The Sight of You - Hardcover

Miller, Holly

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593085582 ISBN 13: 9780593085585

Verlag: G P PUTNAM SONS, 2020

Inhaltsangabe

The Light We Lost meets How to Walk Away in this romantic and page-turning debut that poses a heartbreaking question: Would you choose love, if you knew how it would end?

"Unique and breathtaking and painful and broken and perfect . . . just like love. I'm still crying, yet all I want to do is settle down and read it again." --Jodi Picoult

Joel has sworn off falling in love. But when he meets Callie, he can't help being drawn to her. In Callie, he sees a second chance at life. And in Joel, Callie discovers the kind of love she'd always hoped was real. They challenge each other to take chances, to laugh, and to trust that no matter how hard each falls, the other will be there to catch them.

But Joel has a secret. He dreams about the people he loves, and these dreams always come true. One night, Joel has the dream of Callie he's feared the most, and each must decide: Can Callie stay, knowing her fate? And if her days must be numbered, is there a life she is meant to live?

Told in Joel and Callie's voices, The Sight of You is a sweeping, romantic, and unforgettable American debut, about the bravery it takes to love, especially when we think we know how the story will end.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Holly Miller works as a copywriter and lives in Norfolk, England. The Sight of You is her American debut.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1.

Callie



Joel, I'm so sorry. To see you again like that . . . Why did I get on the train? I should have waited for the next one. It wouldn't have mattered. I missed my stop anyway, and we were late for the wedding.



Because the whole way to London, I could only think of you, about what you might have written in the note you gave me. Then when I finally opened it, I stared at it for so long that by the time I next looked up, Blackfriars had come and gone.



There was an ocean of things I wanted-needed-to say to you too. But my mind just misfired when I saw you. Maybe I was scared of saying too much.



What if today was it, though, Joel? What if today was the last time I'll see your face, hear your voice?



Time's rushing by, and I know what's coming.



I wish I'd stayed. Just a few minutes more. I'm sorry.



Part One



2.



Joel



It's one in the morning and I'm standing bare-chested at my living room window. The sky is still and blistered with stars, the moon a marble.



Any minute now, my neighbor Steve will leave the flat above mine. He'll head down to his car, the baby squirming furiously in her carrier. He takes Poppy for drives in the middle of the night, tries to soothe her to sleep with the rumble of tires and his playlist of farmyard-animal sounds.



Here it comes. The sleep-slackened tread of his feet on the stairs, Poppy whimpering. His trademark mishandling of our fractious front door. I watch as he approaches the car, flicks the lock, hesitates. He's confused, knows something's not right. But his brain's still catching up.



Eventually it clicks. He swears, puts a hand to his head. Makes two disbelieving laps of the vehicle.



Sorry, Steve-it's all four tires. Someone's definitely let them down. You're not going anywhere tonight.



For a moment he's a statue, lit up by the laboratory glow of the streetlight. Then something makes him stare straight into the window I'm looking out of.



I hold my nerve. As long as I stay still, it must be nearly impossible for him to see me. My blinds are shut, the flat silent and dark as a reptile resting. He can't know I have my eye pressed against a single slat. That I'm watching everything.



For a moment our gazes are soldered together before he looks away, shaking his head as Poppy treats the street to a timely scream.



A light springs on in the house opposite. Brightness strikes the darkened street, exasperation drifting down from the window. "Come on, mate!"



Steve lifts a hand, then turns to come back inside. I hear the two of them trail upstairs, Poppy wailing determinedly as they go. Steve's used to keeping strange hours, but Hayley will be trying to sleep. She's recently returned to her job at a prestigious London law firm, which means it matters if she nods off in meetings.



Still. My tasks for tonight are complete. I cross them off in my notebook, then sit down on the sofa, parting the blinds so I can look at the stars.



I reward myself with a shot of whisky, because that's what I do on special occasions. Then I make it a double and down it, fast.



