4.2
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6,147 ratings
THE INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER!
A Most Anticipated Book of 2020: Newsweek, SheReads, PopSugar, HelloGiggles
One of Marie Claire’s Best Fiction by Women in 2020
One of Woman’s Day’s Best Fiction Books Coming Out in 2020
The electrifying #1 New York Times bestselling authors of THE WIFE BETWEEN US and AN ANONYMOUS GIRL return with a brand new novel of psychological suspense, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Shay Miller wants to find love, but it eludes her. She wants to be fulfilled, but her job is a dead end. She wants to belong, but her life is increasingly lonely.
Until Shay meets the Moore sisters. Cassandra and Jane live a life of glamorous perfection, and always get what they desire. When they invite Shay into their circle, everything seems to get better.
Shay would die for them to like her.
She may have to.
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ISBN-10
1250310962
ISBN-13
978-1250310965
Print length
368 pages
Language
English
Publisher
Griffin
Publication date
February 01, 2021
Dimensions
5.38 x 0.92 x 8.13 inches
Item weight
12 ounces
Some studies show that eating alone is more strongly associated with unhappiness than any other factor, except mental illness.
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We tend to like people whom we perceive as similar to us. And the less information we have about a person, the more important these perceived similarities are in influencing our approval.
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I once read that a sincere compliment is so powerful because it activates the reward centers in the brain, creating the same reaction that receiving money does. It truly does feel like a gift.
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ASIN :
B07TQH4X2J
File size :
2834 KB
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Praise for Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen:
"Dynamic duo Hendricks and Pekkanen bat another one out of the park with this unputdownable, highly recommended thrill ride." ― Library Journal (starred review)
"Slickly twisty [with] gasp-worthy final twists...major league suspense." ―Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Masterfully escalates the suspense...keep[s] the reader guessing until the end. A great follow-up." ―Booklist (starred review)
“Psychological suspense is a genre that needs to be handled with kid gloves...Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen seem to have mastered the formula...a creepy-crawly tale.” ―New York Times Book Review
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
SHAY
Numbers never lie. Statistics, charts, percentages—they don’t contain hidden agendas or shades of gray. They’re pure and true. It isn’t until people start meddling with them, spinning and shaping them, that they become dishonest.
—Data Book, page 1
TWO WINEGLASSES ARE ON the coffee table, evidence of a romantic night. I clear them away, rinsing the ruby-colored stains pooling at the bottom of the goblets. The coffee is brewing, filling the galley kitchen with the aroma of the dark roast beans Sean introduced me to when I moved into his Murray Hill apartment eighteen months ago.
I turn my head at the sound of a key in the lock, and a moment later he comes in, stepping out of his flip-flops. He’s humming, like he does when he’s happy. He’s been humming a lot lately.
“Hi there,” I say as he sets down a shopping bag from Whole Foods with a bouquet of purple tulips peeking out of the top. “You’re up early.”
His thick, gingery hair is sticking up a bit in the back, and I suppress the urge to reach out and run my fingers through it.
“Thought I’d pick up breakfast.” He unpacks eggs and croissants and strawberries.
As I reach for the carafe of coffee, Sean’s bedroom door opens.
He quickly gathers the tulips as his girlfriend, Jody, walks into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she says, stretching. She’s wearing a pair of Sean’s boxers, which are almost covered by one of his big hoodies. Her curly hair is up in a high ponytail, and her toenails are painted bright pink.
Sean gives her the tulips—and a kiss. I quickly turn away, busying myself opening the fridge and pouring almond milk into my travel mug.
“Enjoy breakfast,” I say. “I’m heading out to get some work done.”
“On a Sunday?” Jody crinkles her pert little nose.
“I want to revise my résumé. I have an interview tomorrow.”
I grab my tote bag containing my laptop off the bench by the front door. Beneath the bench, Jody’s sandals are nestled next to the flip-flops Sean just removed. I use my toe to nudge apart their shoes.
Then I descend a flight of stairs and step outside into an already-muggy August morning.
Not until I’m at the corner do I realize I left my travel mug on the kitchen counter. I decide to treat myself to an iced latte instead of going back to the apartment. These days, I spend as little time there as possible.
Because numbers never lie. And two plus one equals … too many.
