In Wally Lamb’s New Novel The River is Waiting, an Inmate Searches for Hope (Exclusive)

The wait is over: Wally Lamb has a new novel coming.

The bestselling author of novels like She’s Come Undone and I Know This Much Is True is set to release his latest, The River is Waiting, next year through Marysue Rucci Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster — and PEOPLE has an exclusive excerpt.

The River is Waiting, Lamb’s first novel in eight years, follows Corby Ledbetter, a new father whose marriage is upended after he loses his job and finds himself harboring a secret addiction from his wife, Emily. When Corby is involved in a shocking tragedy, he is sentenced to prison and must adjust to an entirely new life.

Inside the correctional facility, however, Corby witnesses both acts of brutality and kindness, and forms bonds with the prison librarian, his cellmate and a troubled teenager in need of a role model. Through his fellow inmates and his mother’s belief in him, Corby comes to see that he may still be able to find redemption, per the book’s description.

Lamb has a personal connection to the book’s subject matter. The author established a creative writing program at the York Correctional Institution, a women’s correctional facility in Connecticut where he has volunteered for 20 years. Lamb is also the editor of the essay volumes Couldn’t Keep It Myself and I’ll Fly Away, which is composed of writing from his students.

Read on for an exclusive excerpt from The River is Waiting.

It’s six a.m. and I’m the first one up. Spotify’s playing that Chainsmokers song I like. If we go down, then we go down together … I take an Ativan and chase my morning coffee with a couple of splashes of 100-proof Captain Morgan. I return the bottle to its hiding place inside the 20-quart lobster pot we never use, put the lid on, and put it back in the cabinet above the fridge that Emily can’t reach without the step stool. Then I fill the twins’ sippy cups and start making French toast for breakfast. If we go down, then we go down together. I cut the music so I can listen for the kids, but that song’s probably going to play in my head all morning

Emily’s up now and in the bathroom, getting ready for work. When the shower stops, I hear the twins babbling to each other in the nursery we converted from my studio almost two years ago. My easel, canvases and paints had been exiled to the space behind the basement stairs. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice. I made my living as a commercial artist and had been struggling after hours and on weekends to make “serious” art, but after the babies were born, the last thing I felt like doing was staring at a blank canvas and waiting for some abstraction to move from my brain down my arm to my brush to see what came out.

Maisie was the alpha twin; Niko, who would learn to creep, walk and say words after his sister did, was the beta. In the developmental race, Niko always came in second, but, as their personalities began to emerge, his sister became our more serious, more driven twin and he was our mischievous little laughing boy. I loved them more deeply every day for who each was becoming. How could some artistic indulgence of mine have competed with what our lovemaking had created? It wasn’t even close.

“Yoo-hoo, peekaboo!” I call in to them, playing now-you-see-me-now­ you-don’t at the doorway into their room. “Daddy!” they say simultaneously. Their delight at seeing me fills me with momentary joy-my elation aided, I guess, by the benzo and booze. I lift them, one after the other, out of the crib they share. The twins often hold on to each other as they sleep and sometimes even suck each other’s thumb.

By the time Emily comes into the kitchen, I’ve already put her coffee and a stack of French toast on the table, the older pieces on the bottom and the fresh slices I’d made to replace the burnt ones on top. “Mama!” Niko shouts. Emily kisses the top of his head. “How’s my favorite boy today?” she asks. Then, turning to his sister, she kisses her head, too, and says, ”And how’s my favorite girl?” She loves both of our kids, of course, but she favors Niko, whose emerging personality is like mine. Maisie is clearly her mother’s daughter. She’s less silly, more self-sufficient. Niko and I are the needy ones.