Sometimes I Lie

Sometimes I Lie

by Alice Feeney

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Overview

NEW YORK TIMES AND INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER

“Boldly plotted, tightly knotted—a provocative true-or-false thriller that deepens and darkens to its ink-black finale. Marvelous.” —AJ Finn, author of The Woman in the Window

My name is Amber Reynolds. There are three things you should know about me:

1. I’m in a coma.

2. My husband doesn’t love me anymore.

3. Sometimes I lie.

Amber wakes up in a hospital. She can’t move. She can’t speak. She can’t open her eyes. She can hear everyone around her, but they have no idea. Amber doesn’t remember what happened, but she has a suspicion her husband had something to do with it. Alternating between her paralyzed present, the week before her accident, and a series of childhood diaries from twenty years ago, this brilliant psychological thriller asks: Is something really a lie if you believe it's the truth?

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781432861254
Publisher: Gale Group
Publication date: 05/22/2019
Edition description: Large Print
Pages: 460
Sales rank: 964,861
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.00(d)

About the Author

Alice Feeney is a writer and journalist. She has spent fifteen years with BBC News where she worked as a reporter, news editor, arts and entertainment producer, and One O'Clock news producer. Alice has lived in London and Sydney and has now settled in the Surrey countryside, where she lives with her husband and dog. Sometimes I Lie is her debut.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Now

Boxing Day, December 2016

I've always delighted in the free fall between sleep and wakefulness. Those precious few semiconscious seconds before you open your eyes, when you catch yourself believing that your dreams might just be your reality. A moment of intense pleasure or pain, before your senses reboot and inform you who and where and what you are. For now, for just a second longer, I'm enjoying the self-medicated delusion that permits me to imagine that I could be anyone, I could be anywhere, I could be loved.

I sense the light behind my eyelids and my attention is drawn to the platinum band on my finger. It feels heavier than it used to, as though it is weighing me down. A sheet is pulled over my body. It smells unfamiliar and I consider the possibility that I'm in a hotel. Any memory of what I dreamt evaporates. I try to hold on, try to be someone and stay somewhere I am not, but I can't. I am only ever me and I am here, where I already know I do not wish to be. My limbs ache and I'm so very tired; I don't want to open my eyes, until I remember that I can't.

Panic spreads through me like a blast of icy cold air. I can't recall where this is or how I got here, but I know who I am. My name is Amber Reynolds. I am thirty-five years old. I'm married to Paul. I repeat these three things in my head, holding on to them tightly, as though they might save me, but I'm mindful that some part of the story is lost, the last few pages ripped out. When the memories are as complete as I can manage, I bury them until they are quiet enough inside my head to allow me to think, to feel, to try to make sense of it all. One memory refuses to comply, fighting its way to the surface, but I don't want to believe it.

The sound of a machine breaks into my consciousness, stealing my last few fragments of hope and leaving me with nothing except the unwanted knowledge that I am in a hospital. The sterilized stench of the place makes me want to gag. I hate hospitals. They are the home of death and regrets that missed their slots, not somewhere I would ever choose to visit, let alone stay.

There were people here before, strangers, I remember that now. They used a word I chose not to hear. I recall lots of fuss, raised voices, and fear, not just my own. I struggle to unearth more, but my mind fails me. Something very bad has happened, but I cannot remember what or when.

Why isn't he here?

It can be dangerous to ask a question when you already know the answer.

He does not love me.

I bookmark that thought.

I hear a door open. Footsteps, then the silence returns but it's spoiled, no longer pure. I can smell stale cigarette smoke, the sound of pen scratching paper to my right. Someone coughs to my left and I realize there are two of them. Strangers in the dark. I feel colder than before and so terribly small. I have never known a terror like the one that takes hold of me now.

I wish someone would say something.

"Who is she?" asks a woman's voice.

"No idea. Poor love, what a mess," replies another woman.

I wish they'd said nothing at all. I start to scream.

My name is Amber Reynolds! I'm a radio presenter! Why don't you know who I am?

I shout the same sentences over and over, but they ignore me, because on the outside I am silent. On the outside, I am nobody and I have no name.

I want to see the me they have seen. I want to sit up, reach out and touch them. I want to feel something again. Anything. Anyone. I want to ask a thousand questions. I think I want to know the answers. They used the word from before too, the one I don't want to hear.

