Home Again
Home Again
HOME AGAIN
Kristin Hannah
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Watch out, LaVyrle Spencer. Hannah's latest, after Waiting for the Moon, places her squarely among today's best-known mainstream romance authors. When movie star Angel DeMarco suffers his first heart attack on location near Seattle, his survival depends on a heart transplant. He's medevac-ed to a local hospital famed for its cardiology unit and placed under the care of Dr. Madelaine Hillyard-the pregnant girlfriend he'd abandoned 17 years earlier. Facing death, he's forced to come to terms with his misspent life and attempt to make things right with Madelaine; his saintly priest brother, Francis; and his rebellious teenaged daughter. This is a tender, beautifully told story of emotional growth, forgiveness, the possibility of miracles and the frightening, humbling experience of-literally-placing your heart in another's hands.
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Dear Reader,
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At the center of Home Again is Madelaine - a brilliant cardiologist, a loving mother, a tender friend, and a woman full of self-doubt. It is also the story of her confused and angry daughter, Lina, and of the two very different men Madelaine loves: Francis, a priest searching for his faith, and Angel, a talented but cynical man with a broken heart. When tragedy suddenly brings them all together, they must learn to forgive the betrayals of the past and find the courage to love again.
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Copyright
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HOME AGAIN
Kristin Hannah
FAWCETT CRESS NEW YORK
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as unsold or destroyed and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
A Fawcett Cress Book Published by Ballantine Books Copyright 1996 by Kristin Hannah All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
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Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 96-96850
ISBN 0-449-22635-2
Back cover photo by Jim Cummins
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: December 1996
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Dedication
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This is a book about old friends, and I dedicate it to the following people: Benjamin and Tucker, my deepest loves,
all the friends from the old days and the old neighborhoods -Charlotte Stan, Mary Kay Atchison, Gretchen Lauber, Kim Heltne-Newland, Karie Dovre-Bennett, Sara Harvey, Anne Redford, Kristin Rhyndance, and Karen Abner. Out of touch, perhaps, but never out of mind....
And to the newest members of my family-Debbie Edwards, Julie Gorset, and John Turner. Thanks to you all.
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Acknowledgments
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I couldn't have written this novel without the help and advice of many people. To Reverend Roger Decker, Rena O'Brien, Cathy Sanders, and Gardner Congdon of the Northwest Organ Procurement Agency; and to Lydia Carroll and Sandy Kruse at the University of Washington Medical Center, thanks so much for your time. Many thanks to Dr. Barbara Snyder, who set aside her own incredible workload to check the accuracy of this book. I owe you a big one.
And to Andrea Cirillo, agent extraordinaire, who believed in this book from the beginning
... and kept believing.
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Home Again
Chapter One
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Reporters had been circling the event for days now. Headlines flourished. Innuendo about drug use and illicit behavior nipped at the heels of the celebrities who'd congregated in the small Oregon town. It was a wrap party for a major motion picture, and things like this didn't take place in LaGrangeville. The Elks Hall hadn't been used for anything other than quiet meetings in years, but tonight it pulsed with loud, discordant music. Townspeople and photographers swarmed the narrow main street, seeing themselves in the mirrored windows of the limousines that prowled past, waiting for something explosive, something totally Hollywood, to happen.
But even so, even with all the articles and interviews and paparazzi, no one knew how close to the truth the Enquirer's headline sentence would be: It was a party to die for.
Angel DeMarco emerged from the temperature-controlled cocoon of the limousine. Through a blur of cigarette smoke and drizzly rain, he saw the crowd gathered across the street. Faceless bodies huddled behind a long, yellow police line.
It's him, DeMarco!
Cameras erupted in buzzing bursts of light. The rain looked surreal, streaks of prismatic silver, puddles of impossible light on the black street.
Angel... look this way! Angel Angel Angel...
Their adoration swept through him in an exhilarating wave. God, how he loved his fame. He took a long drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly, then flashed them the smile, the grin that just last week People magazine had labeled the twenty-thousand-megawatter. He waved. The gray trail of his cigarette smoke snaked through the air.
He stepped sideways to allow his date-he couldn't remember her name-to get out of the car.
She surfaced slowly. A high-heeled black leather shoe and long, slinky leg shot out of the darkness. Her heel clicked hard on the pavement. She leaned forward, thrust her teased pile of peroxide-yellow hair forward, followed it with a magnificent amount of cleavage, and thrust out of the car. Instinctively she turned to the crowd, adjusting her pink rubber dress as she smiled and waved.
Angel had to give her credit: the woman knew how to make an entrance. He took her hand and pulled her toward his adoring fans. Her ridiculous heels clicked and skidded on the slick pavement, but the sound was soon drowned out by the roar of the crowd, when they realized that he was coming toward them.
Young girls screamed and reached out for him. A few of them, he recognized-they were the same freckle-faced small-town teenagers who had skipped school to watch the filming of his movie. They'd stood on the perimeter every day, bunched together behind the barricades, screaming and giggling and crying when he emerged from his trailer to shoot a scene.
They asked nothing of him, this crowd of admirers, nothing except his presence. He could be wild and immature and selfish, and they didn't care-they only cared that he gave his all to the screen. He gave them his biggest, sexiest smile, allowing his gaze to scan the crowd. He presented each girl a moment, a single heartbeat of time when he was looking at her alone.
Angel, can we have your autograph? What do you think of LaGrangeville? When will the movie be out? Will you show it here first?