Author of books that make you feel
BOOKS
Chloe Howard’s devotion to her job has come at a cost: spending time with the most important person in her life—her mother. Vowing to change, she plans a trip home. Sadly, hours before she arrives, her mother passes away leaving Chloe riddled with grief and regret, and without a goodbye. But maybe...maybe it's not too late.
Just days before the funeral, Chloe finds her mother unaccountably alive and well. It’s no longer May, but March. No one–not Chloe’s brother, friends, or colleagues–understands why Chloe is so confused. Make sense of it? Impossible. But Chloe is making the most of it. She’s going to do everything differently: repair family rifts, forge new bonds, tell her mother every day how much she loves her, and possibly prevent the inevitable.
This is the second chance Chloe never saw coming to figure out what’s important in life. This time she’s not wasting a minute of it.
It’s been two years and two months since trauma shattered hospital chaplain Isabel Myles’s world. Since that day, she has stopped answering calls. She’s shut out her family, friends, and coworkers. Even her faith seems to have faded. Except for her connection with her younger sister, Chantel, Isabel copes by forgetting. Then she takes on a summer job as a home caregiver for Opal, a dementia patient who is struggling to remember.
The more invested Isabel becomes in Opal’s vanishing world—and in her devastated grandson, Evan—the more open she is to forming bonds, old and new. She reaches out to her best friend. She repairs the damage between her and her estranged parents. And with Evan she feels emotions she thought were lost forever. But the trauma Isabel’s kept buried for so long will be rediscovered too. What Isabel learns could change her life again, forever. This time, though, she won’t have to face the past alone.
Excerpt of THREE MORE MONTHS
A splitting headache is my wake-up call. I roll over in bed and check the time. Five past eleven. I’d groan at sleeping in so late, but I don’t have the energy. When I swallow, my throat burns. It’s raw from how hard I cried.
I’m in desperate need of water. Then coffee. Then maybe I’ll have the energy to collapse onto the kitchen floor and cry there.
I pad to the bathroom, then to the kitchen. I press a hand against my head. I’m so light-headed, gripping the counter is the only way I stay standing as I fill a glass with water. One gulp, then two. Then a third. I set the empty glass down on the counter. It lands with a soft clank noise. And now both my hands are free to grip the counter, to keep me upright, to help me stay standing.
“What does it even matter?” I mutter to myself, knowing full well that at some point today, I’ll end up curled into a ball on the ground, whimpering until I’m gasping for air.
Behind me I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps. Taking a breath, I wipe my runny nose with the back of my wrist. I owe Andy an apology for how I flipped out yesterday. I need to get my shit together. Julianne is coming later today; then Auntie Linda, Uncle Lyle, their sons, and the rest of Mom’s family are arriving tomorrow for Mom’s funeral, which is happening the day after.
I turn around, ready to face Andy, to tell him sorry and then ask him how the hell we get through this day, yet another day without our mom when we’ve barely made it through the ones we’ve had so far.
But when my eyes focus on the person who just walked into the kitchen, I nearly double over.
What’s in front of me can’t be.
What I’m seeing isn’t real.
This . . . it’s not possible.
She’s not here anymore.
But she is.
I open my mouth, but there are no words. Just the sharp intake of air. And then I choke. A second after that, my eyes are blurry again. They burn worse than before.
One second after that, I sob.
Mom is here, standing two feet away from me, in the flesh. Somehow, some way.
BIO
Sarah Echavarre earned a journalism degree from Creighton University and has worked a bevy of odd jobs that inspire the stories she writes today. When she’s not penning tear-jerker women’s fiction, she writes sweet and sexy romcoms under the names Sarah Echavarre Smith and Sarah Smith. She lives in Bend, Oregon with her husband.
Sarah is represented by Sarah Younger at the Nancy Yost Literary Agency.
For rights inquiries:
rights@nyliterary.com 212.239.2861 www.nyliterary.com
EVENTS
Jan. 10,
2023
Pub Day for WHAT WE REMEMBER!
Get it here and everywhere books are sold!
My newsletters are sporadic and delightful. You'll love them, promise
NEWSLETTER
Follow me: