Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons by Lorna Landvik

• Interviews & Essays
• Reading Group Guide
• Read an Excerpt

Interviews & Essays

A Conversation with Lorna Landvik

As Merit asked Flannery, where do you get your inspiration?

Sometimes, like Flannery, I find inspiration everywhere—from a
billboard, a snatch of music, a scent. Other times, I have no idea
where it comes from: all of a sudden, a character appears
unbidden in my head, with the urgent desire that I write about her
or him.

How did a book club end up at the center of the novel?

After the publication of my first novel, I got invited to speak at a
book club and since then I've been to dozens and dozens. What
always impresses me is the fun and friendship of these groups,
some of which have been together for decades, and that's why I
decided to write about one.

In your acknowledgments you mention your visits to other book
clubs and your own book club. How did these experiences
influence your writing?

Other than inspiring me to write about a book club, my visits
to book clubs have given me the opportunity to hear firsthand
what readers think about my books. Hearing "I laughed, I
cried" is a big impetus to me to make sure the next book I
write has characters that readers will relate to, that ultimately
can make them laugh and cry. As far as my own book club is
concerned, I have learned how subjective each reader's viewpoint
is. A book that might move one of us may leave another cold,
and yet we all share the belief that good characters are
absolutely necessary to a good book and that again enforces in my
own writing the need to write believable and compelling
characters.

What is it like to be the guest author at a bookclub? What was
your best experience? And worst?

It's a lot of fun. Most book clubs I go to have the right
formula down pat—good conversation, good food, and plenty
of wine. It's fun to have my books discussed and hear about
themes and character motivations I may never have intended,
fun to hear about characters of mine who've reminded a reader
of a sister or best friend, etc. I can honestly say that I've enjoyed
all my book club visits and not one stands out as the best
(although the bigger the food selection, the happier I am).
One club discussing Patty Jane's House of Curl had a cake decorated
with characters from that book; I've been to several clubs where
the members will dress like characters from one of my books.
During one meeting, while discussing Your Oasis on Flame Lake,
a book club member got to her feet and, pointing a finger at
me, shouted, "You make infidelity look good!" That was a
little disconcerting, but the vivid argument that ensued
among the members wasn't a bad experience, but an
interesting one.

Do your readers ever surprise you with their insights into your
work?

All the time. They enlighten me as to why a character acts the
way she does, what my books' themes are, hidden meanings. . . .
I love it!

If you could invite any author, living or dead, to your book club,
who would it be?

Oh, boy, I get to pick one? Probably Shakespeare. I'd want to
know not only how he wrote so beautifully, but how he wrote so
much and was anybody helping him?

You describe Slip's daughter Flannery as a "tattletale" and
"tabloid reporter." Since she is the character who becomes a
published writer, is this part of the job description?

I think it was for me. As kids, my brothers got after me all the
time for being a tattletale, whereas I just thought I was telling the
whole story.

What is Flannery's novel Winter Gardens about?

I don't know, I haven't read it.

The story of the social movements of the l960s and early l970s is
often told from the vantage point of the radicalized youth of the
period. Why did you decide to examine the impact of this upheaval
from the vantage point of Freesia Court, an upper-middle-class
neighborhood of young families?

Whatever our age or place in society is, we're still affected by
the times we live in. While the women in the book aren't living in
Haight Ashbury or getting arrested at the Democratic National
Convention in Chicago, they still feel deeply about what is going
on. Slip, of course, chooses to act on her convictions, giving weight
to my conviction that, ultimately, mothers are the most radical
faction of all.

When a young man mistakes the Angry Housewives for sisters,
Audrey is offended. She feels he just thinks "every woman over the
age of fifty looks alike." Is this the only explanation for his gaffe?

I think he was responding to their familiarity and closeness with
one another and he assumed they were related because of it.

Audrey is described as someone who "refused to ask
permission for the privilege of being herself." Do you think this
description applies to all the Angry Housewives by the end of
your novel?

