Dead of summer : a novel / Jessa Maxwell.

By:

Maxwell, Jessa [author.]

Material type: Text

TextPublisher: New York : Atria Books, [2025]Description: 288 pages ; 23 cmContent type:

text

Media type:

unmediated

Carrier type:

volume

ISBN:

9781668070390
1668070391

Genre/Form:

DDC classification:

[Fic] 23

LOC classification:

PS3613.A

List(s) this item appears in: Coming Soon

Average rating: 0.0 (0 votes)

Holdings
Item type	Current library	Collection	Shelving location	Call number	Status	Date due	Barcode	Item holds
Adult Book	Phillipsburg Free Public Library	Adult Fiction	New Books	FIC MAXWELL	Ordered

Total holds: 2

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

Years after her best friend mysteriously disappeared from a remote New England island, a young woman returns in search of answers in this atmospheric and scintillating thriller from Jessa Maxwell, nationally bestselling author of the "deliciously entertaining" (Sarah Penner, New York Times bestselling author) The Golden Spoon .

Orla O'Connor hasn't been to the isolated New England enclave of Hadley Island since she graduated from high school a decade ago. As a teenager, her best friend Alice disappeared from its shores without a trace--but with plenty of rumors.

Now, Orla returns to her family's beachfront home to clean it out before her parents sell it. The island and her best friend's house next door, abandoned after her family left in grief, are stirring up memories she would like to avoid. Then there are the locals, always gossiping and watching Orla's every move. Worst of all, David, Orla's childhood crush and son of a wealthy Manhattan family, is back for the summer with his new, impossibly pretty girlfriend, Faith.

Faith suspects that David is going to propose but as soon as she settles into his family's sprawling Hadley Island estate, she feels out of place. She anticipated a luxurious summer of fun and romance, but David is never around--lured into business conversations with his entrepreneur father from dawn to dusk. With nothing else to do, Faith begins to investigate the island's dark past, curious about what really happened to Alice all those years ago.

Meanwhile, local Henry hasn't left his house since the young girl went missing, in an attempt to let the accusations against him die down. Except they never have. For years, Henry has had an endless supply of time to pursue his only hobby, watching the island from his telescope and recording the activities of its inhabitants. But Orla's return has shaken him and lately he's been seeing strange things: shadowy figures walking on the beach in the middle of the night and a light on in the upstairs window of the long-abandoned house of the missing girl.

When there's another disappearance on the island, all three find themselves pulled into an eerie and twisty mystery that will haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

