By Anne Rivers Siddons
Acclaimed novelist Anne Rivers Siddons's new novel is a beautiful story of affection and loss. for so long as she will be able to take note, they have been Cam and Lilly--happily married, absolutely in love with one another, mom and dad of a pretty relations, and companions in existence. Then, after many years of marriage, it ended as each nice love tale does...in loss. After Cam's loss of life, Lilly takes a lone highway journey to her and Cam's favourite spot at the distant coast of Maine, where the place they fell in love over and over, the place their ghosts nonetheless dance. There, she appears to be like demanding to her past--to a primary love that resulted in tragedy; to falling in love with Cam; to a wedding choked with exuberance, sheer existence, and safety-- to attempt to determine her future.It is a trip all started with soft thoughts and culminating in a revelation that might make Lilly re-examine every little thing she concept used to be real approximately her husband and her marriage.
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Extra info for Off Season
Satyr! ” “Not once,” I said, knowing the truth of what he said. Tears burned in my eyes. ” The memory of that day stuck like a burr in my brain. I tried to dislodge it; I was not prepared to give up my grand and secret anomie. But I could feel it begin to trickle away like sand out of a sieve. ” I did not answer, and presently he said, “Was she like that? ” I remember that I stared at him for a long moment. It was something that had never occurred to me. “No,” I said slowly, thinking back to the winters in Washington that followed those summers.
It was all your grandparents’. I guess that must have really surprised your mother. ” A red mist of rage struck me nearly blind. I had felt it before, but not often; it frightened me. I thought while it blinded me I might do something really terrible: smash, hurt, kill. I turned my head away from Charlotte Glover and clenched my teeth until my jaw throbbed. ” “My mother married my father because he loved her the first time he saw her and courted her a year before she said she’d marry him. He said she was so beautiful that it was one of God’s miracles that she ever said she’d marry him, and he was the luckiest man alive.
Into the middle of all the matched Lilly Pulitzer wrap skirts and T-shirts, the huge sunglasses pushed casually above foreheads to form chic headbands, my mother would drift barefoot like an idle racing sloop, her hair in its uncombed little Greek-boy tousle of curls, her white pants smeared with paint, the striped French matelot T-shirt she had affected since a trip to Cannes when she was sixteen daubed with it. There would not be a vestige of makeup on her pure medieval features, only a flush of sunburn on her high cheekbones and a slick of Chap Stick on her full, tender mouth—a Piero della Francesca mouth, according to Brooks Burns, two cottages down, who was a classical scholar and eighty years old, and had been in love with my mother, according to my father, since she came here as a bride.
Off Season by Anne Rivers Siddons