Meg is 60, a victim of the chick lit cliche: the husband has traded her in for a younger model, her older daughter is bossy and unforgiving, and her younger daughter hasn’t had much contact with her for ten years, having moved to France in a fit of snotty independence. (Doesn’t anybody have decent kids in these books anymore?)
As Meg approaches her sixtieth birthday, and feeling that despite her very comfortable financial situation, she had nothing going for her, she decides to kill herself by jumping off a bridge that is about a three-hour drive from her home. She gets her affairs in order and sets off.
Sully is a young man approaching his 30th birthday, a product of a series of foster homes and kindly neighbors who fed him and took him in from time to time. He is a skilled carpenter and is determined to make enough money to buy a little piece of land and build a small home of his own. He is on his way to a new job when, on that fateful bridge, he swerves to avoid a buck, and plunges into the river below. Meg, getting ready to jump, is appalled and rushes in to pull him out of the truck and up the embankment, thereby saving his life, and he hers, by distracting her from her purpose.
He is freezing, and she wraps him in a blanket she keeps in the car, turns on the heater full force, and after he absolutely refuses to go to the hospital, they set off together on their joint journey.
It is a lovely, predictable, uncomplicated story, a feel-good tale, and of course you all know by now that I like to feel good, so for me, it was a satisfying read. In the end, Sully gets his family and his own home, Meg gets another age-appropriate guy and a job, and they all live happily ever after someplace warm.