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The Favorite Daughter
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Praise for
The Favorite Daughter
“Patti Callahan Henry is quickly becoming one of my favorites. Her latest is a story of reflection, forgiveness, and surprising twists.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Both heartfelt and heartbreakingly honest in its portrayal of a family once divided by scandal and brought together through the power of memories. Colleen and her sister Hallie argue, laugh, and grieve together as they join forces with their brother, Shane, to help their father confront the tangled traps of Alzheimer’s disease. Patti doesn’t shy away from the harsh realities of the disease, yet brilliantly captures the tender moments. Set in the lush Lowcountry, the book is a little bit Southern and a little bit Irish with a pub so richly detailed you’ll feel you’re sitting at the bar listening to songs with the characters.”
—Mary Alice Monroe, New York Times bestselling author of The Summer Guests
“Patti Callahan Henry returns us to the sultry South Carolina Lowcountry where two sisters, the betrayer and the betrayed, must find a way to mend a family torn apart by long-hidden secrets. In exquisitely wrought prose, Patti Callahan Henry lyrically examines the meaning of forgiveness and the inexorable tug of home.”
—Mary Kay Andrews, New York Times bestselling author of The High Tide Club
“A layered, spellbinding novel about families and lovers and the meaning of home. Above all, it’s about memory, how it shapes us, fools us, and warms our hearts. This is one truly beautiful book.”
—Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author of A Nantucket Wedding
Praise for
The Bookshop at Water’s End
“Patti Callahan Henry has written the best novel of her career with The Bookshop at Water’s End. I absolutely adored it. . . . In fact, it’s so good, I wish I’d written it myself!”
—Dorothea Benton Frank, New York Times bestselling author of Same Beach, Next Year
“I adore Patti Callahan Henry’s new novel. . . . A juicy summer read about family secrets, forgotten friendships and the power of books to change our lives.”
—Jane Green, New York Times bestselling author of The Sunshine Sisters
“A great summer read about finding yourself and returning home.”
—PopSugar
“Henry creates a world that feels rich and real—readers can practically hear the rushing river, see the ocean waves and smell the hydrangea bushes. . . . [An] atmospheric look at friendship, forgiveness and second chances.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A look at what family really means, and how the past affects the present in so many ways. The writing is superb.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A great beach read of the Dorothea Benton Frank and Anne River Siddons variety.”
—Booklist
“With an eloquent and effective narrative, a realistic continuing theme of unbreakable relationship bonds and a fantastic multilayered story line of secrets, regrets and a good dose of teenage drama, this is a solid summer read. . . . A low-country treasure of new beginnings and an old mystery.”
—Library Journal
“A powerful exploration of the resilience of two women. . . . A perfect read for fans of Mary Alice Monroe and lovers of Southern women’s fiction, The Bookshop at Water’s End is full of genuine interactions between characters and unexpected turns of events that will leave readers meditating on the unpredictable paths life takes.”
—Panama City News Herald
“Patti Callahan Henry’s best novel ever. . . . [This] is a story of redemption, and every reader can relate to that experience in one way or another.”
—The Huffington Post
Praise for
Becoming Mrs. Lewis
(writing as Patti Callahan)
“A deeply moving story about love and loss that is transformative and magical.”
—Pam Jenoff, New York Times bestselling author of The Orphan’s Tale
“Patti Callahan’s prose reads like poetry. . . . A literary treasure from first page to last.”
—Lisa Wingate, New York Times bestselling author of Before We Were Yours
“Beautifully written. Deeply romantic. Fiercely intelligent. . . . Touching, tender and triumphant, this is a love story for the ages.”
—Ariel Lawhon, author of I Was Anastasia
“Luminous and penetrating.”
—Paula McLain, New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Wife
ALSO BY PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY
Losing the Moon
Where the River Runs
When Light Breaks
Between the Tides
The Art of Keeping Secrets
Driftwood Summer
The Perfect Love Song
Coming Up for Air
And Then I Found You
Friend Request
The Stories We Tell
The Idea of Love
The Bookshop at Water’s End
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
Copyright © 2019 by Patti Callahan Henry
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Henry, Patti Callahan, author.
