What Holds Us Together
Page 1
Outstanding praise for the novels of Sandi Ward!
Something Worth Saving
“Powerfully and smartly written, Ward explores the intricate workings of family life with a compassionate touch and unflinching honesty. You’ll root for the characters in this memorable novel long after you’ve turned the last page.”
—Lisa Duffy, author of This Is Home
“Cat lovers, of course, shouldn’t wait one extra second to get their paws on this book. Neither should anyone who wants a story they can suggest to their book club. If that’s you, Something Worth Saving is something worth reading.”
—The Bradford Era (Bradford, Pennsylvania)
“At times heartwarming, at times bittersweet, Something Worth Saving is a delight to savor reading.”
—Meghan Masterson, author of The Wardrobe Mistress
“Something Worth Saving covertly, cleverly, perceptively, and earnestly tells the story of a family unit facing drama on all fronts. Intriguing and thought-provoking!”
—Jenni L. Walsh, author of Side by Side
The Astonishing Thing
“The Astonishing Thing is a unique and poignant tale of a family’s struggle as witnessed by someone who sees everything. A heartfelt homage to the four-legged companions who accompany us through life’s toughest times, this is a triumphant debut for Sandi Ward.”
—Helen Brown, New York Times bestselling author of Cleo
Please turn the page for more advance praise for
The Astonishing Thing!
“This sweet and insightful book, told from the perspective of the bright and loving cat Boo, follows the story of Boo’s family. This touching tale provides a beautiful and touching look into the intricacies of marriage and family life, all seen through the loving and unique perspective of the family pet.”
—Modern Cat
“The Astonishing Thing is so much more than a debut. Sandi Ward’s writing will enrapture you, pull you in by the heart, and insist you become part of her story.”
—Karen Sargent, author of Waiting for Butterflies
“This is a truly special book, one that captured my heart from the very first line. In Boo the cat, Sandi Ward has worked magic to create an utterly believable narrator with the consciousness and emotions of both a feline and a human member of a close-knit but troubled family, and with the wisdom of—well, the wisdom of a creature who loves deeply and unconditionally those with whom she shares a home. And we trust this wise and yet vulnerable narrative voice as if it were indeed possible. The Astonishing Thing feels like a bit of a miracle, and we all could use a miracle.”
—Holly Chamberlin, author of A Wedding on the Beach
“This charming novel reminds us that love and salvation can come in the most unexpected ways. I suspect all of us will look at our cats differently after reading this book.”
—Susan Breen, author of the Maggie Dove mystery series
“Bittersweet, insightful, poignant, and devastatingly original. The Astonishing Thing will stay with you for a long time.”
—Barbara Bos, managing editor, booksbywomen.org
Books by Sandi Ward
THE ASTONISHING THING
SOMETHING WORTH SAVING
WHAT HOLDS US TOGETHER
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
WHAT HOLDS US TOGETHER
SANDI WARD
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
The Journal - ANNIKA
His Spirit Did Not Want to Go - LUNA
Boarding School - ANNIKA
A Strange Man Wearing a Black Mask - LUNA
The Sea Serpent - LUNA
Bad Advice - ANNIKA
October 1986 - ANNIKA
Aches, Pains, or Telltale Signs - LUNA
Prone to Exaggeration - ANNIKA
Warm Summer Night - LUNA
Peter, the One and Only - LUNA
February 1987 - ANNIKA
The Storm, the Men, the Plow - LUNA
Everything About You - ANNIKA
Peter’s Typewriter - LUNA
March 1987 - ANNIKA
Girl Trouble - LUNA
Trip Down Memory Lane - ANNIKA
Prom Night, 1987 - ANNIKA
His Final Day - LUNA
My Great Triumph - LUNA
After the Prom, 1987 - ANNIKA
No Excuse - ANNIKA
The Reading Hour - LUNA
Our Love Story - ANNIKA
Fire - LUNA
Terrible Accident - ANNIKA
Confession - LUNA
Ready to Go - PETER
Epilogue - LUNA
Author’s Note
WHAT HOLDS US TOGETHER
Discussion Questions
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Sandra Ward
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2227-0
First Kensington Trade Paperback Edition: January 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2228-7 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2228-0 (ebook)
Kensington Electronic Edition: January 2020
In loving memory of Laura
The Journal
ANNIKA
My own flesh and blood has stolen from me.
That infuriating excuse for a sixteen-year-old has swiped his father’s journal from a drawer in my bedside cabinet. I should have known he’d take the diary for himself if he ever found it. I hope he hasn’t read very far yet.
I love him, but Donovan is a problem. And I’m not sure what to do about it.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as I drive Delilah downtown to do a few errands. I’m dying to ask her what Donovan is up to, and where he has squirreled away Peter’s journal, but I don’t want to force her to choose sides.
