Everything You Are: A Novel Read online

  PRAISE FOR KERRY ANNE KING

  Advance Praise for Everything You Are

  Everything You Are is a fresh, imaginative story about the power of dreams and our hunger to be who we really are. Kerry Anne King orchestrates a fluid, emotional, and wholly original tale of families, secrets, and the power of our gifts to free us. I loved every magical word.”

  —Barbara O’Neal, author of The Art of Inheriting Secrets

  Real and raw, King’s Everything You Are is a gorgeous tale of life told between those lines too often blurred. Love and sorrow, regret and hope are woven into every aspect of the story by music; not just any music, but the magical kind that leaves both creator and listener, for better or worse, irrevocably changed.

  —Terri-Lynne DeFino, author of The Bar Harbor Retirement Home for Famous Writers (And Their Muses)

  “Writing sensitively about characters struggling to overcome tragedy and loss, Kerry Anne King has delivered a beautiful, soulful novel that hits all the right notes—especially for music lovers. It will leave you with tears in your eyes and sighs of contentment when you reach the satisfying, emotional conclusion. A richly rewarding read.”

  —Julianne MacLean, USA Today bestselling author

  Praise for Whisper Me This

  “Rich in emotions and characters, Whisper Me This is a stunning tale of dark secrets, broken memories, and the resilience of the human spirit. The novel quickly pulls the reader onto a roller-coaster ride through grief, mystery, and cryptic journal entries. At the heart of the story is an unforgettable twelve-year-old, who has more sense than most adults, and her mother, Maisey, who is about to discover not only her courage, but the power of her voice. A book club must-read!”

  —Barbara Claypole White, bestselling author of The Perfect Son

  “Moving and emotionally taut, Whisper Me This is a gut-wrenching story of a family fractured by abuse and lies . . . and the ultimate sacrifice of a mother’s love. King once again proves herself an expert with family drama. A triumph of a book.”

  —Emily Carpenter, author of The Weight of Lies and Burying the Honeysuckle Girls

  “Kerry Anne King writes with such insight and compassion for human nature, and her latest novel, Whisper Me This, is no exception. The families on which the story centers have secrets they’ve kept through the years out of concern for the damage that might be done if they were exposed. But in the end as the families’ lives become intertwined and their secrets come inevitably to light, what is revealed to be the most riveting heart of this book are the gut-wrenching choices that were made in terrifying circumstances. One such choice haunted a mother throughout her lifetime and left behind a legacy of mistrust and confusion and a near-unsolvable mystery. Following the clues is an act of faith that sometimes wavers. There’s no guarantee the end will tie up in a neat bow, but the courage of the human spirit, its ability to heal, is persistent and luminous throughout the pages of this very real and emotive story. I loved it.”

  —Barbara Taylor Sissel, bestselling author of Crooked Little Lies and Faultlines

  Praise for I Wish You Happy

  “Laugh, cry, get angry, but most of all care in this wild ride of emotions delivered by Kerry Anne King. Brilliant prose inhabited by engaging characters makes this a story you cannot put down.”

  —Patricia Sands, author of the Love in Provence series

  “Depicting the depth of human frailty yet framing it within a picture of hope, I Wish You Happy pulls you in as you root for the flawed yet intoxicating characters to reach a satisfying conclusion of healing. King’s writing is impeccable—and her knowledge and exploration of depression and how it affects those it touches makes this a story that everyone will connect with.”

  —Kay Bratt, author of Wish Me Home

  “Kerry Anne King’s Rae is a woman caught between the safety of her animal rescue projects and the messy, sometimes terrifying reality of human relationships. You’ll never stop rooting for her as she steps into the light, risking everything for real friendship and love in this wistful, delicate, and ultimately triumphant tale.”

  —Emily Carpenter, author of Burying the Honeysuckle Girls and The Weight of Lies

  “Kerry Anne King explores happiness and depression [and] the concept of saving others versus saving ourselves in this wonderfully written and touching novel populated by real and layered people. If you want to read a book that restores your faith in humanity, pick up I Wish You Happy.”

  —Amulya Malladi, bestselling author of A House for Happy Mothers and The Copenhagen Affair

  “It’s the horrible accident that forms the backbone of the plot at the beginning of I Wish You Happy that will take your breath and have you turning the pages. The hook has a vivid, ripped-from-the-headlines vibe, one that will have you wondering what you would do, how you would respond in a similar situation. But there are so many other treasures to find in this story as it unfolds. From the warm, deeply human, and relatable characters to the heartbreaking and complex situation they find themselves in, this is a novel to savor, one you will be sorry to see end. Sometimes funny and often very wise and poignant, I Wish You Happy is a reading journey you do not want to miss.”

