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Who Do You Love: A Novel [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Weiner, Jennifer
  • Author:  Weiner, Jennifer
  • ISBN-10:  1451617828
  • ISBN-10:  1451617828
  • ISBN-13:  9781451617825
  • ISBN-13:  9781451617825
  • Publisher:  Washington Square Press
  • Publisher:  Washington Square Press
  • Pages:  400
  • Pages:  400
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-Nov-2016
  • Pub Date:  01-Nov-2016
  • SKU:  1451617828-11-MING
  • SKU:  1451617828-11-MING
  • Item ID: 100144152
  • List Price: $17.99
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Nov 28 to Nov 30
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

#1New York Timesbestselling author Jennifer Weiner delivers a tale of love against the odds (People).

Rachel Blum and Andy Landis are just eight years old when they meet one night in an ER waiting room. Born with a congenial heart defect, Rachel is a veteran of hospitals, and she's intrigued by the boy who shows up alone with a broken arm. He tells her his name. She tells him a story. After Andy's taken back to a doctor and Rachel's sent back to her bed, they think they'll never see each other again.

Yet, over the next three decades, Andy and Rachel will meet again and again—linked by chance, history, and the memory of the first time they met, a night that changed both of their lives.

A sweeping, warmhearted, and intimate tale,Who Do You Loveis an extraordinary novel about the passage of time, the way people change and change each other, and how the measure of a life is who you love.Who Do You Love

Rachel


1985

I was born with a broken heart. This was a line that got me a lot of sympathy from preschool through sixth grade, when I decided that a congenital heart condition was not what I wanted to be known for, and stopped talking about it at school. My condition was called tricuspid atresia, which meant that on the right side, the valve between the upper and lower chambers of my heart wasn’t formed correctly. Blood that should have flowed smoothly from my heart to my lungs moved instead in a sluggish trickle—a lazy schoolkid who’d overslept and couldn’t be bothered to run for the bus. Not a good thing if you want to, as the doctors say, survive.

I’d been diagnosed thirty-six hours after my birth, when I’d done the docs the favor of turning a lovely shade of plum. At the local hospital, they didn’t know exactly what was wrong, only that they couldn’t fix it, so they airliftlC&

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