overbearing mother-in-law, a difficult daughter, and a less-than-supportive husband.
Okay, get a grip. Concentrate. The woman—what the hell was her name?—wasn’t paying her a hundred and seventy-five dollars an hour to receive a blank stare back in response. At the very least, she expected Robin to be paying attention. You didn’t go to a therapist to watch her have a nervous breakdown.
You are not having a nervous breakdown, Robin admonished herself, recognizing the familiar symptoms. This isn’t a heart attack. It is a panic attack, plain and simple. You’ve had them before. God knows you should be used to them by now.
But it’s been more than five years, she thought with her next breath. The panic attacks she used to experience on an almost daily basis were part of her past. Except the past is always with you. Isn’t that what they say?
Robin didn’t have to wonder what had brought on the sudden attack. She knew exactly what—who—was responsible. Melanie, she thought, picturing her sister, older by three years, and thinking, not for the first time, that if you removed the L from her sister’s name, it spelled “Meanie.”
A message from Melanie had been waiting on her voice mail when she’d returned to her office after lunch. Robin had listened to the message, debating whether to return the call or simply pretend she’d never received it. In the midst of her deliberations, her client had arrived. You’ll just have to wait, she’d informed her sister silently, grabbing her notepad and entering the room she reserved for counseling clients.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked her now, leaning forward in her upholstered blue chair and eyeing Robin suspiciously. “You look kind of funny.”
“Could you excuse me for just a minute?” Robin was out of her seat before the woman could answer. She returned to the smaller room off her main office and shut the door. “Okay,” she whispered, leaning against her desk with the palms of both hands, careful not to look at the phone. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
Okay, you’ve identified what’s happening. You know what caused it. All you have to do now is relax and concentrate on your breathing. You have a client in the next room waiting for you. You don’t have time for this crap. Pull yourself together. What was it her mother used to say? This too shall pass.
Except not everything passed. And if it did, it often circled back to bite you in the ass. “Okay, take deep breaths,” she counseled herself again. “Now another one.” Three more and her breathing had almost returned to normal. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
Except it wasn’t okay, and she knew it. Melanie was calling for a reason, and whatever that reason was, it wasn’t good. The sisters had barely exchanged two words since their mother died, and none at all since Robin had left Red Bluff for good after their father’s hasty remarriage. Nothing in almost six years. Not a congratulatory note after Robin graduated from Berkeley with a master’s degree in psychology, no best wishes when she’d opened her own practice the following year, not even a casual “good luck” when she and Blake had announced their engagement.
And so, two years ago, with Blake’s encouragement and support, Robin had ceased all attempts at communication with her sister. Wasn’t she always advising clients to stop banging their heads against the wall when faced with an immovable object and insurmountable odds? Wasn’t it time she followed her own sage counsel?
Of course, it was always easier to give advice than it was to take it.
And now, out of the blue, her sister was calling and leaving cryptic messages on her voice mail. Like a cancer you thought had been excised, only to have it come roaring back, more virulent than ever.
“Call me” was the enigmatic message Melanie had left, not bothering to state her name, taking for granted that Robin would recognize her voice even after all this time.
Which, of course, she had. Melanie’s voice was a hard one to get out of your head, no matter how many years had passed.
What fresh hell is this? Robin wondered, taking several more deep breaths and refusing to speculate. Experience had taught her that her imagination couldn’t compete with her reality. Not by a long shot.
She debated calling Blake, then decided against it. He was busy and wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. “You’re the therapist,” he would tell her, his eyes wandering to a space behind her head, as if someone more interesting had just walked into view.
Pushing thoughts of Blake and Melanie out of her mind, Robin tucked her chin-length curly blond hair behind her ears and returned to the other room, forcing her lips into a reassuring smile. “Sorry about that,” she told the woman waiting, who was a first-time client and whose name Robin was still unable to recall. Emma or Emily. Something like that.
“Everything okay?” the woman asked.
“Everything’s fine. I just felt a bit queasy for a second there.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not pregnant, are you? I’d hate to start this process only to see you quit to have a baby.”
“No. I’m not pregnant.” You have to have sex to get pregnant, Robin thought. And she and Blake hadn’t made love in over a month. “I’m fine,” she said, trying desperately to recall the woman’s name. “Please, go on. You were saying . . .”
What the hell had the woman been saying?
“Yes, well, I was saying that my husband is absolutely useless as far as his mother is concerned. It’s like he’s ten years old again and he’s afraid to open his mouth. She says the most hurtful things to me, and he acts like he doesn’t hear any of it. Then when I point it out, he says I’m exaggerating, and I shouldn’t let her get to me. But my daughter has picked up on it, of course. And now she’s being just as rude. You should hear the way she talks to me.”
You think you have problems? Robin thought. You think your family is difficult?
“I don’t know why my mother-in-law hates me so much.”
She doesn’t need a reason. If she’s anything like my sister, she despises you on principle. Because you exist.
It was true. Melanie had hated her baby sister from the first moment she’d laid eyes on her. She’d been instantly jealous of their mother’s suddenly divided attention. She would pinch Robin while she lay sleeping in her crib, not stopping until the infant was covered in tiny bruises; she’d hacked off Robin’s beautiful curls with scissors when she was two; when Robin was seven, Melanie had pushed her into a wall during a supposedly friendly game of tag, breaking her nose. She was constantly criticizing Robin’s choice of clothes, her choice of interests, her choice of friends. “The girl’s a stupid slut,” Melanie had sneered about Robin’s best friend, Tara.
The tingling started in the pit of her stomach, a vague gnawing that quickly traveled to her chest, then spread upward and outward until it reached her neck. Invisible fingers wrapped around her throat and pressed down hard on her windpipe, cutting off her supply of oxygen, rendering her dizzy and light-headed. I’m having a heart attack, Robin thought. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.