I never thought of it, but yes, I'd say so. Getting older is so
culturally and cosmetically incorrect, but I think the older women
get, the more their true selves emerge.

You write that "Faith had the sharp eyes of someone who always
had to figure out where she fit in, and the quick impressions she
had of people were nearly always accurate." How and when did
Faith's sharp eyes fail her?

For a good part of her life, Faith couldn't see the value of her
own true self.

Did you always know Audrey—not the obvious choice—would
be the Angry Housewife to break through Faith's defenses?

Not until I got to that part. My characters are always surprising
me—which one chooses to do what, and how. I don't plot out the
story and so I don't know what's going to happen until I get there.

Do you agree that Faith, Merit, and Kari kept their secrets,
among other reasons, to preserve an ideal of upper-middle-class
respectability, while Audrey's wealth and Slip's political convictions
allowed those two to avoid that particular trap?

I think respectability to Faith was all-important because she
hadn't had any growing up. As for Merit and Kari, I don't think the
need to appear a certain accepted way was their motivation for
keeping their secrets. Merit's was outright fear, and Kari made an
agreement with her niece not to reveal their secret. More than
their wealth and political convictions, I think it was the strength of
Audrey's and Slip's personalities that gave them the confidence to
be themselves.

Kari waited until her brother and sister-in-law had died to tell
Julia the truth about her birth mother. Was this fair?

Probably not, but Kari's first priority was protecting her
daughter and her daughter's biological mother.

We don't learn how the rest of Kari's family reacted to this news.
What happened?
I honestly don't know that they were ever told.

Slip hopes the nation will be ready for a woman president when
her daughter grows up. Do you think that time has come?

Yes! Not only do I think we're ready for a woman president, I
think the world is ready for a majority of women leaders. What the
world definitely doesn't need at this point in time is more
testosterone—what we need is a lot more estrogen!

Will Faith's sister ever come around?

I would bet that Faith will persist until she does.

Did you research this novel?

In that I have visited many book clubs and heard their stories,
yes. I also looked back to see what books were being read in certain
years.

Which aspect of writing this novel gave you the biggest
headache?

I knew different characters wanted to tell their stories in
different ways (some speak in the first person, others in the
third); what helped corral all of this was when I figured out
each chapter heading—the book they had chosen for discussion
and why.

Which books would make your greatest-hits list?

A short list would include To Kill a Mockingbird, Handling Sin
(both of which are selections in the book), Huckleberry Finn, Great
Expectations, and maybe a book I have great affection for, the Dick
and Jane books, because they were the books that taught me how
to read.

What is your average workday like?

I like to work every day, but that doesn't mean I do. During the
school year, I usually take a walk in the morning, come home,
make a latte, and read the papers, and then I try to settle down
and work. But I don't stick to a regular schedule—if I have
something really important going on in the day (a lunch date,
a movie), I'll work later in the afternoon or at night. My family's
very accommodating and I've also learned to write among them,
amid distraction.

What do you do when the words won't come?

I get up, find the chocolate, and if that doesn't help, I might
read and see if someone else's ability to tell a story can help fire
up mine.

Are you working on a new project?
A: Yes. Once I finish a book another one's usually right there, ready
to be written.

Reading Group Guide

From her sensational sleeper hit Patty Jane's House of Curl to her heartwarming novel Welcome to the Great Mysterious, Lorna Landvik has won the hearts of readers everywhere by skillfully balancing hilarity with pathos, and bittersweet insights with heartwarming truths. Now she returns to her beloved, eccentric stomping ground of small-town Minnesota where the most eclectic, and engaging group of women you'll ever meet share love, loss, and laughter.

Sometimes life is like a bad waiter—it serves you exactly what you don't want. The women of Freesia Court have come together at life's table, fully convinced that there is nothing good coffee, delectable desserts, and a strong shoulder can't fix. Laughter is the glue that holds them together—the foundation of a book group they call AWEB—Angry Wives Eating Bon Bons—an unofficial 'club' that becomes much more. It becomes a lifeline.

