Broken Bay

  Praise for Losing the Light

  One of Redbook’s Best Books of 2016

  “A complicated friendship, a disastrous affair with a professor, and intoxicating relationships factor in making this an unforgettable trip.”

  —BUZZFEED

  “Who doesn’t fantasize about a sexy and passionate romance with a hot foreigner?”

  —POPSUGAR

  “A haunting story of betrayal within a beautiful portrait of youth.”

  —KIRKUS REVIEWS

  “Dunlop’s smart and suspenseful debut follows the lead of Katie Crouch’s Abroad (2014) and Jennifer duBois’s Cartwheel (2013), but delves more deeply into the repercussions beyond a shocking incident during a year abroad. Dunlop richly evokes the heady emotions of friendship, lust, and betrayal.”

  —BOOKLIST

  “A heady cocktail of nostalgia, a seductive Frenchman, a passionate love triangle, a mysterious disappearance: Seattle author Andrea Dunlop weaves an intriguing story about 30-year-old Brooke, now newly engaged, and her recollections of student days a decade earlier in France with her bubbly, blond buddy Sophie . . . Losing the Light is a love letter to France—the cafés, the language, the ‘fierce elegance’ of Parisiennes, the sun-drenched beauty of Cap Ferrat. Dunlop brilliantly recreates the tempestuous, ‘anything is possible’ whirlwind of emotions that accompany Brooke’s coming of age, with the dizzying heights and depths of feeling . . . A thoughtful, assured debut.”

  —THE SEATTLE TIMES

  “Good wine, dark chocolate, a French love triangle, and the perfect best friend—at first—are only a handful of the decadences awaiting you in Losing the Light—not to mention the shocking twist that kept this succulent debut lingering long after the final page.”

  —MIRANDA BEVERLY-WHITTEMORE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF BITTERSWEET

  “Dunlop’s writing is effervescent, but wise . . . the story, which is as much about love, lust, and longing as it is about the intricacies and potential pitfalls of close, obsessive friendship, also offers a truly lovely depiction of France.”

  —GLOBE AND MAIL

  “In her debut, Dunlop writes of a fizzy, decadent world, filled with the intense relationships that young love brings, whether that feeling is for a person or for a beautiful location.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Love triangles can haunt you forever. This gorgeously written debut novel centers around one woman being seduced by European high life while on a study abroad trip in France. It’s an exotic escape and a literary escape at the same time.”

  —REDBOOK

  “The story of a young girl studying abroad in France who gets sucked into a world of love and lust. This unraveling tale is absolutely haunting.”

  —SHEKNOWS

  “There are so many coming-of-age novels in the world about the young, innocent girl making her way in the world. And yet, Losing the Light is really something special. Andrea Dunlop has a keen sense of what a modern woman on the cusp of her twenties might truly desire, fear, and be tempted by. Her characters are unapologetic and troublesome, yet intensely likable. On top of that, she sets the book in a French town and feeds you wine and men the whole way through. Oh, and there’s a murder mystery. Seduced yet? You should be. This is a lovely debut.”

  —KATIE CROUCH, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF GIRLS IN TRUCKS AND ABROAD

  “It’s got Gainsbourg’s ‘Sea, Sex, and Sun’ plus red wine and betrayal—a compulsively readable debut about forever friendships that can’t last.”

  —COURTNEY MAUM, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF I AM HAVING SO MUCH FUN HERE WITHOUT YOU

  “Losing the Light is a smart, sexy, thrilling novel. Andrea Dunlop’s debut brilliantly captures the tension and sharp edges of female friendships, infatuation, and life abroad. You will feel transported to France, as if you yourself are speaking French and drinking a little too much wine with your best friend and a dangerously handsome man.”

  —TAYLOR JENKINS REID, AUTHOR OF ONE TRUE LOVES

  “Andrea Dunlop’s captivating debut ardently delivers the thrill and joy and exquisite pain of being young and in love: with a friend, with a lover, with a country, with a life, with the future. I felt myself twenty and in France with nothing but heady enchantment before me. Losing the Light is utterly transporting.”