I pull open the heavy glass door to Starbucks, noticing it’s packed. Not surprising: Seventy-eight percent of American adults drink coffee every day, with slightly more women than men consuming it regularly. And New York is the fourth-most coffee-crazed city in the country.
I can’t help myself; I often see the world through stats. It’s not just because as a market researcher I analyze data to help companies make decisions about the products they sell. I’ve been this way since I was a kid. I started keeping data books at age eleven, the way other kids kept diaries.
Wow, you gained twelve pounds since your last visit, my pediatrician told me when I went in for a strep throat test the summer before middle school.
Shay, you’re the tallest—can you stand in the back row? my fifth-grade teacher instructed me on class photo day.
Neither said it with a negative tone, but those comments, along with others I often heard, made me aware that numbers affect the way people see you.
I used to chart my height, my weight, and the number of goals I scored in each soccer game. I collected other data, too, like the categories of coins in my piggy bank, the number of library books I read every month, American Idol voting rankings, and how many gold, silver, and bronze medals the United States won in the Olympics. These days, I’ve come to mostly accept my body—I’ve turned my focus to my health and strength—and now, instead of what the scale shows, I record my 10K race times and the pounds I can deadlift.
I glance around the coffee shop. A woman leans over her laptop, typing purposefully. A couple sits side by side, her leg draped over his, The New York Times splayed across their laps. A father and a young boy sporting matching Yankees caps wait at the counter for their order.
Lately it seems like the stats are against me: I’m thirty-one years old, and I’m not dating anyone. When my boss called me into his office last month, I thought I was getting promoted. Instead, he told me I was being downsized. It’s like I’m caught in a slow spiral.
I’m fighting as hard as I can to turn things around.
First, a job. Then maybe I’ll join a dating site. There’s a void in my life Sean used to fill. Before he met Jody, we ordered in Chinese food at least once a week and binge-watched Netflix. He’s forever misplacing his keys; I instantly know from the way he calls “Shay?” when he needs help finding them. He waters the plant we named Fred, and I bring up the mail.
Sean’s the first guy I really liked since I ended things with my college boyfriend. I began to fall for Sean months ago. I thought he felt the same.
When the barista sets my latte on the counter, I scoop it up and push my way through the door.
Even at a few minutes after nine A.M., the heat is thick and oppressive; it engulfs me as I head to the subway station on Thirty-third Street. When I feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck, I stop to dig an elastic band out of my bag so I can tie it up.
That simple act costs me twenty-two seconds.
As I descend the stained stairs into the tunnel, I see the train I just missed speeding away from the station. A few people who must’ve disembarked from it climb the steps opposite me. I reach the platform and feel the last of the train’s breeze in its wake. A fluorescent light above me flickers, and trash overflows from a garbage bin. Only one other person is waiting, about ten yards from me.
Why didn’t he catch the train that just left?
When someone conjures unease in you, there are usually good reasons behind it. A man with a goatee and backpack lingering on a deserted subway platform on a Sunday morning isn’t enough to make my pulse quicken.
But the way he’s looking at me is.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, alert for any sudden movements, while my brain spins: The stairs are directly behind me. If he wants to harm me, I might be quick enough to run up them. But I could get stuck at the turnstile.
I can’t identify any other escape route.
The man takes a slow, deliberate step toward me.
I whip my head around, hoping someone else is coming.
That’s when I see we aren’t alone after all. A woman in a green dress with white polka dots stands farther down on the platform, in the opposite direction of the man. She’s partially camouflaged by the shadow of a large support beam.
I move closer to her, still keeping the guy in my peripheral vision. But all he does is continue walking toward the stairs, eventually disappearing up them. I chide myself for overreacting; he probably mistakenly entered the downtown platform instead of the uptown one, which I’ve done before. Odds are, he was looking at the exit the whole time, not at me.
I exhale slowly, then glance up at the green-hued LED display. The next train is due in a couple minutes. A few more people drift onto the platform.
I can hear the distant rumbling of the wheels of the inbound train—it’s a familiar soundtrack to my daily life. I feel safe.
The woman glances my way and I notice she’s about my height—five feet ten—and age, but her hair is shorter and lighter than mine. Her face is pleasant; she’s the kind of person I’d ask for directions if I were lost.