Title: The favorite daughter / Patti Callahan Henry.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018023855| ISBN 9780399583131 (trade pbk.) |ISBN 9780399583148 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Domestic fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3608.E578 F38 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023855
First Edition: June 2019
Cover art by Aliyev Alexei Sergeevich / Getty Images
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To all those affected by the memory-stealing disease of Alzheimer’s—may we find a cure.
CONTENTS
Praise for Patti Callahan Henry
Also by Patti Callahan Henry
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
The Memory Book: Interview with Aunt Rosalind and Uncle Fred
Chapter Twelve
>
Chapter Thirteen
The Memory Book: Interview with Bob Macken
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Memory Book: Interview with Mr. Bivins
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
The Memory Book: Interview with Harry Williams
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
The Memory Book: Gavin Donohue’s Story
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Readers Guide
About the Author
Your feet will bring you where your heart is.
Irish proverb
Prologue
Memory is the seamstress, and a capricious one at that.
Virginia Woolf, Orlando
The wedding for Colleen Donohue, Lena to her family and friends, and Walter Littleton was ready to begin one spring afternoon. The Lowcountry of South Carolina preened, the temperature in the seventies without a hint of the summer humidity that would arrive soon, the river shimmering with glints of sunlight captured in its crests, the blooms of the azaleas and gardenias competing for attention. The air was soft as cashmere.
For this very day much dreaming and planning had gone on behind the scenes, starting with the gown. Lena’s cream-colored lace dress, originally worn by Aunt Rosalind forty years before, had been remade for Lena’s taller body. Her ethereal and younger sister, Hallie, as the maid of honor, was adorned in a pale pink sheath dress with a circle of baby gardenias on her head, her straight blond hair falling to her shoulders. Lena’s loose curls had been tamed for the day and pinned high under a pearl crown and a veil edged with tiny Swarovski crystals.
It was a small town, Watersend, South Carolina, nestled where the May River met the wide saltwater bay. The wedding was being held in the 1820s stone Episcopal church, full to overflowing. Although they weren’t church members, everyone in town did favors for the Donohues, even the priest—for Mr. Gavin Donohue, to be specific. Lena watched from the bride’s room window as outside the guests arrived in pairs and clusters. The ancient oak trees spread their gnarled limbs, offering shady protection, and sunlight filtering through the Spanish moss turning it to gossamer.
“A mass migration,” Lena said to her mother, Elizabeth, who was fastening the last of the satin buttons at the back of Lena’s dress. “I bet there’s not one person left in town. If a stranger came through, it would look like a ghost town.”
Elizabeth laughed, a sound as tiny as she was. “Well, you know your dad. He can’t help but invite everyone. If someone walks into the pub, he’s all a-chatter about his oldest daughter getting married to that endearing Littleton fella, and then he’s off inviting them. I gave up counting long ago. The Oyster Shack just decided to cook enough Lowcountry Boil to feed the entire town. It’s a safe bet.” She gazed off. “Still not sure how they’re all going to fit under that tent in our backyard, but . . .”
“It’s wonderful there are so many,” Lena said. “It’s nice that people will witness this promise. It makes it feel more true, more of a sacred commitment. Even if they are mostly here for Dad.”
“They are here for you, too, honey. You and your dad: two peas; one pod.”
Lena studied her mother’s face as she’d done all her remembered life, looking for a sign of what was missing, a gap that she’d always felt, wanting more and finding less. Was this closeness with her dad a source of pain for her mother? Or was Elizabeth merely stating the truth without subtext?
Elizabeth Donohue wore a blue lace dress that fell like waves around her slim body. She was impeccable in her appearance and mannerisms—her Virginia aristocratic heritage surrounding her like a perpetual shine. Lena had never seen her mother unkempt. Even her cotton nightgowns were ironed and coordinated with her robes. Meanwhile, Lena had trouble finding matching shoes.
Everything to do with the wedding planning had been annoying to Lena and she’d only endured it for her mother’s sake—trying to please a woman who’d never had a real wedding. They all knew the story—how her parents had agreed that the money they’d spend on a wedding would go to opening the pub. The justice of the peace in Watersend had married them, Mother in the white dress she’d worn to her high school prom, and Dad in a black suit with a cobalt-blue tie.