  —LAURIE FRANKEL, AUTHOR OF THE ATLAS OF LOVE

  “This delicious literary indulgence is consuming and addictive . . . the perfect partner for every beach day this summer.”

  —SUNSET MAGAZINE

  “In Losing the Light, Andrea Dunlop takes readers on an intense, smart, sexy adventure, giving major The Talented Mr. Ripley vibes.”

  —WORKING MOTHER

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  For those brave soldiers, the bridesmaids. Especially for mine: Kerri, Jazz, April, Margaret, and Mo.

  From: Emma Thomas

  To: Stephanie Guest, Georgia Cho, and Abby Rees

  Subject: Hannah’s Bachelorette!

  Hey ladies!

  Maid of Honor Emma here. I wanted to get an email chain going about Hannah’s bachelorette weekend. I talked to Hannah and she wants to do something really low-key. We all know she’s been stressed out about the wedding, and I know she’s really looking forward to spending some quality time with her girls and having us all get to know each other better before the big day. Georgia, so excited you’re coming all the way from Fairbanks! I know it means the world to Hannah.

  Hannah loves the San Juans, as you know, and I found this great place on VRBO on Walker Island. Have you guys been? It looks really cute! Georgia, I know you and Hannah used to go out to the islands all the time with your families when you were kids—honestly I can’t believe I haven’t been out more the last few years, it’s so gorgeous.

  So, the place I’m looking at has four bedrooms (says it sleeps eight, so plenty of room), a Jacuzzi, a fire pit, bikes we can use, the works! Here’s the description from the site:

  Bay House is nestled high above Broken Bay on the scenic and serene Walker Island. With stunning views of the sound and nearby Orcas Island, it’s the perfect setting for an unforgettable trip. Only minutes away from the charming village of Walker’s Landing—where you can enjoy local cuisine, live music, and more.

  It’s the perfect location for relaxing at home. Take in the view from the outdoor hot tub, or enjoy a cup of coffee or a glass of wine from the large sunlit back deck that looks out over the ocean. Equipped with all the amenities you could want: four bedrooms, three bath, washer/ dryer, modern appliances.

  www.vrbo.com/Walker6453

  Let me know what you think and I’ll book it! Can’t wait.

  Xoxo

  Emma

  “God I love the ferry. It makes me feel like a pioneer,” Hannah said.

  Hannah Cho had been Emma’s best friend since she could remember. Now that the girls were in their thirties, they recognized just how rare their friendship was: one in which the bond made as children lasted until adulthood. They’d gone through periods where they weren’t as close, naturally, but they always gravitated back in one another’s direction. When Hannah got engaged, there was never any question whom her maid of honor wou
ld be.

  “I don’t think they used the ferry system,” Emma laughed and put her arm around Hannah, who fit snugly into the nook of the taller girl’s arm. Emma was secretly glad to have Hannah all to herself for a few hours. The other girls had offered to pick Hannah’s cousin Georgia up from the airport while the two of them went on ahead with some of the supplies they’d need for the weekend.

  “You know what I mean. From this vantage point, you can kind of pretend there’s nothing out here. If you squint, you can’t even see the houses.”

  It was amazing how many miles of unspoiled coastline remained on the island chains off the edge of Washington. It felt ancient and untouched.

  “Brrr, I hope the sun comes out this afternoon,” Emma said, zipping up her fleece.

  Hannah shrugged. There in the gloom of the gray morning, Hannah looked younger than thirty-five—almost teenaged without the makeup and heels she wore to work. It was still somehow shocking to Emma that her friend had grown up to be a corporate lawyer—though she’d worked at a big firm for the better part of decade now. The Hannah she knew as a kid—one Hannah’s mother couldn’t keep clean for more than a few hours at a time—was the last person Emma would have expected to have such a stuffy job. She was constantly outside, obsessed with plant life. She still loved to garden, but she’d relegated it to a weekend hobby.