The women leave, closing the door behind them, but the word stays behind, so that we are alone together and I am no longer able to ignore it. I can't open my eyes. I can't move. I can't speak. The word bubbles to the surface, popping on impact, and I know it to be true.

Coma.

CHAPTER 2

Then

One week earlier — Monday, December 19, 2016

I tiptoe downstairs in the early-morning darkness, careful not to wake him. Everything is where it ought to be and yet I'm sure something is missing. I pull on my heavy winter coat to combat the cold and walk through to the kitchen to begin my routine. I start with the back door and repeatedly turn the handle until I'm sure it is locked:

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

Next, I stand in front of the large range oven with my arms bent at the elbows, as though I am about to conduct the impressive orchestra of gas hobs. My fingers form the familiar shape: the index and middle finger finding the thumb on each hand. I whisper quietly to myself, while visually checking that all of the knobs and dials are switched off. I do a complete sweep three times, my fingernails clicking together to create a Morse code that only I can decipher. Once satisfied that everything is safe and secure, I go to leave the kitchen, lingering briefly in the doorway, wondering if today is a day when I might need to turn back and begin the whole routine again. It isn't.

I creep across creaking floorboards into the hall, pick up my bag, and check the contents. Phone. Wallet. Keys. I close it, open it, then check again. Phone. Wallet. Keys. I check a third time on my way to the front door. I stop for a moment and am shocked to see the woman inside the mirror staring back at me. I have the face of someone who might have been pretty once — I barely recognize her now. A mixed palette of light and dark. Long black lashes frame my large green eyes. Sad shadows have settled beneath them, thick brown eyebrows above. My skin is a pale canvas stretched over my cheekbones. My hair is so brown it's almost black, and lazy straight strands rest on my shoulders for lack of a better idea. I brush it roughly with my fingers before scraping it back into a ponytail, securing the hair off my face with a band from my wrist. My lips part as though I am going to say something, but only air escapes my mouth. A face for radio stares back.

I remember the time and remind myself that the train won't wait for me. I haven't said good-bye, but I don't suppose it matters. I switch off the light and leave the house, checking three times that the front door is locked before marching down the moonlit garden path.

It's early, but I'm already late. Madeline will be in the office by now, the newspapers will have been read, raped of any good stories. The producers will have picked through the paper carcasses, before being barked at and bullied into getting her the best interviews for this morning's show. Taxis will be on their way to pick up and spit out overly excited and underprepared guests. Every morning is different and yet has become completely routine. It's been six months since I joined the Coffee Morning team and things are not going according to plan. A lot of people would think I have a dream job, but nightmares are dreams too.

I briefly stop to buy coffee for myself and a colleague in the foyer, then climb the stone steps to the fifth floor. I don't like lifts. I fix a smile on my face before stepping into the office and reminding myself that this is what I do best: change to suit the people around me. I can do "Amber the friend" or "Amber the wife," but right now it's time for "Amber from Coffee Morning." I can play all the parts life has cast me in, I know all my lines; I've been rehearsing for a very long time.

The sun has barely risen but as predicted, the small, predominately female team has already assembled. Three fresh-faced producers, powered by caffeine and ambition, sit hunched over their desks. Surrounded by piles of books, old scripts, and empty mugs, they tap away on their keyboards as though their cats' lives depend on it. In the far corner, I can see the glow of Madeline's lamp in her own private office. I sit down at my desk and switch on the computer, returning the warm smiles and greetings from the others. People are not mirrors — they don't see you how you see yourself.

Madeline has gone through three personal assistants this year. Nobody lasts very long before she discards them. I don't want my own office and I don't need a PA, I like sitting out here with everyone else. The seat next to mine is empty. It's unusual for Jo not to be here by now and I worry that something might be wrong. I look down at the spare coffee getting cold, then talk myself into taking it to Madeline's office. Call it a peace offering.

I stop in the open doorway like a vampire waiting to be invited in. Her office is laughably small, literally a converted store cupboard, because she refuses to sit with the rest of the team. There are framed photos of Madeline with celebrities squeezed onto every inch of the fake walls, and a small shelf of awards behind her desk. She doesn't look up. I observe the ugly short hair, gray roots making themselves known beneath the black spikes. Her chins rest on top of each other, while the rest of her rolled flesh is thankfully hidden beneath the baggy black clothes. The desk lamp shines on the keyboard, over which Madeline's ring-adorned fingers hover. I know she can see me.