I break eye contact with her and look down. Something is glinting against the dull concrete of the platform. It’s a piece of jewelry. At first I think it’s a bracelet, but when I bend over and scoop it up, I realize it’s a gold necklace with a dangling charm that looks like a blazing sun.
I wonder if the woman dropped it. I’m about to ask her when the roar of the incoming train grows louder.
She steps close to the edge of the platform.
My mind screams a warning, Too close!
In that instant, I realize she isn’t there to ride the subway.
I stretch out my hand toward her and yell something—“No!” or “Don’t!”—but it’s too late.
We lock eyes. The train appears in the mouth of the tunnel. Then she leaps.
For a split second she seems frozen, suspended in the air, her arms thrown overhead like a dancer.
The train shoots past, its wheels grinding frantically against the tracks, the high-pitched shriek louder than I’ve ever heard it.
My stomach heaves and I bend over and throw up. My body begins to shake uncontrollably, reacting to the horror as my mind frantically tries to process it.
Someone is yelling over and over, “Call 911!”
The train stops. I force myself to look. There is no sign of the woman at all.
One second she existed, and the next, she’d been erased. I stagger over to a bench by the wall and collapse.
During everything that follows—while I give my statement to a police detective with an impassive face, am escorted past the crime-scene tape up to the street, and walk the seven blocks home—I can’t stop seeing the woman’s eyes right before she jumped. It wasn’t despair or fear or determination I saw in them.
They were empty.
CHAPTER TWO
CASSANDRA & JANE
AMANDA EVINGER WAS TWENTY-NINE. Single. Childless. She lived alone in a studio apartment in Murray Hill, not far from Grand Central Station. She worked as an emergency room nurse at City Hospital, an occupation so consuming and fast-paced it prevented her from forming close ties to her colleagues.
She seemed like the perfect candidate, until she threw herself under the wheels of a subway train.
Two nights after Amanda’s death, Cassandra and Jane Moore sit together on a couch in Cassandra’s Tribeca apartment, sharing a laptop computer.
The clean lines of the living room furniture are upholstered in dove gray and cream, and accented with a few bright pillows. Floor-to-ceiling windows invite plenty of light and afford sweeping views of the Hudson River.
The apartment is sleek and elegant, befitting its two occupants.
At thirty-two, Cassandra is two years older than Jane. It’s easily apparent the women—with their long, glossy black hair, gold-flecked brown eyes, and creamy skin—are sisters. But Cassandra is composed of sleek muscles, while Jane is softer and curvier, with a high, sweet voice.
Jane frowns as Cassandra scrolls through potential pictures. The only ones they possess of Amanda are recent—within the past few months: Amanda sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket in Prospect Park; Amanda lifting a margarita in a toast at Jane’s birthday party; Amanda crossing the finish line of a charity walk for breast cancer research.
In most of the photos, she’s surrounded by the same six smiling young women—the group the Moore sisters have methodically been assembling. The women have different occupations and hail from vastly diverse backgrounds, but they have more important, hidden qualities in common.
“We need one of Amanda alone,” Jane says.
“Hang on.” Cassandra pulls up a picture of Amanda holding a calico cat, sitting in a pool of sunlight spilling in through a nearby window.
Jane leans forward and nods. “Good. Crop it a bit and no one will be able to tell where it was taken.”
The sisters fall silent as they stare at the photo. Just a few weeks ago, Amanda was sprawled in the gray chair adjacent to this very couch, which was the spot she usually chose when she came over. She kicked off her shoes and stretched her long legs over the chair’s arm as she talked about the elderly hit-and-run victim she’d helped save with four hours of frantic treatment. His daughter brought in dozens of homemade cookies today and left us the sweetest card! Amanda had said, her words tumbling out with her usual exuberance. It’s times like this when I love my job.
It seems impossible not only that Amanda is gone, but that she chose to end her life in such a spectacularly violent way.
“I never saw this coming,” Cassandra finally says.
“I guess we didn’t know Amanda as well as we thought,” Jane replies.
For the sisters, Amanda’s suicide triggered frantic efforts to answer questions: Where had she gone in the days before she died? Who had she talked to? Had she left any evidence behind—like a note of explanation?