The five women each have a story of their own to tell. There's Faith, the newcomer, a lonely housewife and mother of twins, a woman who harbors a terrible secret that has condemned her to living a lie; big, beautiful Audrey, the resident sex queen who knows that good posture and an attitude can let you get away with anything; Merit, the shy, quiet doctor's wife with the face of an angel and the private hell of an abusive husband; Kari, a thoughtful, wise woman with a wonderful laugh as 'deep as Santa Claus's with a cold' who knows the greatest gifts appear after life's fiercest storms; and finally, Slip, activist, adventurer, social changer, a tiny, spitfire of a woman who looks trouble straight in the eye and challenges it to arm wrestle.

Holdingon through forty eventful years—through the swinging Sixties, the turbulent Seventies, the anything-goes Eighties, the nothing's-impossible Nineties—the women will take the plunge into the chaos that inevitably comes to those with the temerity to be alive and kicking. Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons depicts a special slice of American life, of stay-at-home days and new careers, children and grandchildren, bold beginnings and second chances, in which the power of forgiveness, understanding, and the perfectly timed giggle fit is the CPR that mends broken hearts and shattered dreams.

Once again Lorna Landvik leaves you laughing and crying, as she reveals perhaps the greatest truth: that there is nothing like the saving grace of best friends.

1. During the sixties and seventies, the Angry Housewives smoked cigarettes and threw back highballs—even while pregnant—without knowledge of the harm it could do. If they could have glimpsed their futures then, what do you think would have surprised them most about their future selves? What is one thing you know now that you would have really appreciated being aware of ten years ago?

2. Why do you think groups like AHEB—women who live near each other, raise children together, and bond over books together—persist even in a climate of working moms and in a culture that is flooded with other types of media?

3. Discuss Faith's letters to her deceased mother. What kind of catharsis do they provide Faith, and how do the tone and nature of the letters change as the years go by?

4. Audrey gets a kick out of introducing Kari to strangers as a recently released convict. Discuss the women's jokes, nicknames, and embarrassing moments—how does humor work to solidify friendship?

5. Kari faces a critical decision when Mary Jo forbids her from telling Anders that the baby is his grandchild. Would you be able to keep such a secret? For which character is this secret most constructive; for which is it most destructive?

6. The women suggest that Slip thinks that by wearing revealing clothes Audrey perpetuates her role as a sex object and 'subverts [her] real self.' Audrey replies that she takes no one's opinion into account when she dresses—she simply likes it. How much does physical appearance burden or bless the women in AHEB? Do you think it is easy to make generalizations regarding persons who dress provocatively?

7. Faith becomes a guardian figure after staying up with the gun waiting for Eric Iverson's return, and keeping watch over Slip in the hospital bed, prepared to confront the Grim Reaper. What do you think are her conscious or subconscious motivations for being ever watchful?

8. Audrey has a talent for sensing upcoming events. In what ways do her capabilities influence how she deals with her family? Does it differ from how they affect her friendships? How much do you believe in psychic phenomena? Would being endowed with such a gift help or hinder one's decisions?

9. Merit is ashamed that a part of her believes her mother's statement that her brave Aunt Gaylene--happily unmarried, fulfilled with friends and books--was 'living half a life.' What sides of Merit's character produce these contradictory feelings? How do you think the other women of AHEB would respond to this opinion, and why?

10. At the AHEB meeting for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, the women toast their favorite and most influential teachers. In what other ways does the act of teaching influence the relationships in this novel?

11. Slip and Audrey allow a conflict between their children to seriously harm their friendship for a short time. If you ever had the desire to openly criticize a friend because of the way he or she raised a child, would you do so? How does Landvik's portrayal of differing parenting techniques and the children they produce function as social commentary within the novel?

12. What do you think caused Faith to (almost absent-mindedly) bring Audrey to Trilby? How did confronting Beau's sexuality help her have the strength to confront the reality of her own past?