"I thought you might need this," I say, disappointed with the simplicity of the words given how long it took me to find them.

"Put it on the desk," she replies, her eyes not leaving the screen.

You're welcome.

A small fan heater splutters away in the corner and the burnt-scented warmth snakes up around my legs, holding me in place. I find myself staring at the mole on her cheek. My eyes do that sometimes: focus on a person's imperfections, momentarily forgetting that they can see me seeing the things they'd rather I didn't.

"Did you have a nice weekend?" I venture.

"I'm not ready to talk to people yet," she says. I leave her to it.

Back at my desk, I scan through the pile of post that has gathered since Friday: a couple of ghastly-looking novels that I will never read, some fan mail, and an invite to a charity gala that catches my eye. I sip my coffee and daydream about what I might wear and whom I would take along if I went. I should do more charity work, really, I just never seem to have the time. Madeline is the face of Crisis Child as well as the voice of Coffee Morning. I've always found her close relationship with the country's biggest children's charity slightly strange, given that she hates children and never had any of her own. She never even married. She's completely alone in life but never lonely.

Once I've sorted the post, I read through the briefing notes for this morning's program. It's always useful to have a bit of background knowledge before the show. I can't find my red pen, so I head for the stationery cupboard.

It's been restocked.

I glance over my shoulder and then back at the neatly piled shelves of supplies. I grab a handful of Post-it notes, then I take a few red pens, pushing them into my pockets. I keep taking them until they are all gone and the box is empty. I leave the other colors behind. Nobody looks up as I walk back to my desk. They don't see me empty everything into my drawer and lock it.

Just as I'm starting to worry that my only friend here isn't making an appearance today, Jo walks in and smiles at me. She's dressed the same as always, in blue denim jeans and a white top, like she can't move on from the nineties. The boots she says she hates are worn down at the heel and her blond hair is damp from the rain. She sits at the desk next to mine, opposite the rest of the producers.

"Sorry I'm late," she whispers. Nobody apart from me notices.

The last to arrive is Matthew, the editor of the program. This is not unusual. His skinny chinos are straining at the seams, worn low to accommodate the bulge around his middle. They're slightly too short for his long legs, revealing colorful socks above his brown, shiny shoes. He heads straight to his tidy desk by the window without saying hello. Why a team of women who produce a show for women is managed by a man is beyond my comprehension. But then Matthew took a chance and gave me this job when my predecessor abruptly left, so I suppose I should be grateful.

"Matthew, can you step into my office now that you're here?" says Madeline from across the room.

"And he thought his morning couldn't get any worse," Jo whispers. "Are we still on for drinks after work?" I nod, relieved that she isn't going to disappear straight after the show again.

We watch Matthew grab his briefing notes and hurry into Madeline's office, his flamboyant coat still flapping at his sides as though it wishes it could fly. Moments later he storms back out, looking red-faced and flustered.

"We better go through to the studio," says Jo, interrupting my thoughts. It seems like a good plan given we're on in ten minutes.

"I'll see if Her Majesty is ready," I reply, pleased to see that I've made Jo smile. I catch Matthew's eye as he raises a neatly arched eyebrow in my direction. I should not have said that out loud.

As the clock counts down to the top of the hour, everyone moves into place. Madeline and I make our way to the studio to resume our familiar positions on a darkened center stage. We are observed through an enormous glass window from the safety of the gallery, like two very different animals mistakenly placed in the same enclosure. Jo and the rest of the producers sit in the gallery. It is bright and loud, with a million different-colored buttons that look terribly complicated given the simplicity of what we actually do: talk to people and pretend to enjoy it. In contrast, the studio is dimly lit and uncomfortably silent. There is just a table, some chairs, and a couple of microphones. Madeline and I sit in the gloom, quietly ignoring each other, waiting for the on-air light to go red and the first act to begin.

"Good morning, and welcome to Monday's edition of Coffee Morning. I'm Madeline Frost. A little later on today's show, we'll be joined by best-selling author E. B. Knight, but before that, we'll be discussing the rising number of female breadwinners, and for today's phone-in, we're inviting you to get in touch on the subject of imaginary friends. Did you have one as a child? Perhaps you still do...."

