Message From The Author
I suppose its safe to say that for many of us who write for a living, our books end up being much like our children. The emotional connection is that intense. We live for months with these peopletheir lives and loves, hopes and dreamsdeep inside of us and when its time to release them into the world, all we can do is pray that we did our job right. The connection between the images inside our heads and the words you see on the page of the finished book is both magical and mysterious. We come to love our characters and its almost painful when we reach the end of the writing process and have to say goodbye. Talk about separation anxiety!
It was like that for me when I finished writing MAYBE THIS TIME. I hated to leave Joe and Christine. They were special to me in a way I cant explain even now, almost five years after MAYBE THIS TIME was first published by Berkley. I find myself thinking about Joe and Christine now and again, hoping theyre as happy today as they were when I left them. Somehow I know they are.
Sounds crazy, doesnt it, but there you have it. Characters live on far beyond the moment when we type The End and move onto our next project. Maybe thats why Im so pleased that Berkley has repackaged MAYBE THIS TIME with a beautiful new soft-focus cover and is reissuing it in time for Valentines Day 2000.
My favorite love stories are about second chances which is probably why I love Joe and Christines story as much as I do. If you missed it the first time around, I hope youll give it
a second chance of its own on Valentines Day.
Excerpt from MAYBE THIS TIME
Its the last house on Marlborough Road, Christine Cannon told the limo driver as they stopped at a traffic light on the outskirts of the small New Jersey town.
About a half mile from here.
Man, said the driver, shaking his head. What made you buy a place way out here in the boonies, Ms. Cannon? I wouldve figured you for the Hamptons or something.
Hope, said Christine softly. Nothing more than hope.
Everyone had said they were crazy to buy a house, that it was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong price. And maybe that they were the wrong couple.
Its the same as the stock market, her father had told them. Buy low, sell high, not the other way around. All that fancy education and you two dont know that?
Location, location, location, said Joes father. And that aint the right location.
Trouble was, none of that mattered when you were looking for a miracle, and theyd been so sure that the house would be able to provide one. It was perched at the end of the block, situated on a slight rise, a surge of wood and brick that battled oaks and spruce and pine for bragging rights to the land.
The windows rattled in the frames. The floors needed to be refinished. The property taxes were outrageous and flood insurance was out of sight.
Well take it, Joe had said.
Even the real estate agent had been surprised. Isnt this a tad hasty? You havent seen the Webster house yet.
This is the one, Christine had broken in. This is the one we want.
The real estate agent had fiddled with her Multiple Listing Service directory. Theres new construction going up a few miles down the road. Huge picture windows, marble floors, the builder picks up the points. You could do worse.
All in all, it had been a lot to ask of a house.
But we couldnt do better, said Joe. Thats the bottom line.
Theyd needed a new start, a new way of looking at all that had gone wrong in their marriage. A place where they could heal their wounds and rediscover each other, and that wonderful house was where they would do it.
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