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Back The Summer Cottage Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. About the Author
  6. Dedication
  7. Quote
  8. Prologue
  9. Part One
  10. ONE
  11. TWO
  12. THREE
  13. Part Two
  14. FOUR
  15. FIVE
  16. SIX
  17. Part Three
  18. SEVEN
  19. EIGHT
  20. NINE
  21. TEN
  22. Part Four
  23. ELEVEN
  24. TWELVE
  25. THIRTEEN
  26. Part Five
  27. FOURTEEN
  28. FIFTEEN
  29. SIXTEEN
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. Part Six
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. NINETEEN
  34. TWENTY
  35. TWENTY-ONE
  36. Part Seven
  37. TWENTY-TWO
  38. TWENTY-THREE
  39. TWENTY-FOUR
  40. TWENTY-FIVE
  41. Part Eight
  42. TWENTY-SIX
  43. TWENTY-SEVEN
  44. TWENTY-EIGHT
  45. TWENTY-NINE
  46. Part Nine
  47. THIRTY
  48. THIRTY-ONE
  49. THIRTY-TWO
  50. THIRTY-THREE
  51. THIRTY-FOUR
  52. Part Ten
  53. THIRTY-FIVE
  54. THIRTY-SIX
  55. THIRTY-SEVEN
  56. THIRTY-EIGHT
  57. Part Eleven
  58. THIRTY-NINE
  59. FORTY
  60. FORTY-ONE
  61. Part Twelve
  62. FORTY-TWO
  63. FORTY-THREE
  64. FORTY-FOUR
  65. Part Thirteen
  66. FORTY-FIVE
  67. FORTY-SIX
  68. FORTY-SEVEN
  69. EPILOGUE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. AUTHOR NOTE
  72. Reader’s Guide
  73. Questions for Discussion
  74. The Heirloom Garden
  75. Abby

I wiggle my way out of bed, trying not to wake Sonny, and pad downstairs to make myself a cup of tea to calm my nerves. As the kettle heats, I walk into the living room, the cottage creaking with my every step. I stare at Darryl, half expecting him to yawn, and my eyes drift to my parents’ bookshelves.

No, I think. They wouldn’t, would they?

My heart begins to race, and I click on the light. I begin to scan the shelves, but I’m too tired and too excited, and my eyes won’t focus. The spines of the books are just blurs.

“Slow down, Adie Lou,” I whisper to myself.

I start again, beginning with my mother’s books. My heart begins to deflate as I finish scanning the first four rows. The kettle whistles. I ignore it, but Sonny doesn’t, and I can hear him jump off the bed, scamper around the bedroom upstairs, and then the click-click-click of his nails as he runs downstairs in search of me.

“Hi, buddy,” I say. “Didn’t mean to leave you all alone.”

I give him a big kiss on the head and then pull over an old ottoman. I step onto it and begin to scan the higher rows of the bookshelves. I am about to give up when I see it.

“No way!” I say. “I can’t believe it.”

Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady stares back at me. I yank it from the shelf, make my tea and sink onto the couch, pulling a blanket over myself and Sonny, who is now settled atop my feet.

I begin to read of Isabel Archer, a young, free-spirited American woman confronting her destiny and getting “ground in the very mill of the conventional.”

I wake on the couch the next morning, having again dreamed of Sadie, and I don’t move until I have finished the book, stunned at the parallels in the lives of myself, Sadie and Isabel, and of the consequences unconventional women must too often face for trying to be true to themselves in a conventional world.

Part Five

Rule #5:

Build a Bonfire

FOURTEEN

I am walking bedroom to bedroom on the second floor analyzing the bathroom framing the contractors have completed. The cottage’s cozy bedrooms have become even more intimate as precious square footage has been taken to add a private bath in each room. I add up the cost in my head, and my stomach lurches.

“What if we added a hall bath?” I ask Sonny, who’s peering at me between open slats. “Or Jack-and-Jills between four rooms?”

No, Adie Lou, I think. This is high-end, not hostel. No one wants to share a bathroom with a stranger. Stop second-guessing yourself.