The familiar sound of her on-air voice calms me and I switch to autopilot, waiting for my turn to say something. I wonder if Paul is awake yet. He hasn't been himself lately — staying up late in his writing shed, coming to bed just before I get up, or not at all. He likes to call the shed a cabin. I like to call things what they are.

We spent an evening with E. B. Knight once, when Paul's first novel took off. That was over five years ago now, not long after we first met. I was a TV reporter at the time. Local news, nothing fancy. But seeing yourself on-screen does force you to make an effort with your appearance, unlike radio. I was slim then, I didn't know how to cook — I didn't have anyone to cook for before Paul and rarely made an effort just for myself. Besides, I was too busy working. I mostly did pieces about potholes or the theft of lead from church roofs, but one day, serendipity decided to intervene. Our showbiz reporter got sick and I was sent to interview some hotshot new author instead of her. I hadn't even read his book. I was hungover and resented having to do someone else's job for them, but that all changed when he walked in the room.

Paul's publisher had hired a suite at the Ritz for the interview. It felt like a stage and I felt like an actress who hadn't learned her lines. I remember feeling out of my depth, but when he sat down in the chair opposite me, I realized he was more nervous than I was. It was his first television interview and I somehow managed to put him at ease. When he asked for my card afterwards I didn't really think anything of it, but my cameraman took great pleasure in commenting on our "chemistry" all the way back to the car. I felt like a schoolgirl when he called that night. We talked and it was easy, as though we already knew each other. He said he had to go to a book awards ceremony the week after and didn't have a date. He wondered if I might be free. I was. We sat at the same table as E. B. Knight for the ceremony. It was like having dinner with a legend and a very memorable first date. She was charming, clever, and witty. I've been looking forward to seeing her again ever since I knew they had booked her as a guest.

"Good to see you," I say, as the producer brings her into the studio.

"Nice to meet you too," she replies, taking her seat. Not a flicker of recognition; how easy I am to forget.

Her trademark white bob frames her petite eighty-year-old face. She's immaculate. Even her wrinkles are neatly arranged. She looks soft around the edges, but her mind is sharp and fast. Her cheeks are pink with blusher and her blue eyes are wise and watchful, darting around the studio before fixing on their target. She smiles warmly at Madeline as though she is meeting a hero. Guests do that sometimes. It doesn't bother me, not really.

(Continues…)


Excerpted from "Sometimes I Lie"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Alice Feeney.
Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
Now,
Then,
Now,
Then,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Then,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Before,
Then,
Now,
Now,
Then,
Then,
Before,
Now,
Then,
Now,
Then,
Now,
Before,
Then,
Now,
After,
After,
Later,
Acknowledgments,
About the Author,
Copyright,

