Introduction

"The Island Club is a Carrie Soto is Back meets Big Little Lies delight that will exceed all reader expectations!" ?Lynda Loigman

"A story of the power of friendship, the defiance of societal expectations, and the finding of one's true self." ? Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author

An unputdownable novel of loves lost and found, shocking secrets?and the power of female friendship.

1956: On idyllic Balboa Island, just off the California coast, life seems peaceful and welcoming. But when the lives of three women begin to unravel in shockingly different ways, an unlikely friendship?and the game of tennis?may be the only thing that can save them.

Milly Kinkaid's plan to fix her crumbling marriage seems to be falling apart before it even begins. She believed that moving her young family from Hollywood to Balboa Island might entice her increasingly distant husband to come home earlier after work. Instead, he's barely coming home at all.

Society matriarch Sylvia Johnson and her husband have been pillars of their community for decades, and have just recently begun a new business venture: The Island Club, a place for members to swim, play tennis and dine in style. But when she learns that he has been risking their financial security and putting their family's future in grave danger, she's not only poised to lose the club, but the entire community she holds dear.

Meanwhile, standoffish loner Adele Lambert's entire world is on the brink of being destroyed if the dark secrets of her past and her hidden identity is revealed. Twenty years ago, she ran from a shameful scandal and left behind the only thing she ever loved. Now, terrified that the anonymity she's spent decades guarding will be exposed, but desperate to stay afloat, she risks everything to return to the game that brought her to her knees all those years before.

Set against the sun-drenched beaches of Balboa Island, with its prim and proper 1950s facade, The Island Club is a story of love, loneliness and the lies we tell ourselves?and what can be gained when the truth is finally revealed.

"A beautifully written nuanced story that explores the power of female friendship." ?Fiona Davis, New York Times bestselling author

"The perfect summer read . . . for anyone who loves a smart, juicy escape!" ?Kristy Woodson Harvey, New York Times bestselling author

"No beach bag will be complete without this." ?Steven Rowley

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

March 1956

MILLY

At a little past six on a Wednesday evening, after fixing her hair into a smooth S-wave and slipping into her canary-yellow dress with the sweetheart neckline, Milly Kincaid picked up one of her slingback pumps and hurled it down the hallway as hard as she could. Its heel lodged into the wall of her brand-new house on Balboa Island, and it stayed there. She picked up its mate and launched that one too, watching with dissatisfaction as it thumped, sadly, to the floor. She considered grabbing another but stopped and froze, staring at the damage she had caused, and wondered what she’d tell her husband. Only then did she allow herself to acknowledge the feeling that had nagged at her all night as she’d tossed and turned alone in their bed: the feeling that she had made a terrible, terrible mistake. They should never have moved to this godforsaken island.

Her husband Lloyd hadn’t been home for three nights, and fifteen minutes earlier they were supposed to have arrived at their new neighbors’ house, the Johnsons, for a welcome dinner. Despite leaving numerous messages with Lauralee, Lloyd’s secretary, Milly had no idea if he would actually show his face.

Leticia, the new babysitter, who barely spoke a word of English, was in the yard playing with the children, and Milly didn’t know which would be worse—to cancel last minute and make a terrible first impression with her new and rather fabulous neighbors, or to go alone and risk starting rumors about her shaky marriage. Balboa Island was a small community; people would talk, people would gossip, she was sure of it. She had no choice but to face the evening alone.

She powdered her nose, reapplied her Cardinal Red lipstick, and regretfully collected her shoes, dislodging the one wedged in the wall and picking up the other from the floor.

When she reached over the white picket fence and unlatched the gate at the house on South Bay Front, just a short walk from hers on Amethyst Avenue, her hand was shaking slightly. Milly and Lloyd were the new couple in a new town. Having Lloyd by her side gave her stability, comfort, someone to lean on to ensure they came off as a couple worthy of an introduction. As a television executive, Lloyd had far more impressive things to talk about than Milly did. What could she possibly converse about? How Debbie had been crying herself to sleep each night because she missed her old friends, what Jack ate for dinner, or how overwhelmed Milly felt by the sheer magnitude of unpacking an entire house alone? What a bore!

