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After Jeff Manning suddenly dies, two women who loved him—his wife, Claire, and his co-worker, Tish, are both sent reeling and must figure out how to cope in this new novel from the author of Forgotten. - (Baker & Taylor)
After Jeff Manning suddenly dies, two women who loved him--his wife, Claire, and his co-worker, Tish--are both sent reeling and must figure out how to cope. - (Baker & Taylor)
While walking home from work one evening, Jeff Manning is struck by a car and killed. Two women fall to pieces at the news: his wife, Claire, and his co-worker Tish. Reeling from her loss, Claire must comfort her grieving son as well as contend with funeral arrangements, well-meaning family members, and the arrival of Jeff’s estranged brother, who was her ex-boyfriend. Tish volunteers to attend the funeral on her company’s behalf, but only she knows the true risk of inserting herself into the wreckage of Jeff’s life.
Told through the three voices of Jeff, Tish, and Claire, Hidden
explores the complexity of relationships, the repercussions of our personal choices, and the responsibilities we have to the ones we love.
For fans of Liane Moriarty and Sarah Pekkanen, a light-hearted yet heartfelt novel exploring what happens when two women love the same man—and then he dies. - (Houghton)
First Chapter or Excerpt
The last thing I had to do that day was fire Art Davies.
I hate firing people. Truly. Of all the things I hate about my job—and their number are legion—having to tell someone they can’t come to work anymore is the worst.
But the consultants had been called in (again), and the recommendation was right there on page 94 of their 217-page PowerPoint presentation:The accounting department is overstaffed by 1.2 people.
Who talks like that?
When I got the summary of the consultants’ report—there’s a guy in Reports whose entire job is, you guessed it, summarizing reports—I flipped to the page he’d so helpfully marked with one of those yellow stickies with a red pointing finger on it and my heart sank. Next to the recommendation that I reduce my department by 1.2 people were the words:Art Davies??
Art Davies?? I read again, and my heart fell a little further. Because those question marks might’ve seemed innocent, but they were as uncertain as a bullet to the chest.
Report Summarizing Guy is the direct liaison between management and the consultants. His job is to implement enough of their suggestions to justify the consultants’ ridiculous fees, and enable management to make their own PowerPoint presentation for the board claiming that 74 percent of the recommendations had been implemented.
So job well done.
Art Davies. Fuck. Art Davies is the guy who hired me six years ago, back when the department was a third the size and there weren’t any consultants around to notice that he wasn’t really the guy you wanted to entrust hiring and firing to. Truth be told, Art wasn’t the guy you wanted to entrust a lot of things to, but he was a great guy. Always in a good mood, quick to forgive your failings, always sending around some hilarious YouTube video right when your day was at the nadir of sucking.
I’d worked hard to help him escape the last two rounds of consultants. But he’d Peter-Principled himself to the head of the department, as guys like Art are wont to do, and when I’d been at the company enough years to satisfy the brass, we switched jobs. A couple years ago, I went up and he went down, and Art, good ole Art, took it so well you almost could’ve believed he didn’t give a shit.
“Couldn’t have happened to a better person,” he said, slapping me on the back like we were on some sitcom. “Look forward to working for you.”
I’d gone home in a deep funk and told my wife I wanted to quit. It took her hours to talk me out of it. Phrases likegreat opportunity and think what we can do with the extra money bounced off me, my resolve untouchable.
Until she said, “Art will probably be happier this way, you know. He never struck me as someone who wanted responsibility.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. Art probably would be happier if he didn’t have to hire and fire people, or report to the board, or implement Report Summarizing Guy’s suggestions.
I didn’t quit. Instead, I traded desks with Art, putting the silver-framed picture of my family in the faint dust outline the picture of his family had left, and went back to work. And now it had come to this.
And I couldn’t help wondering, if rising to the level of your own incompetence has a name, does having to fire the guy who hired you have one too?
When I’d phoned Tish to tell her about it, she’d made a small noise of sympathy. She knew how much I hated firing people.
“Why don’t you let HR do it?” she asked.
“No, I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Management does it all the time. Trust me.”
“Aren’t you always calling them pussies when they do?”
She laughed, a melodious thing. “Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t call you that though.”
“You know I wouldn’t.”
I sighed. “Okay, maybe not. But still.”
“You have to do it.”
“I have to do it.”
“Let me know if you want some tips.”
“You mean if I want your five-point plan for firing people effectively?”
“How the—” She clucked her tongue. “You little bastard. You read the whole report, didn’t you? Unbelievable.”
I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “I like having all the information.”
“I have to keep ahead of those guys. You never know when they’re going to train their high beams on you.”
“You are so busted.”
“I should get back to work.”
“Have fun with your numbers!”
“You know I will!”
I hung up and ran my hand over my face. As much as I liked talking to Tish, it didn’t change the fact that Art had to go, and I had to do it.