They searched her apartment immediately, using their spare key to gain entrance. They retrieved Amanda’s laptop and asked one of the women in their close-knit group, an operational security consultant, to unlock it. She ran a dictionary attack, cycling through thousands of possible passwords until she cracked Amanda’s. Then the sisters examined Amanda’s communications. Unfortunately, Amanda’s phone was destroyed by the subway, so it couldn’t be scrutinized.
Within two hours her building was put under surveillance. The first visitor to it, Amanda’s mother, who took the train in from Delaware, was invited to tea by one of Amanda’s grieving friends. No helpful information was gleaned, even though Amanda’s mother changed the venue to a bar and stretched the conversation over two hours, during which time she consumed four glasses of Chardonnay.
The memorial service, which will take place on Thursday evening at a private club in Midtown, is a precautionary measure. It was Cassandra’s idea to hold the simple, nonreligious ceremony. Anyone connected to Amanda will likely show up.
The sisters, who now have access to Amanda’s contacts, will invite everyone Amanda corresponded with during the past six months.
Cassandra and Jane also plan to post printed invitations on the main door to Amanda’s apartment building, in the nurses’ break room at City Hospital, and in the locker room of the gym Amanda frequented.
At the memorial service, a guest book will be used to gather names of the mourners.
“We’ll get through this, right?” Jane asks Cassandra. Both sisters are exhausted; faint purple shadows have formed beneath their eyes, and Cassandra has lost a few pounds, making her cheekbones even more pronounced.
“We always do,” Cassandra replies.
“I’ll get us a glass of wine.” As Jane stands up, she gives Cassandra’s shoulder a squeeze.
Cassandra nods her thanks as she fits the photograph of Amanda into the template of the memorial-service notice on her screen. She proofs it a final time, even though she knows every word by heart.
Will it be enough? she wonders as she hits the print key.
If Amanda revealed something she shouldn’t have to someone—anyone—in the days before her death, will that individual feel compelled to come to her service?
The phrasing below Amanda’s smiling photograph was debated by the sisters before this simple message was agreed upon as bait: Please Join Us. All Are Welcome.
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Greer Hendricks
GREER HENDRICKS is the #1 New York Times bestselling coauthor of The Wife Between Us, An Anonymous Girl, You Are Not Alone, and The Golden Couple. Hendricks earned her master’s degree in journalism from Columbia University and spent nearly two decades working at Simon & Schuster, where she served as vice president and senior editor. More of her writing has been published in the New York Times, Allure, and Publishers Weekly, among others. “A Show of Faith” is her solo debut. Stay up to date on Hendricks’s projects at www.greerhendricks.com.
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Customer reviews
4.2 out of 5
6,147 global ratings
Melanie Valente
5
A suspenseful plot that keeps you guessing until the very end
Reviewed in the United States on July 6, 2020
Verified Purchase
You Are Not Alone was an amazing read with a suspenseful plot and a fantastic set of characters.
Shay Miller is down on her luck with no boyfriend and a dead-end job. One morning while waiting for the train, Shay witnesses a woman commit suicide by jumping in front of the train. After the event leaves her shaken, Shay falls back on her need for information and begins a search to find out who the woman was and why she committed suicide, but her investigation leads her down a path she may not be able to come back from.
You Are Not Alone, like the other books by this author duo, is a hard book to summarize without giving too much away. A simplistic summary would be that the book is about Shay, a woman who loves data and statistics, searching out information about the woman who committed suicide in front of her. After Shay finds out the woman’s identity and attends her memorial service, it brings her into the orbit of Cassandra and Jane Moore. The Moore sisters live a glamorous life with a close-knit group of friends that to someone lonely like Shay, look like they have everything she wants out of life. But the Moore sisters have many secrets and when they believe Shay knows more than she should, they draw her into their circle.
The book is told in alternating chapters from the points of view of Shay, the Moore sisters, and the various women in the Moore sisters’ friend group. The authors did a great job giving everyone a distinctive voice and I never found myself confused about whose chapter I was in. The chapters of the Moore sisters’s friend group in particular were interesting as they showed how much influence Cassandra and Jane truly have over everyone in their lives. Those chapters also allowed us to see how everyone became connected to the Moore sisters and what the group gets up to in its spare time.
