there are stories told that keep you entertained with plots and characters, and then there are books that shine a light onto your own life. this is one of those books. the first part was so beautiful and so moving to me that I had to take a break and let it settle within me. it opens with characters that are not exactly central to the main arc (to me, at least) but are so necessary in order to have the compassion you need for the main arc to establish itself. a clever way to sneak into your heart, for sure.
quotes that stayed with me:
the worst thing, I see now, was not that I fooled them, or thought I did, but that my mind somehow turned them into people who deserved to be fooled. how ridiculous they became then, with their penny-pinching and their silly jokes. aunt Clare lost in her reading while the supper burned on the stove, and the annoying way her glasses slid down her nose. aunt kez poking her nose into everyone's business, but not caring enough to notice mine, and how she tried to make an adventure out of her dull life, telling every little detail of her walk to the butcher. I even felt scorn for poor jack, his clumsiness, and when aunt nan sais, 'be careful, Bella," as I left the house, I saw nothing but a silly old woman, one with no idea what it was to burn like I did.
his paper name was Francis James Robert sears.....the first two names were for his mother's lost brothers, the last, she said, for his father, who'd been dead all along. Robbie didn't know much about him, and there were times when that mattered. he knew that he'd done something brave, and that he was an orphan as his mother was, and Edie's parents too. he'd never really thought of that before, how rare it must have been to keep a family whole, in the old, harder times they'd come through.
how easy it was, even if I didn't know it, when Robbie was small, and the two of us were enough. he learned his numbers from the brass ones on the hotel doors, his colours from the boats in the harbour...when he was old enough, he helped me lay the tables and turn out the rooms...
it was easy until it wasn't, until I had to drag him from his bed in the mornings, until he began to leave tasks half done and vanish, never where he should have been
(Bella) kept the house but went back and forth to the city, where Edie was studying, where her aunts and uncle lived together in a main floor apartment, the people above them always rapping with a broom handle when the piano playing got too loud. Robbie told me how jolly it was there, with music and singing and all the tricks they played. like a second childhood, he said; their minds were alright, except maybe Charlie's, but it seemed they'd decided to do whatever they wanted, and nor care who minded. and I could imagine it, knowing them all from those years they came to stay at the Lakeview. I noticed other families, of course, but those McFarlands always made me think what it could be like, growing up, growing old with my own sisters and brothers.
on the train home from our appointment in the city, Edie said she'd realized she no longer missed it. the bustle and the entertainments, the crowds of people who didn't know the first thing about you. she said that maybe a place like Inverhaven was better, like a family in the way everyone knew everything about everyone else and you could be whoever you are, and know that you still belonged.
Robbie and Edie have done everything to make me comfortable here, make me welcome, an I know I am, but I don't think they understand how it feels, living at the edges of other people's lives. not a thing I know how to explain without seeming ungrateful...