by Sonja Yoerg
“At the bottom I’m going to put: ‘Trained by a Veterinarian and Animal Behavior Expert.’”
She laughed.
“It’s true, though. You showed me how to walk Diesel so he doesn’t pull.”
“I guess I did. Listen, Ella. You’re not upset about Nana leaving so suddenly, are you?”
She looked up. “Kinda.”
“Why?”
Her daughter frowned. “I feel like I messed up. If I had told on Charlie earlier, then the whole thing would’ve ended before he found the gun. And then Nana wouldn’t have been so upset that she OD’ed. And I think she left because she was embarrassed about it.”
Geneva laid her hand on Ella’s cheek. “You made some mistakes, but what Nana did had nothing to do with you, in any way.”
“Maybe you’re just saying that.”
“Does that sound like me?”
“No.”
A slight breeze set the mobiles above her head in motion. Geneva had seen them nearly every day but had never observed them in action. The only light in the room came from a floor lamp near the desk, but faint moonlight, filtered through fog, spilled through the window. The white cards nearest the window had a ghostly cast, while the ones close to the desk were bright white on their illuminated side. In between were gradations of moonlight, darkness, and halogen light. The cards bobbed like corks in a gentle sea, and twisted coyly. The effect was mesmerizing.
Geneva pointed to the cards. “So, tell me how this works.”
“The wordstorm?”
“I didn’t know it had a name.”
“Yeah. Well, it works best if you lie on your back.” She set the marker down and demonstrated.
Geneva lay down beside her.
“Now you just open your mind to it. Let a word come to you. Then another one and another.”
“And that’s a poem?”
“Of course not! It’s the seed for one. Maybe.”
“Okay. Can I try it out loud, just for practice?”
“Sure. This doesn’t have a lot of rules.”
Geneva closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them a card by the window faced her, then twisted away. “Whelp.” And out of the corner of her eye: “Resilient. Palisade.”
“Nice, Mom. I got ‘sardonic machinations.’”
“This is fascinating, Ella. But I did notice one thing.”
“What?”
“These are all SAT words.”
“Oh, no!” Ella covered her face with her hands in mock horror, then rolled on her side and into her mother’s arms.
Geneva held her close. Together they watched the wordstorm tilt and turn, the breeze, the moon, and the fog conspiring to create an infinity of unfinished poems.
QUESTIONS FOR
DISCUSSION
1. Helen’s choices within her marriage were shaped by the nature of small-town life in the South during the seventies. Imagine, however, she lived in present-day California with a powerful and abusive husband and a daughter in denial of her victimhood. Would Helen have different options? Would she take them? If not, would she deserve forgiveness? Did she deserve the forgiveness granted her by Geneva and Dublin?
2. Geneva brought her mother into her home, despite her adamant belief that old dogs can’t learn new tricks. Were there other instances where Geneva second-guessed her instincts? Have you ever made the right decision by ignoring your instincts?
3. The story is filled with dogs, and each plays a role in the plot, sometimes figuratively. Diesel is Geneva’s faithful companion; who else stood by her? Which human character reminded you of Aldo, Juliana’s Doberman, and how did Geneva come to make this comparison? What lesson did we learn from Argus, Paris’s German shepherd? Finally, the retriever at the rescue clinic is flawed, but not irredeemable. Who else could be described in those terms?
4. Paris is an intricate, disturbed, and disturbing character. How did you feel about her as a victim of incest? As Helen’s daughter? As a sister to Geneva?
5. Ella and Charlie have a complicated relationship and keep many secrets from their parents. How do they evolve over the course of the story? What do you think happens to them over the next few years?
6. Geneva’s brother is the one saving grace from her childhood. Discuss how Geneva might have become a different person without Dublin.
7. Paris notwithstanding, the Riley children become relatively well-balanced adults. Does this outcome justify Helen’s actions? Dublin, in particular, appears bulletproof. Do you see this as a function of his personality or something else in the family dynamic?
8. At the beginning of the novel, Tom and Geneva bump heads over parenting. How are their approaches affected by their own family histories? How does this change over the course of the story?
9. Helen’s children’s views of their upbringing are as far-flung as the children themselves. How do siblings come to such different perspectives on the same events? Do you and your siblings hold similar views of your family life?
10. Geneva learns to forgive her mother, at least in part, and learns to let her go. What else did Geneva learn over the course of the story?