13. Merit attributes her quiet acts of rebellion--trash rolled up furtively in her hair, choosing only banned books for AHEB meetings--to her maintenance of sanity during her years of marriage. What do you make of these coping methods? How do they compare to the methods of the other women in AHEB? Discuss your own strategies for staying lucid and balanced when confronted with situations that can be unbearable.

14. Kari and Mary Jo both question the timing and content of their admission to Julia after it's too late. Do you think it would have been wiser to have Julia grow up knowing the truth, or perhaps never knowing at all? How do you feel about Kari's impromptu decision to come clean in front of Mary Jo and without her prior knowledge? Was Julia right to be so upset?

15. How do you feel about the later inclusion of Grant as a member of AHEB? Did you think the inclusion of a male affected their particular group dynamic? What is valuable about inviting men to participate in women's dialogue?

16. Merit eventually finds Paradise, literally and figuratively. Do you believe that good things come to people who wait?

17. At the peace march, Fred states that, 'Only by trying to help someone else save their life could I save my own.' What do you make of this statement considering the horrors he experienced during the war? Do other characters in the novel embody or contradict this notion? Are certain characters better described as saviors than saved?

18. How are midwestern values portrayed in this book? In what ways might the book have differed if it had been set in the northeast or the south?

19. Slip is described throughout the book as the strongest--physically--of the Angry Housewives, in addition to her dynamic will and stalwart convictions. What emotions are stirred when someone who is perceived as invincible suddenly becomes critically ill? How does she continue to display conviction and energy? Do you think she will prevail?

20. Audrey says she believes in luck and God acting in tandem. What events in her life do you think contributed to this belief? How much weight do you give this sentiment regarding your own life? Do you think people tend to attribute life's painful events more to luck or to God? What about the joyous events?

21. Did you like the format of the book? How did giving every character the opportunity to voice their thoughts support the all-for-one and one-for-all theme of the book and the club itself?

22. This book covers a lot of ground, both personal and political. What do you think the most important lesson these women learn over thirty years is? Which characters were most ripe for change with the political and cultural tide? Whose story did you think most embodied the emergence of women as a growing force outside the home?

23. In order to attain a greater understanding of herself, Faith utilizes therapy, learns from her friendships and culls inspiration from books. How do these three supplement each other as means of self discovery? Which books and authors have inspired you most through the years?

24. What did you think of Merit's idea to unite mothers around the world to stop war and halt violence? Were you surprised this notion came from her?

25. Slip tells Merit that re-dubbing their book club Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons would be taking their husbands' words and 'giving them and their chauvinism the finger.' What other subversive techniques do the women display for giving chauvinism the finger? Do you feel it's an apt name for the club and all it turns out to be?

26. Discuss Kari's notion that her heart was able to put itself back together after the loss of Bjorn much like a lizard that can regenerate a tail. Do you think this sort of regeneration would have ever been possible without the arrival of Julia?

27. Marjorie McMahon has a plethora of nicknames: Slip, Warrior Bear, the Big Kahuna; and she is called everything from a leprechaun to a member of a 'bloodstained group of nuts.' What in her character lends itself so well to these various labels? Which do you think is the most accurate?

28. What do you think about Merit's final interaction with Eric Iverson? Was the slap beneath her or just what he deserved?

29. How does AHEB compare to your book club? Are there any ideas in the novel, like themes for meetings, which you'd like to incorporate?

30. Which character was your favorite? Was she or he the one you identified most with?

31. A number of the characters in the book harbor secrets. What does secret-keeping do to characters like Faith and Fred, who fear their actual secrets as opposed to Kari or Beau who fear the reactions of others?

Read an Excerpt

THE MEMBERS

Fuller Brush salesman had the unfortunate task of trying to sell his wares to the women of Freesia Court during the fifth day of a March cold snap.

"They were like caged animals," he complained later to his district manager. "I felt like any minute they were going to turn on me."

