By Luanne Rice
New York Times bestselling writer Luanne Rice made her successful debut with this delicately drawn yet emotionally strong portrait of a woman’s remarkable trip of the center and soul–a undying tale of affection, sisterhood, and the wish that emerges even out of heartbreak....
Una Cavan doesn’t think in ghosts. yet ghosts appear to think in her. a minimum of, her father’s ghost does, strolling into and out of her existence as casually as though he have been coming into and exiting a room. Una has regularly believed the Cavan girls had the facility of witches, and from the shores of Connecticut to the bustle of recent York urban they’ve shared the exact unbreakable bond of sisters. No guy has been in a position to come among them…until Lily marries the “perfect” guy and starts off to float away and Margo will get engaged. With one other failed dating in the back of her, and a thriving occupation as an actress prior to her, Una wonders if she’s destined to be alone–or if there isn’t anything extra, anything magical that lifestyles has in shop for her. Then an unforeseen come upon offers her the reply she’s been seeking….
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One week later I stood in the spot where the women had stood waving to Twister while Alastair made final preparations to get under way. His fellow crewmates ran back and forth across the white fiberglass deck stowing provisions; checking sparkling stainless-steel winches, halyards, blocks, and cleats; waving goodbye to the gathering throng of women. I felt as if we should all be standing in cupolas or white gingerbread-decked widows’ walks atop the houses along Spring Street, waving farewell to our men with lace-trimmed hankies.
When I think of that guy, what a lot of gall— telling Una he’d call her. That puke. ” “James, he wants to offer her a part,” my mother said, looking past me as she spoke. My mother, during those years, had a difficult time focusing on anyone. “A part, yes, but on a soap opera! What a lot of cheap trash. Una’s a trained stage actress. She could be another Katharine Cornell. ” “Television is a perfectly viable medium,” I said loftily, the way I said almost everything that year. “Sure, television’s okay.
Smiling, he walked across the floor on his knees, and kissed me wetly. “Great to see you, Una,” he said. ” He kissed me again, and began pulling down my pants’ zipper. I remember crashing into his bathroom and throwing up into his toilet. When I returned to the living room, David wasn’t there. I found him passed out on his kingsized bed. For about ten seconds I considered walking home to Chelsea, but I was positive I would be taken advantage of, the state I was in. I took off everything except my shirt and lay beside David on the bed.