Thrillers & Suspense
![Amanda Eyre Ward - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B001IR1Q52.jpg)
The Lifeguards: A Novel
"A book that is at once riveting and relevant as it unpeels the various meanings of motherhood, family, and loyalty. I tore through it."-Miranda Cowley Heller, author of The Paper Palace
The bonds between three picture-perfect-but viciously protective-mothers and their close-knit sons are tested during one unforgettable summer in a gripping novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Jetsetters.
Austin's Zilker Park neighborhood is a wonderland of greenbelt trails, live music, and moms who drink a few too many margaritas. Whitney, Annette, and Liza have grown thick as thieves as they have raised their children together for fifteen years, believing that they can shelter them their children from an increasingly dangerous world. Their friendship is unbreakable-as safe as the neighborhood where they've raised their sweet little boys.
Or so they think.
One night, the three women have been enjoying happy hour when their boys, lifeguards for the summer, come back on bicycles from a late-night dip in their favorite swimming hole. The boys share a secret-news that will shatter the perfect world their mothers have so painstakingly created.
Combining three mothers' points of view in a powerful narrative tale with commentary from entertaining neighborhood listservs, secret text messages, and police reports, The Lifeguards is both a story about the secrets we tell to protect the ones we love and a riveting novel of suspense filled with half-truths and betrayals, fierce love and complicated friendships, and the loss of innocence on one hot summer night.
The bonds between three picture-perfect-but viciously protective-mothers and their close-knit sons are tested during one unforgettable summer in a gripping novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Jetsetters.
Austin's Zilker Park neighborhood is a wonderland of greenbelt trails, live music, and moms who drink a few too many margaritas. Whitney, Annette, and Liza have grown thick as thieves as they have raised their children together for fifteen years, believing that they can shelter them their children from an increasingly dangerous world. Their friendship is unbreakable-as safe as the neighborhood where they've raised their sweet little boys.
Or so they think.
One night, the three women have been enjoying happy hour when their boys, lifeguards for the summer, come back on bicycles from a late-night dip in their favorite swimming hole. The boys share a secret-news that will shatter the perfect world their mothers have so painstakingly created.
Combining three mothers' points of view in a powerful narrative tale with commentary from entertaining neighborhood listservs, secret text messages, and police reports, The Lifeguards is both a story about the secrets we tell to protect the ones we love and a riveting novel of suspense filled with half-truths and betrayals, fierce love and complicated friendships, and the loss of innocence on one hot summer night.
Editorial Reviews
"At once a love letter to my favorite city and a tense interrogation of the bonds of motherhood, The Lifeguards places three very different women in the pressure cooker of one Austin summer and watches the sparks ignite. I love a carefully crafted mystery where all the tricky pieces fit just so. . . . A masterclass."-Chandler Baker, New York Times bestselling author of The Husbands
"The Lifeguards combines dark intrigue with complex family dynamics and witty social observation. It's a highly charged, compelling page-turner that kept me guessing till the end. Sun, secrets, tequila, and twists-what's not to like?!"-Sophie Kinsella, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Party Crasher
"Insanely addictive, deliciously propulsive, and wholly unpredictable . . . will take your breath away. Big Little Lies meets Mare of Easttown in this masterful, explosive suspense novel set against the backdrop of sun-drenched Austin. A tense and taut thriller brimming with secrets, complex, twisty female friendships, and whiplash plot twists, this is the perfect summer read best devoured with a strong margarita."-May Cobb, author of The Hunting Wives
"Amanda Eyre Ward brings all the thrills of Big Little Lies to the privileged, sun-dappled private patios of Austin's ‘rich mom' set. The result is a juicy and irresistible roller coaster of a read."-Allyson Lynn, author of Bread
"Arresting . . . Like a cool lake on a hot day, this story hits the spot."-Publishers Weekly
"The Lifeguards combines dark intrigue with complex family dynamics and witty social observation. It's a highly charged, compelling page-turner that kept me guessing till the end. Sun, secrets, tequila, and twists-what's not to like?!"-Sophie Kinsella, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Party Crasher
"Insanely addictive, deliciously propulsive, and wholly unpredictable . . . will take your breath away. Big Little Lies meets Mare of Easttown in this masterful, explosive suspense novel set against the backdrop of sun-drenched Austin. A tense and taut thriller brimming with secrets, complex, twisty female friendships, and whiplash plot twists, this is the perfect summer read best devoured with a strong margarita."-May Cobb, author of The Hunting Wives
"Amanda Eyre Ward brings all the thrills of Big Little Lies to the privileged, sun-dappled private patios of Austin's ‘rich mom' set. The result is a juicy and irresistible roller coaster of a read."-Allyson Lynn, author of Bread
"Arresting . . . Like a cool lake on a hot day, this story hits the spot."-Publishers Weekly
Short Excerpt Teaser
-1-
Liza
Our boys were lifeguards, we told ourselves, and were surely safe. Weren't they safe? They knew CPR, had shown us their fanny packs filled with Band-Aids and plastic breathing tubes. Xavier, Bobcat, and Charlie (my son) had taken the course together, weekend mornings at Barton Springs. We'd dropped them off at dawn, the Texas sun just starting to climb above the horizon, making the surface of the spring-fed swimming hole flash red and orange. We'd said we'd walk Lady Bird Lake together, or we'd stand-up paddleboard or grab coffee. Instead, we smiled as we dropped the boys, went home to the adult lives we'd begun to create again, now that our children were fifteen. I was ghostwriting a cookbook; Annette was working at Hola, Amigos Daycare; and Whitney had become an Austin real estate titan.