"Brushes?" Faith Owens had said when he offered up his bright smile and sales pitch on her icy front doorstep. "I'm sorry, but I've got a little more than brushes to worry about right now. Like wondering if spring is ever going to get here. Because I truly believed it might really be coming when boom--here it is, twenty below zero with a wind-chill factor that would bring Nanook of the North to his knees."

"Thank you for your time," said the salesman, picking up his case. "You have a pleasant day, now."

"And what exactly is a wind-chill factor anyway?"

"Faith," called her husband, Wade, from the living room. "Faith, don't be rude, honey."

"Well what is it?" she asked, slamming the door with her hip. "What exactly is a wind-chill factor?"

"This is Minnesota," said Wade, ignoring her question because he wasn't quite sure of the answer. "What do you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know--maybe a little damn relief?"

"Might I remind you," said Wade, "how you cried with delight seeing your first snowfall?"

"I cried with delight the first time I had sex with you, but that doesn't mean I want it nonstop."

"You're telling me," said Wade with a wistfulsigh.

"Ha, ha, ha," said Faith, surveying her neat and trim husband as he brushed his crew cut with his palm, a gesture he always made after what he thought was a joke.

It was no surprise to Faith that her husband had less trouble adapting to the frozen north. Hell, he was flying out of it all the time. Right before Christmas, Wade had been transferred to Minneapolis from Dallas, although to Faith, it may as well have been Siberia.

That very morning he was leaving for a three-day trip with a layover in warm and sunny Los Angeles, and as she stomped upstairs to finish his packing, anger seethed through Faith like steam through their loud and clanking radiators--Los Angeles! In just a few hours Wade could feasibly be lying poolside as some flirtatious Nordic stewardess (why did every Minnesota stewardess she'd seen have to look like Miss Sweden?) rubbed suntan lotion on his shoulders, while she, Faith, rubbed ointment onto the chapped little bottom of their son, Beau.

She pitched a rolled-up ball of socks into Wade's suitcase with the velocity of a teenage show-off trying to knock down a pyramid of bottles at a carnival booth. There had been a time when she actually enjoyed packing for her husband--when she'd fold his shirts into neat rectangles, slipping a sheet of tissue paper between them so they wouldn't wrinkle; when she'd tuck a love note inside a pair of boxer shorts or dab her perfume on the neckline of an undershirt--but routine had long ago tarnished that thrill.

Now Faith had an urge to pack a different sort of surprise--perhaps a used diaper from the bathroom pail that reeked of ammonia, or maybe a sprinkling of itching powder.

She smiled then, remembering one of her more innocent teenage pranks. She and Melinda Carmody had ordered itching powder from the back pages of True Confessions magazine and, sneaking into the classroom during lunch hour, sprinkled it on their algebra teacher's cardigan sweater, draped over the back of his chair. When tyrannical Mr. Melscher (who rewarded wrong answers with a sarcastic "Think again, Einstein") put the sweater on, Faith and Melinda held their breaths in anticipation. Although the man's shirt seemed to have blocked much of the powder's itching powers, he did tug at his collar and squirm a bit, giving the girls far more entertainment than they had trying to figure out if x equaled y.

Closing the suitcase, Faith sighed, realizing how far removed she was from things like best friends and practical jokes and giggle fits.

How far away I am from everything fun, she thought--from rides in convertibles with boys who drove with one hand on the wheel and the other one on her; from parties where couples necked on the porches of fraternity houses; from gently turning down, on the same night, two boys who wanted her to wear their pins.

Who are you kidding? Faith thought, sitting heavily on the bed. You're starting to believe your own press. It astounded her sometimes, the ease with which she assimilated into her present life: how she could get huffy about a visit from a Fuller Brush man or about packing her husband's suitcase as if she were some normal housewife. As if she weren't Primrose Reynolds' daughter.

She shuddered. It was as if her memories had a geography all their own. In the most recent ones she was on safe and firm ground and was the Faith she wanted and tried hard to be; further back she was the neglected little girl who seemed to be ground zero for lice infestations, the wild teenager who could just as easily have gone to prison as to college. In these memories, she struggled through swamps and quicksand.

