Best Kept Secret: A Novel

Best Kept Secret: A Novel

A timely and captivating novel about a mother whose life spirals out of control when she descends into alcoholism, and her battle to get sober and regain custody of her beloved son. Cadence didn’t sit down one night and decide that downing two bottles of wine was a brilliant idea. Her drinking snuck up on her—as a way to sleep, to help her relax after a long day, to relieve some of the stress of the painful divorce that’s left her struggling to make ends meet with her five-year old son, Charlie. It wasn’t always like this. Just a few years ago, Cadence seemed to have it all—a successful husband, an adorable son, and a promising career as a freelance journalist. But with the demise of her marriage, her carefully constructed life begins to spiral out of control. Suddenly she is all alone trying to juggle the demands of work and motherhood. Logically, Cadence knows that she is drinking too much, and every day begins with renewed promises to herself that she will stop. But within a few hours, driven by something she doesn’t understand, she is reaching for the bottle—even when it means not playing with her son because she is too tired, or dropping him off at preschool late, again. And even when one calamitous night it means leaving him alone to pick up more wine at the grocery store. It’s only when her ex-husband shows up at her door to take Charlie away that Cadence realizes her best kept secret has been discovered…. Heartbreaking, haunting, and ultimately life-affirming, Best Kept Secret is more than just the story of Cadence—it’s a story of how the secrets we hold closest are the ones that can most tear us apart. "Grabs you from page one and doesn't let you go. The writing is visceral, the problems are real, and there are no clear solutions. You won't want to put it down." --Emily Giffin, bestselling author of "Something Borrowed" "Touching, hopeful, and so real. I loved these characters and this novel." --Luanne Rice, bestselling author of The Silver Boat "Rarely do I find a book that stays with me long after I've finished it, but this is one. Warm, witty, thoughtful and heartbreaking, and that ending--I'm still thinking about it." --Stefanie Wilder-Taylor, Sippy Cups are Not for Chardonnay "Haunting, hopeful, and beautifully written. I couldn't put this book down, and I can't stop thinking about it." --Allie Larkin, bestselling author of Stay "A captivatingly honest book that you won't soon forget." --Lisa Tucker, bestselling author of Once Upon a Day Amy Hatvany is the author of several novels, including It Happens All the Time , Somewhere Out There , and A Casual Encounter . She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her family. Find out more at AmyHatvany.com. Best Kept Secret One B eing drunk in front of your child is right up there on the Big Bad No-no List of Motherhood. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew it with every glass, every swallow, every empty bottle thrown into the recycle bin. I hated drinking. I hated it . . . and I couldn’t stop. The anesthetic effect of alcohol ran thick in my blood; the Great Barrier Reef built between me and my feelings. I watched myself do it in an out-of-body experience: Oh, isn’t this interesting? Look at me, the sloppy drunk. It snuck up on me, every time. It took me by surprise. I tried to stop. Of course I tried. I went a day, maybe two, before the urge burned strong enough, it rose in my throat like a gnarled hand reaching for a drink. My body ached. My brain sloshed against the inside of my skull. The more I loathed drinking, the more I needed it to find that sweet spot between awareness and agony. Even now, even though it has been sixty-four days since I have taken a drink, the shame clings to me. It sickens my senses worse than any hangover I’ve ever suffered. It’s early April, and I drive down a street lined with tall, sturdy maples. Gauzelike clouds stretch across the icy blue sky. A few earnest men stand in front of their houses appraising the state of their lawns. My own yard went to hell while I was away and I have not found time nor inclination to be its savior. Any other day I would have found this morning beautiful. Any other day I might have stopped to stare at the sky, to enjoy the fragile warmth of the sun on my skin. Today is not any other day. Today marks two months and four days since I have seen my son. Each corner I turn takes me closer and closer to picking him up from his grandmother’s house. For now, it was decided this arrangement was better than my coming face-to-face with Martin, his father. “What do they think will happen?” I’d asked my treatment counselor, Andi, when the rules of visitation came down. My voice was barely above a whisper. “What do they think I’d do?” “Think of how many times you were drunk around Charlie,” she said. “There’s reason for concern.” I sat a moment, contemplating this dangerous little bomb, vacillating between an attempt to absorb the truth behind her words and the des