The white twinkle lights around the evergreen garland moved in response, snow falling off the green needles. “Yes. Just fixed it.” Matt’s head popped up onto the porch as he secured the Christmas decoration to the porch ledge. He dusted off his bare hands, flexing them in the cold, and then jogged up the salted front steps, careful to step in the spots where the ice had melted.
I glanced back at the garland and smiled before I followed him into the house. It looked just as I had envisioned it. I had tried to re-create the photo from 1947 of the house illuminated by the white lights and evergreen boughs, with red bows at the tip of each swoop. In the front picture window stood a Christmas tree, with multicolored lights and homemade ornaments courtesy of some flour, salt, water, and Abby’s creativity.
I stood in the foyer, listening to the sounds of the holiday party throughout the house. I could hear Abby’s shrieks of delight from the back room, where she played with some of the neighborhood kids. I listened to the clinks of ice falling into glasses as people poured libations from the quarter-sawn oak bar, with the background music of Bing Crosby crooning about chestnuts and an open fire. A roaring fire crackled in the wood-burning fireplace, happily licking away at two fire logs. Chris stood guard near the fireplace, proudly pointing out his rocks to anyone near, and regaling them with tales of how he helped fix the house.
It was perfect. It was home.
In the end, I couldn’t let the house go. I got several offers on the house soon after it hit the MLS listings, but after Matt and I reconciled, I realized that I had been restoring the house for us. For Abby. I sold the ranch house that Abby and I lived in, and used the proceeds to pay back Jack Sullivan. Matt also sold his house in Geneva National, and we used the money to pay down the mortgage on the Maple house. His business had slowed down considerably after he lost Waterview as a client, so he moved to a smaller office, but the upside was that he wasn’t working a dead man’s hours like he used to.
The house’s plaster walls, finally smooth after hours of patching cracks, boasted photos of our family. The built-ins carefully protected the glassware my mother had passed down to me before she moved to Florida, and the claw-foot tub was Abby’s each night for her bath. One of the bedrooms was an office for me—finally, I had an office space other than my bed. The other bedroom was for storage. For now. We would see what the future brought.
I walked into the dining room, where I had set up a cheese platter, meatballs, and mini egg rolls. I lifted a finger to Eddie, who was in the corner with Janie, who was unsuccessfully trying to contain Mia. She was nine months old, and desperate to crawl all around the wood floors and chew on any stray evergreen needles.
“We start back on Monday,” I called to him with a smile. The week before, I had purchased another historic house at auction, in nearby Twin Lakes. It was a three-bedroom, two-bathroom Queen Anne Victorian with lots of charm and even more cat urine.
He lifted his beer in response, and then took a long swig. “I’m gonna need about six more of these in order to make that prospect less terrifying.”
“You’re so dramatic,” I said to him with a wave.
“Feral cat colony. Feral cat colony,” he called. “You’ve lost your mind with this one, boss.”
“You always say that.” I gestured my hand around the room, not acknowledging that when I first entered the house, I nearly fell over from the smell. “And look where we are. A little faith, please.”
Eddie didn’t respond, but looked over my shoulder. “Matt,” he said in greeting.
“Nice to see you, Eddie,” Matt said evenly.
Eddie shot me a look, and I shook my head. “And you, as well,” Eddie said reluctantly.
“Behave, you two,” I said as I turned my back and scanned the room. I spotted Elsie and Corrine, standing in the corner, nibbling at bacon-wrapped dates that Abby had painstakingly assembled and placed a toothpick inside.
“Is the snow still coming down out there?” Corrine asked as she tried to peer out the window.
I nodded. “They’re saying we’re supposed to get over six inches.” I smiled. “Looks like it will be a white Christmas this year.”
“A cicada summer and then a snowy holiday.” She laughed. “Nothing like living in the Midwest.”
I noticed that as she laughed, her blue eyes crinkled around the corners in the same way that Elsie’s did. The two of them had stayed in touch, and after I moved into the house, I saw her visit Elsie frequently, the two of them sitting on the front porch, slowly rocking on the glider with iced tea in front of them. As summer became fall, their short sleeves turned into sweaters, and the iced tea became cider. And since the winter had blown in, they had moved into the kitchen, steaming mugs placed in their hands.
Sometimes I would see Corrine’s sons with her, dressed in T-shirts and jeans, doing odd jobs around the house. There was always activity at the house, with lights on everywhere. It was as though it had come alive again, much in the way that my house had, too.
The first night I spent in the house, with Matt next to me, and Abby across the hallway, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the white beadboard ceiling, trying to understand how I had gotten to where I was. How I had moved so quickly into forgiveness and grace. And then I realized that with every hole that I patched, with every floor that I sanded, I was working on me. On my own life.
I had saved the house, but it had rescued me right back.
“Mom, can we bring out the cookies?” Abby flew through the house, her red dress smudged with dust. She hopped up and down in front of me in her white tights, the bottom of her feet gray and black.
I glanced outside at the snow coming down, more steadily than before. “Sure. People might want to leave soon before it gets bad out there.”
“Yippee!” She scampered off, a trail of kids behind her, toward the kitchen to pillage the remaining treats. Matt followed, happy to have a reason to escape Eddie’s gaze. He walked past my parents and his, who were gathered around the makeshift bar on the built-in buffet and laughing a bit too loudly to chalk up to holiday cheer.
A moment later, Matt reappeared next to me. He handed me a glass of red wine. “Did you say she could eat five cookies?”
I laughed. “Not exactly.” I took a sip of the wine, feeling it warm my body almost instantly.