This book hooked me from the start as it was such an intriguing premise and I was curious what direction the authors would take things. The plot is full of twists and turns you won’t see coming and there were numerous occasions that I was sure Shay wouldn’t be able to find her way out of the situation she was in. The books from these authors have an addictive quality to them and I find myself unable to put them down. You Are Not Alone was no exception and I highly recommend this book if you’re looking for a captivating, thrilling read.
You Are Not Alone is definitely my favorite book from this writer duo so far and I’m looking forward to seeing what they come up with next.
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10 people found this helpful
Nan
5
Another riveting compulsive read!
Reviewed in the United States on March 5, 2020
Verified Purchase
Psychological Suspense at its best! This book will grab you and won’t let go until the end. I walked and read, changed laundry and read (it took a long time to empty the washer) ..you get the idea. Shay, is a quiet analytical young woman who lives with her best friend Sean (and is secretly in love with him-though he has serious girlfriend) who in the blink of an eye loses her job, witnesses a suicide, and loses her apartment. The suicide was so traumatic Shay felt compelled to learn more about the woman. Seeing a flyer for a memorial, Shay shows up and upon meeting the woman’s friends is quickly drawn into their circle. Her new friends seem concerned for her welfare and quickly take Shay under their wings, helping her find a place to live. Always on the outside, Shay marvels at how the connection with the the women greatly improve her outlook on life and her self-worth. No spoilers here so read on for the rest of the story.......that is after you’ve gathered all you’ll want around you so you don’t have to stop reading.
I’ll have to admit to a little bias.. I loved Sarah’s solo books just as I knew a book edited by Greer was bound to be a good one, so when their first book was announced I preordered & was as excited as Christmas morning when it landed in my Kindle app. I am an avid reader of psych suspense and these two ladies CAN NOT write a bad book.
With plot twists you’ll never see coming this is sure to be another instant best-seller
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14 people found this helpful
mnmloveli
5
Don't miss this one ! I hope this is a movie soon !
Reviewed in the United States on March 23, 2020
Verified Purchase
March 2020 : 5 Stars Shay Miller is a bit of a longer who just doesn't quite fit in, so when she witnesses a suicide, she becomes obsessed with the woman's death. Enter the Moore sisters (Casandra & Jane) who become her new friends. She'll soon see that their kindness doesn't come free.
Their first two books, The Wife Between Us 3 Stars & An Anonymous Girl 4 Stars. The sample was very intriguing and made me jump right in. I like their writing style. Enjoyed how the sisters made friends with Shay & dragged her into their "club". Enjoyed hearing Shay's interesting statistics at the beginning of her chapters. A couple of surprises along the way that really got me! Original plot for me. This book needs to be a movie !
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2 people found this helpful
Cali2Az1212
5
Could not put it down!!!!
Reviewed in the United States on March 26, 2024
Verified Purchase
This was my 3rd book of y’all’s! I love ur style showing the story from all different perspectives. Yall make it hard to put the book down. Was at the dentist with my book in tow and the assistant asked what I was reading and I showed her “you are not alone”. She looked it over and got excited, even said she would try to get it on payday. I was only 36 pages from finishing. When I went in for my follow up appointment I brought “anonymous” with me as well and gifted them to her. Now she’s hooked ♥️
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Colleen Noyes
4
Always guessing
Reviewed in the United States on December 6, 2023
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This mystery book was a pretty good read. There are a lot of characters that you find intertwine with each other. When the main female character Shay, witnesses a tragic occurrence she has no idea how it will become the center of her entire life and it is leading her down a dangerous road. She will soon become engulfed with new friends not realizing who they truly are and what is truly at stake. The characters in this book all have secrets and as you learn each second you become more and more aware of what is truly going on and the intense impact sisters, Jane and Cassandra have. They are the ultimate puppet masters, except nobody truly knows how, why, or where it will go. I thought that Shay was a very strong character, although a little naïve. By the end I felt that she was redeemed and I was glad to see the authors portray her in a positive light and as someone who actually had a great deal of intelligence. If you like a twisty and turny type book, then you will enjoy this.
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