Price includes shipping.
 
Summary
And/Or...The consequence of two words from opposite ends of the meaning spectrum are placed adjacent to each other where their use can have profound effects. However, to choose one over the other can result in all the difference in the world when it comes to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and to the point where lives and loves finally collide.

And/Or looks at the social, emotional, and legal consequences of choosing one over the other.  Amy believes her husband, George, has died and departs with her mistress to start a new life. George realizes that without Amy neither will survive. It's only when they both realize their son has stolen everything, including their health, wealth, and dignity that the consequences the one-word choice is finally understood.

As the tenth installment in the acclaimed Waldwick Series, And/Or looks at the cost of love, the reward of happiness, and the consequences of deception as one seeks to simplify their existence. A must for those in pursuit of love, life, and intrigue, And/Or will keep one wondering, Where does the road of life travel and where will it end?
 
In-Depth Summary
At the heart of this, the tenth novel in the acclaimed Waldwick narrative lies the figure of George Terrill—a man who lived at the nexus of public prestige and private fragmentation. His trajectory from Midwestern farm boy to decorated visionary and philanthropic icon follows a familiar arc within American mythos: self-reliance, perseverance and the eventual establishment of legacy. Yet the narrative complicates this arc through George’s emotional myopia and his profound failure to attend to the relational fissures forming around him. His story is less about triumph and more about an elegiac awareness of what cannot be reclaimed—namely, intimacy, forgiveness, and time.
 
Derrick Terrill, Amy and George’s estranged son, functions as both foil and indictment. Charismatic, hyper-intelligent, and ultimately megalomaniacal, Derrick symbolizes the metastasized American ego—a psyche so enamored with disruption and acquisition that it renders even familial loyalty expendable. His disdain for the humble origins of Terrill Farm and his obsession with controlling political, technological, and territorial apparatuses mirror our era’s most urgent cultural critiques: the corrosive impact of late-stage capitalism, the privatization of the public sphere, and the algorithmic dismantling of truth.
 
In sharp contrast, Megan—George’s second wife—emerges as a stabilizing force, one who understands that love in later life often requires a gentler language, one stripped of conquest or need. Her presence in George’s life offers a soft and deliberate meditation on grace, suggesting that emotional care is one of the last radical acts in a society bent on speed and disposability.
 
But perhaps no figure is as complex, or as quietly revelatory, as Amy—George’s first wife and mother to his children. Amy’s narrative is a mosaic of contradictions: biracial in a society still steeped in colorism and coded exclusion, bisexual in a culture that often demands binary clarity, and bipolar in a world ill-equipped to hold space for emotional variance. Her infidelity—conducted not out of malice but as a desperate search for coherence—becomes a synecdoche for the ways in which American women, particularly queer women of color, are rendered invisible even in the most intimate contexts.
 
Rather than reducing Amy to her transgressions, the narrative expands her into a symbol of intersectionality, emotional complexity, and post-divorce evolution. Her bisexuality, once a site of internalized shame and relational tension, is gradually treated with compassion and nuance. Her bipolar disorder adds further dimension, offering insight into the manic highs and depressive depths that shaped her decisions. These elements are not reductive labels but integral components of her striving toward coherence and grace.
 
Living in Chile with her second husband, Pepe, Amy cultivates a renewed stability. She manages the Terrill family’s business and enjoys a slower, more reflective life, far from the judgments and pressures of American society. Chile becomes a counterpoint to the cultural alienaton she experienced in the United States—a space where she feels less like an anomaly and more like herself. Yet, her connection to the Terrill family remains deeply felt, particularly in her relationships with her children and her enduring influence on George’s memory.
 
Amy’s presence critiques the rigid boxes American society imposes—gendered, racial, neurochemical—and highlights the quiet resilience required to live outside them. Her emotional volatility is pathologized even as George’s emotional absence is normalized. The narrative invites us to reconsider which forms of instability we stigmatize, and which we excuse. George and Amy’s divorce was not a rupture born of betrayal alone, but a cumulative failure to understand the interiority of the other. George, ever the rationalist, could not comprehend the fluidities that governed Amy’s identity. In response, Amy sought affirmation outside their marriage—first in the form of a female lover, then in the chaotic logic of her own unmedicated manic cycles. Her experience reflects the oft-unspoken terrain many navigate: the intersection of sexual agency,  mental illness, and cultural otherness in a country that remains reluctant to afford nuance to any of them.
 
The Terrill family serves as an allegorical microcosm of the American body politic. George’s idealism, Derrick’s authoritarian technocracy, Amy’s subaltern defiance, and Megan’s quiet empathy form a fractured collective—one that reflects the ideological fissures, economic inequalities, and psychic dissonances of the United States in the early 21st century.
 
Through Derrick’s consolidation of media, land, and legal influence, the novel critiques the rise of the executive citizen—a term coined to describe those who use capital as a tool of governance, sidestepping democratic accountability. His dominion over infrastructure, education, and narrative itself (via platform ownership) represents a future—and present—in which oligarchy is not merely tolerated but engineered. This condition is not speculative fiction but a  dramatized extension of post-Citizens United America, where wealth equates to legislative authorship.
 
Amy’s marginalization within the family, despite being foundational to its creation, parallels how the contributions of women—particularly women who are neuro-divergent, racially liminal, or sexually fluid—are systematically undermined or dismissed. Her emotional vulnerability is pathologized even as George’s emotional detachment is normalized. The text invites us to consider how social systems assign value to specific emotional expressions, often to the detriment of those who fall outside normative bounds.