Читать онлайн «Malice»
Автор Даниэла Стил
When the past is your enemy,
all you have is the present…MALICE
PRAISE FOR
DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”—
TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES
UNFOLD TO THE GLEE AND DELIGHT OF HER
ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC. ”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—
human emotions. ”—
OF FAMILY AND MARITAL LIFE WITH SUCH
HEARTFELT EMPATHY. ”—
PRAISE FOR
DANIELLE STEEL'S
MALICE“STEEL ONCE AGAIN HITS HER STRIDE …
DANIELLE STEEL FANS WILL LOVE
THIS LATEST ENTRY. ”—
three dozen novels, Danielle Steel can still come up
with a good new yarn. ”—
revealing both the stark reality of domestic abuse and the healing power of love. ”—
the emotions and involve the reader like
few others can. ”—
[an] extraordinary woman's story. ”—
a compelling novel. ”—
THE LITERARY GUILD
AND
THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB
To my extraordinary, loving,
and very remarkable children,
Beatrix, Trevor, Todd,
Nick, Samantha, Victoria,
Vanessa, Maxx, and Zara.
You make my life worth living,
you are all that has made
my life worthwhile.
You are my life and my heart.
With all my thanks and love,
and apologies for the pain
I may have brought you
with this wicked thing
called “Tame. ”
I love you so very, very much,
d.
s.The sounds of the organ music drifted up to the Wedgwood blue sky. Birds sang in the trees, and in the distance, a child called out to a friend on a lazy summer morning. The voices inside the church rose in powerful unison, as they sang the familiar hymns that Grace had sung with her family since childhood. But this morning, she couldn't sing anything. She could barely move, as she stood, staring straight ahead at her mother's casket.
Everyone knew Ellen Adams had been a good mother, a good wife, a respected citizen until she died. She had taught school before Grace was born, and she would have liked to have had more children, but it just hadn't happened. Her health had always been frail, and at thirty-eight she had gotten cancer. The cancer started in her uterus, and after a hysterectomy, she'd had both chemotherapy and radiation. But the cancer spread to her lungs anyway, and her lymph nodes, and eventually her bones. It had been a four-and-a-half-year battle. And now, at forty-two, she was gone.
She had died at home, and Grace had taken care of her single-handedly until the last two months when her father had finally had to hire two nurses to help her. But Grace still sat next to her bedside for hours when she came home from school. And at night, it was Grace who went to her when she called out in pain, helped her turn, carried her to the bathroom, or gave her medication. The nurses only worked in the daytime. Her father didn't want them there at night, and everyone realized he had a hard time accepting just how sick his wife was. And now he stood in the pew next to Grace and cried like a baby.