  “You know what? I don’t care if it rains the whole time. As long as I can hang with you guys and don’t have to talk about wedding stuff for a few days.”

  Hannah’s fiancé, Steven, was also a lawyer: a litigator. They’d originally met in law school and dated for a couple of years before Hannah broke it off. Then, about a year ago—in an unexpected turn of events—they’d gotten back together after running into each other in the grocery store. After reuniting, they’d been on the fast track to marriage. Steven was also celebrating his bachelor party that weekend with fifteen of his closest friends in Vegas. The wedding itself was two weeks away. They’d wanted to do the girls’ weekend earlier but between Georgia coming down from Alaska, Abby coming from Portland, and arranging childcare for Emma’s two children and Stephanie’s three, this weekend was the only one they could find that worked.

  “What wedding?” Emma smiled now and rubbed her hands together.

  Three hundred people at the Four Seasons. And Hannah’s soon-to-be mother-in-law, Evelyn, was no joke. She was the fittest, best-dressed sixty-something any of them had ever met, with a tennis forehand as fierce as her demeanor. She lived in the tony suburb of Mercer Island where Steven had grown up. He’d left the area only briefly to attend Stanford for undergrad before returning to go to law school at the University of Washington, and then to live in downtown Seattle—just a quick fifteen-minute drive across the I-90 bridge from his parents.

  “Atta girl.”

  They arrived at the tiny ferry depot and followed the directions they’d printed from Google Maps—they’d been warned that cell-phone service was inconsistent on the island—to Bay House where they’d be spending the weekend.

  “I’ve never been out to this island, have you?” Hannah asked, her voice taking on a touch of awe as a full marine vista came into view along the winding road.

  “No. I gather it’s kind of a hidden gem,” Emma said.

  Bay House was a sprawling two-story white Tudor with massive windows and wraparound balconies looking out onto the water.

  “Emma, this house is awesome,” Hannah said, as they walked in through the airy and impressive foyer, a majestic chandelier of antlers hanging over them, just kitschy enough to be charming.

  Emma beamed, “You like it?” All she wanted was to make her friend happy, give her a few days’ respite. She’d been under so much pressure. It was so unlike Emma’s own wedding eight years earlier, a joyous but somewhat slapdash affair compared to those of her friends who’d gotten married in their thirties. She and her husband, Spencer, were married next to a lake outside his parents’ Cle Elum cabin and there weren’t more than a hundred guests.

  “I love it,” Hannah said, taking in the sparkling 360-degree views of the bay.

  Emma insisted Hannah take the gargantuan master bedroom, and Hannah in turn insisted her friend share it with her; there was room for the whole wedding party in the giant California king bed. They changed into their swimsuits and wrapped themselves in the big cushy beach towels that had been laid out for them. They opened one of the many bottles of red wine they’d just stowed in the cabinets and headed for the hot tub.

  Hannah leaned over the railing next to the tub, “Look at that beach down there.” There was a cove beneath them to the north, surrounded on all sides by fir trees and laced with bone-white driftwood.

  “That must be Broken Bay. Here, there’s something about it on the little pamphlet thing.” She leaned back in through the door and fished the pamphlet from the wicker basket that held keys, bike locks, garage door openers, and other house miscellany.

  “Now a popular spot for shipwreck hunters,” Emma read, “Broken Bay was notorious for sinking innumerable vessels throughout the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, and the extreme riptides that swirl just beyond the bay have pulled many a sailor to his untimely death.”

  “That’s kind of spooky.”

  “Yeah,” Emma said. They both gazed down at the tranquil beach in wonder.

  “I think it’s so beautiful when it’s like this,” Hannah said, as they settled into the hot tub. Her shoulders finally dropped from her ears, appearing to relax. “Better than sunny.”

  The way the half-bright, half-cloudy sky swept over the waves, it felt as though they were watching time-lapse photography, as though the earth were evolving right before their eyes.

  “You know, I wanted to get married out here. Or not here, but on one of the islands.”

