Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Back Cover Text
- Praise
- Booklist
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Quote
- Prologue
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- Part Two
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- Part Three
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Part Four
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- Part Five
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- Part Six
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- Part Seven
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Part Eight
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- Part Nine
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- Part Ten
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- Part Eleven
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- Part Twelve
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- Part Thirteen
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR NOTE
- Reader’s Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- The Heirloom Garden
- Abby
I raise the sage over my head and yell to the cottage, “Leave your troubles at the door!” The house creaks as if in agreement. I repeat the rule, this time to myself. “Leave your troubles at the door, Adie Lou.”
I yell again, this time into the winter wind. “To a new start! To a new life for me and you, Cozy Cottage! No regrets!”
I begin to open the door, but the wind gusts, nearly knocking me off my feet, and the burning sage goes dark. A shutter on the front of the cottage flaps wildly in the gale, making a sound similar to a hundred ducks taking flight from a pond.
And then, just like that, the shutter is airborne and flying directly toward my head. I move just in time, and it smashes into the ground, clacking down the dune and into the lake.
Before I run inside, now fearful for my safety, I see the sprawling, wooden trellis in the yard, the one on which my mom and grandma’s knockout pink and red roses climbed for decades. The trellis is bare, trembling in the wind, shaking just as hard as I am, and I swear I can hear Trish say to me very clearly, “The roses, Adie Lou. The roses.”
Part Two
Rule #2:
Soak Up the Sun
FOUR
February
“What time is it?”
My voice echoes in the guest room.
The sun is shining directly into my eyes, and I sit straight up in bed, my heart racing. I glance over at the clock on the nightstand.
It blinks at me in red: 9:39 a.m. I pull the blankets up around my body, feeling both cold and too warm. Worried about money, I refused to set the heat above fifty-eight degrees last night. My face is frozen, but my body feels flushed, nearly hot, and I realize I am embarrassed at having slept so long on my first day as an entrepreneur.
I glance again at the red numbers on the clock, and my body flushes in shame, as if I’m wearing a scarlet A.
For Apathetic, I start, before correcting myself. “No, capital A loser,” I say out loud, the echo affirming my declaration.
I haven’t slept this long in decades, I think. Since I was teenager. In this very room.