Customer Reviews

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Sometimes I Lie 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 43 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
One of the best books I've read yet !!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lots of unexpected twists. Could not put it down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Just when you think you have the story figured out, another plot twist happens. Such great story and so original. I'm going to read it again just to see what else I missed now that I know the whole story! A must read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great mystery, lots of twists and great characters. Well written
GirlWithNoSelfie More than 1 year ago
Amber the narrator wakes up, but she is not really awake. She is in a coma, but she can hear others around her as they come in and out of her hospital room. She is trying to figure out how she ended up there by piecing her life together – trying to remember what happened, and figure out what is true versus what is a flat out lie. The book rotates between her present time in the hospital (now), events leading up to the accident (then), and diary entries from her childhood (before). The book starts off slowly but it becomes a large tangled web fast. We deal with the woman in a coma, a pathological liar, an imaginary friend, an untrustworthy sister, a murderer, and the childhood diary. You will be making assumptions, but you will be wrong. There are so many secrets, memories, and stories – its hard to know what is true or real. I don’t usually swear, not when writing at least but Sometimes I Lie is one holy mother of tightly knotted twists and turns. It is the kind of psychological thriller that will have you saying WTF in the end.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Read book in one day. Engrossing, but so confusing. The names of main characters keep changing with unclear and hard to follow explanation.. bizzare .
Jolie More than 1 year ago
Sometimes I Lie is one of those books that mess with your head. I started reading this book thinking that the book was going in one direction. I wasn’t expecting the plot twist at the end of the book. I also didn’t expect the mystery of who the second narrator was. The author did a great job keeping that person’s identity secret until the end of the book. Any book that can successfully keep plot twists hidden and use red herrings correctly is a book that I recommend to anyone!! Sometimes I Lie’s plot starts off with Amber waking up in the hospital. Having no memory of the accident, she realizes that there is something wrong with her. Her fears are confirmed when her husband and sister visit and start discussing why Amber is in a coma. She starts to relive the past few weeks, trying to figure out why she ended up in a coma. She needs to find out what happened leading up to the accident. She needs to remember what happened the night of the accident. She needs to wake up. But will she? I didn’t like Amber at first. Her issues made it very hard to like her. Once the book started getting into her past, my dislike for her started to wane. I started to feel bad for her. She had been through a lot and was starting to heal when the accident happened. But, the more the book went on, the more I realized that Amber caused her own issues. I also realized that Amber wasn’t as helpless or a victim as she liked to think she was. My feelings for her at the end of the book were mixed. I had mixed feelings about the journal entries when they started. At first, I couldn’t understand why they were included. But, as the story went on, I began to understand why the author chose to include them. I thought the author was genius for not naming either girl, except for the friend’s last name. It made me assume things that turned out to be wrong. Let’s talk about plot twists. I love a good plot twist….when they are done right. In Sometimes I Lie, they were definitely done right. I was shocked when things turned out the way they did. And the huge plot twist right at the end. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I would rate Sometimes I Lie for Adults only. There is language, violence, and sex. There is a sexual assault on a bedbound hospital patient. That could trigger people reading the book. There is also a miscarriage scene that could trigger. Depression, anxiety, and OCD are also discussed…along with an unnamed mental illness. I would recommend Sometimes I Lie to family and friends but I would warn about what I listed above. This is a book that I would reread. **I chose to leave this review after reading an advance reader copy**
Anonymous 3 months ago
Mesmerizing and frightening all at once. Being in a coma, not remembering what happened or who to trust. Twisted minds, and people not who you think they are. A satisfying read
Donna4242 5 months ago
This book turns then twists and very unpredictable! Loved it! Best book I've read in some time
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Did not expect the end!! Very good, took a great twist.
Candice_S More than 1 year ago
I have to say - sometimes I really love reading a book after the initial hype around it dies down. This was one of those books for me - I had heard mostly good things about it and I worked hard to stay away from spoilers. SO glad I did because THIS BOOK IS SO GOOD. I love myself a unique premise for a psychological thriller, and this book offers that in spades. Amber wakes up in a hospital - except she is in a coma and cannot remember what happened to her, only that she thinks maybe her husband was involved. Moving between present day, the week before her accident and the past, this is an un-put-downable rollercoaster ride. I LOVED this book - I loved the twists and turns coming left and right, the fact that you really felt you couldn't trust ANYONE in this story, and the constant state of suspense it kept you in. I'm really not going to offer anything more than that for this book, because every reader deserves to get into this one blind, spoiler free and ready for anything. It's a worthwhile roller coaster ride. TRIGGER WARNING - This book does feature very graphic sexual assault/rape, and if that is a sensitive topic for you, please tread carefully.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
UGH! Couldn't wait to finish this book! Just didn't get involved in it at all. Fake, unreal. Won't read sequel if it comes out.
Talkingt77 More than 1 year ago