Twenty minutes later, I'm ready to crash. I'm after a very specific kind of sleep, and everything I've done tonight should help me achieve it.





ÒHeÕs ever so hot,Ó says my eighty-something near-neighbor Iris, when I pitch up at her house a few hours later to walk her yellow Labrador, Rufus.



It's not yet eight in the morning, which might account for why I haven't got a clue who she's talking about. Her neighbor Bill, who pops round most mornings with a nugget of gossip or a weird little leaflet? The postman, who's just waved jauntily at us through the living room window?



Postmen. They're always either inanely cheerful or miserable as sin. Never a middle ground.



"He's been sleeping on the kitchen tiles to stay cool."



Of course. She's talking about the dog. This happens more often than I'd like: being too exhausted to make simple conversation with someone at least twice my age. "Good idea." I smile. "Might try it myself."



She shoots me a look. "That will hardly endear you to the ladies now, will it?"



Ah, the Ladies. Who are they, again? Iris seems convinced there's a queue of them somewhere, keen to put their lives on hold to hang out with a guy like me.



"Do you think he can cope?" she asks, gesturing at Rufus. "Out there, in this heat?"



I used to be a vet. I'm not anymore. But I think Iris takes comfort from my onetime credentials.



"It's cooler today," I assure her. She's right that it has been warm lately, since we're only just in September. "We'll go down to the boating lake, have a paddle."



She smiles. "You too?"



I shake my head. "Prefer to commit my public-order offenses after hours. More exciting that way."



She lights up like my lame jokes are the highlight of her day. "We're so fortunate to have you, aren't we, Rufus?"



To be fair, Iris is pretty awesome herself. She wears earrings shaped like fruit and has a Premium subscription to Spotify.



I bend down to clip on Rufus's lead as he eases to his feet. "He is still a touch on the heavy side, Iris. That won't be helping his heat tolerance. How's his diet going?"



She shrugs. "He can smell cheese from fifty paces, Joel. What can I say?"



I sigh. I've been lecturing Iris about Rufus's food for nearly eight years now. "What was our deal? I'd walk him, you'd take care of the rest."



"I know, I know." She starts to shoo us from the living room with her walking stick. "But I just can't resist the look on his face."



I've got three dogs in tow by the time I make it to the park. (I walk two others along with Rufus, for ex-clients who aren't too mobile. There's a fourth as well, a Great Dane called Bruno. But he's socially unhinged and formidably strong, so I take him out after dark.)



Though the air's freshened up overnight, I keep my promise to Iris about the boating lake. Unclipping the dogs' leads, I feel myself brighten as they canter like horses into the water.



I take a breath. Attempt to persuade myself again that what I did last night was right.



It had to be. Because here's the thing: almost my whole life, I've been having prophetic dreams. The kind of lucid, lifelike visions that startle me from sleep. They show me what's going to happen, days, weeks, years down the line. And the subjects, always, are the people I love.



The dreams come every week or so, the ratio of good to bad to neutral fairly even. But it's the dark premonitions I fear most: the accidents and illnesses, pain and misfortune. They're why I'm constantly edgy, always on high alert. Wondering when I might next have to reroute the course of fate, race to intervene in someone's best-laid plans.



Or, worse, save a life.



I track my canine charges from the bank of the lake, giving a group of fellow dog walkers a smile and a necessarily wide berth. They gather most mornings by the bridge, beckoning me over if I make the mistake of eye contact. I've kept my distance ever since the time they started swapping tips on sleeping well, their talk turning to home remedies and therapies, pills and routines. (I made my excuses and vanished. Haven't hung out with them since.)



The whole thing just cut a little deep. Because, in pursuit of a dreamless night, I've tried the lot. Diets, meditation, affirmations. Lavender and white noise. Milky drinks....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: G P PUTNAM SONS
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2020
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593085582
• ISBN 13: 9780593085585
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar