by Susan Wiggs
1 cup baby spinach, arugula or fresh basil leaves, or a combination
1 lemon, zested and juiced
Toasted pine nuts for garnish
Heat oven to 400°F. Toss together olive oil, garlic scapes, tomatoes, onion, salt and pepper flakes and spread in an even layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast for 12–15 minutes, until tomatoes are just beginning to burst. If you have other garden vegetables, such as peppers, zucchini or aubergine, feel free to add that. Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions. Toss everything together with the greens, lemon zest and juice. Garnish with pine nuts. Serve immediately with a nice Barolo wine.
acknowledgments
As always, I’d like to acknowledge my ever-patient critique group: Rose Marie, Anjali, Kate, Lois, P.J., Susan, Krysteen and Sheila, for their talent, wisdom and courage to sample a number of culinary experiments. I’m deeply grateful to my agent, friend and champion Meg Ruley, and to Martha Keenan and Dianne Moggy of MIRA Books. Molte grazie to Mike Sharpe of Four Swallows Restaurant on Bainbridge Island, Washington, for patiently answering my many questions. And finally, a very special thank-you to my Uncle Tommy, who has no idea why I’m thanking him: you’ve never heard the sound of my voice, but you’ve always had my love, admiration and respect.
SUMMER BY THE SEA
SUSAN WIGGS
Reader’s Guide
Questions for Discussion
How do you think Rosa’s life would have been different if she had been able to attend Brown University? What kind of career path do you imagine her following?
In a similar vein, do you believe that Rosa and Alex would have been able to sustain their relationship if she had joined him at Brown? Or do you believe that the various obstacles standing in their way (Alex’s mother, different lifestyles and family values) would have eventually come between them?
The relationship between food and family plays a large role in the novel. Do you think that Rosa’s memories of her mother cooking and taking care of her family were what truly inspired her to open her own restaurant?
In the novel, Mrs. Montgomery used the payment of Pete’s medical bills as a means to keep Alex and Rosa apart. But after the discovery of her direct involvement in his accident, do you now have different thoughts about her motivations? And do you believe that Alex’s childhood illnesses and subsequent dependency on his mother made him more inclined to bow to her wishes?
Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Capoletti each took very different approaches to mothering. How do you think this shaped the people Alex and Rosa grew up to be?
Summer romances are part of growing up, particularly in summer tourism communities like Winslow. We see Alex and Rosa have a happy ending to what has essentially been a lifelong summer romance. How often do you think such romances blossom into something more? And do you see that possibility for Joey and Whitney?
Compare and contrast the roles that family relationships play in the lives of Alex and Rosa. How do you think their different experiences will influence their future as a couple and as potential parents?
Rosa and Alex are each forced to accept hard truths about their parents at several points in the novel. Discuss how growing up and learning to view your parents as “adult peers” changes family dynamics and interactions.
At the end of the novel, it’s implied that the thought of her long-ago crime being brought to light was what compelled Mrs. Montgomery to take her own life. Do you think that, without that fear of discovery, events may have turned out differently for her? Or do you believe that there were other factors that prompted her actions?
Rosa and Alex have both led lives of privilege—she with a loving, supportive family to surround her, and he with more financial and social privilege. How does this affect the dynamics of their relationship and the way they relate to others?
What is the significance of the “souvenirs” (the nautilus shell and the mermaid’s purse) that Rosa and Alex have held on to over the years?
Do you imagine Rosa and Alex staying in Winslow? What do you think their future together will be like?
Please turn the page for an exciting preview of
STARLIGHT ON WILLOW LAKE,
the newest addition to Susan Wiggs’s bestselling
LAKESHORE CHRONICLES series,
available soon from MIRA Books.
Looking for more great stories from #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs?
Spend a summer on the sun-drenched shores of Willow Lake in a stunning Lakeshore Chronicles tale of the delicate ties that bind a family together…and the secrets that tear them apart.
Starlight on Willow Lake (September 2015)
“Susan Wiggs paints the details of human relationships with the finesse of a master.”
—Jodi Picoult
Be sure to catch up on the complete Lakeshore Chronicles series. With unforgettable tales of heartache and hope, love and laughter, #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs invites you to stay awhile on the tranquil shores of Willow Lake.
Summer at Willow Lake
The Winter Lodge
Dockside
Snowfall at Willow Lake
Fireside
Lakeshore Christmas
The Summer Hideaway
Marrying Daisy Bellamy
Return to Willow Lake
Candlelight Christmas
“Susan Wiggs writes with bright assurance, humor and compassion.”
—Luanne Rice
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Mason Bellamy stared up at the face of the mountain that had killed his father. The mountain’s name was innocent enough—Cloud Piercer. The rich afternoon light of the New Zealand winter cast a spell over the moment. Snow-clad slopes glowed with the impossible pink and amethyst of a rare jewel. The stunning backdrop of the Southern Alps created a panorama of craggy peaks, veined with granite and glacial ice, against a sky so clear it caused the eyes to smart.
