Krista's life is far from perfect, and when it falls apart one final time, she runs away to find Marie's old house in Vermont, a place where Krista can get lost.
Only one problem: Marie's life, far from drama-free, is slowly becoming Krista's.
She immerses herself in Marie's world, and though it complicates hers, her own healing begins, and she finds a love that makes her believe again.
Until her ex-husband decides it's time to end this charade.
Best Book Bit:
Marie had died just the way she always dreamed—in Steve’s arms, after an evening of love. Romantic, my other friends had said. Like Romeo and Juliet. But I’d never liked romances, never believed in happily ever after. Probably because my parents’ marriage had been so bad. I guarded close the deep fissure of grief I felt over Marie’s death. I felt robbed. Marie had been robbed.
There was nothing romantic about death.
The summer before she died, Marie came home to visit her family. If I hadn’t been having a yard sale that hot Saturday afternoon, I wouldn’t have seen her drive by. But the Colorado license plates—white background, green mountains—were easy to spot. The truck was the same one Marie and Steve had owned before their move, a green Ford with one of those see-through bounding-deer-in-the-forest designs on the cab window.
“Weren’t you going to call me?” I’d asked.
Marie mumbled something about having to visit the family. “Everyone’s got kids now, and we haven’t seen them in so long…” She shot a look at Steve who just continued to smoke his cigarette and stare straight out the truck’s window.
Marie looked sick and heavier than I’d ever seen her, but all that was forgotten in the excitement of the five-minute visit. Afterwards, I remembered that her hazel eyes were glassy and that she wouldn’t meet mine. Yet she still had the same lopsided smile, the rising scale laugh, the optimism, the obvious love for life and for him. For Steve.
Marie never told me she knew she was dying. I found that out at the funeral from a mutual friend. But that was Marie. So like Marie. You couldn’t get angry with her. How could I be mad at someone I loved like a sister?
“Come over. Have dinner with us,” I pleaded, standing beside the truck, one eye on the yard sale customers. “I haven’t seen you in so…”
But they had so much to do, Marie and Steve, and they drove away before I could finish my sentence.