  Emma looked in surprise at her friend who was still staring out into the distance of Broken Bay.

  “You never told me that.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, you know my dad and my uncle Rick used to take us out here camping every summer; we’d come out on this funny little boat that they owned together. I pictured fifty people, barefoot on the beach, dinner in one of those big lodges they have out here. Evelyn was not having it.”

  But it wasn’t Evelyn’s wedding, was it? Emma kept that thought to herself. She didn’t want to be disrespectful. Evelyn was a touchy subject: in the past few months, she’d evolved from Steven’s tight-assed mother that they could both laugh about together to being Hannah’s soon-to-be mother-in-law, her family, her terminal fate. In other words, no laughing matter.

  If you’d asked her three years ago, Emma might have said that Hannah would never get married. Not for lack of admirers, of course: Hannah was adorable, bright, kind, and whip-smart. But she seemed to love life on her own. She travelled frequently to places Emma would have never dared go alone: Dubai, Egypt, Kenya. Her boss gave her extra time off, anything to keep his little shark from going to a competitor. She rarely dated, and Emma rather suspected that she made her standards impossible in order to avoid it entirely. Occasionally, she’d get wistful about not having a partner and wonder if she ought to get back together with her law-school boyfriend whom she’d dumped right after graduation. Emma hadn’t taken her seriously until she’d suddenly announced that they were, in fact, back together. Hannah said she’d run into him one afternoon at Melrose Market when she was buying cheese for a cocktail party and the rest was history. He’d proposed not seven months later.

  “Well, your wedding will be gorgeous,” Emma said instead.

  “Yeah,” Hannah said, turning and giving her a strange smile. “Yeah, it will be.”

  The rest of the girls came tumbling through the front door a couple of hours later. Some had only met briefly at the bridal shower, and yet they all appeared to have become fast friends on the car ride over. This was a tremendous relief to Emma who, among other things, f
elt responsible for the group’s harmony, which was a little unpredictable given the eclectic mix.

  “Wow, this house is amazing! Nice work, Emma,” Stephanie said, bestowing on Emma one of her delicate hugs, coupled with the smack of an air kiss, “Not many of these gorgeous nineteen-thirties Tudors out here.”

  “Hi, have you become a realtor since we last spoke? How can you tell? The place looks so new,” Emma said.

  Stephanie smiled and rolled her eyes. “You know Garrett and I are looking for a new house. The minutiae I could tell you about Pacific Northwest architecture would blow your mind. Actually, it would bore you to tears. This place has obviously been refurbished recently, it’s stunning.”

  Stephanie, Hannah’s onetime roommate and longtime friend, was joined by Hannah’s cousin, Georgia, and Abby. Emma couldn’t for the life of her remember how Abby and Hannah had met. She’d been at the fancy champagne tea that Evelyn had hosted at her home for Hannah’s bridal shower three weeks before, but Emma had forgotten what she’d said about how the two girls had originally met: it wasn’t work, was it from the gym? Yoga? To ask again now felt like asking someone to repeat their name for the fifth time. And she’d neglected to ask Hannah when she’d had the chance. Truthfully, Emma had barely had a moment with her friend over the past few months—and what time they did have together was consumed by wedding planning: a swirling haze of buttercream and stationary samples.

  “Should we put the fire on?” Abby said once the girls had settled in and were congregating in the main sitting room drinking a bottle of champagne. The floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the entire back side of the house. Below them stretched legions of pine and fir trees, and under that the gnarled madrone trees that dotted the shoreline.

  “Fire? It’s so warm here!” Georgia said. Georgia was a research scientist and spent most of the year in a remote town on the Alaskan coast. She was arguably the most excited about spending the weekend with a group of women. “Seeing another woman up there is rarer than seeing a blue bear,” she’d said to the others at the outset. Stephanie, who was a dermatologist and worked in an office full of women, chimed in that being surrounded by rugged Alaskan men sounded pretty great to her, but Georgia shook her head. “We have a saying up there when it comes to the men,” she said, “the odds are good but the goods are odd.”