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Sonja Yoerg’s second novel,
THE MIDDLE OF SOMEWHERE
Available from New American Library in September 2015.
Liz hopped from foot to foot and hugged herself against the cold. She glanced at the porch of the Yosemite Valley Wilderness Office, where Dante stood with his back to her, chatting with some other hikers. His shoulders shrugged and dropped, and his hands danced this way and that. He was telling a story—a funny one, judging by the faces of his audience—but not a backpacking story because he didn’t have any. His idea of a wilderness adventure was staring out the window during spin class at the gym. Not that it mattered. He could have been describing the self-contradictory worldview of the guy who changes his oil, or the merits of homemade tamales, or even acting out the latest viral cat video. Liz had known him for over two years and still couldn’t decipher how he captured strangers’ attention without apparent effort. Dante was black velvet and other people were lint.
Their backpacks sat nearby on a wooden bench like stiff-backed strangers waiting for a bus. The impulse to grab hers and take off without him shot through her. She quelled it with the reminder that his pack contained essential gear for completing the three-week hike. The John Muir Trail. Her hike. At least that had been the plan.
She propped her left hiking boot on the bench, retied it, folded down the top of her sock and paced a few steps along the sidewalk to see if she’d gotten them even. It wasn’t yet nine a.m., and Yosemite Village already had a tentative, waking buzz. Two teenage girls in pajama pants and oversize sweatshirts walked past, dragging their Uggs on the concrete. Bleary-eyed dads pushed strollers, and Patagonia types with day packs marched purposefully among the buildings: restaurants, a grocery store, a medical clinic, a visitor’s center, gift shops, a fire station, even a four-star hotel. What a shame the trail had to begin in the middle of this circus. Liz couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.
She fished Dante’s iPhone out of the zippered compartment on top of his pack and called Valerie. They’d been best friends for eleven years, since freshman year in college, when life had come with happiness the way a phone plan came with minutes.
Valerie answered. “Dante?”
“No. It’s me.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Asleep in the car. No service most of the way. Even here I’ve only got one bar.”
“Dante’s going to go nuts if he can’t use his phone.”
“You think? How’s Muesli?” Valerie was cat-sitting for her.
“Does he ever look at you like he thinks you’re an idiot?”
“All the time.”
“Then he’s fine.”
“How’s the slipper commute?�
�� Valerie worked as a Web designer, mostly from home, and had twenty sets of pajamas hanging in her closet as if they were business suits.
“Just firing up the machine. You get your permits?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Try to sound more psyched.”
How could she be psyched when this wasn’t the trip she’d planned? She was supposed to hike the John Muir Trail—the JMT—alone. With a few thousand square miles of open territory surrounding her, she hoped to find a way to a truer life. She sure didn’t know the way now. Each turn she’d taken, each decision she’d made—including moving in with Dante six months ago—had seemed right at the time, yet none were right, based as they were on a series of unchallenged assumptions and quiet lies, one weak moral link attached to the next, with the truth at the tail end, whipping away from her again and again.
Maybe, she’d whispered to herself, she could have a relationship with Dante and share a home if she pretended there was no reason she couldn’t. She loved him enough to almost believe it could work. But she’d hardly finished unpacking before her doubts had mushroomed. She became desperate for time away—from the constant stream of friends in Dante’s wake, from the sense of sliding down inside a funnel that led to marriage, from becoming an indeterminate portion of something called “us”—and could not tell Dante why. Not then or since. That was the crux of it. Instead, she told Dante that years ago she’d abandoned a plan to hike the JMT and now wanted to strike it off her list before she turned thirty in November. She had no list, but he accepted her explanation, and her true motivation wriggled free.
The Park Service issued only a few permits for each trailhead. She’d faxed in her application as soon as she decided to go. When she received e-mail confirmation, a crosscurrent of relief and dread flooded her. In two months’ time, she would have her solitude, her bitter medicine.
Then two weeks before her start date, Dante announced he was joining her.
“You’ve never been backpacking, and now you want to go two hundred and twenty miles?”
“I would miss you.” He opened his hands as if that were the simple truth.
There had to be more to it than that. Why else would he suggest embarking on a journey they both knew would make him miserable? She tried to talk him out of it. He didn’t like nature, the cold or energy bars. It made no sense. But he was adamant, and brushed her concerns aside. She’d had no choice but to capitulate.
