A Time To Kill by John Grisham

My mother loves to read.  As far back as I can remember, she's always had a book on hand.  Anything that might require waiting or any little sliver of peace and quiet she can find; she's got a book.  Her favorite genre is easily any legal thriller or courtroom drama book.  I grew up with the same love for reading but after fourteen, I outgrew my Fear Street and Babysitters Club books and found comfort in philosophy and poetry.  I did read fiction books here and there, I loved (and still do love) Harry Potter and even have a 7" tattoo on my right arm dedicated to To Kill A Mockingbird (still my favorite and Atticus Finch... totally different story).
When my philosophy books put me in depression, I'd grab one of her books off of the shelf and try to work my way through them but would eventually give up somewhere in the middle, unable to maintain interest.  After I moved in to my first apartment, she gave me a couple of books to keep around for when I needed to ease my mind a bit.  At 19, I read A Time To Kill as an adult for the first time.  The cover had always caught my attention when I was a kid for some reason.  I think it was probably the tacky marble background, but either way, it was another one of her books that I'd tried to read more than once and couldn't finish.  However, at nineteen, it certainly captured my interests.

I know I didn't finish it at that time either, but I did read a good 3/4 of it before turning my attention back to my philosophy (which was pretty good for me).  The book remained with me through about 800 moves and it wasn't until I moved here (Arizona) two years ago that I realized I no longer had it.