Faith's life had been one of constant upheaval, and if she had learned anything, it was not only how to adapt to it but how to go beyond it. But maybe it was to be the great irony of her life that while she survived years of chaos, a few months as a lonely housewife in the frostbitten north had the power to finally do her in.

"Stupid godforsaken frozen tundra," she muttered, refusing to trespass in the dangerous territory of her past. As she dragged Wade's suitcase off the bed, she looked out the window laced with frost to see the Fuller Brush man take a tumble on the slippery walkway of her neighbor's house.

ACROSS THE STREET from the Owens residence, in the big colonial that in Faith's estimation needed a little TLC, Audrey Forrest lay in rumpled sheets, staring at the ceiling. Her five-year-old was bullying her three-year-old, but it was her belief that children settled their differences faster when adults didn't intervene. Besides, she didn't want to get out of bed.

She stretched her arms to the ceiling, admiring the delicacy of her fingers and wrists. At the moment she was on a diet that called for entirely too many grapefruits and boiled eggs, and until she saw progress on a scale, she would admire those few things, such as her wrists and fingers, that were in no need of size reduction.

Thinking about her stupid diet, her good, lazy-cat mood faded--why was Paul so adamant that she lose twenty pounds anyway?

"It'll help you feel better about yourself," her husband had said the other day, handing her the diet paperback he'd bought on his lunch break downtown.

"I feel fine about myself," said Audrey, piling her thick dark hair on top of her head and posing like a pinup model. She liked her curvy body, ample seat, and full breasts. "And fine about my body." She leaned over, wrapping her arms around Paul's neck. "You usually feel fine about my body." She pressed herself to him, nibbling his earlobe, but what normally drove him crazy now seemed to alarm him, for he pushed her aside as if she were transmitting a germ he did not want to catch.

"Paul," she said, unable to believe he didn't want to ravish her right there on the kitchen floor, "what do you expect? I'm Italian." In truth, she was mostly Dutch and German, but she felt far more affinity toward the Italian grandfather who spiced up her genetic mix.

"No," said her husband, looking at her with the glasses he thought made him look like a more experienced attorney than he was. "Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren are Italian." He pulled the sports section out of the paper and snapped it open. "You're just fat."

"Paul," said Audrey, her voice wounded.

"Oh, baby, I was just making a little joke."

"Well, it wasn't funny."

"I know. I'm sorry. I do think you're beautiful, Aude. It's just that, geez"--he swatted the newspaper he was reading--"every one of these models in here looks like that damned Sticky."

Audrey had to laugh. "Twiggy, honey. Her name's Twiggy."

"Well, compared to her, Miss America--which you could be, babe--looks hefty."

He certainly hadn't been thinking of where her weight fell in the current fashion curve that morning, when he'd pulled her to him, pushing up the fabric of her nightgown until it was a lacy roll around her waist. Audrey had been in the middle of a dream about her grandfather's backyard garden, the place of some of her happiest childhood memories, but she was always welcoming of Paul's advances and kissed him hungrily. After he climaxed, he jumped out of bed, his arms held up to the ceiling, and said, "Thank you, God, for letting me marry a sex maniac!"

"There are worse things to be a maniac about, wouldn't you say, big boy?"

Paul didn't turn around to acknowledge her little Mae West impersonation, but skipped off to the bathroom to shower.

"That's mine! Give it back!"

A crash accompanied her three-year-old's plea, and then there was a moment of silence before both her children began screaming. Wrapping her robe around her, Audrey got out of bed, ready to seize the day--or the scruff of her children's necks.

A SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER had once told Merit Iverson that God had held her face in his hands and sculpted it himself. It was true, she had the face of an angel, and had anyone been observing her that morning, it would appear also true that she had the smoking habit of a pool hall hustler. She lit her third cigarette of the hour, dragging on it as if it were oxygen and she were tubercular. If moving to Minneapolis from Iowa had been the first subversive act of her life, smoking was the second. Her father, a Lutheran minister (from whom she hid her habit), thought smoking--at least for women--a vice as well as a mark of low moral character. But waiting for her bus one day, Merit saw a billboard of a woman lighting up, a sophisticated, elegant woman who looked as if she had the world on a string, something Merit decidedly did not. She bought a pack of Kools that day.