The table on the Johnsons’ front patio was already set with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, white china plates, and pale-blue rolled napkins. A bowl of fresh strawberries caught the late afternoon sun, and the whole scene had a casual elegance to it, like something out of a magazine. If Milly had been the one inviting the new neighbors over, she would have been a frantic mess, scrambling to get dinner on the table, tidying up the house, and making sure the children were presentable. But Milly could tell even after meeting her hostess only a few times that Sylvia was the kind of self-assured woman who made entertaining look like a breeze.

“Milly!” The front door swung open, and Sylvia sashayed out in a full-skirted royal-blue dress with a pale-pink bowknot collar and a matching pink apron tied around her tiny waist. Her auburn waves caught the sun and looked as if she’d just walked out of the beauty salon. She placed a bowl of melon balls on the table, then leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here. Where are those adorable ankle-biters of yours?”

“They’re at home. I’m trying out a sitter, Leticia. It’s so much more relaxing without the children,” Milly said, not feeling relaxed at all—worrying if Debbie was missing her, worrying if Jack was acting up, worrying if Lloyd would make an appearance.

“I don’t envy you,” Sylvia said. “Those early years are exhausting. You need all the help you can get.” She smiled, and Milly wished she could be her for a moment, standing there in front of her perfect house, with, no doubt, a perfect, happy family inside. “My Walter will be out in a jiffy. Is Lloyd joining us?”

Milly’s stomach clenched. “He’ll be here any second,” she said an octave too high. “He must be stuck in traffic.”

Though it had been a calculated decision to move, the fifty-mile stretch of road between his work in Hollywood and their new home on Balboa Island was beginning to feel precarious, like a piece of bubblegum stretching out between them, growing thinner and thinner, threatening to break at any moment. She never knew when to have dinner on the table or what to tell the children when he didn’t come home. In the last two weeks since they’d moved in, he’d barely spent any time with them at all, and his absence made her anxious.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Milly asked, trying to change the subject.

“It’s all under control.” Sylvia pulled out a chair for Milly, then sat across from her. “The food is almost ready. My daughter Judith is upstairs in her room listening to records—‘Heartbreak Hotel’ over and over again.” She rolled her eyes. “He is a peach though, don’t you think?” Sylvia fanned herself dramatically with her hand. “That Elvis Presley.”

“Oh, sure,” Milly said. “Actually, Lloyd was in the same room as him at CBS when he was on Stage Show a few months back.”

“Do not tell my Judith that; she’ll never leave your poor husband alone, peppering him for information.” She laughed. “But, more importantly”—Sylvia leaned forward and gave Milly a wink—“it’s cocktail time.” Sylvia stirred an etched-glass pitcher with a long silver spoon and began to pour the bright red concoction into two tall glasses. “I hope you like a Rangoon Ruby. It’s Ocean Spray cranberry juice, vodka, soda, a squeeze of lime and a sprig of mint. I got the recipe from a bartender in San Francisco, and it’s perfect for these gorgeous spring days.”

Milly took a long drink. It was exactly what she needed.

A full forty-five minutes later Lloyd entered through the gate, and Milly let out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, looking as dashing as ever, not a hair out of place. “The studio kept me late, but I insisted I had to leave, told them I had a very important dinner.” Milly was shocked that he’d come, and angry that he hadn’t bothered to let her know, but mostly, she was just grateful not to have to squirm through the evening alone making excuses for his absence.

“Oh, Lloyd, we’re so happy you’re here.” Sylvia opened the door and called inside. “Yoo-hoo, Walter darling, Lloyd has arrived.”

She started mixing two Manhattans at a wheeled bar cart. “Milly and I are drinking Rangoon Rubies, but I’m assuming you need something stronger.”

“Bourbon’s great, thank you,” he said.

Walter emerged from the house looking serious, and for a moment Milly thought she might see annoyance or anger on his face. Maybe Sylvia planned dinners like this every night of the week. But, as if stepping into a role on a TV show, he cracked a smile and reached out to shake Lloyd’s hand.

“Great to meet you, Lloyd. Sylvia tells me you’re a Hollywood man.”

“I work in television,” he said.

“Good business to be in.”

Lloyd nodded. “It’s certainly a busy time; everyone wants to watch the box. We’re trying to provide longer shows, but we can hardly keep up with the demand.”

“Exciting times,” Walter said. “And this must be your lovely wife,” he said, turning his attention to Milly. “Sylvia’s told me so much about you.”

