Caitlin Donovan, a young woman with a four-year-old son, arrives in the Oregon coastal town of Port Orford, seeking to escape a violent past. No matter what she does, it seems destined to catch up with her. As much as she struggles to keep to herself, her barriers gradually get broken down by the people she meets there.

Daniel Wright, a decorated war veteran, is trying to raise his teenage daughter in Port Orford, despite never coming to terms with traumas he has endured in his military service and personal life. In the face of further heartaches, he starts to connect with the first person in many years that has awakened a long-lost hope within him.

The complex threads of deep-seated hurts and hidden truths that link these three start to unravel as love, life and family are put to the ultimate test. Each has to consider what personal price they are willing to pay for a future they could barely imagine.

“A great writer comes along about once a decade. Since it’s been thirteen years since her last great novel, Jenny Walker was overdue. Although she writes from an ocean away, Jenny shows a deep understanding of the U.S. culture and blithely blends Jane Austen with Tom Clancy. You will NOT stop reading until you finish!”

“It’s been a while since Jenny Walker chose to provide her legion of fans with another fascinating, exciting and sometimes sentimental story, but now she has. ‘True Calling’ isn’t sugar from start to finish and there are some gut-wrenching episodes which could break the readers’ hearts but somehow Ryan, our hero, comes through, even if only to protect his young son from the terrible consequences of what seemed at the time to be merely a natural public spirited act.”

“Nuala, where’s my keys?” Ryan asked, breezing into the kitchen and grabbing a half-slice of buttery toast from his daughter’s plate. “Thanks Rose, honey,” he said, giving her an exaggerated wink.

“Daddy!” the little girl exclaimed, putting her tiny hands over her plate to guard against any further incursions.

“They might just be where you left them last night,” his wife replied, a tired smile creasing her lips.

Munching his toast and with his mouth half-full, he grinned and walked over to her. “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”

She frowned and clasped her protruding midriff. “I feel like a whale about to give birth to an elephant.”

“I’ve never seen a whale look so good.”

“Ryan?” Nuala said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes dear?” he replied, scooping his keys into his non-toast hand.

“You’ve been Jimmied.”

“Huh?”

She pointed downwards. “The trousers of your scrubs.”

He looked down and grimaced at the Coco-pop hand prints adorning both trouser legs. “Blast, I’m going to be late for my shift.” He turned to find the culprit making his escape at a fast crawl across the kitchen floor. “James Gallagher!” Ryan exclaimed in a lighthearted sing-song voice. “I’m going to have words with you about this later.”

“You don’t have time to change,” Nuala said. Seeing her husband’s blank expression, she continued, “You said you’d drop James off at daycare this morning. Remember - OBGYN appointment? I can drop Rose off at Kindergarten or James at daycare, but not both.”

Ryan sighed. “Yes, yes, OK. I’ll take Jimmy-boy, it’s not as far out of my way. Let me grab my coat.”

Nuala picked up her son and gently wiped his hands clean. “Now my little man, Mommy will see you later.” She kissed him on the nose, provoking a round of giggles.

“Thanks my love,” Ryan said, taking James from her and leaning over to grab a quick kiss. He opened the front door and groaned. “No!”

“What is it?”

“It’s your car,” Ryan complained. “It’s parking me in. I’m not going to make it to work anywhere near on time at this rate.”

Nuala sighed. “I think Mount Sinai ER will survive a few minutes without you. Listen, I’m about to leave too. Come on, Rose, grab your coat.” She turned back to find her husband practically dancing from one foot to another, obviously trying to bite his tongue. She shook her head slowly. “Do you want to take my car today?” It was such a simple question.

Ryan nodded. “Sure, here catch.” Predictably she dropped the keys. She rolled her eyes and made a show of walking across the kitchen with her keys.

“Here, take these. Be good, you boys.” She smiled. “NDT?”

He grinned. “You bet. No-one dies today.”

“Not on my watch!” they said in unison as they fist-bumped.

“Thanks Nu! Take care you girls, all of you.” He gave his wife’s belly an affectionate pat and, with a quick wink, was out the door.

It took him longer than usual to strap James into the less familiar car seat. He muttered under his breath as his wife’s station wagon wheezed and groaned before the engine finally decided to spring into some semblance of life. By this time, he could see Nuala and Rose leaving the house and he couldn’t help but smile at the bemused ‘I told you so’ look on his wife’s face as he eventually got the car to move out of the driveway.

He had only made it to the corner when the ear-splitting explosion sent a raging fireball into the chill morning sky behind him. He jammed on the brakes, left the car in the middle of the road - some subconscious part of his brain reminding him to grab the keys before he sprinted back towards his house. The sight before him dropped him to his knees. His throat constricted and each breath felt like his last as he saw his car incinerated before him. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled closer before the intense heat began to scorch him. He fell backwards and scrabbled away, the flames unable to dry the tears that had started to flow. “Oh god, no,” he cried.

It was meant to be him. And he knew why.

* * *

She sat bolt upright, her back ramrod-straight, and kicked the bedclothes off her body. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she drowned in waves of adrenaline. It took her a few seconds to get her breathing under control enough to reorient herself.

The nightmare. Again.

It had been three nights since the last one. She only ever went a few nights without it, perhaps almost a week on one occasion. It was so familiar, yet each time the effect was the same: she was driven straight out of her restless sleep into a state of blind panic and rabid anxiety. Rivers of sweat coursed through her long blonde hair. She ran her hands through it, pushing the damp fronds back from her glistening face. Grimacing with distaste, she slowly stood, unsure if her legs were steady enough to hold her. It was still dark, but the outline of a full moon was just visible through the curtains that gently waved from the occasional draft of the warm salt-tinged breeze.

It was a familiar routine. She paced up and down the room as if to chase away the demons of the night. Gradually her heart rate began to approach something that might be considered normal and her breathing slowed and deepened. The nightmare was always the same, yet each time it was like the very first occasion all over again. Once the terror of the dream subsided, the deep-seated ache in the center of her being came to the forefront once more. She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, chin cradled in her damp palms. A long slow breath released from her like she were being deflated. She could almost imagine her body crumpling away as if the life was being sucked from it. It was always the same because that was how it was. She had read various books and articles about taking charge of your dreams and controlling your nightmares. A load of crap. How do you change the past?

She continued the usual process of pulling herself together. Forget the past, think of the future. She knew all that remained of her future was in the next room. She stood once more and walked out into the hallway. The house was still unfamiliar to her and she had to think which door it was that she wanted. Slowly pushing it open, she peered into the room. A pale glow from the nightlight cast shadows across the floor. It was still, save for the slow regular breathing coming from the bed. The mop of straw-colored fair hair poking out from under the bedclothes made her smile despite her distress; it always did. She straightened the bedclothes and the little body stirred and turned over.

“Mom?” the sleepy voice inquired.

“Shush, my love,” she whispered. “It’s OK, go back to sleep.”

As she made her way back to her own bed, she remained unconvinced by her words. Yes, she’d try to go back to sleep too, but was it OK? No, it might never be, but it was better than the alternatives.