Four women come together to save the summer camp that changed their lives and rediscover themselves in the process in this moving new novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Wedding Veil and the Peachtree Bluff series.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Kristy Woodson Harvey’s The Summer of Songbirds, which is out July 11th.
Nearly thirty years ago, in the wake of a personal tragedy, June Moore bought Camp Holly Springs and turned it into a thriving summer haven for girls. But now, June is in danger of losing the place she has sacrificed everything for, and begins to realize how much she has used the camp to avoid facing difficulties in her life.
June’s niece, Daphne, met her two best friends, Lanier and Mary Stuart, during a fateful summer at camp. They’ve all helped each other through hard things, from heartbreak and loss to substance abuse and unplanned pregnancy, and the three are inseparable even in their thirties. But when attorney Daphne is confronted with a relationship from her past—and a confidential issue at work becomes personal—she is faced with an impossible choice.
Lanier, meanwhile, is struggling with tough decisions of her own. After a run-in with an old flame, she is torn between the commitment she made to her fiancé and the one she made to her first love. And when a big secret comes to light, she finds herself at odds with her best friend…and risks losing the person she loves most.
But in spite of their personal problems, nothing is more important to these songbirds than Camp Holly Springs. When the women learn their childhood oasis is in danger of closing, they band together to save it, sending them on a journey that promises to open the next chapters in their lives.
Songbirds,
I am giving you the day off. My day is blissfully devoid of hard things. Off to sever heads for both of you.
Sending love and cannot wait to see you at Mary Stuart’s WEDDING!
Fair winds and following seas, Daphne
As I type the word wedding, my stomach rolls. It makes me think of Huff, my ex and, incidentally, Lanier’s brother. Huff and I haven’t seen each other much since our breakup seven years ago, but since he moved back to the area from Baltimore last month, we keep running into each other. And those run-ins keep getting longer And I know all the reasons we cannot be together and yet, I cannot. Stop. Thinking. About. Him. I am dying to know if he is going to Mary Stuart’s wedding. I could just ask Mary Stuart if she invited him, but I haven’t told her Huff and I are back in touch. I’m not sure how Lanier will feel about it, and it doesn’t seem fair to tell Mary Stuart and not Lanier.
I pick up my phone. Then I put it back down. Then I pick it back up. I’m being dumb. So I text:
Going to MS’s wedding tomorrow?
He must have his phone in his hand because three bubbles appear immediately and a few seconds later he replies: Why? Hoping my killer dance moves might rub off on you?
I laugh. Huff is a truly terrible dancer. I think you meant to ask, “Am I afraid your dance moves might kill me?”
No bubbles. Was I too mean?
But then a ridiculous dancing dog GIF appears followed by Unfortunately, I’m on call tomorrow night. So I’ll have to give you dance lessons some other time.
Huff is a surgeon, so of course his work comes first. But my heart is simultaneously falling that he won’t be there and pounding at the idea of “some other time.” Finn walks back into my office. “Hey,” he says, “Smoking-hot baby daddy is on line one.” I smile at the embarrassment of quality men today and roll my eyes at Finn.
Finn can’t quite understand why I can’t make things work with Henry’s dad, Steven, and takes every opportunity to remind me how hot he is. As if I didn’t know. Five years ago, I decided to take surf lessons to celebrate two years of sobriety. Steven was the charming, hilarious instructor I randomly chose on Google. By the second lesson, he had taken me to dinner, by the fourth we were practically inseparable, and then, well, Henry happened. Steven was only twenty-three when I got pregnant, two years younger than I was, and we weren’t at a place to consider marriage or a real, true future. But I considered the pregnancy a huge—albeit slightly scary—gift. While I wouldn’t say I’d been worried about my sobriety sticking before that, every now and then I missed relaxing with a glass (okay, bottle) of rosé or the focus (and sleep!) the pills I abused had given me. Henry washed all those urges away. I would read years later that all trauma is a result of separation and that healing is sometimes found in connection. I know that doesn’t help everyone, my own mother included. But I credit my son, my ultimate attachment, with truly healing me.
As a bonus, Steven, whom I had expected absolutely nothing from, turned out to be a fabulous co-parent. He spent his weekends with Henry at my house in Cape Carolina so I wouldn’t have to miss my son, and he, a free spirit who had never held a baby, wouldn’t be fully responsible on his own. It was a great system. Growing up with a totally absent father—even the almost three years I lived with him I barely saw the man—I think I just expected Steven to want an out. He decidedly did not. Sometimes I wanted to squeeze Henry’s face and say, You have no idea how lucky you are to have a father who loves you this much! I mean, I didn’t, obviously. He was only four, and that would be weird.