Now that we no longer had endless summer days with elementary schoolers underfoot, it was harder to connect. But our friendship was unbreakable, as safe as the neighborhood where we'd raised our sweet little kids.
Or so we thought.
By the end of the summer, one of us would be gone.
"Where are they?" I said, glancing at my watch. (I liked wearing a thin gold watch I'd bought at an antiques store. Sometimes, I told people it had been my mother's, conjuring an "old money" family that didn't exist. Oh, how I loved the idea of a mother who'd wear such an elegant timepiece on a slim wrist! My actual mother, in contrast, had a tattoo of a snake on her hand.)
It was 11:00 p.m., which was definitely too late.
"Riding their bikes around the neighborhood, they said," said Annette. Her son, Bobcat, was rail-thin and six-three, a reluctant ninth-grade basketball star. Despite Bobcat insisting he just wanted to build computers in his room, Annette's husband forced their son to keep playing. During the last game of the season, an opponent elbowed Bobcat-hard-in the soft place underneath his rib cage. It was awful to see Bobcat's face crumple in pain . . . but he only glanced toward the stands at his father . . . and didn't make a sound.
When my son, Charlie, went over his mountain-bike handles on a trail and cut his forehead, I felt his pain viscerally. I could scarcely watch him pedal away, even now that he wore the most expensive safety equipment available: a two-hundred-dollar full-face helmet, padded bike shorts, neck brace, wrist, elbow, and knee pads, and a back protector made of VPD, whatever that was. Despite Charlie's complaints, I'd bought all the items at Dick's Sporting Goods on layaway. (The sign above the gear was a siren call: you can buy the feeling of safety!) Sure, the other kids made fun of him with his braces and helmets, but I'd rather my son be embarrassed than dead.
It was possible, as Charlie had suggested gently, that I had anxiety issues. Maybe, as he'd said, I should "use our money to talk to someone." But you couldn't see a therapist on layaway, now could you? I'd handle my brain when I'd somehow gotten Charlie to college without any major bodily damage. Splurging on things that made me feel more secure was working for me, so I ignored Charlie's complaints and insinuations and loved him hard and bought him safety equipment.
Annette went to every game wearing Austin High colors from head to toe. She had platinum blond hair and bronze skin, wide brown eyes. She carefully sculpted her thick eyebrows into perfect arches, accented her high cheekbones and naturally plump lips with drugstore makeup, and wore expensive jewelry at all times. When Louis (who had been too short to play basketball himself) led cheers for Bobcat from the stands and stomped his feet on the bleachers, tried to start "the wave" and was largely ignored, Annette stood by his side. We all loved Louis, his childlike enthusiasm, but Annette knew, as we all did, that Bobcat played only to please his father but really came alive when explaining the best graphics card for his latest home-built PC.
Louis wanted his son to be the athlete he'd dreamed of becoming himself-he couldn't fathom a person with physical gifts not wanting to use them. I thought it was just a matter of time before Bobcat either became who he was meant to be or stopped trying. Did Annette defend her son behind closed doors? Or was marriage about acquiescence, silencing yourself in the name of marital harmony?
I wouldn't know. I was a single mom, the struggling one in a sea of serene, wealthy wives. Everyone I knew had the money for psychiatrists, aestheticians, Peloton machines, and massages. I didn't own my house. I worried about our electricity bill. I was so nervous that my friends would drop me-nobody wanted a single woman at their barbecue.