The middle-aged woman sitting across from her didn’t seem to notice. She was too engrossed in her own troubles. Something about an overbearing mother-in-law, a difficult daughter, and a less-than-supportive husband.
Okay, get a grip. Concentrate. The woman—what the hell was her name?—wasn’t paying her a hundred and seventy-five dollars an hour to receive a blank stare back in response. At the very least, she expected Robin to be paying attention. You didn’t go to a therapist to watch her have a nervous breakdown.
You are not having a nervous breakdown, Robin admonished herself, recognizing the familiar symptoms. This isn’t a heart attack. It is a panic attack, plain and simple. You’ve had them before. God knows you should be used to them by now.
But it’s been more than five years, she thought with her next breath. The panic attacks she used to experience on an almost daily basis were part of her past. Except the past is always with you. Isn’t that what they say?
Robin didn’t have to wonder what had brought on the sudden attack. She knew exactly what—who—was responsible. Melanie, she thought, picturing her sister, older by three years, and thinking, not for the first time, that if you removed the L from her sister’s name, it spelled “Meanie.”
A message from Melanie had been waiting on her voice mail when she’d returned to her office after lunch. Robin had listened to the message, debating whether to return the call or simply pretend she’d never received it. In the midst of her deliberations, her client had arrived. You’ll just have to wait, she’d informed her sister silently, grabbing her notepad and entering the room she reserved for counseling clients.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked her now, leaning forward in her upholstered blue chair and eyeing Robin suspiciously. “You look kind of funny.”
“Could you excuse me for just a minute?” Robin was out of her seat before the woman could answer. She returned to the smaller room off her main office and shut the door. “Okay,” she whispered, leaning against her desk with the palms of both hands, careful not to look at the phone. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
Okay, you’ve identified what’s happening. You know what caused it. All you have to do now is relax and concentrate on your breathing. You have a client in the next room waiting for you. You don’t have time for this crap. Pull yourself together. What was it her mother used to say? This too shall pass.
Except not everything passed. And if it did, it often circled back to bite you in the ass. “Okay, take deep breaths,” she counseled herself again. “Now another one.” Three more and her breathing had almost returned to normal. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
Except it wasn’t okay, and she knew it. Melanie was calling for a reason, and whatever that reason was, it wasn’t good. The sisters had barely exchanged two words since their mother died, and none at all since Robin had left Red Bluff for good after their father’s hasty remarriage. Nothing in almost six years. Not a congratulatory note after Robin graduated from Berkeley with a master’s degree in psychology, no best wishes when she’d opened her own practice the following year, not even a casual “good luck” when she and Blake had announced their engagement.
And so, two years ago, with Blake’s encouragement and support, Robin had ceased all attempts at communication with her sister. Wasn’t she always advising clients to stop banging their heads against the wall when faced with an immovable object and insurmountable odds? Wasn’t it time she followed her own sage counsel?
Of course, it was always easier to give advice than it was to take it.
And now, out of the blue, her sister was calling and leaving cryptic messages on her voice mail. Like a cancer you thought had been excised, only to have it come roaring back, more virulent than ever.
“Call me” was the enigmatic message Melanie had left, not bothering to state her name, taking for granted that Robin would recognize her voice even after all this time.
Which, of course, she had. Melanie’s voice was a hard one to get out of your head, no matter how many years had passed.
What fresh hell is this? Robin wondered, taking several more deep breaths and refusing to speculate. Experience had taught her that her imagination couldn’t compete with her reality. Not by a long shot.
She debated calling Blake, then decided against it. He was busy and wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. “You’re the therapist,” he would tell her, his eyes wandering to a space behind her head, as if someone more interesting had just walked into view.
Pushing thoughts of Blake and Melanie out of her mind, Robin tucked her chin-length curly blond hair behind her ears and returned to the other room, forcing her lips into a reassuring smile. “Sorry about that,” she told the woman waiting, who was a first-time client and whose name Robin was still unable to recall. Emma or Emily. Something like that.
“Everything okay?” the woman asked.
“Everything’s fine. I just felt a bit queasy for a second there.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not pregnant, are you? I’d hate to start this process only to see you quit to have a baby.”
“No. I’m not pregnant.” You have to have sex to get pregnant, Robin thought. And she and Blake hadn’t made love in over a month. “I’m fine,” she said, trying desperately to recall the woman’s name. “Please, go on. You were saying . . .”
What the hell had the woman been saying?
“Yes, well, I was saying that my husband is absolutely useless as far as his mother is concerned. It’s like he’s ten years old again and he’s afraid to open his mouth. She says the most hurtful things to me, and he acts like he doesn’t hear any of it. Then when I point it out, he says I’m exaggerating, and I shouldn’t let her get to me. But my daughter has picked up on it, of course. And now she’s being just as rude. You should hear the way she talks to me.”
You think you have problems? Robin thought. You think your family is difficult?
“I don’t know why my mother-in-law hates me so much.”
She doesn’t need a reason. If she’s anything like my sister, she despises you on principle. Because you exist.
It was true. Melanie had hated her baby sister from the first moment she’d laid eyes on her. She’d been instantly jealous of their mother’s suddenly divided attention. She would pinch Robin while she lay sleeping in her crib, not stopping until the infant was covered in tiny bruises; she’d hacked off Robin’s beautiful curls with scissors when she was two; when Robin was seven, Melanie had pushed her into a wall during a supposedly friendly game of tag, breaking her nose. She was constantly criticizing Robin’s choice of clothes, her choice of interests, her choice of friends. “The girl’s a stupid slut,” Melanie had sneered about Robin’s best friend, Tara.
- Dapatkan link
- X
- Aplikasi Lainnya
Komentar
Posting Komentar