I spent Friday doing everything I could to put off the inevitable. But there wasn’t anything I could do about Art’s termination package, which was sitting on my desk. A blue folder full of helpful hints about what he might do with his future, and a single sheet of paper outlining his non-negotiable severance package. Fifty-six years old, twenty-two years with the company, not in management—thanks to me—meant he was getting 28.4 weeks of severance pay.
What was it with this company?
Couldn’t they ever think in round numbers?
But no, they couldn’t, because that would affect the pie chart, and that might end up with an eventual recommendation thatthey be terminated??
At four forty-five I gave one last sigh, and checked my email one last time. There was a message from Tish saying simply:Good luck.
Thanks, I typed back, I’ll give you the blow-by-blow later. I hit Send, turned off my computer, put my hands on my desk and pushed myself up.
Inertia’s a funny thing; even though it doesn’t make any sense scientifically speaking, I swear I had to push harder than usual. My steps down the hall also seemed heavier, thicker, like the feeling you get in a dream when you’re trying to run. Treacle air, molasses legs.
Art was sitting at his desk, an Excel spreadsheet open before him. He was squinting at the screen over the rim of his glasses. He never did get those bifocals his ophthalmologist had recommended a few months ago, and as per the package tucked under my arm, he had four weeks to do so or he was shit out of luck.
He glanced up at me. “Hey, Jeff, you think you could help me out on this one? I can’t seem to get the columns to balance.” He shook his head, half self-mocking, half puzzled.
“Why don’t you leave it, Art?”
“I have to get it done today. It’s on my goal sheet.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to do it.”
“You’re a braver man than?—” He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the folder. “That’s not . . . I mean . . . they couldn’t . . . not after all this time . . .”
“Why don’t we go into the conference room?”
He rose to follow me, shocked into silence. If my footfalls seemed heavy before, my feet were cement blocks now. We made it into the conference room, and Art slumped into the nearest chair. I tried not to slump into the one across from him.Project an air of confident compassion, Tish had counseled me. But what did that mean, really? I had compassion all right, but confidence?
There was no way I was ever going to be able to look Art in the eye again.
Concentrate on outlining the details of the package. She’d said that too.
I opened the folder and read the text from the one sheet in a monotone. “We’re sorry to inform you that your position has been eliminated. In appreciation for your years of faithful service to the company, we’re happy to offer you—”
I stopped reading because Art was crying. Not sobbing, just a stream of tears flowing from behind his glasses and collecting on his shirt in spreading pools of wet.
Christ. What was I supposed to do now?
Sometimes a reassuring hand on the shoulder is appropriate. Tish’s words kept coming.Sometimes I let them cry, just being there for them.
I opted for the latter, partly because I couldn’t bring myself to move my hand, but also because it seemed like that kind of gesture should come with words, and I had no idea what to say. That it was all going to be okay? That he’d find something else, something better? That he wasn’t going to lose his house, or have to raid his kids’ college funds to avoid it? I couldn’t say any of those things. It wasn’t going to be okay, and he wasn’t going to find something else.
Guys like Art never do.
Not at fifty-six.
Not when the guy firing you is the guy you hired.
I have to hand it to Art, though. Sixty seconds of silence was all it took to pull himself together.
He lowered his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I expect you have to finish reading that.”
Large Cover Image
In McKenzie's delicate, honest exploration of secrets, family, and the varied meanings of true love, the lives of two women intersect in ways they neither planned nor wished for when the man connecting them is suddenly killed. Claire and Tish don't know one another, but the man they share needs equally important things from each of them. When Claire first met Jeff, she was dating his brother. Despite eventually becoming Jeff's wife and the mother of his child, Jeff always harbored the fear that he was Claire's second choice. When he and coworker Tish recognize each other as kindred spirits, a love affair emerges that is theirs alone to define. After Jeff's death, Claire starts to ferret out the truth of her husband's relationship to Tish, forcing Tish to decide whether to honor Jeff's memory by destroying the lives of everyone connected to them both or staying silent. Told from alternating viewpoints, the narrative and the perhaps unexpected ending allow readers to get a deeper glimpse into each character, expanding them beyond the caricatures they might otherwise have been. Copyright 2014 Booklist Reviews.
Library Journal Reviews
Jeff is an accountant with a seemingly average life. Married with a young child, he likes golf and lives in the small town where he grew up. Dig a little deeper and you'll find he's always been a little insecure about his wife Claire's feelings toward him, because she was jilted by his brother before they met. When Jeff dies unexpectedly, Claire finds clues that make her suspicious about secrets he may have been hiding from her. But the only woman who has the answers to Claire's questions, Jeff's coworker Tish, is equally determined to keep the truth hidden. By giving the perspective, in alternating chapters, of each of the three main characters (one of whom is deceased), this novel builds suspense as the reader wonders what really happened. VERDICT McKenzie's fourth novel (Spin; Arranged; Forgotten) is sure to please her many fans and appeal to readers who enjoy women's fiction with an element of suspense.—Karen Core, Detroit P.L.
[Page 112]. (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
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