The kids don’t look alike, but they’re still twins. It’s hard for Del to choose a side that’s not her brother’s.
We pull up to the mom-and-pop drugstore. In the display window is a fading American flag and a cheap blue plastic beach shovel that was never taken down at the end of the summer.
“Okay if I run over to the penny candy store?” Delilah is leaning forward to look out the windshield, rubbing her mittens together. We’ve got the heat blasting and seat warmers on, but we’re still freezing. I’m sorry Delilah has inherited my poor circulation. She has a red knitted hat pulled down over her forehead all the way to her dark eyebrows. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”
“Sure, sweetie.” I hand her a few dollars, and she’s off.
I head toward the drugstore, pulling my purse strap up on my shoulder. As I yank open the door, I hear the bell start to clang in the steeple of the Congregational church up the road; it must be four o’clock.
I’m just intending to pick up my Xanax prescription, but as I round the corner to turn down aisle two, I freeze. Because lo and behold—there is my son.
The thief.
I had
no idea he was downtown. Delilah mentioned he went out after school with a “friend.” But now I see that the friend is a petite girl with long, straight dark hair and a mischievous smile who I’ve never seen before.
I duck behind a display of ceramic Christmas tree ornaments: snowmen, trains, and golden retrievers wearing red scarves. I take another quick look to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me.
Nope, that’s him. No other boys around here have a blond ponytail. If he grew a beard to cover his baby face—and I doubt he could, even if he tried—he’d look like a young Viking. He and the girl are side by side, holding hands, fingers intertwined. They talk quietly, and when she looks up at him, Donovan smiles. Lately, it’s rare to see him happy. My heart skips a beat.
The girl pivots so she’s facing him, her body nearly touching his. Her down jacket is unzipped and she’s wearing a shirt so tight it could be a ballet leotard. She reaches up to smooth a loose strand of hair back behind his ear with her fingertips. It’s a tender gesture, warm and familiar. As she gazes up at him, she smiles with a flirtatious tip of her head. Obviously these two know each other well.
So why have I never met this girl? Why has Donovan never mentioned her to me?
I don’t dare interrupt them. Donovan and I have been fighting so much that I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased to see me. I decide to leave him alone.
And there are only a few things a teenage couple could possibly need in a drugstore. I hope they came in for a bottle of water. I chew on my lip and decide I’d better not think too hard about it.
I go out to the car empty-handed. Delilah is waiting for me and looks puzzled. “Something wrong?”
I wave that thought away and shake my head. I’ll get my prescription another time. “No, no, I just remembered they’ve got better prices at Brown’s. Let’s head over there, because we need milk, anyway.”
As we walk to the supermarket, Delilah digs into a small brown paper bag and hands me candy—my favorites: a square of dark chocolate and a few meltaway mints in pastel green, yellow and pink.
“What are you eating? It smells amazing.”
She shows me the wrapper. “Strawberry taffy.”
“Hmm. I might have to get that next time.” I try to keep my mouth shut about her brother, but it’s no use. “Delilah, do you know who Donovan was going out with after school?”
She just shrugs, her eyes wide and innocent. “He didn’t say.” Del is two inches taller than I am, just like her brother, and wears a sensible, oversized wool coat. She sticks the rest of the candy in her pocket and locks arms with me as we stroll down the sidewalk, huddled together for warmth.
I’m sure she knows who Donovan is with. I warn myself for the second time to back off. But I can’t seem to stop asking questions before they blurt out of my mouth.
“Del, you know what’s strange? Your dad’s journal is missing from my bedside table. Do you know if Donovan happened to borrow it?”
I glance over at her. Her face doesn’t give anything away.
“I dunno, Mom. Maybe he did. I can ask him for you if you want.”
“Thanks, baby.” I squeeze her arm tighter. “I appreciate it.”
“Maybe he took it because he really misses Dad.”
“I know he does. We all do.”
In the sixteen months since Peter died, Donovan’s behavior has deteriorated. He wants nothing to do with me, but at least he still listens to his sister. Delilah personifies all of Peter’s best qualities, which makes it easy for Donovan and me to cling to her for support.
Once we enter the supermarket, I grab a basket and head for the dairy aisle. Delilah follows me and scours the ice-cream choices in the freezer case while I look at yogurt, but I can’t focus.
“Are we stocking up for the storm?” Delilah points at something behind the glass. “Can I get ice cream? Rocky road?”
“The storm?”
She scoffs. “Yeah, Mom. Not following the news much, huh?”
I shrug. I hate watching the news—too depressing. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. They always get it wrong.” I watch her dig out a pint of ice cream from the back of the case. It’s coated in freezer burn, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You have a terrible sweet tooth, you know that?”
