The Summer We Lost Her

by Tish Cohen

  Gravel crunched beneath their feet as Warren gave Elise a hearty hug and kissed the top of her head, his hands weighty and solid on her shoulders. Matt and Gracie were still asleep, having said their goodbyes the night before. Behind him, Warren’s battered black Civic was packed, engine running, Gunner strapped awkwardly into the passenger seat.

  “I don’t even know how to thank you. Especially for the stuffed dog.”

  “Anything to prevent you from buying another Big-Mouth Billy.”

  He gazed at her, his lashless eyes rimmed with pink, deep lines fanning out as he smiled. “And . . . for forgiving an old man his lifetime of bad choices. Keep giving me a chance to make some good memories with you and your kid. Kids.”

  “You’re officially invited to carve the turkey this Thanksgiving in New Jersey. With Chloe.”

  He gave her shoulders a squeeze and set himself in motion. Climbed into the car. Started the engine and rolled down the window, leaning an elbow outside. “I’m not a man who’s made a big success of his life. Not that I need to tell anyone that; it’s plain to see. I was a self-centered ass who forced his family to bend to his fantasies and then punished them for not becoming what I imagined.” He squinted up at her. “But I’ve learned a thing or two along the way and one of them is to speak up about things that aren’t so easy to talk about.” He held out his hand, and Elise took it. “When a person reaches that low point like your mother did—and I acknowledge my own hand in helping her get there—it’s not cruelty or selfishness or lack of caring that drives them. All they have in front of them is their own pain. You can’t judge them on anything else.”

  A crow cawed from the towering pine beside Ruth Urquhart’s house, then took flight, leaving the treetop swaying in its wake. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Just in case you need to hear it.” He squeezed her fingertips and blew his daughter a kiss, then put the car in gear.

  Elise watched her father’s car make its way down the driveway and turn onto Seldom Seen Road, snake its way around the bend and disappear. It wasn’t until the sound of the engine disappeared, when the birds began to stir and chirp about the start of the day, that Elise turned to go back inside.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, the trunk and doors were open wide while Elise and a clean-shaven Matt went in and out of the cabin to cram bags and suitcases into Nate’s Range Rover. Matt’s old BMW had finally died, and the Rover seemed more practical for their growing family. Elise’s car was to be driven back to New Jersey by a vehicle-moving service.

  She passed Matt with a bag of clean laundry. When he blocked her way, she poked him in the side. Laughed.

  She caught a whiff of ash in the air from last night’s bonfire by the lake, and her stomach lurched. By her second trimester with Gracie, the nausea had abated. Not this time. She’d read that prolonged nausea in a second pregnancy meant you were carrying the opposite sex from your first child, but she and Matt wanted it to be a surprise. She leaned against the porch railing a moment. Matt passed again to set another bag in the trunk. “You good?”

  “I’m great.”

  Gracie came out the front door wearing a BIG SIS T-shirt she’d made herself with a fat Sharpie. In one hand was a sand pail stuffed with her felt animals. Using the railing, she hopped awkwardly down the stairs. She wedged the pail between packed suitcases and her old high chair in the backseat, then buckled herself in beside them.

  Elise climbed into the passenger seat. Matt trudged out of the house again to load another bag into the back, jostling the car and making Elise’s stomach flip. She put a hand on her belly. “The thought of a long car ride is a bit daunting.” She looked back at Matt. “Are there any towels left unpacked—just in case?”

  “None.”

  “I’ll go borrow one from Cass,” Elise said. She hurried through the bushes to the front of the cabin and knocked on the screen door. “Cass?”

  “Come in,” Cass called. “I’m just getting out of the shower. Be right down.”

  Inside, the kitchen smelled like baking. Sure enough, there were banana muffins on a plate by the stove. “Do you have an old towel we can borrow? In case, with the car ride, I lose my breakfast.”

  “I was the same way with Riv. Nonstop nausea. Try the laundry basket by the back door,” Cass said. “Take any one of those. They’re all old. But clean.”

