Nothing, not even murder, will sway Bridget from her determination to reunite with her ex-boyfriend.
Despite having loved each other since early childhood, Wil is so hurt by Bridget’s drunken behavior at a party one night that they haven’t spoken in a year. Their senior year of high school is drawing to a close, and Wil still won’t respond to any of Bridget’s apologies or attempts at reconciliation. Then Wil and his mother are witness to the murder of his father in a robbery gone awry. Drawn together again for solace and love, Bridget and Wil, both white, haltingly begin to open up to each other even as it becomes clear that Wil cannot talk about the night of the ghastly event and is, perhaps, harboring secrets. Adorned with the occasional fancy metaphor (“But my words are feathery, and they don’t land”), this is a lackluster intrigue. Their story unfolds almost entirely from Bridget’s first-person perspective, with a few chapters narrated by Wil. The pervasive line of inquiry here isn’t that of the detectives trying to catch the killer but what elements make up the essential self: are people merely the sums of their deeds and lists of adjectives? Eventually, with unwavering love, Bridget must let Wil make his own decision about the man he wants to be.
A slightly philosophical love story for readers who want a little edge to their romance. (Romance. 12-18)