Going Home
Danielle Steel
Language: English
Pages: 400
ISBN: 0671749412
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
From Danielle Steel, one of the world’s most renowned and bestselling authors, comes a special reissue of her very first novel, in which a woman is forced to flee her past and come to terms with the truth.
In the sun swept beauty of San Francisco, Gillian Forrester is filled with the joy of a love that will surely last. But a painful betrayal forces her to flee to New York and begin a new life. There she discovers an exciting new career and a deep, enveloping passion…only to have her newfound happiness shaken to its core. Now Gillian must choose between her future and her past, and find in the deepest desires of her heart the one way, the only way of Going Home.
struck me. “You know them?” He looked surprised. “No. I just thought I did.” “Well let’s find out. That’s really funny.” He signaled to them to come over to us and I began to wish I were dead. “Chris . . . no . . . really . . . look, I . . . But then I knew where I had seen them before. They were Chris’s crew. He saw the recognition in my eyes and he and his boys started to laugh. They had heard the brief exchange and knew Chris was up to one of his tricks again. “Oh you big, lousy bastard,
And he was right, he had been kind of lousy. But not very. He had only told me that he was living with someone, which was honest, and he had gone home to sleep, which hurt, but he had to go home sometime. The funny thing was that I really did understand, and I knew he didn’t mean to hurt me. I called the sitter and she agreed to come by in half an hour. But there was still Sam to contend with. I wasn’t so sure Chris could snow her. Maybe me, but not her. I put his flowers in a vase and waited
encouraging smiles—“there, there, that’s better, now you’re doing it.” We were playing a little game. Nice Uncle Chris sees Auntie Gillian off at the airport, and Auntie Gillian does not have hysterics. There we are. Smile for the birdie. I wondered who we were putting on the show for, the people at the airport, each other, or ourselves. We were acting out all the bad endings I’d ever read about in books; we were really blowing it, no longer reaching each other, just filling the minutes before
bright and friendly and full of potted plants. An arrow with “Up” painted on it in red letters pointed down, and a huge poster that said “Smile” showed a photograph of a little girl in tears, looking at her ice cream cone lying on the pavement at her feet. I waited for Jean while people came and went, looked in, rushed by, and had the air of very busy people. I felt like a guest. I remained alone, nervous, and itching to get to work. Where was Jean? Where was everybody in fact? It seemed like
deep in my heart,” and I felt sad then. I looked up at Gordon, but he looked away. So for an hour Gordon took photographs of Samantha with balloons, Cracker Jacks, on the pony ride, watching the seals, and of me. They were quick photographs. He kept catching us with our mouths full of Cracker Jacks, and our eyes closed, or a hand up, or laughing. He shot, and he shot, and he ran around the other way and took more pictures . . . click, click, click, click, click, click . . . the last day in the