"There's no place like home."
Reviewed by Jennifer Vido
Posted September 19, 2010
Fiction
Cassie Madison never looked back as she left her hometown
of Walton, Georgia. Being from a small town always made her
feel like a bear caught in a trap. Instead, she has chosen
to live the high life in the Upper East Side in New York
City pursuing the ultimate dream of becoming a successful
ad executive. Her life as she once knew it no longer
exists. Her future is wide open, and she is very excited
at the possibilities ahead. Just when things seem to be falling into place, Cassie
receives a phone call from her estranged sister Harriet
with the news that their father is dying. His request for
Cassie to return home stirs up some emotional baggage which
Cassie would have much preferred to remain safely stored
away. Having stolen Cassie's boyfriend and then married
him, Harriet is now living the life which would have been
hers. Coming face to face with this harsh reality puts
Cassie on edge, to say the least. With the passing of their father, Cassie and Harriet form
an uneasy truce as they settle their father's estate. Along
the way, a former childhood friend, who just happens to be
the town's sexy, bachelor doctor, pops back into Cassie's
life. Just as things are heating up, a shocking family
secret is uncovered and Cassie must choose whether to get
to the bottom of things or let the past remain in the past.
In her heart of hearts, she knows the truth may forever hurt
the ones she loves. FALLING HOME is the latest fictional masterpiece by the
prolific low-country author, Karen White. With each tale,
she paints a picture full of colorful characters whose
unforgettable life journeys strike a chord within the
reader's heart. In this story, she once again displays her
exemplary literary finesse by drawing the reader into her
world. Richly engrossing, FALLING HOME is a brilliant work
of art.
SUMMARY
You know that saying about how sometimes you're the
windshield and sometimes you're the bug? It's true. Take me, for example. I shook the Georgia dust
from my feet fifteen years ago, vowing never to leave
Manhattan. I traded sweet tea for Chardonnay, fried
chicken for nouvelle cuisine, lazy days on my aunt's front
porch for ad campaigns and board meetings, and the guy who
broke my heart for my handsome boss, who soon became my
fiance. Perfect, right? Until my sister called. We haven't spoken since I left
home--because she married the guy who broke my heart.
What's more, she called to say my father is dying--but he
refuses to finish until I show up. So I'm back in the
hottest, dinkiest small town in Georgia, facing my sister
and my old boyfriend over the heads of their--count them--
five children. It couldn't get weirder, right? Unless you
count Sam Parker--a long-forgotten classmate, now the town
doctor--and how good he's beginning to look to me. I'm falling apart, I think, wondering why resentment and
wounded pride seem silly here in Walton, where forgiveness
and acceptance go hand-in-hand with homecoming. And I'm
beginning to suspect that I'm falling in love for real
this time, with a man whose touch is so right, I feel like
I'm...
ExcerptCassie was dreaming again. It was of old summers; the
summers of bare feet, skinned knees and homemade peach ice
cream that dripped down her chin and made her fingers
sticky. Aunt Lucinda rang the supper bell, and Cassie and
Harriet raced each other past the gazebo toward the back
porch, their sun-kissed legs pumping under white
sundresses. The jangling of the dream-bell seemed so real,
Cassie felt she could touch the cold brass and make it
stop.
Her fingers touched Andrew's arm instead, his skin warm
under her hand, and she jerked awake, the smells of summer
grass and Aunt Lucinda's lavender perfume lingering
somewhere in the back of her mind. But the jangling
continued, filling Cassie with dread.
She held her breath, looking at the glowing numbers on
her clock, and listened for the next ring of the
telephone. Only bad news came at three in the morning.
Births and engagements were always announced in the bright
light of day. But bad news came at night, as if the sun
were already in mourning.
Andrew stirred briefly, then rolled over, away from
her. Rising from the bed, she stumbled across the darkened
bedroom and into the living room so not to awaken him. She
hit her little toe on a chair leg and let out an expletive,
her choice of words the only thing still reminiscent of her
background.
"Dangnabit!" she muttered, reaching for the phone and
knocking it off the hook. She grappled with it on the
floor before finally placing it on her ear. "Hello?"
There was a brief pause, then, "Hi, Cassie. It's me.
It's Harriet."
Cassie's blood stilled as she gripped the receiver
tighter. "Harriet," she said, her voice sounding strained
and unsure to her ears. "How are you?"
The words were so inadequately stupid that she wanted to
bite them back as soon as they left her mouth. It was
three a.m., her estranged sister was calling after more
than a decade of silence, and she was asking about how she
was in the same kind of voice she would ask a co-worker if
they liked sugar in their coffee.
"It's Daddy. He's dying."
A siren screamed outside in the dark beyond Cassie's
window. She reached across the table and flipped on a
lamp. "What happened?" The brilliant cut diamond in an
antique platinum setting on her left hand sparkled in the
dim light. Andrew came and sat next to her, his forehead
creased with a question. Cassie put her hand over the
receiver and mouthed, "My sister."