Milly couldn’t imagine what she could have told him, but she smiled anyway. “You have a beautiful home,” she said.

Walter was in his mid-forties, and Sylvia was at least ten years younger. He was tall and well-built with some wrinkles forming on his tanned face, but he was a handsome man, and it was easy to imagine what had drawn Sylvia to him. Sylvia reached for his hand, pulled him in. “There you are, darling,” she said, handing him his drink.

“Thanks, Lamb Chop,” he said, giving her an unabashed smooch before getting comfortable in his chair. “So, how are you two settling in on the island?”

“We’re having a ball,” Lloyd said, putting his arm around his wife. “Right, Milly?”

She almost laughed. He’d barely set foot on the island since they’d moved in, let alone been around long enough to have any kind of fun. He hadn’t taken even one day off to help unpack. He just went to work as usual and left her to make all the decisions on how the furniture should be arranged and which cupboard should house the plates and dishes and which should house the glasses. She’d rushed to unpack the children’s boxes so they had something to wear to their new schools and something to keep them occupied when they got home, but the rest sat untouched. It was a miracle she’d met any of her neighbors at all. In fact, she wouldn’t have met Sylvia if she hadn’t shown up on Milly’s doorstep to introduce herself the first day Milly had arrived, with a casserole and a bottle of wine in hand. The only good thing was that the house they’d bought was reasonably sized and somewhat manageable, unlike Sylvia’s, which was easily four times the size, pristine, and beautifully decorated, sitting on a double lot overlooking the bay.

Lloyd squeezed Milly’s shoulder, coaxing her to respond. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding. “We came here on our honeymoon several years back. We just loved the calm bay beaches and the quaint cottages. Oh, and the main street is adorable with all the little shops.” Milly thought back on that time and tried to remember if they’d been happy then, just days after their wedding, but she couldn’t recall; it all felt like a blur.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” Walter said, proudly.

Milly smiled. “It’s like being on vacation every day.”

The truth was, she was miserable.

She had no idea what her husband was up to in Hollywood, and trying to set up a new home and a new life on the island was overwhelming. It made it hard for her to even catch her breath, let alone enjoy anything that her new hometown had to offer.

At night she lay in bed, dog-tired from all the cooking and cleaning and organizing and corralling the children into bed one at a time, then she’d stare at the ceiling, unable to fall into the sleep that her body desperately needed, instead making mental lists of all the things she still needed to do. It had occurred to her around four that morning that her fretful focus on what to do next—which box to put where, who to call to fix the hallway light switch—it was all irrelevant if her husband never came home. There was no handyman to call to fix a broken marriage.

“Well, you’ve made friends with the right gal,” Walter said. “Sylvia knows everyone around here; she can introduce you.” He swigged the last of his cocktail and gave the ice cubes a shake. Sylvia stood to fill his glass.

“It’s true, I do know a lot of people,” she said, flashing a grin. “I can tell you anything you could possibly want to know about anyone on this island . . . and plenty that you’d rather forget.”

Milly laughed.

“How did you two end up on the island?” Lloyd asked.

“Walter’s family was one of the first to buy property here, and I was Miss Balboa in 1938,” Sylvia said proudly.

“Miss Balboa?” Milly asked.

“I won the Balboa Bathing Beauty Contest—and guess who was judging.” Sylvia nodded to her husband.

Walter shook his head, “I wasn’t the only judge. Everyone agreed you were the hottest barbecue in town, and I didn’t need any convincing.”

Sylvia smiled. “Walter’s family has been putting on the Bathing Beauty Contest since it started back in the twenties; it’s an island tradition,” she said.

“That must have been fun!” Milly said, trying not to let her mind wander to the glamor girls Lloyd mingled with on set day in and day out. But she couldn’t help herself. There was one actress, Beverly Douglas, from that daytime show The Light Within, which Lloyd had been working on recently, whom he seemed particularly enamored with. She was a gorgeous, slim brunette who, he’d told Milly many times, was a sensation and very demanding of his time. Everyone loved her. Was it Beverly who was luring him away? So clichéd, she thought—a beautiful actress ensnarling a television executive in a tryst to get ahead. Milly forced herself to come back to the conversation.

“I tried modeling after that, but I made a terrible mess of it!” Sylvia laughed. “They said I couldn’t stop running my mouth long enough for them to get a decent picture. I found all the posing and primping so dull. I like people, I like chatting. I don’t like sitting still, what can I say?”