WOW!! What a page turner. Twist and Turns that will take you over the edge! Such a well written suspenseful thriller. You will not be disappointed with the way this story unfolds. A great Book Club read, because you will want to discuss this book with everyone you meet. 1. It pulls you in fast. 2. It doesn't let you got. 3. It keeps you on your toes. #SpreadtheLie #SometimesILie
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Wow fantastic! A bit crazy and confusing but so fantastic and wild. It keeps you on your toes wow. I couldn't put it down. Absolutely loved it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Too confusing !!!
Deb-Krenzer More than 1 year ago
This book has been on my TBR pile for a while. I kept looking at it and telling myself I needed to read that next. Somehow, it was always forgotten and I started on another one. That is until one day earlier this year. Apparently, my sub conscience was trying to tell me something. I really tried to get into this book. However, it just didn't happen for me. I think the premise was a great one, but it just wasn't working for me with the writing style. I just could not get into it. I did, however, like the fact that the book was written from the coma patient's point of view. I think the author did a great job with that part. Apparently, I am in the minority with my thoughts on the book, so it may just be me. I was glad to see that there were others who felt the same way though. Thanks to Flatiron Books for providing me with a free ARC in exchange for an honest, unbiased review.
CrazyCat_Alex More than 1 year ago
I am one of the many that didn't get the many twists in the story. I had a hard time keeping up with all the secrets and turns. Not my kind of book, but, please, give it a try and judge for yourself. I chose to read this book and all opinions in this review are my own and completely unbiased. Thanks to NetGalley and Flatiron Books!
Anonymous 21 days ago
WOW%0A
Anonymous 4 months ago
k
marykuhl 7 months ago
In the description of this book, Amber is in a coma, her husband doesn't love her and sometimes she lies. Amber believes that her husband has something to do with her being in the hospital. I started out reading this book and I really didn't like it. I didn't like Amber, I didn't like her sister Claire. I hated their parents. The only two people I liked were Matthew, her producer and Jo, her best friend. Neither of these characters had big parts. Then about half way through, this book turned around. I still didn't like the characters, but more was happening and it held my interest. This book is written in 3 different timelines. The first is the childhood diary, written between 1991 - 1992. This gives enough of the background, as the story goes on, to understand the writers childhood, her fears, her anger and her hurt. The 2nd timeline is December 2016 - 1 week before the accident. As this unfolds, we can see what the events were leading up to the accident. Then the 3rd and final timeline starts the day Amber realizes she is in a coma. She can hear things, she can feel things but she cannot communicate. She has dreams, she has memories, she has fears. A few readers have questioned if they has missed the "twist". There seem to be a few twists in this storyline. NO SPOILERS - the biggest one for me happens when the diaries are discovered by Paul, (Amber's husband). I had to re-read that section a few times to grasp what was really happening. The very end seemed to be left open. A bit of a cliffhanger perhaps. I found myself wondering, "where are the lies?". I also wondered why she appeared to have OCD, that didn't seem to be addressed. There were parts of the story that seemed unfinished or I had forgotten about them until I got close to the end, THEN they were all answered. Overall - 4*s since I found myself hating the characters, I had a hard time getting into the story. But I am glad that I stuck with it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Amber Reynolds, 35, is married to Paul, an author, and she is in a coma. She wakes up in a hospital room. She can hear people around he, but she cannot open her eyes, speak, or move. People around her and attending her think she is still deep in a coma. She doesn’t remember what happened to put her there until she hears someone say that it was an automobile accident and that she went through the windshield. Amber works with the TV team called Coffee Morning which is headed up by Madeline, her boss. Amber has just learned that she may be fired because Madeline wants the show to herself. Amber had a difficult childhood with her mother who drank too much and her father who was just a loser. She had no real friends until she met a young girl named Taylor. They seemed to click well and became close friends. This was the time period when she started writing diaries as a result of a school assignment. It was something she continued to do throughout her childhood. Today, Amber is clinging to life and trying to make sense of what has happened to her. The story switches back and forth from the present to the past when Amber was a child. We see her relationships with her friend, Amber, her parents, her husband, and her co-workers. I found it difficult to keep up with what was going on and, quite frankly, was beginning to become rather bored with the book. However, I don’t like to not finish a book so I carried on. It is a sad, creepy, dark, and frightening story that should check all of the boxes for the thriller/mystery crowd. For myself, I would have preferred a story that was not so difficult to follow. I borrowed this book from my local library.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I couldn't put this book down. It was compelling from beginning to end. Absolutely amazing!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Times confusing but very very good!
TBranch More than 1 year ago
The opening lines set the stage very well. My name is Amber Reynolds. There are three things you should know about me: 1. I’m in a coma. 2. My husband doesn’t love me anymore. 3. Sometimes I lie. Amber is in a coma, she can’t move or speak, but she can hear everyone around her. She doesn't remember what happened to put her in a coma, but as she listens, memories slowly come back to her. It was a bit slow in the beginning, and it took about halfway through for it to really catch me in its snares. I didn’t see the twist coming at all and I love when a book is able to surprise me!