"Hang on a second." Harriet's phone clunked as the
sound of a baby's crying trickled through the line. It
must be Amanda, Harriet's new baby. Cassie knew each child
from pictures her father sent. There were five of them—
spread evenly over fifteen years of marriage. Each birth
announcement from her father had opened the old wounds,
scraping away the scabs, making Cassie bleed again.
Harriet came back. "I'm sorry. The baby's been fussy
all day."
Cassie swallowed. "What's wrong with Daddy?"
Harriet sounded as if she'd been crying. "He's had a
stroke. We didn't think it was so bad, but he says he's
dying. And you know he always means what he says. He's in
the hospital now, but he wants us to bring him home
tomorrow. It was his idea to call you right now in the
middle of the night. He says he won't rest in peace until
both of his girls are here. He wants you to come home."
Cassie didn't say anything but listened to the sounds of
the phone being put down again and of the fretting baby.
She glanced over at Andrew, who had put his head back
against the sofa, and closed his eyes. Her gaze wandered
the living room of her Upper West Side apartment. Nothing
in the cool, crisp space, with its black and white
checkerboard of color and harsh angles, resembled the old
house in which she had grown up. The house with porch
swings, ancient oaks and screen doors. Just as the woman
she had become no longer resembled the girl of twenty who
had left the small town of Walton, Georgia fifteen years
before without a backward glance.
Then, a man spoke, his words deep and
resonant. "Cassie? It's Joe."
She looked away, trying to focus on the abstract splotch
of color on the painting behind her sofa, wanting to block
out the memories his voice stirred. The memories of
moonlit nights and serenading katydids in the gazebo behind
the old house, and of Aunt Lucinda's gardenias, drooping in
the heat, spreading their seductive aroma.
"Cassie? Are you there?"
"Yes." Her voice cracked, so she said it again, firmer
this time. "Yes. I'm here."
Andrew sat up and took her hand, his eyes guarded.
Joe spoke again. "Are you coming home?"
The receiver slipped in her sweaty palm. Every day she
handled difficult clients, the bread and butter of the ad
agency, but nothing had ever made her as unsettled as the
sound of Joe's voice and the mere thought of returning to
the place she swore she would never set foot in again.
"I am home," she said, defiant.
"You know what I mean, Cassie." She could barely hear
him he was speaking so low. "Harriet needs you now. As
much as you need her, I suspect. Your daddy’s dying and he
wants his girls to be with him.”
She looked over at Andrew. He wore only boxer shorts,
his skin pale in the glare of the lamp. She stared at the
contours of the muscles on his chest, every ridge etched in
her fingers' memory. Cassie had worked for Andrew Wallace
for five years, been his lover for three, and his fiancée
for one. Like her, he was a transplant to New York, all
the way from Newport Beach, California.
Cassie reached for his hand resting on his thigh. He
jerked awake, his eyes meeting hers with a question. She
squeezed his fingers, feeling the bond between them, the
bond that made her regard them as wild hothouse flowers,
uprooted from the tropics and moved to an intricately
landscaped formal garden. They understood each other,
sharing a mutual passion for their work, and never talking
about how very far from home they both were.
Cassie blinked hard. "I'll come. For Daddy."
Joe sighed into the phone. "Whatever it takes to get
you here, Cassie. Just come as soon as you can."
Cassie heard whispering on the other end of the phone,
then Harriet spoke again. "Let me know which flight you'll
be on, and I'll pick you up."
"No." She said it too quickly. She wasn't ready for an
hour alone in a car with Harriet. "I mean, I think I'll
drive. I'll need a car while I'm down there, and…I'd like
the time to think. If I drive straight through, I can be
there by tomorrow night."
"You be careful—the roads aren't safe for a woman
driving alone."
"Really, Harriet. I can take care of myself."
Harriet breathed into the receiver. "I know, Cassie.
You always have."
Cassie waited a moment, then said, "Tell Daddy…tell him
I'm coming."
They said goodbye, and Cassie hung up, staring into
space for a long moment. Finally, Andrew stirred next to
her and she pulled her hand away. "I've got to go back to
Walton. Daddy's sick and wants me there now. He’s dying."
Andrew looked down at his carefully manicured hands, and
drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry." He looked up. "I’d
like to come with you, but I can’t right now.”
Cassie regarded him calmly. "I know. That's fine—I
think it's better you stayed anyway. Walton's not your
kind of town. You'd be screaming to leave after five
minutes."
He set his mouth in a straight line. "It's not that.
It's just one of us needs to stay behind to see to
business. The BankNorth campaign is scheduled to hit next
month, and we've got lots of work to do. But I want you to
stay as long as you think you need to."
She touched his shoulder. "Really, Andrew. You don't
need to explain. I understand. And thanks."