  Elise walked across the back room, noting the half-finished puzzle on the table and a well-loved copy of Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin propped open on the big leather armchair by the window. A life being well lived was what the room felt like.

  As she pulled a folded towel from the basket, a stack of photos on an end table caught her eye. Specifically, her husband’s smiling face. She took the stack and flipped through it. Photo after photo of Matt in and around Cass’s cabin, on the back porch, by the fire, the water. The look in Matt’s eyes was one of sadness. Of a lifetime of memories. Of love.

  The last photo stopped her breath.

  She’d suspected but hadn’t known. Until now.

  “Don’t you guys leave till I come say goodbye, okay?” Cass called down. “Promise?”

  Heart hammering, Elise stared down at her still-bearded husband, asleep. Matt’s beautiful head was resting on a pillow covered in tiny pink florets. Pulled to his chin, a red tartan duvet.

  Slowly, carefully, Elise replaced the stack of photos, but took the one of Matt sleeping. She grabbed a towel and threw it over her shoulder. On the way back to the car, she folded the photo into quarters and slipped it into her pocket.

  * * *

  MATT WAS IN the driver’s seat, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched his wife cross the driveway with a towel and get into the Rover. The engine was running. “Wasn’t she there?”

  “House was empty.” Elise avoided his gaze, climbing in and tucking the towel down by her feet. “Let’s motor, what do you guys say?”

  They backed out of the driveway and onto the dirt road where the upended canoe used to sit. It now lay shattered at the dump. Matt and Gracie waved goodbye to the big Sorenson shield on the cabin’s face, and the car pulled away. They passed all the gracious homes, the trees, the inns. They turned right onto Saranac, then sped by the heavy pines that bordered Old Military Road. They passed the Olympic Training Center, the Promislow house, and Old John Brown Road.

  Elise pushed her hair behind her ears and studied her husband as he fiddled with the car’s satellite radio. Her clean-faced, freshly devoted husband. His demeanor was so relaxed now: the man was completely at peace with himself, his family. He glanced her way. On his lips, a gentle smile as he tucked her hand into a ball and wrapped his fingers around it in the way she loved best.

  “You guys,” Gracie said to her menagerie in a bucket, the animals’ heads tilted every which way, as if desperate for answers they knew better than to hope for, “are going to learn to hug each other. Because I’m going back to school and will be very busy. Plus, I have a donkey named Poppins. . . .”

  Here they were, driving home together—a family. A growing family.

  “And when my sister is born, you have to stay in my room so she doesn’t choke on any of you. If it’s a brother”—Gracie paused to groan—“he’ll probably set you on fire and stuff.”

  Matt stifled a chuckle.

  Elise thought back to her conversation with Laurel on the plane. About forgiveness. To forgive Andy, no matter how tough his childhood, was not only irresponsible—and impossible as Gracie’s parents—but catastrophically complacent. To look at it any other way was nearly as abhorrent as the offense itself.

  She turned her gaze to Matt and let her eyes travel the curve of the lips Cass had kissed. The jawline she’d caressed. The thick silver hair she’d grabbed hold of while Elise’s husband made her moan.

  He had betrayed her.

  “I can’t be the boss of you furry little weirdos forever,” Gracie mock-scolded.

  Elise turned to the window and le
t the scenery go by in a blur. Matt had raised their daughter well in Elise’s absences. He’d been a good father, a patient and wholly supportive husband. And he genuinely wanted this beautiful growing family.

  Matt squeezed her fist. “You good?”

  Her father’s words came back to her. When a person reaches that low point . . . all they have in front of them is their own pain. You can’t judge them on anything else.

  She thought of her mother’s newly bare face. Rosamunde needed to get from agony to relief. And a dirty Tercel with the engine running was the only path she saw.

  “E?”

  As for Matt, he’d lived through a war zone this summer; they both had. Perhaps, just this once, she could suspend judgment and look to the future.

  But just this once.

  For Elise? Whether she forgave herself for her decision that morning in Ronnie’s arena, she’d realized, was and always would be immaterial. What she thought didn’t matter. One day, when her daughter was old enough, Elise would tell her exactly what had happened. Explain that she would spin the world backward if it meant she could undo that moment. And hope that Gracie had it in her heart to forgive her mother’s choice.

  “Babe?” said Matt, a hint of concern in his voice. “Still love me badly?”

  “I do.” She pulled up their fists to kiss his hand. “And madly.” And, for a while, she thought, a little bit sadly.

  This satisfied him. He released her fingers and maneuvered into the fast lane. The car sped south on 73, toward the pretty little twists and bends of the next village and, beyond that, the long stretch home, with Gracie humming contentedly in the backseat.

  – ACKNOWLEDGMENTS –

  The people of Lake Placid inspired and informed many scenes in this novel. In particular, Jennifer V. Fleishman of New York State Police Troop B, and the staffs at Lake Placid Lodge and The Bookstore Plus—the bookshop I imagined in writing Cass’s book launch.

  This story wouldn’t have been possible without the clarity, encouragement, and advice of Daniel Lazar, my beloved and wicked smart literary agent at Writers House, and Jennifer Lambert, my brilliant and dedicated editor at HarperCollins Canada. The two of you dared me to get ever more brave with early drafts of this story. To the warm and wonderful Jackie Cantor, my editor at Simon & Schuster in New York, for not only giving the book a home in the United States, but bringing a swell of insight and clarity that truly made the novel come to life. Jackie, your love for this book and passion for what you do reminds me every day why I put words on paper. Also at Simon & Schuster, Sara Quaranta, Chelsea Cohen, and the effervescent and always delightful Alison Callahan, executive editor. Appreciation to the fabulous Victoria Doherty-Munro at Writers House, and, always, to the elegant and wise Iris Tupholme at HarperCollins Canada. To Allison McCabe, editor extraordinaire, for finding this story’s spine. And love to Debbie Deuble Hill, my film agent at API in Los Angeles.

  Thank you to Belinda Trussell, two-time Olympian on the Canadian equestrian team. That you squeezed me in between training, competing, and precious family time was incredibly generous. To Barbara Fogler for too many reasons to mention, but in particular for splaying open your life with horses. Barbara Sinclair for competition details direct from the sand ring in Wellington, FLA. Nicholas Fyffe for U.S. Olympic qualifying advice from the saddle. The Hartles of the Creemore Equestrian Centre. Marcia, you are an excellent coach. Jennifer Kolari, Harriet Goodman, Cassandra Rodgers, and Kassie Evashevski for early reads. Liliana Reyes, Deborah Jiang-Stein, Timothy Fitzpatrick, Sydney Cameron, Geta Winberg, and my sister, Pamela MacKinnon, for endless patience and support. John Truby for so much story wisdom. The generous and exquisite Caroline Leavitt for the book’s first endorsement. To Dr. Rory Windrim for facts about high-risk labor and brain injuries. Dr. Tony Hanbridge for referring.

  For cover advice, thank you to Susan Henderson, Amy MacKinnon, Gail Baker, Caroline Leavitt, Cathy Marie Buchanan, Ania Szado, Adrienne Kress, Jessica Keener, Danielle Younge-Ulmann, Mark Wiesnewski, and Caitlin Sweet.

  The Angel Ladies, Deb and Jean, in Niagara-on-the-Lake, for kindness and counsel when life went off track. Amy MacKinnon in Boston for breathing life into me, for knowing exactly what I needed to hear. Amy’s wisdom and words inspired the scene with Elise and Dr. Jennifer Upton in the medical clinic and changed my life. Gail Konop and Deborah Jiang Stein for strength, grit, and laughter. You are my gifts, Cowgirls.

  To my mother, Patricia Gill, and my father, Lachlan Mackinnon Bleackley II, for instilling in me a love of books from day one and forever telling me I could accomplish anything. Peter Auvinen for a sharp legal eye, the very best advice, and endless kindness and support. But most of all, for knowing just the right moment to knock on the door again.

  Finally, to my sons, Max and Lucas. I cannot believe what incredible young men you’ve become and what you’ve both accomplished already. Go after what you want, my boys. Be brave. It’s all out there waiting for you.

