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Dear Reader,
The walled-off compounds of the very wealthy have always intrigued me. Maybe because I come from a working-class family, forever destined to be on the outside looking in, or maybe because, at heart, I’m still a recovering journalist, the ultimate outsider, sniffing around at other people’s secrets.
My fictional 100-year-old family-owned resort is called the Saint Cecelia. Its distinctive pale pink color and Spanish revival architecture are inspired by The Don CeSar, an iconic gulf-front resort hotel in my hometown of St. Petersburg, Florida. The current owner-operator of my fictional Saint is Traci Eddings, who grew up on the other side of the river, an outsider, or an “Ain’t,” forever fascinated by a place where she felt she could never really belong. She comes to the Saint as a nineteen-year-old summer hire, a lifeguard, who meets and falls in love with Hoke, the “good son” in the Eddings dynasty. Traci and her best friend Shannon are lifeguarding at the resort pool that fateful summer when a young child tragically drowns, shattering their friendship and sending their lives spinning in different directions.
I knew from the beginning that this book wouldn’t just be Traci’s story. It’s the beginning of the Saint’s busy season, and when her chef and guest relations manager quit, she’s forced to take radical action to staff up in time for the wave of vacationers. She decides to rebuild a long-abandoned golf cart barn to provide free on-site housing for five lucky staffers. Each of those new hires has a story, and a secret of their own, which makes for a highly combustible combination.
Summers at the Saint is a story about longing —and belonging. I hope readers will join me in this journey of discovery.
Mary Kay Andrews
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