1. Faith FAITH The ring box was hidden deep in his suitcase, in the folds of a light blue James Perse shirt. Faith Ellis's stomach twists as she picks up the little velvet dust bag stamped with curved gold font: Cartier. The shower is going in the en suite and she tiptoes over to it, peeking around the bathroom door to be sure he can't see her. Through the fogged glass she can make out the tanned blur of David's back. She's safe for now. He'll stand like that for a while, his head bowed, letting the water pour over him. The shower is his "thinking time." Faith dashes back to the suitcase and slides the ring box out of the dust bag. It is red and angular with a little gold button on the front. She pushes on it, her heart thrumming, and the top flips open, revealing a massive marquise-cut diamond. She sucks in her breath and picks it up delicately between her fingers. The band is composed of a row of smaller diamonds so perfectly clear they look like tiny mirrors. A ring like this could probably pay for someone's college tuition. Faith resists the urge to try it on, imagining the horror of it getting stuck and having to fess up to David that she'd pawed through his things. She peers down into the many glimmering facets of the stone, her face refracted in icy light. Even though she is pleasantly surprised, she isn't shocked. She'd had a feeling this was coming. David had eyed the suitcase the whole journey to the island. " I'll get that," he'd said, snatching it away when the driver tried lifting it into the trunk of the Mercedes on the way to the airport, keeping it next to him in the back seat instead. It stayed with him on the Clarke private jet as well, as if someone could steal it there. Finally, Faith noted with growing anticipation that when they arrived at the house--though house is not really the proper way to describe David Clarke's childhood summer home; Mansion? Villa? Estate? --he made sure to bring the suitcase up to the bedroom himself, not allowing it to be taken up by the staff with the other luggage. A little out of character for David, but Faith has had a premonition that he was going to propose for a while now. There had been something about the way he treated her the past few months, a shift in how he has been looking at her. It has been different from those very early days, when she could tell he was appreciating her mostly for her appearance. She hadn't been bothered by it. Attraction is important and she has never had any qualms about playing it up--a woman has to use every tool at her disposal, especially someone like Faith who came from so little. And she enjoys feeling pretty, relishes the attention and the rush of knowing someone is attracted to her. But these days David looks at her squarely in the eye, like they are partners. And she finds that she likes that even more. The change is also evident in the way she's overheard him talking about her, on the phone casually turning down plans with the guys at work, the ones she knows he used to go out drinking with. These are finance guys, real boy's boys, and she enjoys hearing him reject them. "I can't. Faith and I have something that night." It is also the way he grabs her hand when they go out, walking through the West Village after dinner, like they are a pair. But it was the invitation that sealed it for her. They were in their usual seats at the Polo Bar and had already gone through half a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé when he turned to her, his face suddenly earnest, and said, "I was thinking you might want to come with me to the cottage this summer?" His voice made it sound like a question, but they both knew that David Clarke was not used to having to ask. The invite to Hadley Island was something she'd hoped for but never allowed herself to expect would happen so soon. The cottage was a cheeky reference to the ultraexclusive summer residence of David Clarke's famously wealthy family. It was someplace only their extreme inner circle was allowed to set foot. For Faith it would be a coup. "For how long?" She had tried to keep her voice even, not wanting to sound overly eager, though inside she was absolutely squealing. "The whole summer," he'd replied without missing a beat. "But my job," she'd feebly started to say, a smile already starting in her cheeks. She didn't care much about her position as an underling to an elderly publicist and they both knew it. It was always meant to be just a stopgap, a layover between her old sad and desperate life and her new glamorous and exciting one. She'd been itchy about it lately, impatient for the next phase to begin. The job has lasted longer than she would have liked, stretching past the five-year mark soon. She hadn't looked elsewhere because she was lucky to have found it, grateful that someone took a chance on her even if the office smelled like tuna fish. Grateful for someone who didn't ask too many questions or do any sort of background check. Faith didn't tell David much about her earlier days in New York, hiding the under-the-table gigs as a household assistant or bartending private parties way out in Bushwick. He wouldn't have known that her first taste of New York privilege didn't come from experience, but from the back of the house looking in and watching. She had since learned to pass herself off as someone who belongs at the tables of impossible-to-get-into restaurants and on the inside of exclusive residences. She wanted to keep it that way. So she kept her past vague. And lucky for her, David didn't ask her much. The wine was warm in her veins as she gazed back at David. She twisted her leg around the barstool. "You can come back if you need to. Dad has the jet." Ah yes, the private plane. Spoken of so casually because wealth was the only thing David knew. "Maybe," Faith said, toying with him a little by drawing the acceptance out. Though she was sure that her dour-looking boss, with his sad tuna sandwiches for lunch every day, would absolutely not understand. "Or how about you just quit," he'd said, taking a sip of wine. Being employed by his father for the last decade after a legacy stint at Yale, David had never struggled to find employment. Look at him, so incredibly privileged, and somehow he doesn't even see it, Faith had thought for one ungenerous moment before swallowing back her criticism with a gulp