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Published by Real You Publishing Group on February 23rd 2016
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Source: InkSlinger PR
From USA Today bestselling author Kaira Rouda, a collection of four of her bestselling, award-winning women's fiction stories all sharing the upscale suburban setting of Grandville, Ohio.
HERE, HOME, HOPE:
Kelly Johnson becomes restless in her thirty-ninth year. An appetite for more forces her to take stock of her middling middle-American existence and her neighbors' seemingly perfect lives. Her marriage to a successful attorney has settled into a comfortable routine, and being the mother of two adorable sons has been rewarding. But Kelly's own passions lie wasted. She eyes with envy the lives of her two best friends, Kathryn and Charlotte, both beautiful, successful businesswomen who seem to have it all. Kelly takes charge of her life, devising a midlife makeover plan.
"Reading Kaira Rouda is like getting together with one of your best friends - fun, fast, and full of great advice! Here, Home, Hope sparkles with humor and heart." --Claire Cook, bestselling author of Must Love Dogs
ALL THE DIFFERENCE:
Once again, everything isn't what it seems in the wonderful suburb of Grandville. This is the story of three women whose lives become entangled by the choices they make and how, ultimately, one of them turns to murder to achieve her goals.
"There are few things more entertaining than stories revealing the seamy underside of suburban life." -- The US Review of Books RECOMMENDED
"An intriguing cast of characters and an untimely death set the stage for a chick-lit, murder mystery in Rouda's (Here, Home, Hope, 2011) latest novel. A light, engaging read that keeps readers guessing until the end." -- KIRKUS Reviews
IN THE MIRROR:
Jennifer Benson is a woman who seems to have it all. Diagnosed with cancer, she enters an experimental treatment facility to tackle her disease the same way she tackled her life - head on. But while she's busy fighting for a cure, running her business, planning a party, staying connected with her kids, and trying to keep her sanity, she ignores her own intuition and warnings from others and reignites an old relationship best left behind. If you knew you might die, what choices would you make? How would it affect your marriage? How would you live each day? And how would you say no to the one who got away?
"Rouda writes with a fluent, psychologically subtle realism that cuts Jennifer’s pathos (and occasional self-pity) with humor and irony, and she surrounds her with characters—doting dad; vain, shallow mom; mensch of a gay business partner; sarcastic gal pals—who are sharply etched and entertaining. Jennifer is a winning heroine, and readers will undoubtedly root for her as she reaches for a more mature, if achingly uncertain, future. An absorbing story of a woman grasping at life in the midst of death. ~ Kirkus Reviews
A MOTHER'S DAY: A SHORT STORY
Three mothers. Three sons. One day that connects them. Kaira Rouda tackles the big issues of life and death with candor and hope in this tribute to motherhood. A tragic event reawakens each woman to her own special gifts, and her love for family and friends is reborn. Three mothers. Three sons. Six lives that will be changed forever.
Winner! Indie Excellence Book Award Mainstream/Literary Fiction
Winner! USA Book Awards Women's Fiction
Honorable Mention! Mainstream/Literary Fiction, Writer's Digest Book Awards
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Rolling over to get out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cringed. My reflection said it all. Everything had changed.
I looked like death.
I blinked, moving my gaze from the mirror, and noticed the inspirational “quote of the day” calendar on my bedside table. Uplifting quote aside, it was Monday again. That meant everything in the real world, away from this place. It meant groaning about the morning and getting the kids off to school. It meant struggling to get to work on time and forcing yourself to move through the day. It meant the start of something new and fresh and undetermined. But Mondays meant nothing at Shady Valley. We lived in the “pause” world, between “play” and “stop.” Suspension was the toughest part for me. And loneliness. Sure, I had visitors, but it wasn’t the same as being always surrounded by people in motion. Only eighteen months ago, I’d been on fast-forward in the real world, juggling two kids and my business, struggling to stay connected to my husband, my friends. At Shady Valley, with beige-colored day after cottage-cheese-tasting day, my pace was, well—
I had to get moving. I had a party to plan.
I supposed my longing for activity was behind my rather childish wish to throw a party for myself. At least it gave me a mission of sorts. A delineation of time beyond what the latest in a long line of cancer treatments dictated. It had been more than eighteen months of treatments, doctor’s appointments, hospitalizations, and the like. I embraced the solidity of a deadline. The finality of putting a date on the calendar and knowing that at least this, my party, was something I could control.
I noticed the veins standing tall and blue and bubbly atop my pale, bony hands. I felt a swell of gratitude for the snakelike signs of life, the entry points for experimental treatments; without them, I’d be worse than on pause by now.
I pulled my favorite blue sweatshirt over my head and tugged on my matching blue sweatpants.
