By A. Manette Ansay
From long island occasions bestselling writer A. Manette Ansay comes an unforgettable tale of 2 households united via tragedy -- and one woman's deeply emotional trip towards a call she'd by no means inspiration attainable. On a standard morning in Fox Harbor, Wisconsin, Meg and Rex Van Dorn's lives are irrevocably altered while a inebriated motive force -- Meg's onetime ally, Cindy Ann Kreisler -- slams into the Van Dorns' automobile, killing their six-year-old son, Evan. As Meg recovers from her personal accidents, she and Rex are surprised whilst Cindy Ann gets a trifling slap at the wrist. of their rage and grief, they purchase a ship to sail world wide, hoping to place as a lot distance as attainable among themselves and Cindy Ann. but if Meg returns to Fox Harbor for a kinfolk marriage ceremony, she's pressured to stand the advanced ties that bind her to the lady who has destroyed her peace.
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Eli, on the other hand, seemed ageless. He could have been thirty-five, or sixty. The dreads, the tattoos, the excess weight: each was its own disguise. He reminded me, a little bit, of Toby. It made me like both of them all the more. ” She responded seriously, as if I’d said something insightful, unique. ” She glanced at the sky. “I’m baking. ” B lu e Wa t e r ~ 57 I must have looked surprised. ” “You bet,” Bernadette said, unlatching the doors to the companionway. ” A puff of cool air hit my face, along with the faint, familiar odor of bilge, and something else, something I couldn’t quite place: pungent, fruity, unpleasant.
Even now, I can’t recall another invitation I’ve accepted with such eagerness, such gratitude. While Rex and Popeye (whose name, it turned out, was Eli Hale) worked out the logistics of rafting our boats together, I dug Chelone’s fenders out of stowage, and by the time I’d dragged them onto deck, Rubicon was already closing in. There’d be no time, I realized, to clean myself up, to change out of the filthy shirt I was wearing and into the less-filthy shirt I’d been saving. Dark crescents of dirt frowned beneath my nails.
Suddenly, I was tired. I’d spent the whole day working on the house, steam cleaning rugs, recaulking the bathtub, getting the place ready to receive a tenant. Evan had been dead six months. Driving into town, I’d seen Cindy Ann’s three daughters bicycling along the J road in tank tops and bright, summery shorts. Amy, Laurel, Monica. Each of those names a poisonous flower. ” Toby’s hair had fallen in a tangle over his eyes. ” I waited for him to nod, agree. “I mean, seeing her. Seeing her kids. ” Again, I waited.