of expensive wine and reminding herself that this was an opportunity David was giving her. She had blinked at him trying to judge how serious he was being about the summer and about her no longer needing her job. "We both know you don't like it." That was true. "And it's not like you need the money anyway." That part was less sure. She'd moved into David's place only a few months prior. And she'd met him only a few months before that. Was that really enough time to trust him so completely? It was all very tempting. And she was beginning to have an inkling that this trip was about more than just spending a fun summer holiday together. That it was the start of something far more serious. "Come with me to the island, Faith," he'd pleaded one last time, taking her hand in both of his theatrically. "Or I'll--I'll have to bring someone else." "You wouldn't dare," she'd said as she swatted his chest. He'd laughed and shrugged, putting a potato chip topped with caviar into his mouth. Of course, when it came down to it, there was never any real question that she'd go. She'd give up whatever was necessary, jump through whichever hoops were needed to go to the "cottage." Getting asked to spend the summer on Hadley Island was like winning the lottery. And Faith had the sense that if you are lucky enough to be invited it only happens once. The shower water goes off and Faith quickly sticks the ring back into its slot. "Faith?" David calls out from the bathroom. "Just a sec!" she yells back. Fingers trembling, she slides the box back into its dust bag and reburies it under the blue shirt. David stands next to the sink with a towel around his waist. Faith goes to him, leaning against the marble vanity and watching as he puts a layer of shaving foam onto his lower face. He's good-looking to the point she didn't even trust him when they first met. The swoop of hair, the perfect lips, the body maintained to its maximum potential. "I can't wait to show you the island. This was the most important place to me growing up. I could be a regular kid here," he says. They'd gotten in late last night. When they arrived, David had taken her straight up to the bedroom, pulling her there eagerly, his hands all over her as they climbed the stairs two at a time. "I can't wait to see it." Faith beams, trying to play it cool as she watches him expertly maneuver a gold razor around the contours of his chin. How did she get so lucky that David Clarke is her boyfriend? With a jolt she thinks of the ring. Not boyfriend for much longer, though. Fiancé. How surreal will it feel to call him that? Sometimes Faith's not even sure any of this new life of hers is real and she is not actually asleep in her childhood bedroom about to wake up to the palmetto bug problem and the drippy faucets, realizing she never made it out of there at all. She puts a hand to his chest, making sure. "What?" he asks, leaning in to kiss her. Faith studies him a moment before letting his lips touch hers. He pulls back and looks at her suspiciously. "Nothing! I'm just excited to be here." She dodges his face, still scattered with bits of shaving foam, worried now that she is going to give his secret away with the dumb smile plastered on her face. To hide it, she ducks out into the bedroom and puts on a pair of low-slung linen pants. "Where would I find coffee if I were in the market for some?" she asks, pulling a white tank top over her head. He comes into the bedroom, the towel still slung around his waist. "Why, in the kitchen, naturally, darling," he says in a pretend posh accent, slipping his hand around her waist and squeezing her in close to him. "Head downstairs and to your left. Someone will be there to make you whatever your heart desires." "You're not coming?" she asks, surprised. "I'll be down in a minute," he says with a wink. "Watch out for Pops. He's cranky in the morning." Faith has yet to meet Geoffrey Clarke. She has only heard the rumors about the famously bullish financial titan of Park Avenue. That he is a charmer and a ruthless businessman who has never lost a deal, gobbling up companies and spitting them out, selling them for parts. And, less flatteringly, that he is a bully in the office, terrorizing his staff and pitting them against one another. The other more scandalous gossip Faith had found online while doing research on her new boyfriend right after they started dating. The stories in the Post alleging that he is a ladies' man who cheated on David's mother for years while she suffered from an addiction to pain pills. Faith had waited for David to fill her in on the details, but so far, he hasn't, mentioning his mother only in passing. It was strange, she thought, but Faith hasn't wanted to push, afraid of him asking for details of her own parents in return. Those were the sorts of things she wasn't ready to divulge. Not yet. Faith wanders downstairs slowly, taking in the grandeur of the place in the daytime. The staircase is wide and marbled ostentatiously. A mahogany table in the very center of the landing holds a model of a ship on a brass stand. It looks old, probably some priceless antique, she thinks, leaning in to look at the miniature wooden hull brushed with gold leaf. Its sails, permanently caught in the wind, catch the sun, sending a shadow across the white floor. Bright sunlight spills through the wall of tall windows at the back of the house where a large formal dining room has been updated with ceiling-height modern glass doors that open onto a sprawling veranda looking out at the water. She twists the latch and steps outside, breathing in a rush of ocean-scented air. Below the veranda a long infinity pool fed by fountains on either side burbles, one end lined with inviting plush deck chairs in nautical stripes. The pool stands just above the edge of a crisp green lawn that continues all the way to the Clarkes' private beach with dock. She continues around the side of the house where the veranda leads to an open-air spa. A white massage table stands inside a pristine white tent, its flaps drawn back to frame views of the ocean. Faith peers through a circular window into a sauna; its salt stone walls glow a welcoming pink. She'll have to come back later with a book, she thinks, excitement filling her chest. It was worth it to quit her job. Of course, she'd have followed David even if the perks