"Three women share each others lives as their friendship grows."
Reviewed by Leanne Davis
Posted June 28, 2015
Women's Fiction Contemporary | Women's Fiction
Three women who met while teaching school become best
friends. They have been there for each other through
every bump in the road. Ms. Webb leads us on a journey
of discovery as Maggie chooses to divorce her husband
just after they learn of Lillian's serious illness.
Jean does her best to support her friends as their lives
are falling apart around them. While Stars to Lead Me
Home is written from Maggie's perspective, the reader
will see the sense of love and support the three women
share.
Ms. Webb has long been a favorite writer of mine. Stars
will make you laugh and cry as you watch Maggie travel
the road from unhappy married woman to a self-sufficent
single woman. With Lillian in need of a heart
transplant, the reader will mourn the potential loss of
a vibrant, loving woman who wants the remainder of her
life to a time of joy. Keep the tissues handy as you
follow the exploits of Maggie, Jean and Lillian.
SUMMARY
From the beloved bestselling author of Driving Me Crazy
and
The Sweetest Hallelujah. If you’ve ever tried to pick up the pieces after a
marriage
goes up in smoke, you’ll know Maggie. If you’ve ever
thought your daughter might not speak to you again or a
life-threatening illness would claim your best friend,
you’ll understand Maggie’s heart. And if you’ve ever
wished
on a star, you’ll cheer for her throughout this book.
“It’s the kind you can’t wait to share with your best
friend! The Must Read book of the year!”
ExcerptLetter from the AuthorThis novel is very dear to my heart. When my courageous
and
beautiful Aunt Maxine died a few years ago, she was the
world’s second longest living recipient of a donor heart.
I’ve always intended to write about her journey, and this
novel gave me the perfect opportunity.
Still, getting a “borrowed heart,” (Aunt Maxine’s words)
is
the secondary story line in Stars to Lead Me Home. This is
a
novel about coping with divorce after a long-time
marriage,
something many of my friends and I know all too well. All
of
us understand the heart of Maggie. We understand that it
was
our female friends who pulled us through. In the end,
then,
the truest thing I can say about Stars to Lead Me Home is
that it celebrates the joy of friends, the compassion,
laughter and tears we use to handle whatever life throws
at
us.
As always, I thank you for reading this novel, for loving
my
books and for remaining loyal fans for so many years! Peggy
EXCERPT Chapter 1 I know my marriage is in shambles, had known long before
Lillian called.
“I’m coming over,” she says. “With Jean. Break out the
wine
and throw some blankets in the boat. I have something very
important to tell both of you and I want to be on the lake
under the stars when I tell it.”
The minute I put the phone down, my husband pounces. “What
was that all about?” “Lillian and Jean are coming.” “Those troublemakers would have to ruin a peaceful
Saturday
night!” The way he says this makes his face turn red. He
knows more about stealing joy than any person I ever met.
“Don’t worry. You won’t even have to see them. We’ll be at
the lake.”
“In this cold? Are you crazy?”
I don’t bother to defend my sanity. I don’t even bother to
point out that Mississippi is having one of the mildest
winters on record, that he went golfing this morning
wearing
nothing more than a sweater.
I start grabbing blankets and wine, cheese straws and
Hershey’s kisses, three big hunks of the German chocolate
cake I baked this morning, linen napkins and real silver
forks. Who cares if the boat tilts and I lose all of this
in
the lake? Lillian and Jean are worth it. These friends are
worth any price, even Dick’s rage, which is sure to come
again later tonight when we’re lying in bed as far apart
as
possible, him ranting and me wishing he’d just shut up,
wishing there was an easy way to deal with the wrenching
loneliness of being a couple but living a lie.
It’s already dark when I race into my back yard, the sky a
deep navy that makes a perfect backdrop for the
constellations spread across the Milky Way. Lillian will
love this. Like me, she identifies with the stars, credits
them with magical powers that can heal the hurts of your
heart and guide you to your perfect home.