Lena hadn’t wanted all the nuptial hoopla; she’d merely wanted to say her vows in a simple dress, throw a huge party at her dad’s pub, the Lark, where she’d spent most of her life at his side, and then hurry on with their adventuresome life. She and Walter had so much planned—children, creative work, travel and family gatherings—and sitting through prim parties and opening gifts with dainty oohs and aahs had not been part of her dream.
Thank God for Hallie, who had not only helped Lena maintain her patience through months of cutesy-pie smiling, but also knew enough to organize the wedding events down to the last toast said and confetti tossed. Lena, her head perpetually in the clouds, as their mother was always reminding her, wouldn’t have made it a week into the spreadsheets and budget calculations. Hallie, on the other hand, dove into the deepest end of this wedding planning pool and arranged every small and beautiful detail. And now it was time; Lena had paid her dues in composure and her wedding day was here.
Hallie and Lena had spent the morning lazing in their childhood tree house, staring over the May River just as they’d done almost every Saturday of their early lives, and secretly during many midnight hours when their parents had believed they were asleep. When Mother had finally called them inside to have their hair and makeup done for the wedding, Lena had grasped Hallie’s hands and declared, “Nothing will change between us. I am here for you and you for me—the Donohue girls forever even if my last name changes.”
Hallie had cried, true-blue tears that wet her cheeks and rolled into the soft corners of her mouth. “It will change—you’ll be married while I can’t keep a guy around for more than six months.”
“Do not cry! You’ll find your soul mate, too. I know it.” Lena had pulled her sister close. “And look at us. Some things will change, but not us, not you and me.” And Lena had meant it; nothing, not even marriage, could separate her from her beloved sister.
“You won’t be able to meet me at midnight to stare at the stars, watch for the shooting one,” Hallie said quietly. “Not like before.”
“We’ll find new ways.”
It was times like this when Lena would think how much younger Hallie really seemed—not immature as much as naïve. She’d never dated anyone seriously for more than a few months, and her shy insecurity kept her from the wider world, even attending college at the local satellite of the University of South Carolina. Hallie was living at home and finding jobs as a wedding organizer and party planner. Why did Hallie ever need to go anywhere else? she asked when pushed on the subject. She had everything she wanted right there. So, yes, Lena’s marriage was putting a bit of a strain on Hallie’s life cocoon.
Outside the bridal room door, the organ reverberated with “How Great Thou Art,” one of three songs that the organist, a last-minute replacement, knew. “That’s the third time she’s played that song,” Lena sa
id to her mother. She leaned close to the mirror and once again checked her rosy lipstick. She didn’t often wear makeup and her face looked dollish and plastic so she wiped some off just as the door burst open and her three bridesmaids entered bearing a contraband champagne bottle held high.
“You ready?” Kerry asked, her face especially bright and cheerful with too much blush and eye shadow. Count on her to sneak in the alcohol.
It was Sara who popped the cork and poured the bubbly into those plastic flutes that Lena so hated. They always cracked when she drank from them.
“Let’s save it for after,” Margy said. “Can’t have a drunk bride.”
Kerry made a dismissive sound. “One small sip for everyone!” She held her thumb and forefinger a hairbreadth apart and laughed.
Margy handed a flute with one splash of bubbly to Lena. “Let’s cheer to a long and happy life with your great love.”
“To stellar sex and forever together,” Sara said.
“Sara,” Lena said, and pointed to her mother with a laugh.
Sara pretended to whisper. “Oh, no. Doesn’t your mom know about sex?”
Mother took the champagne bottle from Margy and poured herself a small amount into a real glass from the side table. No plastic for Elizabeth. “Oh, that,” she said with a wink. “Our children arrived in pink and blue packages.”
“Okay, enough,” Margy said. “Let’s cheer.”
“Not without my little sister,” Lena said. “Where’s Hallie?”
No one answered, each glancing around.
“Mother, do you know where she is?” Lena asked, taking the champagne bottle and walking toward the doorway.
“Darling, I’ve been in here with you the entire time.” Mother stepped forward and attempted to take the bottle from Lena’s hand. “You’re going to spill that on your dress. You know how you are.”
Yes, Lena did know how she was: klutzy. And how lovely of her mother to remind her at that moment.
“I’ll get her.” Kerry headed for the door, in such a rush she almost knocked over the brass cross on the banquet.