  THE SUMMER WE LOST HER

  Tish Cohen

  This readers group guide for The Summer We Lost Her includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

  – INTRODUCTION –

  For fans of Jodi Picoult, Meg Wolitzer, and Anna Quindlen, The Summer We Lost Her is a moving and heartfelt novel about a husband and a wife, a missing child, and the complicated family secrets that can derail even the best of marriages.

  It’s been a busy—and expensive—few years for Matt and Elise Sorenson and their young daughter, Gracie, whom they affectionately call Little Green. Matt, a Manhattan lawyer, has just been offered a partnership, and Elise’s equestrian ambitions as a competitive dressage rider may finally vault her into the Olympics. But her long absences from home and endless hours of training have strained Matt and Elise’s relationship nearly to the breaking point.

  Now they’re up in the Adirondacks, preparing to sell the valuable lakefront cabin that’s been in Matt’s family for generations. Both he and Elise agree it’s time to let it go. But as they navigate the memories the cabin holds—and come face-to-face with Matt’s teenage crush, now an unnervingly attractive single mother living right next door—Gracie abruptly disappears without a trace.

  Faced with the possibility that they’ll never see their daughter again, Elise and Matt struggle to come to terms with what their future holds. Over the course of Cohen’s luminous novel, everything for the Sorenson family will change—the messy tangle of their past, the harrowing truth of their present, and whether or not their love will survive a parent’s worst nightmare.

  – TOPICS AND QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION –

  1. Consider the novel’s epigraph—a quote from Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner—and discuss how it relates to the themes of The Summer We Lost Her. Why do you think the author chose this particular quote to frame her story?

  2. Consider the structure of the novel—how do the alternating points of view between Elise and Matt enhance the story? Would the novel be different if it were told from only one side?

  3. Over the course of the story, we learn that Elise and Matt had difficult childhoods in different ways, and they both feel shame about parts of their pasts. What haunts each of them? How do their pasts define them, and still affect them, as adults, spouses, and parents?

  4. Near the beginning of the novel, Elise reminisces about the early days of her relationship with Matt, when they shared a walk-up apartment in Hoboken: “Dammit, they were happy. What it was about those days—she’d analyzed it many times—was that they were even.” Consider this statement. How important do you think it is to be “even” in a relationship? How has being “uneven” strained Matt and Elise?

  5. “I think the place you grew up, no matter how shitty or how stunning, it’s just in your b
lood. You’ve absorbed it.” How do you think Elise and Matt have “absorbed” the places they grew up—for Matt, Lake Placid and New York, and for Elise, “the Coop”?

  6. Elise believes that Gracie is capable of walking without her crutches, while Matt errs on the side of caution and insists she use them. Discuss this and other differences in Matt’s and Elise’s parenting styles. How do these differing beliefs affect their relationship?

  7. Matt and Elise have very different memories of the day a favorite photograph of Gracie was taken—Matt remembers it as perfect, and Elise remembers it as anything but. Is there a moment in your own life that you and a loved one remember drastically differently? How so?

  8. “All these years she’d been running from the wrong person,” Elise realizes upon finally reading the letters from her father. Why do you think Elise was running from the mother who loved her so much?

  9. A local Lake Placid woman remarks to Elise, “Wonderful to see you two are back together,” inferring that she thought Elise had split from Matt. Later on, an old friend says to Matt, “Hell of a thing you did. Quitting law to stay home and raise your little girl.” Why do you think these particular misperceptions bother Matt and Elise so much? Can you think of more ways rumors might be detrimental to a marriage?

  10. At the beginning of the story, Elise’s seatmate on the airplane says to her, “The choices women make as mothers are forever under the microscope. Everyone has an opinion.” How do you think Matt would feel about this statement? Do you think his judgment of Elise was fair or justified, given his position as her husband?

  11. “You, precious, are my purpose,” Rosamunde tells Elise as a child. Compare Elise’s relationship with Rosamunde to Elise’s relationship with Gracie. What do we learn about Elise’s personality from the flashback to Rosamunde’s death?