Wrapping my sweater against the chill, I stand under the
glow of constellations, trying not to think about the
hurts
in my heart and the twenty years they’d been accumulating.
The roar of Lillian’s battered Thunderbird convertible
pulls
me out of my stargazing. I stash the supplies by the edge
of
the lake, its water already turning silvery and
mysterious,
then dash toward the driveway with my arms wide open.
Even if I saw Lillian and Jean only yesterday at school
where all of us teach, seeing them again is an occasion
for
hugs and squeals and jumping up and down. Some people
might
frown on women our age carrying on like teenagers, but
what
do we care? As long as we have each other, everything will
be all right.
“Lillian, I can’t wait to hear your news? Is it a new
baby?”
She has two children, but she’s only thirty-six, plenty
young enough to have another.
“There’s no need to ask, Maggie.” Jean makes a face at
Lillian then trots beside us toward the back yard on her
short legs, barely keeping up. “I pestered her to death in
the car, and she wouldn’t tell me a thing. But if it’s
another kid, I’m going to strangle her. Who needs a little
person in diapers?”
That’s Jean for you. She has opinions about everything,
and
she’s not shy about sharing them.
“I wouldn’t mind a little person in diapers.” My two
daughters are grown and gone, and I miss the unexpected
pleasures, playing with a rubber ducky at bath time,
watching spit bubbles form when a baby first yearns toward
the beautiful art of language, sitting in my rocking chair
late at night, the only person awake in the house except
for
the tiny bundle in my arms. A girl, I think. But not with
Dick. Which presents a whole other line of thought.
“Forty is not too old, Maggie,” Jean says, “but I’m going
to
whip your butt if you get pregnant by Dick.”
“Who else would it be, Jean?” Lillian has reached the
water
before us and is already climbing into the boat. “Somebody
toss me the blankets and the picnic basket.”
I hand them in to her then turn to Jean. “Go ahead and hop
in.”
“What about you?”
“Somebody has to push us off.”
“I can help you with that.” Jean stands on the edge of
the
lake with her hands on her hips. She’s as stubborn as she
is opinionated, two qualities I covet but probably won’t
ever learn. I’m a peacemaker, a woman who hates
controversy
and will go to any lengths to avoid it.
“Jean, get in this boat and let Maggie push off.”
“I don’t see why I can’t help.”
“Because your legs are too short and you’ll dump me in the
water, like the last time, and I don’t want to be soaking
wet and have frogs in my hair when I tell you my news.”
By the time Jean has clambered in and I’ve managed to
shove
off then hop into the boat without soaking my tennis
shoes,
they’ve already wrapped themselves in blankets and are
digging in the basket for food.
I row us toward the center of the lake, which sounds like
a
Herculean feat but isn’t. This is a small private lake,
easily navigated and totally non-threatening, no fear of
getting lost or running aground or getting snared in a
tangle of fallen trees hidden by dark water.
This lake is one of the many reasons I find it hard to
think
about leaving. What would I do in a kitchen where I
couldn’t
stand at the window and watch the sunset over the water?
How
would I remember all those summer days when the girls were
small and we’d picnic by the lake?
The only sounds are the rustle of chocolate wrappers
(Jean),
the barely audible snatches of somebody humming “Somewhere
Over the Rainbow” (Lillian), and water lapping against the
boat. This is the kind of mild winter evening I love, in
the
silent dark under the stars with friends who would walk
through fire for you.
“I need a new heart.”
Lillian drops this bomb without preamble, five little
words,
spoken with dignity and purpose, words neither Jean nor I
want to understand.
“Who doesn’t?” Jean says. “Bill claims mine is pickled.”
All three of us laugh, but there’s a nervous edge to it, a
sick feeling that we’ve missed the point. The last echoes
of laughter fade, and we wait for what will happen next.
For a while nothing does.
I tip my head back to study the stars. I’m looking for
answers, buying time, praying Lillian didn’t mean what she
said.