weren't this good, she muses, looking out over a set of sparkling plunge pools tiled in Mediterranean blues. But they sure don't hurt. She finds herself comforted by the somewhat hermetic environment of so much wealth. It's like being in an airport or the lobby of a skyscraper. It feels safe to her somehow, being somewhere so well kept and distant from the struggles of the real world and the life she used to have. The life she tries very hard not to think about. She slips back into the house through a wide glass door that leads into a dining area. It has floor-to-ceiling windows with sleek golden hinges that must mean the entire wall can open away on a warm night. A large table stands at the center of the room. It seems to have been carved from a singular gigantic hunk of wood. Through an archway she finds a sprawling kitchen with vast white marble countertops. A few people bustle around in chef whites cracking eggs into bowls and chopping vegetables. An Italian espresso machine, gleaming and statuesque, is being busily tended to in one corner. A loud hiss of steam comes off it when she walks into the room. No one looks up at Faith as she stands near the edge of the counter. She is trying to decide how best to ask for a coffee when she hears someone behind her. "I didn't expect to find an unfamiliar woman wandering the house." The voice sounds like David's would if he'd been smoking cigars for many years. "Not that I'm complaining." Faith turns to find Geoffrey Clarke standing behind her, a folded newspaper in one hand. Up until this moment Faith has only seen the elder Clarke in the pages of the New York Post and Vanity Fair , wearing dark slightly oversize suits with a young blond woman on his arm. "Oh, hi. Lovely to meet you," she says, though there is something about his presence that makes her want to recoil. She steels herself and smiles winningly at him. "David said I should come down. I was just exploring the house. It's gorgeous." "David said he was bringing someone," Geoffrey says, his tone impenetrable. His hard eyes scan Faith as though looking for defects. "Farrah, was it?" "Faith." She tucks her hair behind her ear, trying to calm the sudden buzzing of nerves. Geoffrey looks down at her with a slightly amused look on his face. Faith swallows and holds his gaze. He's shorter than she'd expected but no less intimidating with his boxy build and close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. A series of hard angles, the wide head, the square shoulders. His face above the collar of his polo shirt is slightly pockmarked. She looks for signs of David in him. Maybe there is something around the eyes, the way the skin tugs ever so slightly downward in the outer corners. But even those seem duller, and they are definitely harder for her to read. "Interesting name," he says finally, but he doesn't sound interested. His hand reaches past her and she flinches as he takes a coffee from the counter, giving a curt nod to one of the kitchen staff. "It was my grandmother's," Faith starts to explain, but he is already moving away. As he passes, his body brushes so close to hers that she shrinks back to avoid it. He carries his coffee through the archway into the dining room where he sits heavily at the table and shakes open the paper without another word. Faith wavers in the kitchen, uncertain if she should follow. There is something familiar about his arrogance. She's met other men like Geoffrey Clarke in her life, though no one quite as rich. She trusts none of them. "Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you." She sighs in relief as David's hand slips around her waist. His skin smells like aftershave and the bar of triple-milled soap from the walk-in shower. "Finally awake I see," his father's gravelly voice chides David from the table, though his eyes never leave the pages of the Post . "I guess you never were much of an early riser. Preferred to leave that to the rest of us." "Dad! I didn't see you there." David quickly pulls his hand away from Faith and gives his father a strained grin. "I see you've met Faith." "What?" Geoffrey Clarke glances up, momentarily confused until his eyes land on Faith. "Oh, right. We've met, yes." Faith ignores the slight and gives him a cool smile. She takes David's hand in hers, noticing the strange limp clasp of his fingers. "Should we go into town? I'll go grab my purse." She is eager to exit this uncomfortable breakfast and enter vacation mode. "Town?" Geoffrey's voice reverberates through his newspaper. "Oh, no, my dear. I'm sorry but David is staying here--for the time being, anyway." He lowers the page and now she can see a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh," Faith says, feeling the coolness at her back as David steps away from her. "We have some things to discuss, don't we, David?" "Sure, of course..." David falters. "Right now?" Faith's stomach drops. "Don't worry, it shouldn't be long," David says, not looking at her. "Come on, son, don't have all day." Geoffrey stands abruptly. "Not like some people." "I'll be done in no time," David whispers to Faith. "Have fun. Go to the pool. Explore the grounds. I'll text you as soon as I'm out." He smiles reassuringly. There is something about how quick he was to change course that makes her uncomfortable. David is not someone who generally flip-flops on things. His consistency is one of the things she loves about him. But she isn't going to make a big deal about it. She knows how counterproductive that would be. Faith learned early on that if you want to make it in this world as a woman, you have to keep your hands on the dials at all times, turning them up and down as the situation calls for it. You can't ever let them see you lose your composure. She keeps a placid smile on her face as she watches David follow his father down the hall. Faith has always been extraordinarily good at faking it. It is one of the main tools that has aided her in her rise from a literal nobody speeding toward a life of abuse and addiction in a tiny town to where she is today, in the house of a billionaire overlooking the ocean. To survive as someone like her, she knows that you must always remember who you were, and how easy it would be to fall back. Excerpted from Dead of Summer: A Novel by Jessa Maxwell All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.