Her husband, Eric, didn't mind if she smoked; he thought a woman smoking an occasional cigarette was glamorous. But she knew he'd mind how much she smoked. Even she was surprised how quickly a full pack deflated into an empty, crumpled one, but if cigarettes calmed her nerves, what was the harm?

"Are you sure it won't hurt the baby?" she had asked Eric, because if anything would make her give up her beloved habit, it was her beloved baby, growing inside her.

Her husband had given her one of his bemused, dismissive looks, which made her feel like a cute but pesky kindergartner, and said, "I'm a doctor, aren't I?" (Somehow he seemed to think Merit needed to be reminded of this fact--as if she hadn't typed millions of invoices in a drafty accounting office to help put him through med school.) "I'm a doctor and I smoke--would I do anything to endanger my health?"

"But the Surgeon General--"

"The Surgeon General's talking to heavy smokers. Moderation, Merit. Things done in moderation are fine."

A wreath of smoke hovered over Merit as she began to wipe down the counter. Barbra Streisand belted out "People" on the radio, and she added a little dance step as she attacked the smudge marks on the toaster. She listened to a radio station in whose demographics she did not fit (she knew far more songs by Perry Como than the Rolling Stones), and the waltz step she did in time to the music preceded the Twist or the Pony by centuries.

When she was finally convinced all crumbs and fingerprints had been banished (her husband liked his home as sterile as the hospital he worked in), she sat down at the kitchen table and leaned over to smell the roses Eric had brought home last night. Her pregnancy had been good for a number of bouquets and fruit baskets, one of the latter from the senior Dr. and Mrs. Iverson, who were wintering in Florida. They were thrilled by the news; they'd been pestering Eric and Merit ever since they were married to produce a grandchild. "And while you're at it," her father-in-law would add with a wink, "make sure it's a boy." Sons who became doctors was an Iverson tradition, started five generations earlier.

Merit stubbed out the inch that remained of her cigarette and rubbed her stomach.

"Please be a boy, little baby," she whispered. "It would make everything so much easier for everybody."

FREESIA COURT was a short dead-end street tucked on a parcel of land a stone's throw north of Minnehaha Creek. Nearly all the houses had been built in the 1920s and '30s, and it was such a pretty neighborhood that once in, hardly anyone left. Like many others in Minneapolis, Freesia Court was a cathedral street, so named because the leafy branches of trees on one side of the boulevard met those on the other side, giving those driving under them the sensation of being inside an airy green cathedral. It was only recently, when the original owners had grown too old for the upkeep of their spacious homes, that they had become available for sale. Now more than half of the retirees had moved out, and the sidewalks were littered with tricycles and wagons and chalk drawings belonging to the children of the young couples who'd replaced them. Today, however, the only evidence of children in this frigid winterscape were abandoned sleds and scrawny, weather-beaten snowmen who, with their missing stone eyes and broken and sagging twig arms, looked like Civil War veterans returned home after battle.

Faith's stucco Tudor (she still could hardly believe she lived in such a nice house) was at the end of the cul-de-sac, and the south side of her yard gradually eased into a hill that ran down to the creek basin. She had splendid views from her kitchen window, hundreds of trees and the creek itself, but it was not this view that was making Faith teary-eyed; it was that of her husband, Wade, backing out of the driveway. Seeing her standing at the window, he gave a jaunty salute, which she returned with a limp little wave.

At least the twins were sleeping, thank God. In January, just after their first birthday, they had taught themselves to walk, giving themselves a gift Faith often wanted to take back to the returns department. If they weren't contained in a playpen or crib or high chairs, Faith was chasing them through the house, plucking them off stair landings and couch backs and other dangerous perches that were so attractive to them.


From the Hardcover edition.