“She was a stunner,” Walter said. “Still is. And I like hearing what you have to say.”

Lloyd and Walter got along famously at the dinner table. Afterward, Walter offered Lloyd a cigar. “Do you play tennis, Lloyd?”

“I used to, a little, but not much.”

“I just opened up a new tennis club last year, The Island Club. It’s just across the bridge.” He nodded to Milly. “There’s swimming too for the ladies and children.”

Sylvia smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning in toward Milly. “He’s just trying to get you to join,” she said and laughed, putting her hand on Milly’s arm. “But I must say it’s quite a fun way to meet people. I’m happy to give you the grand tour.”

“There are two yacht clubs in the area if boating is your thing,” Walter went on, “One’s right next door to ours, but I thought we men needed a club where we can knock a ball around, you know, take our frustrations out on the court.”

“I happen to take tennis lessons there too,” Sylvia chimed in.

“Yes,” Walter said. “But you only go in the morning when no one else will see you.”

“That’s because the coaches don’t think I’m trainable; I think they’re embarrassed by me,” she said, laughing. “Though they might be right. I have two left feet. Milly you should join me sometime.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know if I even remember how to play.” Milly hadn’t played since high school, and even then it had only been to get out of taking gym class, but she liked Sylvia. She was so different from her—outgoing, carefree, and confident—all the things Milly wanted to be.

“Perfect; then you’ll make me look good!” Sylvia said. “And from what I’ve heard, it’s like riding a bike—you never forget.”

“All right,” Milly said, feeling a tiny ripple of excitement at trying something different with this new acquaintance, or maybe it was the cranberry Rangoon Ruby going to her head.

“How about Friday?”

“Sure,” Milly said. “I’d love to.”

[blank]

The next morning it was still dark out as Milly stood at the kitchen counter pouring the boiling water into the coffeepot. She watched the grinds settle, letting the steam warm her face, knowing she’d only have the chance to gulp down a quarter cup of coffee, half if she was lucky; then she had the sudden urge to take her husband’s keys, get into the car, and drive far, far away. It was a shocking thought, one she regretted instantly as she heard Jack and Debbie singing along to “Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah” as they came downstairs. The moments of peace and harmony were blissful and she should be more grateful, she scolded herself, but they were far outweighed by the spells of chaos.

The night before, when they got home from Sylvia’s house, Debbie was still awake, hours past her bedtime, struggling with her reading. She stayed up until almost eleven o’clock in tears attempting to finish the first few pages of a book she hadn’t taken out of her book bag until it was time to brush her teeth and put on her nightgown. By the time Milly left her daughter’s room, shuffled Lloyd from where he was snoring on the sofa to the bedroom, it was almost time to do it all over again.

She’d woken to the sound of Jack calling “Mommy” over and over again, followed by questions from Debbie that she didn’t really need help with: “Should I wear this white dress with the yellow sash, or the red one with the white collar?” If Milly gave her opinion, Debbie would undoubtably choose the other. Jack had demanded he have marshmallows for breakfast, because Leticia had let Debbie eat two for dessert the night before and he hadn’t had any. For a brief moment he forgot about the marshmallows and put on his new Flash Gordon sunglasses—the red ones with the yellow Flash mask in the center and the two tiny rockets on the side—only to have Debbie come along and snatch them off his face saying, “Can I try them on?” sending Jack into a screaming frenzy, all before the sun was even up.

Lloyd emerged clean-shaven and gleaming, smelling like Gillette shaving foam and pine-tar shampoo. He grabbed his hat, briefcase, and keys from the kitchen table, kissed his children on their heads, and made a beeline for the door.

“What time will you be home?” Milly asked.

“Not sure.” He came back and kissed her on the cheek. An afterthought. “Bye kids. Be good for your mother.”

“Yes, Daddy,” they said in unison, then they ran to the front window in the living room to watch him drive away.

He’d have the send-off of a king, kisses blown, cheeks pressed up to the window, dramatic waves goodbye from the living room, followed by an hour of peace, cruising along the coast in his Oldsmobile, with no whining, crying, complaining. He’d roll the windows down and listen to the Chordettes or the Penguins, and he’d arrive at his office refreshed and calm and ready to take on the world. Milly resented him for that.