He put an arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. I took a deep breath and looked around the house. Every corner was filled with laughter, conversation, and light. Finally, it was alive again.
And so was I.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist if it weren’t for the wonderful encouragement of my agent, Holly Root, who gave me faith that this book might be The One. Thank you for believing in it, and in me. And thank you to my fabulous editor, Esi Sogah, who said “yes” and gave me brilliant editorial guidance along the way. Thank you to the whole team over at Kensington, for their hard work, humor, and dedication. You guys are truly an author’s dream team.
To the people of Lake Geneva and the surrounding areas: Thank you for sharing your beautiful home with me. I hope I did it justice. Your towns will always have a special place in my heart, and hold some of my favorite childhood memories.
Thank you also to the television shows This Old House and Rehab Addict for informing me on all things historic-house-related. I’m not kidding when I say that learning how to reglaze old windows was a joy. Restoring an older home definitely remains a bucket list item for me.
I am forever grateful for the support of my family, the whole Kilmer-Lipinski crew and beyond. I’m thankful for each and every one of you, and for giving me endless book material (ahem, old babysitters). And thank you to the entire extended Leurck family, each of whom has been a wonderful blessing in my life. Big thanks also to all of my friends, both old and new (especially Jill Cantor, recipient of far too many panicked e-mails), who supported me through the writing of this book. Without your pep talks, excitement, and offers of child care, this book would stil
l be half finished.
And of course, thank you to my children: Ryan, Paige, and Jake, who napped, played together, and likely had far too much screen-time while I was writing this book. Thank you for always keeping me humble, making me laugh, and reminding me that the small things in life are truly the best things. Finally, thank you to my husband, Kevin, for always supporting my dreams, encouraging me in my darkest moments, and for always believing that I could.
Keep reading for a
behind-the-book essay
and reader discussion questions
from Maureen Leurck.
A PEEK BEHIND THE BOOK
The inspiration behind Cicada Summer began with the setting. The Lake Geneva area is very dear to my heart, and this book is my love letter to the lake. The sparkling water, whitewashed piers, and brightly colored sailboats that dot the lakeshore in the summer are all images that are sewn into the fabric of my childhood.
From before I could remember, my family rented a charmingly “rustic” cottage in the Lake Geneva area, in nearby Powers Lake, for one week a year. By rustic, I mean air-conditioning was a pipe dream, spiders shared every corner, and a trip to the water meant a dangerous trek down a comically steep flight of rickety wooden stairs. One year, I slept on a box spring because the previous renter had burned down the mattress. The only television we had was a small black-and-white model without any volume control, so nights were spent catching lightning bugs and falling asleep to the white noise of the late summer cicadas. The summer of the famous seventeen-year cicadas was even less comfortable, by all standards. While all of this might seem less than picture perfect, as a child, it was my favorite week of the year.
The moment we would arrive at the cottage, I would sprint out of the car toward the water, and I would rarely return inside before dusk. Long summer days were spent lying on the pier and hunting for minnows with a net bought at the local drugstore, as the sound of boats and WaveRunners hummed in the distance. Being a small lake, it was affected by yearly rainfall, so some years it was shallow, some years it was deep. As my own preteen awkwardness turned into teenage petulance, the lake still rose and fell with the rain, and froze every winter just after the piers were taken out and stacked by the water’s edge.
When I was thirteen, the owner chose to stop renting. By then, I was in high school and relieved to move on from the cottage that I didn’t find quite as charming anymore. It was only when I became an adult that I realized how much I missed it, spiders and all. I’m sure if we went back today, my experiences wouldn’t be quite so rose-colored, and for that I am thankful. My summers spent at the lake lie preserved and tucked away in the most secure of memory blankets, safe from the scrutinizing light of the present.
A major theme of Cicada Summer is second chances, and the opportunity for renewal. Even though I never got a second chance to go back to the cottage, I bring my kids to the area often. They have fallen in love with the lakes as I did. To see a piece of my childhood through their eyes, to watch and hear their delighted screams as they jump (arms outstretched like a starfish) into the water, is a glimpse of my past. And a wonderful second chance to experience a perfect piece of my childhood.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
CICADA SUMMER
Maureen Leurck
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Maureen Leurck’s Cicada Summer.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. A major theme in the book is the idea of second chances and renewal. What characters have the opportunity for a second chance by the end of the book?
2. How would you describe Elsie? How would you describe the relationship between Alex and Elsie?
3. Do you think that Alex made the right decision in divorcing Matt over his flirtation with a coworker, or do you feel that she overreacted?
4. Since her divorce, Alex has been unable to fully let go of Matt. In what ways did her lingering feelings present themselves? What clues did Matt give that he was also feeling the same way?
5. Why do you think that Alex is drawn to old houses? What do they represent to her?
6. Do you view Alex as a strong character? Why or why not?
7. What does the relationship with Elsie bring to Alex’s life? How does it change her?
8. When Alex begins to date Gavin, it is the first time that she feels romantic about someone after her divorce. Do you feel that she made the right choice in breaking up with Gavin?
9. Why do you think that Elsie asked Alex for help? What did she see in Alex that made her believe she was the person to help?
10. Alex has a very strong connection to her hometown of Lake Geneva. How does this affect her decisions and choices?
11. How would you describe Alex’s relationship with her parents? What about her relationship with her former in-laws? How does this inform her decisions?
12. Have you ever had your own second chance? If so, how did you handle it?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maureen Leurck graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, and currently resides in a suburb of Chicago with her husband and three children. She escapes up to the Lake Geneva area when she can for a good fish fry. Visit her at maureen leurck.com.
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