The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(112)
https://thoughtcatalog.com/cj-hale/2013/06/12-things-no-one-told-me-about-sex-after-rape
https://www.mentalhelp.net/advice/relationship-between-dissociation-did-and-ptsd
https://www.rainn.org/articles/rape-kit
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml
http://www.rrsonline.org/?page_id=944
http://www.human-memory.net/disorders_psychogenic.html
http://www.psychiatrictimes.com/ptsd/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-and-memory
https://www.lucidpages.com/rmem.html
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I have many people to thank for helping me bring this book to all of you—not the least of which are my family and friends for their continued love, encouragement, and support.
Thanks, also, to my agent, Jill Marsal; as well as to my patient editors, Megan Mulder and Krista Stroever; and the entire Montlake family for believing in me and working so hard on my behalf.
A special thanks to Jules Spotts, PhD, and Lisa Creane, PhD, who educated me about PTSD, dissociative amnesia, head trauma, and postconcussion problems. Also, thank you to Jason W. Nascone, MD, for helping me structure and understand Claire’s hip injuries for this book and the next story in this series.
I couldn’t produce any of my work without the MTBs, who help me plot and keep my spirits up when doubt grabs hold.
And I can’t leave out the wonderful members of my CTRWA chapter. Year after year, all the CTRWA members provide endless hours of support, feedback, and guidance. I love and thank them for that.
Finally, and most important, thank you, readers, for making my work worthwhile. Considering all your options, I’m honored by your choice to spend your time with me.
AN EXCERPT FROM THE PROMISE OF US
(THE SECOND BOOK IN THE SANCTUARY SOUND SERIES)
EDITOR’S NOTE: THIS IS AN EARLY EXCERPT AND MAY NOT REFLECT THE FINISHED BOOK.
Claire would rather expose her scars in the middle of Sanctuary Sound’s town green than start this conversation with Steffi, here in the privacy of the 1940s bungalow that had exacerbated their remodeling company’s financial troubles. She’d smugly dismissed her father’s warnings about the hazards of going into business with a friend, certain their friendship could weather any dispute. After all, they’d managed a workable solution to the Peyton problem when she couldn’t have imagined anything more difficult. Apparently, her imagination hadn’t worked hard enough. This new test proved that a personal bond was exactly what made partnership conflicts so sticky.
Before taking her seat, she leaned Rosie—her rosewood-and-ivory cane—against an empty chair at the farmhouse dining table. Overhead, she heard Steffi’s boyfriend, Ryan, his heavy footfall on the bathroom tile, followed by the sound of the waterfall showerhead at full blast.
While watching Steffi pour them each a mug of hot chocolate, Claire inventoried the recently renovated interior for the millionth time. They’d tested six blends of “Espresso” and “Jacobean” stain before settling on the darkest one used for all the floors. A gray glass-tile backsplash and white quartzite counters had been splurges. The assortment of modern lines and rustic, antique finishes might inspire a Town & Country feature but didn’t quell her mixed feelings about the fiscally irresponsible project.
“Did you highlight your hair this morning?” Steffi grabbed a can of whipped cream from the refrigerator. “Strawberry blonde’s so chic.”
“Thanks.” She self-consciously threaded her fingers through the front of her hair without admitting that the impulsive decision had more to do with Peyton’s impending return than with a true desire to be stylish.
When Peyton had graced the town with her presence eighteen months ago, she’d bewitched Claire’s then boyfriend, Todd, who dumped Claire to run off with Peyton on her travel-writing adventures. Betrayal by a man sucked. Betrayal by a man and a former bestie—although Peyton obviously hadn’t been a true friend—was excruciating.
In truth, Claire could admit that most women were more venturesome than her. The lame hip and chronic pain put her high-adventure days in the rearview mirror. No more tennis. No hiking. Even dancing could be iffy on a cold, damp night. And travel? No new city or country would be worth the risk of another life-altering event.
So, having long ago learned to accept facts and move on, Claire had declared good riddance to both Peyton and Todd, thankful she wouldn’t have to face them again.
She’d never dreamed Peyton would come home to live, even if only temporarily. Claire didn’t have a new boyfriend, which meant the only thing left for Peyton to steal this time around was her pride. But that could happen. At the very least, her arrival would stir up dust and make Claire the subject of more gossip. She hated being the center of attention almost as much as she hated brussels sprouts. Peyton’s return would also bring her brother, Logan—the star of Claire’s teenage fantasies—to town. The last time she’d seen him, she’d stammered and scampered away. The recollection made her hot—in a bad way.
The next time she saw him or Peyton, she’d be prepared.
Determined to be on equal footing with the golden-haired goddess, Claire had dyed her hair. Silly? Sure. But in the heat of the moment, it had made perfect sense. Then she’d remembered Peyton’s current battle with breast cancer—and lack of any hair—and derided herself for petty thoughts.