The bony white structure of a cell phone tower, its discs grabbing signals from outer space, rose from a nearby peak. The only other intrusion into the natural beauty was located at the top of the slope—a black-and-yellow gate marked Experts Only and a round dial designating Avalanche Danger—Moderate.
He wondered if someone came all the way up here each day to move the needle on the dial. Maybe his father had wondered the same thing last year. Maybe it had been the last thought to go through his head before he was buried by two hundred thousand cubic meters of snow.
According to witnesses at the base of the nearest town, it had been a dry snow avalanche with a powder cloud that had been visible to any resident of Hillside Township who happened to look up. The incident report stated that there had been a delay before the noise came. Then everyone for miles around had heard the sonic boom.
The Maori in the region had legends about this mountain. The natives respected its threatening beauty as well as its lethal nature, their myths filled with cautionary tales of humans being swallowed to appease the gods. For generations, the lofty crag, with its year-round cloak of snow, had challenged the world’s most adventurous skiers, and its gleaming north face had been Trevor Bellamy’s favorite run. It had also been his final run.
Trevor’s final wish, spelled out in his last will and testament, had brought Mason halfway around the world, and down into the Southern Hemisphere’s winter. At the moment, he felt anything but cold. He unzipped his parka, having worked up a major sweat climbing to the peak. This run was accessible only to those willing to be helicoptered to a landing pad at three thousand meters, and then to climb another few hundred meters on all-terrain skis outfitted with nonslip skins. Mason peeled the Velcro-like skins from the underside of his skis, stowed them in his backpack and put his skis back on. Then he studied the mountain’s face again, and felt a sweet rush of adrenaline.
When it came to skiing in dangerous places, he was his father’s son.
A rhythmic sliding sound drew Mason’s attention to the trail he’d just climbed. He glanced over and lifted his ski pole in a wave. “Over here, bro.”
Adam Bellamy came over the crest of the trail, shading his eyes against the afternoon light. “You said you’d kick my ass, and you did,” he called. His voice echoed across the empty, frozen terrain.
Mason grinned at his younger brother. “I’m a man of my word. But look at you. You haven’t even broken a sweat.”
“METS. We get tested for metabolic conditioning every three months for work.” Adam was a firefighter, built to haul eighty pounds of gear up multiple flights of stairs.
“Cool. My only conditioning program involves running to catch the subway.”
“The tough life of an international financier,” said Adam. “Hold everything while I get out my tiny violin.”
“Who says I’m complaining?” Mason took off his goggles to apply some defogger. “Is Ivy close? Or did our little sister stop to hire a team of mountain guides to carry her up the hill so she doesn’t have to climb it on her skis?”
“She’s close enough to hear you,” said Ivy, appearing at the top of the ridge. “And aren’t the guides on strike?” She wore a dazzling turquoise parka and white ski pants, Gucci sunglasses and white leather gloves. Her blonde hair was wild and wind-tossed, streaming from beneath her helmet.
Mason flashed on an image of their mother. Ivy looked so much like her. He felt a lurch of guilt when he thought about Alice Bellamy. Her last ski run had been right here on this mountain face, too. But unlike Trevor, she had survived. Although some would say that what had happened to her was worse than dying.
Ivy slogged over to her brothers on her AT skis. “Listen, you two. I want to go on record to say that when I leave these earthly bonds, I will not require my adult children to risk their lives in order to scatter my remains. Just leave my ashes on the jewelry counter at Neiman Marcus. I’d be fine with that.”
“Make sure you put your request in writing,” Mason said.
“How do you know I haven’t already?” She gestured at Adam. “Help me get these skins off, will you?” She lifted each ski in turn, planting them upright in the snow.
Adam expertly peeled the fabric skins from the bottoms of her skis, then removed his own, stuffing them into his backpack. “It’s crazy steep, just the way Dad used to describe it.”
“Chicken?” asked Ivy, fastening the chin strap of her crash helmet.
“Have you ever known me to shy away from a ski run?” Adam asked. “I’m going to take it easy, though. No crazy tricks.”
The three of them stood gazing at the beautiful slope, now a perfect picture of serenity in the late afternoon glow. It was the first time any of them had come to this particular spot. As a family, they had skied together in many places, but not here. This particular mountain had been the special domain of their father and mother alone.
They were lined up in birth order—Mason, the firstborn, the one who knew their father best. Adam, three years younger, had been closest to Trevor. Ivy, still in her twenties, was the quintessential baby of the family—adored, entitled, seemingly fragile, yet with the heart of a lioness. She had owned their father’s affections as surely as the sun owned the dawn, in the way only a daughter could.
Mason wondered if his siblings would ever learn the things about their father that he knew. And if they did, would it change the way they felt about him?
They stood together, their collective silence as powerful as any conversation they might have had.