Now she told Valerie, “I am psyched. In fact, I want to hit the trail right now, but Dante’s holding court in the Wilderness Office.”
“I can’t believe you’ll be out of touch for three weeks. What am I going to do without you? Who am I going to talk to?”
“Yourself, I guess. Put an earbud in and walk around holding your phone like a Geiger counter. You could be an incognito schizophrenic.”
“I’ll be reduced to that.” She dropped her voice a notch. “Listen. I have to ask you again. You sure you feel up to this?”
Liz reflexively placed her hand on her lower abdomen. “I’m fine. I swear. It’s just a hike.”
“When I have to park a block from Trader Joe’s, that’s a hike. Two hundred miles is something else. And your miscarriage was less than three weeks ago.”
As if Dante could have overheard, she turned and walked a few more steps down the sidewalk. “I feel great.”
“And you’re going to tell Dante soon and not wait for the absolute perfect moment.”
Despite the cold, Liz’s palms were slick with sweat. Her boyfriend knew nothing of her pregnancy, but her friend didn’t have the whole story either. Valerie had made her daily call to Liz and learned she was home sick, but she’d been vague about the reason. Knowing Dante was out of town, Valerie had stopped by and found Liz lying on the couch, a heating pad on her belly.
“Cramps?”
“No,” Liz had said, staring at the rug. “Worse.”
Valerie had assumed she’d had a miscarriage, not an abortion, and Liz hadn’t corrected her. Next to her deceit to Dante, it seemed minor. Valerie had made her promise she would tell him, but when Liz ran the conversation through her mind, she panicked. If she revealed this bit of information, the whole monstrous truth might tumble out, and she would lose him for certain.
“I will tell him. And I’ll make sure I’ve got room to run when I do.”
“He’ll understand. It’s not like it was your fault.”
Liz’s chest tightened. “Val, listen—”
“Crap! I just noticed the time. I’ve got a call in two minutes, so this is good-bye.”
“’Bye.”
“Don’t get lost.”
“Impossible.”
“Don’t fall off a cliff.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Watch out for bears.”
“I love bears! And they love me.”
“Of course they do. So do I.”
“And me you. ’Bye.”
“’Bye.”
Liz put the phone away. She checked the zippers and tightened the straps on both backpacks. On a trip this long, they couldn’t afford to lose anything. Besides, a pack with loose straps tended to creak, and she didn’t like creaking.
Dante was still chatting. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed her a boyish smile. She pointed at her watch. He twitched in mock alarm, shook hands with his new friends and hurried to her.
“Leez!” He placed his hands on her cheeks and tucked her short brown hair behind her ears with his fingers. “You’re waiting. I’m sorry.”
She was no more immune to his charm than the rest of the world. The way he pronounced her name amused her, and she suspected he laid it on thick deliberately. He had studied English in the best schools in Mexico City and spent seven years in the States, so he had little reason for sounding like the Taco Bell Chihuahua.
“It’s okay.” She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “We should get going though. Did you get the forecast?”
“I did.” He threw his arms wide. “It’s going to be beautiful!”
“That’s a quote from the ranger?”
“Más o menos. Look for yourself.” He swept his hand to indicate the sky above the pines, an unbroken Delft blue.
Things can change, she thought, especially this late in the season. Her original permit had been for the Thursday before Labor Day. It could snow or hail or thunderstorm on any given day in the Sierras, but early September was usually dry. She’d had to surrender that start date when Dante insisted on tagging along, because he didn’t have a permit. They were forced to take their chances with the weather, two weeks closer to winter.
And here it was, September fifteenth. A picture-perfect day. Dante’s beaming face looked like a guarantee of twenty more like it.
Photo © Sandy Payne Photography
Sonja Yoerg grew up in Stowe, Vermont, where she financed her college education by waitressing at the Trapp Family Lodge. She earned her PhD in biological psychology from the University of California at Berkeley, and studied learning in blue jays, kangaroo rats, and spotted hyenas, among other species. Her nonfiction book about animal intelligence, Clever as a Fox (Bloomsbury USA), was published in 2001.
While her two daughters were young, Sonja taught fine arts and science in their schools in California. Now that they are in college, she writes full-time. She currently lives in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with her husband. House Broken is her first novel.
Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!
th friends