“I know.” She grins back at me.
The worst thing is, I don’t know what’s in that journal. It’s a navy-blue leather book that was essentially Peter’s diary. He started keeping it when he was a teenager, about the age Donovan is now; then he put it away for many years. A couple of years ago Peter found it in the bottom of his closet, was thrilled to discover it, and started adding to it before he died. He never showed it to me or invited me to read it, although it wasn’t a secret or anything like that. I would often find him at night tucked into bed, scribbling a few lines with a black pen or sketching with a pencil. I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m ready to read it. So instead, it’s been shelved away for safekeeping.
Until now.
For all I know, Donovan has already started to read the journal, parsing it word by word. Studying his father’s innermost thoughts.
“Hey, Emmy!” Delilah calls to a girl her own age who is just coming around the corner at the end of the aisle.
Emmy wears her hair up in a bun and comes jogging over in uniform. “Basketball tryouts today.” She gives Del a high five.
“You think you made it?”
Emmy smiles. “Our school is so small that literally everyone makes the team. So yes, I do.”
I’m startled when a woman who followed a few steps behind the girl sticks her hand out at me. “I’m Emmy’s mom. Olivia.”
“Oh.” I switch the basket I’m holding into my opposite hand so I can shake hers. “Annika.”
A strand of her sleek black hair falls artfully over one eye, but she tosses her head to get it out of the way. “You’re new in town, Emmy tells me . . . ?” Olivia’s outfit is cute—turtleneck under a ski jacket, light-blue jeans, and duck boots. Honestly, I try my best, but I worry that in comparison I look like a mess.
“No—I mean, yes, we’re new. I grew up here and now I’m back. The kids and I are staying at my parents’ house for a while.” I realize this probably sounds like I’m dealing with a divorce, but I go to great lengths to avoid talking about Peter’s death.
“Will we see you at the PTO spring fund-raiser? Invites go out just after the holidays,” she continues, with an encouraging smile.
“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe I can come.” I don’t want to say too much in front of Delilah, but in my mind, Manchester is just a temporary stop.
I suppose I could offer to buy the cottage from my parents. But lately I’ve decided that Manchester isn’t going to be good enough. Getting out of the house where Peter died was a step in the right direction, but this town drenches me in old memories, and I don’t think we can stay.
“Where did you move here from?”
The waistband of my skirt starts to itch, and I shift my weight. These questions are starting to feel intrusive. But when I glance over and see Del and her new friend are deep in conversation, I try to keep up.
“Southern Connecticut.”
“Very nice.”
I can’t tell from her tone if she thinks much of Connecticut or not.
“It was fine. I mean, we were on the water. Lots of woods and rolling hills, with stone walls dividing up the properties. So not that different from here, I suppose.” I think about it. “My husband enjoyed being so close to New York City, but I never quite warmed up to it. It never really felt like home, the way Massachusetts does for me.”
“Oh, for sure,” she says, exhaling as if she’d been holding her breath while waiting to find out what I really thought. “It must be so nice to be back with your parents.”
“Yes. Well. Actually, they retired to Maine. I asked them if they’d keep our old house off the market so the kids and I could move in for a while. So it’s just me and the twins.”
“Delilah
has a twin? I had no idea. Amazing.” She brightens, with a quick glance at the girls.
“They’re fraternal, not identical. Her brother is Donovan. You’d never know it. They don’t look exactly alike.”
Her expression changes, and I can’t quite figure out what she’s thinking. “Oh, right. Right, right, right. Donovan. Emmy mentioned him.” Olivia leans in and lowers her voice to a whisper. “He’s very fond of his girlfriend, as I hear it.” She holds up a hand and crosses her fingers. “She says they inseparable.”
I nod, at first slowly and then rapidly, as if I’m familiar with the whole situation. “Well, you know.” I put a hand on my hip. “Boys. Hormones. The whole thing. I can’t tell him what to do, and without his father around . . .”
“Oh, I completely understand.” She tips her head sympathetically. “I have girls, no boys. But I can only imagine the trouble.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “Thank goodness for my Xanax prescription.”
She laughs and winks at me. “Ha ha.” She thinks I’m joking.
I grip my shopping basket tighter as it grows heavy. I didn’t move here so my son could cause problems.
I enrolled my kids at Manchester High School so they could walk the halls that Peter and I did before we graduated. I longed to pop into the old library downtown, have the kids pick out some books that are slightly damp, and show them how to shake sand out from between the pages. I yearned to hear the distant foghorn on a rainy day, and breathe in the cool, salty air. I was excited to take them for a box of hot fried clams on a humid summer night, imagining we’d gaze at the fishing boats in the harbor while sitting on a wooden bench.