The Hundredth Time Around is a decades-spanning tale of love lost and found. It ebbs and flows like the tide on the Maine coast that serves as its setting. Cassidy Quinn has known her share of heartbreak, from family tragedy to failed romance. But just when she thinks she's got it figured out at last, another loss sends her right back to where she started. Now she must unravel the mystery of some intertwined family trees, odd gaps in her memories, and what true love really means.
The Hundredth Time Around is a decades-spanning tale of love lost and found. It ebbs and flows like the tide on the Maine coast that serves as its setting. Cassidy Quinn has known her share of heartbreak, from family tragedy to failed romance. But just when she thinks she's got it figured out at last, another loss sends her right back to where she started. Now she must unravel the mystery of some intertwined family trees, odd gaps in her memories, and what true love really means.
The frigidity of the ocean water startled me as it slapped up against my ankles. I should have known better than to comb the beach during high tide. Had Grandma taught me nothing? I would never find anything good out here tonight. My thoughts skipped and scattered, kind of like how my Pearl Jam CD was skipping in my headphones. Why was it that when I made an effort to clear my head, it felt most cluttered? I tossed away the broken clam shell I had just pulled out of the soggy muck and wiped my hands on my shorts. I clutched my Discman horizontally in front of me in an effort to stop the skipping. Itâs just you and me, Eddie Vedder. You, me, and the sea.
It had been days since Emma and I had moved into our summer beach rental. My twenty-second birthday had been spent lugging boxes and suitcases into our tiny version of paradise. The Seaberry felt like more of a cabin than a beach house, really. The rustic maple woodwork that framed the walls and ceilings was welcoming. I sensed immediately the familiar vibe that this house had once been loved. For some, it might have seemed too small or too many miles from shore. But to two twentysomething girls straight out of undergrad, it signified nothing but a summer of possibility.
I lost my train of thought once again due to the breathtaking view before me. I stared out at the horizon and the open water. The ocean went on farther than I could imagine. Long, thin but puffy cumulus clouds stacked against each other in rows with tiny spaces in between, allowing the smallest bit of light to peek through. Aside from a few sailboats in the distance, the water was all I could see. The surfers and tourists were gone for the evening. Pearl Jam wasnât skipping anymore. Eddieâs voice was raspy and intoxicating, and I breathed in the salt from the air.Â
I inhaled again, and the dampness of salt mixed with wind took my breath away. Sometimes it seemed almost impossibly easy for the sea to calm my anxieties.Â
âHey!â
As a hand on my shoulder jolted me back to reality, I stopped in my tracks and jumped at least two feet off the ground. I gasped, unable to catch my breath, as my heart raced and thudded. I lost my footing as I tried to get a look at this person who had invaded my calm beach moment. I tripped over an unexpected rock, almost dropping my Discman. I didnât know this guy. But the hand, his hand, reached down and caught my device centimeters before it hit the water.
âIâm sorry! Can I help you?â I exploded. I stood up as fast as I could, brushing wet sand off my denim cutoffs.
âCalm down, there, killer!â He laughed.
âCalm down? You canât just frolic around the beach, grabbing girls! Youâre lucky I didnât kick you in theâŚâÂ
He looked amused. He stared at me for a beat. âKick me in the what?â
I rolled my eyes, but he smiled back and handed me my Discman. I nodded my thanks and plugged my headphones back into the jack, trying with great effort to get my hands to stop shaking.
âWhat are you listening to?â
I chuckled as if to say âNo way, not gonna happenâ and turned to face the other direction, very much aware that we were the only two people on Long Sands Beach.
âAre you just going to walk away?â
I turned, paused, and checked him over. He didnât appear to be a serial killer or a stalker, but what did those really look like? I wished I had a cell phone like Emma did. I would flip it open and call 911. But instead, I speedily studied his profile just in case I needed to give the police a description later on. I imagined myself sitting at the station like they did on TV, trying to give an estimate of his height, when all I could really tell at this moment was that he was taller than me (six foot one maybe?) with brown hair and dark eyes. They would want to know his weight, but I stank at that, and I was distracted by his dimples.Â
âI donât talk to strangers,â I sassed, satisfied with my response. I continued strutting away from him and carefully placed my headphones over my ears.
He touched my shoulder again. I flicked his hand off. âAre you nuts?â It was more like a statement than a question.
He froze and held both hands in front of his face as if to say he surrendered. It wasnât until now that I realized that whoever he was, he was actually kind of cute. I sighed and turned to face him. His lips curled into a smile, and he extended his hand to mine to shake it.
âSean,â he stated. âSean Anderson.â
I was hesitant to shake his hand, but when I did, I was surprised at how mine didnât feel cold until now. Â
âCassidy,â I replied as if I was repeating my McDonaldâs order for the third time.
âWell, Cassidy.â He retrieved his hand from mine and put both of his hands in his pockets. âI was only trying to tell you that I think you have a beautiful voice.â
I blushed. I hadnât realized that I had been singing out loud. I shook my head as if to say âNot going to happenâ again and hung my headphones around my neck.
âPearl Jam,â I mumbled. âI was listening to Pearl Jam.â I turned and continued walking. âIt was nice to meet you, Sean.â
I didnât turn back around even once. But as I changed course and cut through the center of the beach and up the steps to the parking lot, there was no doubt in my mind that he remained close behind.
* * *
Stacy Leeâs The Hundredth Time Around chronicles the love story of Cassidy Quinn and Sean Anderson. It isnât exactly love at first sight for the two twenty-somethings, but eventually, they develop a fledgling romance on the Maine coast during the summer of 2001. The novel briefly skims over their lives in 2006 and then catapults us to current times, catching us up with what has changed in their lives now that they are approaching forty, and how they diverged from that first romantic summer. As Cassidy and Sean rediscover each other, they also learn that their families may harbor a complicated past. As their story unfolds, Cassidy and Sean need to figure out if their love can survive after over a decade apart or if history will repeat itself.Â
Set in the picturesque town of York Beach, Maine, Leeâs vivid descriptions shine through. I was easily transported to the Atlantic coast by reading the first few chapters. I could feel the wind whipping off the ocean and I could see the Nubble Lighthouse in the distance. When the characters walked through the sandy beaches falling in love or experiencing heartbreak, I, too, could hear the music wafting over from the nearby piano bar.Â
This romantic imagery echoes the plot within The Hundredth Time Around, which at its core, is about love, missed opportunities, and second chances. The love stories in this novel leave you longing for the sweeter times indicative of young love. But, as most young romances tend to do, they can eventually burn out. It is a constant fight against a myriad of challenges for that love to mature and survive.
Lee carefully sprinkled in relevant pop culture, music, and technology throughout her novel, which enhanced the decades-spanning timeline. Also, as a child of the eighties myself, it was just plain fun to reminisce about music from college or a time when everyone wasnât attached to their cellphones and social media.
Despite Leeâs beautiful descriptions, I struggled with keeping track of all of the additional storylines. The plot hops through various time periods with different characters who lack distinct narrative voices; at times this was confusing. The use of multiple first-person narratives in The Hundredth Time Around weaken this novel, which is a shame because it started out with such promise.Â
That being said, The Hundredth Time Around was an entertaining and quick read. This book would appeal to anyone interested in reading about an endearing beach romance with historical elements woven throughout the plot.Â