Where There's Smoke: A Short Story (Kindle Single)
Jodi Picoult
Language: English
Pages: 41
ISBN: B00KCQOZGW
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Bestselling author Jodi Picoult is a masterful storyteller, who “writes with a fine touch, a sharp eye for detail, and a firm grasp of the delicacy and complexity of human relationships” (The Boston Globe). Now, in this original short story, available exclusively as an eBook, Picoult introduces Serenity Jones, one of the fascinating characters from her eagerly awaited new novel, Leaving Time.
Even as a child, Serenity Jones knew she possessed unusual psychic gifts. Now, decades later, she’s an acclaimed medium and host of her own widely viewed TV show, where she delivers messages to the living from loved ones who have passed. Lately, though, her efforts to boost ratings and garner fame have compromised her clairvoyant instincts. When Serenity books a young war widow to appear as a guest, the episode quickly unravels, stirring up a troubling controversy. And as she tries to undo the damage—to both her reputation and her show—Serenity finds that pride comes at a high price.
Praise for Jodi Picoult
“Picoult is a rare writer who delivers, book after book, a winning combination of the literary and the commercial.”—Entertainment Weekly
“Picoult is a solid, lively storyteller.”—The New York Times
“If Picoult were a general, she would be Patton; if a sports franchise, the New York Yankees; if a natural phenomenon, the sunrise.”—Tampa Tribune
Where There’s Smoke is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 2014 Ballantine eBook Edition Copyright © 2014 by Jodi Picoult Excerpt of Leaving Time copyright © 2014 by Jodi Picoult. All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of
and the guy you confess to has the same name as his murderer. That’s a synchronicity I can’t ignore, and I know it was meant to tell me something. Once, I might have been able to read the message clearly. Now, it’s just chicken scratch on the wall of the cosmos. “Let’s do this,” I whisper shortly after two in the morning. My call to arms, my invitation to the spirits. But there is only the echo of my own doubt, and then nothing. Because of the utter silence, this time I am able to hear its
that, I’d have requests coming from both directions—this world and the next—24/7. I am willing to walk that dotted line between two metaphysical planes, but I need a filter. I don’t want spirits popping through walls all day long and saying, “Ooh, there’s my grandbaby, say hello for me.” I believe everyone has spirit guides—but not everyone bothers to start a conversation with them. Spirit guides have lived as humans. They have a soul level that’s very evolved and have learned a lot of life
wanted her to know. “How about that you’re sorry,” Betsey says. “For ruining my life.” I hang up the phone, my hand shaking. I don’t have to turn around to know that behind me, the wastebasket full of tissues I’d used when I was taking off my makeup has caught on fire. I take a vase full of lilies, yank out the flowers, and pour the water into the trash receptacle just as Felix knocks. I open the door to find him sniffing at the smoke and hand him my cell phone. “Get me a new unlisted number,”
I force a smile. “I’m happy for you.” I pick up the box and walk around her. “I just wanted you to know that,” Bethany says, to my back. “I wanted you to know I totally believe in you.” I don’t turn around. “That means a lot to me,” I murmur, and I wonder how long it will be before the world is divided into those who remember when I had a Gift, and those who know categorically that I don’t. When I get home the fire department is in front of my house, hosing down the bushes that line my