  —Barbara Taylor Sissel, bestselling author of Crooked Little Lies and Faultlines

  “Kerry Anne King has written a novel that will grab you right from page one and then take you zipping along, breaking your heart and making you laugh, both in equal measure. It’s a lovely story about how we save ourselves while we try to save those around us. I loved it!”

  —Maddie Dawson, author of six novels, including The Survivor’s Guide to Family Happiness

  Praise for Closer Home

  “A compelling and heartfelt tale. A must-read that is rich in relatable characters and emotions. Kerry Anne King is one to watch out for!”

  —Steena Holmes, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  “With social media conferring blistering fame and paparazzi exhibiting the tenacity often required to get a clear picture of our lives, King has created a high-stakes, public stage for her tale of complicated grief. A quick read with emotional depth you won’t soon forget.”

  —Kathryn Craft, author of The Far End of Happy and The Art of Falling

  “Closer Home is a story as memorable and meaningful as your favorite song, with a cast of characters so true to life you’ll be sorry to let them go.”

  —Sonja Yoerg, author of House Broken and Middle of Somewhere

  “Kerry Anne King’s tale of regret, loss, and love pulled me in, from its intriguing beginning to its oh-so-satisfying conclusion.”

  —Jackie Bouchard, USA Today bestselling author of House Trained and Rescue Me, Maybe

  “King’s prose is filled with vitality.”

  —Ella Carey, author of Paris Time Capsule and The House by the Lake

  ALSO BY KERRY ANNE KING

  Closer Home: A Novel

  I Wish You Happy: A Novel

  Whisper Me This: A Novel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kerry Anne King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of
Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542041966

  ISBN-10: 1542041961

  Cover design by Faceout Studio, Lindy Martin

  Kevin, this one is for you

  CONTENTS

  Start Reading

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Without music, life would be a mistake.

  —Friedrich Nietzsche

  Chapter One

  PHEE

  1998, Seattle

  Ophelia MacPhee, newly eighteen years old and full of life and curiosity, takes the stairs to the apartment above MacPhee’s Fine Instruments two at a time. Granddad missed her birthday dinner, claiming old bones and exhaustion, but had called to say, “You’ll come by afterward, Phee. I have a gift for you.”

  She can’t wait to see what he has for her. Grandmother’s emerald ring, perhaps. Or maybe something related to the MacPhee luthier business. She’s become proficient enough at repairs that he trusts her with most of the instruments that come into the shop, and they’ve been making plans for her to build her first violin.

  Maybe he’ll give her a set of tools of her own, or a piece of wood that she will shape into an Ophelia MacPhee original.

  “I’m here,” she sings out as she hits the top of the stairs, and then she skids to a halt, staring.

  A small, precise woman with a shiny black briefcase sits at the table. A stranger.

  “You made it,” Granddad says. He hugs Phee, kisses both of her cheeks. “Happy birthday. Have a seat, my girl. This is my attorney, Angela Toth.”

  The woman nods at Phee, managing to convey disapproval without a word.

  Granddad pours three glasses from a bottle on the table.

  “She’s underage,” the attorney objects as Phee picks up the glass and sniffs at the contents.

  “Only in America. And the whiskey came with me all the way from the old country. Tonight, we celebrate.”

  It’s far from Phee’s first drink, but it is the first one countenanced by adults. The glass, the woman with the shiny briefcase, and her grandfather’s unusual mood all create a mysterious solemnity, like high mass, only different.

  “A toast,” her grandfather says. “To Ophelia MacPhee!” He raises his glass, and Phee and the attorney follow suit. The whiskey is smooth and potent, and Phee can feel it warming her blood after the first swallow.

  “You’ll be wondering why Angela is here, of course,” her grandfather says, draining half of his glass.

  “I am,” Phee admits.

  He spreads his arms wide in a grand gesture. “I am giving you the business.”

  She stares at him in shocked silence, and he laughs.

  “Don’t look like that, child. I’d always planned to give it to you sooner or later. It’s become sooner. A perfect birthday gift, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think I understand.” She takes another cautious sip of her own whiskey, elation growing in her breast. She’ll follow in his footsteps, maybe even surpass him. She’ll be a brilliant luthier; maybe she’ll create an instrument that people will still be talking about hundreds of years from now.

  “It’s all yours,” Granddad says. But he looks tired and frail, smaller, not happy and excited about this unexpected gift. “Explain,” he orders the attorney.

  Angela lays her briefcase in the middle of the table and makes a production out of unsnapping the locks, opening it, and drawing out a set of papers.

  “These are the legal documents. Read carefully, then sign here, initial here.”