“It’s incredible,” Ivy said after a long pause. “The pictures didn’t do it justice. Maybe Dad’s last request wasn’t so nutty after all. This might be the prettiest mountain ever, and I get to see it with my two best guys.” Then she sighed. “I wish Mom could be here.”
“Adam will get the whole thing on camera,” Mason said. “We can all watch it together when we get back to Avalon next week.”
A year after the accident, their mother was adjusting to a new life in a new place—a small Catskills town on the shores of Willow Lake. Mason was pretty sure it wasn’t the life Alice Bellamy had imagined for herself.
“Do you have him?” Adam asked.
Mason slapped his forehead. “Damn, I forgot. Why don’t the two of you wait right here while I ski to the bottom, grab the ashes, helicopter back up to the rendezvous and make the final climb again?”
“Very funny,” said Adam.
“Of course I have him.” Mason shrugged out of his backpack and dug inside. He pulled out an object bundled in a navy blue bandanna. He unwrapped it and handed the bandanna to Adam.
“A beer stein?” asked Ivy.
“It’s all I could find,” said Mason. The stein was classic kitsch, acquired at a frat party left over from Mason’s college days. There was a scene with a laughing Falstaff painted on the sides, and the mug had a hinged lid made of pewter. “The damned urn they delivered him in was huge. No way would it fit in my luggage.”
He didn’t explain to his sister and brother that a good half of the ashes had ended up on the living room floor of his Manhattan apartment. Getting Trevor Bellamy from the urn to the beer stein had been trickier than Mason had thought. Slightly freaked out by the idea of his father embedded in his carpet fibers, he had vacuumed up the spilled ashes, wincing at the sound of the larger bits being sucked into the bag.
Then he’d felt bad about emptying the vacuum bag down the garbage chute, so he’d gone out on the balcony and sprinkled the remains over Avenue of the Americas. There had been a breeze that day, and his fussiest neighbor in the high-rise co-op had stuck her head out, shaking her fist and threatening to call the super to report the transgression. Most of the ashes blew back onto the balcony, and Mason ended up waiting until the wind died down; then he’d swept the area with a broom.
So only half of Trevor Bellamy had made it into the beer stein. That was appropriate, Mason decided. Their father had been only half there while he was alive, too.
“This is cool with me,” said Adam. “Dad always did like his beer.”
Mason held the mug high, its silhouette stark against the deepening light of the afternoon sky.
“Ein prosit,” said Adam.
“Santé,” Mason said, in the French their father had spoken like a native.
“Cin cin.” Ivy, the artist in the family, favored Italian.
“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on,” Mason said, riffing on the David Bowie song. “Let’s do this thing.”
“I wish Mom could be here.” Ivy lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. “She loves skiing so much. It’s so sad that she’ll never ski again.”
“I’ll film it so she can watch.” Adam took off one glove with his teeth and reached up to switch on the GoPro camera affixed to the top of his helmet.
“Should we say a few words?” asked Ivy.
“If I say no, will that stop you?” Mason removed the duct tape from the lid of the beer stein.
Ivy stuck out her tongue at him, shifting into bratty sister mode. Then she looked up at Adam and spoke to the camera. “Hey, Mom. We
were just wishing you could be here with us to say goodbye to Daddy. We all made it to the summit of Cloud Piercer, just like he wanted. It’s kind of surreal, finding winter here when the summer is just beginning where you are, at Willow Lake. It feels somehow like... I don’t know... Like we’re unstuck in time.”
Ivy’s voice wavered with emotion. “Anyway, so here I am with my two big brothers. Daddy always loved it when the three of us were together, skiing and having fun.”
Adam moved his head to let the camera record the majestic scenery all around them. The sculpted crags of the Southern Alps, which ran the entire length of New Zealand’s South Island, were sharply silhouetted against the sky. Mason wondered what the day had been like when his parents had skiied this mountain, their last run together. Was the sky so blue that it hurt the eyes? Did the sharp cold air-stab their lungs? Was the silence this deep? Had there been any inkling that the entire face of the mountain was about to bury them?
“Are we ready?” he asked.
Adam and Ivy nodded. He studied his little sister’s face, now soft with the sadness of missing her father. She’d had a special closeness with him, and she’d taken his death hard–maybe even harder than their mother had.
“Who’s going first?” asked Adam.
“It can’t be me,” said Mason. “You, um, don’t want to get caught in the blowback, if you know what I mean.” He gestured with the beer stein.
“Oh, right,” said Ivy. “You go last, then.
Adam twisted the camera so it faced uphill. “Let’s take it one at a time, okay? So we don’t cause another avalanche.”
It was a known safety procedure that in an avalanche zone, only one person at a time should go down the mountain. Mason wondered if his father had been aware of the precaution. He wondered if his father had violated the rule. He doubted he would ever ask his mother for a detail like that. Whatever had happened on this mountain a year ago couldn’t be changed now.