He nodded, then looked away.
Cassie rubbed her face, trying to scrub away old
images. "It's so hard to believe. I just spoke to him on
the phone last Sunday. He was telling me yet again that it
was time to come home." She smiled at the darkness outside
the window. "He said the most peculiar thing."
Andrew flipped off the lamp, then stood, pulling her
into his arms. "What did he say this time?"
Cassie nestled into the soft spot below his collarbone,
wrinkling her nose at the tang of stale cologne. "He said
that Georgia dirt would always stick to the soles of my
shoes, regardless of how many elocution lessons I took."
Andrew snorted softly. "The old Judge never gives up
trying to argue his case, does he?"
Cassie shook her head. "No, he doesn't." She closed
her eyes, knowing her Italian pumps would never have the
patience for the clinging red clay of Georgia.
They stood in their embrace in front of the large plate
glass window. The never-ending traffic below pulsed and
vibrated like an electronic serpent, moving with the city's
energy. Cassie lifted her chin and stared out at the
glittering city skyline, the hulking outlines of the
surrounding buildings like the bruises on her memory.
Without being conscious of it, she lifted her hand to
the frail gold chain on her neck, and placed her fingers
around the four small charms that hung from it. The gold
was cool to the touch, but it comforted her, just as it had
done many times since her mother had given it to her.
Andrew's voice was muffled. "You're nervous."
Cassie looked up at him. "I am not. Why would you say
that?"
"Because you always play with your necklace whenever
you're nervous. It's one of your more endearing habits."
She pulled away. "I'm not nervous. Just…thoughtful."
Cassie dropped her hand, and Andrew bent to kiss her
neck, his lips warm and lingering on her skin. He lifted
his head. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"
She felt a prickle of annoyance. "I don't know,
Andrew. As long as my father needs me, I guess."
He rubbed his fingers through highlighted hair. "I'm
sorry, I don't mean to sound callous. Stay as long as you
need to." He sent her a dim smile. "And don't forget I'm
only a phone call away if you need anything."
Placing her hands on his chest, she fixed him with a
steadying gaze. "Actually, there is something. I'm going
to drive. And I was wondering if I could borrow your car."
She could see the internal struggle in his eyes from the
glow of the lights outside.
He dropped his arms from her shoulders. "My car? You
want to drive my car?"
Cassie could almost hear his internal struggle. Nobody
she knew in the city needed or wanted a car, much less had
a place to put one, but Andrew had a house in Connecticut,
complete with horse barn and garage.
His shoulders slumped slightly. "Couldn't you rent
one?" She could tell he wasn’t completely joking.
She took a deep breath, wondering if he would be as
protective of her as his wife as he was about his car. "I
want something safe, reliable—and fast. You know I'll take
good care of it." Trying to add some levity, she
said, "And it is insured, right?"
"Very funny, Cassandra. But what if it breaks down—I
don't know if I want a redneck grease monkey under her
hood. Those people barely know how to speak English, much
less understand the intricacies of a German performance
car."
Cassie put her hands on her hips, reminding herself of
Aunt Lucinda. She quickly dropped them. "Just because
they have accents doesn't mean they're ignorant, Andrew.
Most of the boys I grew up with could rebuild your car from
a junk pile and it would perform better than it does now."
Cassie chewed on her lip, wondering why she had jumped to
the defense of Southerners. It wasn't like she was one
anymore. She had rid herself of her accent along with her
long hair and penchant for fried foods—although she still
couldn't bring herself to wear white shoes after Labor Day
or before Easter.
Andrew sighed. "All right. You can borrow my car. But
you have to promise me you'll take care of it, and have it
waxed at least once."
She pulled him closer and kissed him. "Thank you. I
promise I'll take care of it."
Several hours later, in the pre-dawn morning, they
caught the first train to Greenwich, Connecticut, and took
his car out of long-term parking. Andrew loaded her
luggage into the small trunk of the small Mercedes, and
spent twenty minutes going over things she could and
couldn't do with his car.
When there was nothing left to be said, he took her in
his arms, and kissed her deeply, his hands sliding down her
back in the practiced way he knew she liked. "I'll miss
you," he murmured into her neck. "And I hope things go
well with your father—call me and let me know how things
are going."
"Thanks, and I will." She brushed his lips with
hers. "I'll miss you, too," she said, as she pulled away
and settled into the front seat.
She shut the door, put the car in gear, and sent him a
brave smile. She couldn't shake the feeling that this
parting was somehow permanent. Swallowing the thick lump
in her throat, she shouted, "I'll call you," then pulled
away.
Her glance in the rear view mirror revealed Andrew
standing in the parking lot, staring after his car until it
rounded a corner and he disappeared from sight.
What do you think about this review?
Comments
1 comment posted.
Re: There's no place like home.
really enjoy these books
(Joan Geisbrecht 12:35pm September 26, 2010)
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