  “Oh, explain it to her, Angela. It will take her hours to read all that.”

  The woman fixes him with a severe gaze. “She should read every word, Adrian.”

  He makes a rude noise with his lips. “She can read it later. You’re turning my party into a boring legal event.” He splashes more whiskey into his glass.

  “You are in too much of a hurry,” the attorney says. “This is a boring legal event. In general, Ophelia, these papers lay out the terms of your grandfather’s bequest. Your signature indicates that you accept his gift of the building, the business, and everything within these walls, along with an account into which he has deposited a sum of money for your use.”

  “You accept all of my obligations,” the old man interrupts, with emphasis. “It’s part of the language.”

  “You should read it,” Angela says. “We can wait.”

  “You can wait. I’m paying for every minute you are here. Once she’s signed, Ophelia will be paying.”

  “We could have done this in my office.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It needs to happen here. Tonight.”

  Phee takes the papers and tries to read, but the arguing is distracting. The whiskey has set up a quiet buzz in her head, and worry over her grandfather’s atypical behavior aggravates everything. She scans through it, five pages of densely written legalese that twists on itself and makes her go back and reread, over and over. Still, she only grasps the highlights, the terms already pointed out.

  At the bottom, above the space for her signature, it reads:

  I, Ophelia Florence MacPhee, being of sound mind and purpose, do hereby swear a sacred oath to accept and discharge all obligations, tangible and intangible, related to the post of luthier.

  An unusual phrasing. Something in her belly objects. The walls seem to be closing in, and she pushes the paper away. “Why now? If you want me to have it, can’t you just leave it to me in a will?”

  “Wills take forever to execute. Besides, why wait? After I die, you’ll feel like you should be grieving. Now you can sign the papers with joyful enthusiasm.”

  “And Dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “This would be a bit of a shocker for him, don’t you think?” Phee’s father is tone deaf and not musically inclined, but she knows full well that as the only son he expects to inherit the full estate.

  “Your father will receive a financial bequest. But he would just sell the business to some stranger. I can’t have that. I need you to carry on the MacPhee name.”

  Everything Granddad says sounds logical enough, but her father isn’t going to see it that way. Besides the money aspect, he’s dead set on Phee going to college and getting some kind of useful degree. What that would be, since she has no interest in anything other than music and instruments, is a frequent dinnertime debate. But he won’t be at all happy about her taking over the luthier business.

  “Would I move in with you, then?” she asks, half dizzy with possibilities. “Live here? And what’s the ‘intangible’ part all about? I don’t understand.”

  Her grandfather rolls his eyes. “What is it with young people today? My generation didn’t think so much.”

  Phee glares at him, and his face sobers.

  “I’m
dying, Phee.”

  “Not now. Not yet.” She shoves the papers away. “Not for a long time.”

  “Cancer.” He lays the single word out on the table with the papers, and all three of them stare at its ugliness. Granddad with a resigned twist of humor. The lawyer as if she’s seen it so many times it doesn’t shock her. Phee with the terror of the untried young.

  “Oh my God! Do Dad and Mom know?”

  “Nobody knows. This is between me, you, and the doctors. Well, and Angela, of course.”

  “But, Granddad! You’ll need help. We can—”

  “The only help I need, Ophelia MacPhee, is for you to sign these papers and promise that you will accept the responsibility for all of my obligations.”

  Phee can’t breathe. The pen seems exaggerated in size, a weight her slight fingers will never be able to manage. The old man lays a hand over hers. So thin, the skin so transparent she can see the tracery of blue veins beneath. How did she not notice? How did none of them notice he’d been ill?

  “Who is to do this thing, if not you?” he asks her.

  “You could try a different doctor. Radiation, chemo. There has to be something.”

  He shakes his head, more in impatience than sadness. “It’s in my liver. In my bones. I’m an old man, on borrowed time already. There can be no waiting. Sign it, Phee. Say that you will be responsible for everything when I am no longer here.”

  “I go on record as saying I recommend you wait,” the attorney says. But she makes no move to intervene.

  Phee looks up at her grandfather. “You’ll be here, to help?”

  “Always. Dead or alive.”

  She doesn’t understand her own resistance. He will die, whether she signs or not. He wants her to have the shop, and she wants to own it, wants to be a luthier.

  Still, her fingers tremble as she signs.

  It’s on the last stroke of the pen, the upsweep at the end of the final e in MacPhee, that she first hears the music. A deep, sonorous tone, long held. It startles her so that she drops the pen. Her eyes meet her grandfather’s, and she reads sorrowful awareness there. The attorney, not missing a beat, signs her own name on the document below the spidery signature that is her grandfather’s trademark.