Moving at last, I brushed my teeth and headed next door to Ralph’s. He was my best friend at Shady Valley—a special all-suite, last-ditch-effort experimental facility for the sick and dying—or at least he had been until I began planning my party. I was on his last nerve with this, but he’d welcome the company, if not the topic. He was on pause too.
My thick cotton socks helped me shuffle across my fake-wood floor, but it was slow going once I reached the grassy knoll—the leaf-green carpet that had overgrown the hallway. An institutional attempt at Eden, I supposed. On our good days, Ralph and I sometimes sneaked my son’s plastic bowling set out there to compete in vicious matches. We had both been highly competitive, type-A people in the “real” world, and the suspended reality of hushed voices and tiptoeing relatives was unbearable at times.
“I’ve narrowed it down to three choices,” I said, reaching Ralph’s open door. “One: ‘Please come celebrate my life on the eve of my death. RSVP immediately. I’m running out of time.’”
“Oh, honestly,” Ralph said, rolling his head back onto the pillows propping him up. I knew my time in Shady Valley was only bearable because of this man, his humanizing presence. Even though we both looked like shadows of our outside, real-world selves, we carried on a relationship as if we were healthy, alive. I ignored the surgery scars on his bald, now misshapen head. He constantly told me I was beautiful. It worked for us.
“Too morbid? How about: ‘Only two months left. Come see the incredible, shrinking woman. Learn diet secrets of the doomed,’” I said, hoping he’d join in.
“Jennifer, give it a rest, would you?”
“You don’t have to be so testy. Do you want me to leave?” I asked, ready to retreat back to my room.
“No, come in. Let’s just talk about something else, OK, beautiful?”
Ralph was lonely too. Friends from his days as the city’s most promising young investment banker had turned their backs—they didn’t or couldn’t make time for his death. His wife, Barbara, and their three teenage kids were his only regular visitors. Some days, I felt closer to Ralph than to my own family, who seemed increasingly more absorbed in their own lives despite weekly flowers from Daddy and dutiful visits from Henry, my husband of six years. Poor Henry. It was hard to have meaningful visits at Shady Valley, with nurses and treatments and all manner of interruptions. We still held hands and kissed, but intimacy—when I was feeling up to it—was impossible.
So, there we were, Ralph and I, two near-death invalids fighting for our lives with me planning a party to celebrate that fact. It seemed perfectly reasonable, because while I knew I should be living in the moment, the future seemed a little hazy without a party to focus on.
“Seriously, I need input on my party invitations. It’s got to be right before I hand it over to Mother. I value your judgment, Ralph. Is that too much to ask?”
“For God’s sake, let me see them.” Ralph snatched the paper out of my hand. After a moment, he handed it back to me. “The last one’s the best. The others are too, well, self-pitying and stupid. And it’s a good idea to keep the party manageable by scheduling groups of people. Are you sure you can’t just have a funeral like the rest of us?”
I glared at him but agreed, “That’s my favorite too.”
Mr. & Mrs. E. David Wells
request your presence at a
celebration in honor of their daughter,
Jennifer Wells Benson.
Please see insert for your party time.
Shady Valley Center
2700 Hocking Ridge Road
RSVP to Mrs. Juliana Duncan Wells
No gifts please—donations to cancer research appreciated.
At first, I had been incredibly angry about the cancer. Hannah’s birth, so joyous, also had marked the end of my life as a “normal” person. Apparently, it happened a lot. While a baby’s cells multiplied, the mom’s got into the act, mutating, turning on each other. Hannah was barely two weeks old when I became violently ill. My fever was 105 degrees when we arrived in the ER. I think the ER doctors suspected a retained placenta or even some sort of infectious disease, although I was so feverish I couldn’t remember much from that time. All I remembered was the feeling of being cut off from my family—Henry, two-year-old Hank, and newborn Hannah—and marooned on the maternity ward, a place for mothers-to-be on bed rest until their due dates. That was hell.
My headache was so intense the curtains were drawn against the glaring sun or the streetlights at all times. I didn’t look pregnant, since I wasn’t anymore, so all the nurses thought my baby had died. That first shift tiptoed around me, murmuring. By the second night, one of them had posted a sign: “The baby is fine. Mother is sick.” It answered their questions since I couldn’t. It hurt my head too much to try.
On the third day, surgery revealed that there was no retained placenta after all. I was able to go home to my newborn and my life. With a slight fever but no answers, I escaped from the hospital and went home to a grateful Henry and a chaotic household. I was weak and tired, but everyone agreed that was to be expected. I thanked God for the millionth time for two healthy kids and my blessed, if busy, life.
Less than two weeks later, I found the lump.