She smeared peanut butter and grape jelly onto white bread and crammed it in Debbie’s metal lunch box.

“I don’t like that lunch box,” Debbie began.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Hopalong Cassidy is a boys’ lunch box.”

“All right,” Milly said, dumping the sandwich and a cookie into a paper sack and adding a small Tupperware container of fruit salad. “Take this instead. I’m sure Jack will happily have it.”

“Don’t give it to Jack,” she whined.

Milly took a deep breath, walked to the bedroom to get herself dressed, and counted down the minutes until the school bus would arrive.

It had been Milly’s idea to move. She’d insisted, in fact, that they get out of Hollywood, away from the traffic, the pollution, the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles, where Lloyd was constantly being pulled back to work long after he’d left the office. They’d be at dinner and he’d run into another studio executive or a director, and next thing you knew, Milly would be finishing the last sip of her drink, and Lloyd would be ushering her into a taxi and kissing her goodbye. “I won’t be late, I promise,” he’d say. “We just need to talk business; you know how it goes—you’d be bored out of your mind.” And she’d give him her cheek, and later she’d climb into bed alone only to hear him creep in at four or five in the morning or sometimes not at all.

She was surprised that he’d agreed to the move. Two months earlier they’d spent the weekend on Balboa Island for their anniversary, peeking into windows filled with charm and home-cooked meals and families of four sitting down together for dinner. “It would be good for you,” Milly said at the end of the weekend before they drove home. “You could leave all the stress of work behind and come home to this at the end of each day,” she said as she looked out to the yachts sailing by, the children building sandcastles by the water’s edge, the Balboa Pavilion across the bay silhouetted against the setting sun.

She had thought that if they lived here, an hour south of all that lustiness that Hollywood had to offer, a place where it was picturesque, patriotic, with clean, salt air, then he’d have less time to indulge in all that perfidy. They put down a deposit on a house on Amethyst Avenue, they enrolled Debbie in school, and found a nursery school that would take Jack for two hours in the morning three times a week. They packed up their house in Hollywood and had everything delivered to the new house on Balboa Island. But now, instead of pulling him away from the temptations of Los Angeles, she’d simply taken herself out of the equation, making it easier for her and Lloyd to be apart. She’d had a plan, a grand plan, but she was becoming very concerned that it had backfired.

She had to do something to bring Lloyd into their new life on the island. She had to find a way to entice him to her, to ground them here, to make this new life permanent. And she had to do it fast. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher:


1. The novel alternates perspectives among characters in each chapter. How did this structure and the author’s writing style shape your reading experience? Did one character’s voice or storyline resonate with you more strongly than the others?

2. Of the three women—Milly, Sylvia, and Adele—who did you identify with most, and why? Were there aspects of their experiences or choices that felt especially familiar or emotionally impactful?

3. Did any character surprise you or evolve in a way that changed your opinion of them? What moments led to that shift?

4. Milly takes up tennis as an adult and discovers not only a new passion, but a new sense of self. Have you ever learned a sport or physical activity later in life? What did the experience teach you—about your body, your mindset, or your ability to grow beyond the roles you’ve long inhabited?

5. Secrets play a pivotal role in the story. Which revelations did you see coming, and which ones caught you off guard? Did this affect how you view the lives of those around you—friends, neighbors, even family?

6. Adele faces intense public judgment and media scrutiny in an era without social media, where newspapers and gossip columns shaped reputations. How does her experience mirror—or differ from—today’s “cancel culture”? What does the novel suggest about how quickly society can rush to judgment, then and now?

7. The story is set on Balboa Island. How did the setting enhance the mood, themes, or characters? Did the island feel like an escape, a cage, or something else entirely? Would you want to visit?

8. Adele’s character was inspired by Suzanne Lenglen, a pioneering French tennis star. Did knowing about this real-life influence change your perception of Adele? Did it add layers to her story or personality?

9. Female friendship is a core theme—three very different women come together and, in many ways, save each other. How did their relationships grow and shift over the course of the novel? What does the story say about the power of connection between women?

10. The novel explores regret and forgiveness. Were you able to forgive the characters for their mistakes? Why or why not? What does the book suggest about the path to healing?

11. Reflecting on the story’s emphasis on women supporting one another . . . How did this portrayal of friendship influence how you view your own relationships? Did it make you appreciate— or reconsider—any bonds in your life?

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