Sometimes, I drove by neighborhood parties I hadn't been invited...
Liza
Our boys were lifeguards, we told ourselves, and were surely safe. Weren't they safe? They knew CPR, had shown us their fanny packs filled with Band-Aids and plastic breathing tubes. Xavier, Bobcat, and Charlie (my son) had taken the course together, weekend mornings at Barton Springs. We'd dropped them off at dawn, the Texas sun just starting to climb above the horizon, making the surface of the spring-fed swimming hole flash red and orange. We'd said we'd walk Lady Bird Lake together, or we'd stand-up paddleboard or grab coffee. Instead, we smiled as we dropped the boys, went home to the adult lives we'd begun to create again, now that our children were fifteen. I was ghostwriting a cookbook; Annette was working at Hola, Amigos Daycare; and Whitney had become an Austin real estate titan.
Now that we no longer had endless summer days with elementary schoolers underfoot, it was harder to connect. But our friendship was unbreakable, as safe as the neighborhood where we'd raised our sweet little kids.
Or so we thought.
By the end of the summer, one of us would be gone.
"Where are they?" I said, glancing at my watch. (I liked wearing a thin gold watch I'd bought at an antiques store. Sometimes, I told people it had been my mother's, conjuring an "old money" family that didn't exist. Oh, how I loved the idea of a mother who'd wear such an elegant timepiece on a slim wrist! My actual mother, in contrast, had a tattoo of a snake on her hand.)
It was 11:00 p.m., which was definitely too late.
"Riding their bikes around the neighborhood, they said," said Annette. Her son, Bobcat, was rail-thin and six-three, a reluctant ninth-grade basketball star. Despite Bobcat insisting he just wanted to build computers in his room, Annette's husband forced their son to keep playing. During the last game of the season, an opponent elbowed Bobcat-hard-in the soft place underneath his rib cage. It was awful to see Bobcat's face crumple in pain . . . but he only glanced toward the stands at his father . . . and didn't make a sound.
When my son, Charlie, went over his mountain-bike handles on a trail and cut his forehead, I felt his pain viscerally. I could scarcely watch him pedal away, even now that he wore the most expensive safety equipment available: a two-hundred-dollar full-face helmet, padded bike shorts, neck brace, wrist, elbow, and knee pads, and a back protector made of VPD, whatever that was. Despite Charlie's complaints, I'd bought all the items at Dick's Sporting Goods on layaway. (The sign above the gear was a siren call: you can buy the feeling of safety!) Sure, the other kids made fun of him with his braces and helmets, but I'd rather my son be embarrassed than dead.
It was possible, as Charlie had suggested gently, that I had anxiety issues. Maybe, as he'd said, I should "use our money to talk to someone." But you couldn't see a therapist on layaway, now could you? I'd handle my brain when I'd somehow gotten Charlie to college without any major bodily damage. Splurging on things that made me feel more secure was working for me, so I ignored Charlie's complaints and insinuations and loved him hard and bought him safety equipment.
Annette went to every game wearing Austin High colors from head to toe. She had platinum blond hair and bronze skin, wide brown eyes. She carefully sculpted her thick eyebrows into perfect arches, accented her high cheekbones and naturally plump lips with drugstore makeup, and wore expensive jewelry at all times. When Louis (who had been too short to play basketball himself) led cheers for Bobcat from the stands and stomped his feet on the bleachers, tried to start "the wave" and was largely ignored, Annette stood by his side. We all loved Louis, his childlike enthusiasm, but Annette knew, as we all did, that Bobcat played only to please his father but really came alive when explaining the best graphics card for his latest home-built PC.
Louis wanted his son to be the athlete he'd dreamed of becoming himself-he couldn't fathom a person with physical gifts not wanting to use them. I thought it was just a matter of time before Bobcat either became who he was meant to be or stopped trying. Did Annette defend her son behind closed doors? Or was marriage about acquiescence, silencing yourself in the name of marital harmony?
I wouldn't know. I was a single mom, the struggling one in a sea of serene, wealthy wives. Everyone I knew had the money for psychiatrists, aestheticians, Peloton machines, and massages. I didn't own my house. I worried about our electricity bill. I was so nervous that my friends would drop me-nobody wanted a single woman at their barbecue.
Sometimes, I drove by neighborhood parties I hadn't been invited...