“It’s the weirdest thing how you can go along thinking
you’ll be around to see your children graduate, to plan
their weddings. And then the doctor says your heart won’t
make it. He says he has to take your old diseased heart
out
of your chest and replace it with the heart of a perfect
stranger.”
“Oh, my God. Lillian.” I grab her hand, hold on tight as
if
the very act will anchor her to the earth, prevent her
from
flying off into the unknown and leaving us behind. “If I
could, I’d give you mine.”
“If hearts grew back, I’d give you half of mine and half
of
Maggie’s.” Jean takes both our hands, completing the
circle.
She’s crying, making no bones about it, crying so hard her
speech is garbled. “We would, wouldn’t we, Maggie?”
I nod, too full to speak. Lillian is too young to die.
What
will her family do without her? What will Jean and I do?
“There must be something else you can do. Some medicine
you
can take to fix it.”
“There’s nothing, Maggie. Only a transplant. I’m on the
list. All I can do now is wait.”
“We’ll be with you every step of the way, Lillian.” Jean
gives her face a savage swipe with her shirt tail. “We’ll
do
your laundry and watch your kids and fix your meals.”
“You don’t cook, Jean,” I tell her.
“That’s why God made Betty Crocker.” She says this with
asperity, and I’m glad to see Jean is already moving away
from shock and grief to the real task: we will be the wind
beneath Lillian’s wings until she gets a borrowed heart
and
can fly again.
“I don’t want you two hovering over me.” Did Lillian read
my mind? “I want to go on living in the normal way. I
don’t
want to be constantly reminded that my heart’s not good
enough. I don’t want to think about a getting a new one, I
don’t want to talk about it, and I absolutely forbid
either
of you to pray for a donor heart.”
Now I’m the one reading minds. Somebody will have to die
so
she can live. That’s what Lillian knows, what she can’t
bear
to think about.
“No more talk about this.” Lillian grabs the wine bottle.
“Where’s the corkscrew? Let’s celebrate.”
“I’d like to know what in the world we have to celebrate?”
Jean hands her the corkscrew.
For a moment I agree with Jean, and then all of a sudden,
I
know. What if I were the one who needed a new heart? What
if
I could drop dead any minute unless I got a new one? I’d
have Jean and Lillian, of course, but I’d be stuck in this
cold-hearted house, dying in a bed where not a word of
love
has been spoken in so many years I don’t even want to
think
about it.
For too many years I’ve been on the fence. Should I leave
or
should I stay? How will the children handle it? How will I
make it on my own, on a school teacher’s salary? How can I
bear to leave the house, a place I’ve called home for
twenty
years?
Those excuses no longer hold. I’ve figured the money so
many
ways I dream in dollar signs. The girls are now grown and
gone, and the house no longer feels like home.
“I’ll tell you what we have to celebrate. I’m leaving
Dick.”
“Hear, hear!” Jean takes a swig from the bottle and passes
it to Lillian. “It’s about time, Maggie!”
“I’ll drink to that.” Lillian upends the bottle and is
grinning when she hands it to me. “Make a toast, Maggie.”
I lift the bottle high and moonlight catches the glass,
reflecting a shower of stars across our faces.
“To us! Friends forever!”
Jean and Lillian send up a cheer and I join in, but it’s
not
the toast I’m thinking about. It’s the possibility that
the
path we’re on will repair two hearts, one diseased and one
shattered by neglect and relentless chipping.
Lillian and I glance upward at the same time. Though the
stars are light years away, I feel as if I can reach out
and
touch Sirius, the brightest star in the winter sky.
Usually the Dog Star, or as I prefer to think of him, the
Sparkling One, shines white with a tinge of blue. But when
the air is unsteady, he undergoes a miraculous change.
If ever the air was unsteady, it’s tonight. Lillian’s news
has disturbed us in ways that spill over into the
atmosphere, and my news adds to the shock waves. The
Sparkling One flickers in the winter sky, its brightness
spreading across the water until that the three of us are
sitting in a rainbow colored circle of starlight.
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