by Lynne Hinton
She is entranced. “And cold,” she replies. “Mostly it is cold.”
“Except where the sun is not hidden,” I finish her sentence. “There is a spot, no bigger than this room, where the sun is strong and unblocked.”
Maude nods slowly at me.
“And that is where the water is the clearest, where you can see the pebbles, shining like silver, where you can find crayfish and tiny white eggs,” I say as I turn away. My face feels flushed, hot.
I get up and pour us coffee. We wait in the silence.
“I used to go to a place like that when I was young.” I sit down in the chair opposite my neighbor. “It was the only time, after moving away from the mountain, where I felt like I was home.”
Maude is alert, on the edge of her seat, listening.
“O.T.’s brother and I used to sneak out there after we fed the horses.”
I remember the way we walked and then ran, all the time telling each other that his mother was inside making beds and cleaning up breakfast dishes, unable to see us.
“It was our secret place,” I say, shyly.
Maude, totally uncharacteristic, is quiet.
“He never tried anything, if that’s what you think,” I say, in defense of both of our honor.
She shakes her head like she hadn’t considered such a possibility and gets up for some milk.
I gaze outside and into the sun. I notice the lawn. The grass is tall and bending.
“Only once did we touch.” I take the carton from her and pour a little into my cup.
She waits to hear more.
I am surprised at how easily I tell the story. “There was this community picnic, some big event that everybody attended. There was music and games. Maybe it was July Fourth or something.” I am trying to think of the date but then I realize it doesn’t matter.
“But after a couple of hours I left because I was bored with the people and the conversation. It was mostly Witherspoon family stuff or talk about the war; and since I was not interested in that great American history lesson, I left. I went to that sunny place by the creek, slid off my shoes, dropped the hem of my skirt in the water, and stood there in the clearest, warmest part.”
I remember how it felt, the sudden surprise of smooth stones rolling under my feet, the refreshing way the water flowed by me.
“He was already there, waiting for me, he said.”
I smile, thinking how right it seemed, how the sun was not too hot, the creek not too cold, the easy way he reached down from the fat limb of the old leaning tree and pulled me into it. How it felt to be so close to him, finally, dangerous and innocent both at the same time.
I think about how my heart was beating so fast I had to turn away and catch my breath.
“He only brushed his fingers across my cheek. That was all.” I take a sip of my coffee and then close my eyes, remembering his touch.
“And when I faced him, fully prepared to be kissed or held or do whatever he asked, whatever he wanted, he just looked away, waited for what seemed an eternity, jumped down, and then helped me out of the tree.”
I remember the day as if it were yesterday. The shadow of disappointment that hung across his face, the soft sadness in his eyes. He picked up our shoes and slung them over his shoulders, and together we walked out of the creek and up the road to join the others, neither of us sure what had just happened between us, what it meant or what we would ever do with it.
“And that was the closest we ever came to being lovers.” I get up from the table and pull out a box of cereal.
Maude responds. “It’s weird, don’t you think, that I would have had this dream based on your memories? Do you think it means something?” Her voice is inquisitive.
I shrug my shoulders.
My neighbor keeps working it out. “I mean, do you think that now that you know about O.T. and that woman and everything, that maybe you wish something more would have happened that day?”
She pauses. She’s so sure there’s something to this.
“Do you think the water is clear at the place of this memory because you now know that what you’ve really desired, what you really always wished for, is that you had been his lover? And that you’ve always wanted that and regretted that it didn’t happen?” She is measuring my life, ordering my memories.
“And now because you know that O.T. was messing around you finally don’t have to feel guilty anymore.” She exhales a puff of air like an exclamation point. She is so pleased with herself.
My back is to my neighbor as I reach for my breakfast. I realize that she cannot see my face, read my thoughts, so I turn to her so as not to hide anything.
“Maude, it isn’t some child’s game. I haven’t lived my life counting out marbles or coins, only to make sure my husband doesn’t get more than I do. I live with what I got, what I have chosen, what I let go of, what I’ve held to the tightest. There isn’t any keeping score or way to make things even, in love or in suffering, in life.”
I lift my eyes to see beyond the room, out the door she has left wide and open. Everything outside is alive.
I redirect my focus to her. She stirs sugar in her coffee.
“In the end, it isn’t how you count things that matters, it’s how the things that matter count.”
I sit down at the table with my breakfast and put the box of cereal and a clean bowl in front of her.
She reaches out and taps me on the hand, nodding in approval as if she knew my feelings all along. Her prophecies solid and truthful.
“Then it’s certain.” She is radiant, self-assured. “There is nothing odd,” she says, “about how I see your water.”
She smiles at me with complete confidence. Then she checks the expiration date on the carton of milk, breathes a sigh of great relief, and pours all that is left for herself.
She is intense, forthright, and even beautiful.
“The trouble has finally passed,” she states, boldly and with authority, like she is rendering a pronouncement of pardon, like all of the mysteries of my life have been solved. Like there is nothing left unknown.
Acknowledgments
I gratefully acknowledge the continued support and friendship I receive from my agent, Sally McMillan, and my editor, Renee Sedliar. I’d be lost without their guidance.
I am thankful to be included on the HarperSanFrancisco list.
I am especially indebted to manuscript editor Priscilla Stuckey; production editor Lisa Zuniga; publicists Roger Freet, Laina Adler, and Jennifer Johns; and friend Sam Barry.
The Russian fable comes from I Wanted the Elevator But I Got the Shaft, Joe G. Emerson (Nashville, TN: Dimensions for Living, 1993), and much of the information about the Indian Removal Act as well as the Navajo Spiderwoman weaving story come from Through Indian Eyes (Pleasantville, NY: Reader’s Digest, 1997).
I acknowledge, with gratitude, the stories I learned about dreams from Addie Luther and about education in the mountains of North Carolina from Mrs. Ruth McRae.
I also wish to thank my husband, Bob Branard, who has never, not once since I told him my dream, ever doubted I would be published.
I am a lucky woman.
Reader’s Guide for
The Last Odd Day
1. Jean’s neighbor, Maude, has a gift of prophecy, revealed through her dreams. Have you ever had a prophetic dream, or has someone you know ever shared a dream with you that foretold a future event?
2. Jean places her husband, O.T., in a nursing home. How difficult is such a placement for family members? Where can family members find support when making these decisions?
3. What are your thoughts about care in nursing facilities? Do you have a family member in a nursing home? Have you ever visited one?
4. When do you think is the time to place a loved one in a full-care facility?
5. Jean’s mother was Cherokee and Navajo. How much do you know about our country’s history with regard to Native Americans? Did you know about the Indian Removal Act of 1830?
Have you ever visited an Indian reservation? If so, what was the experience like?
6. O.T. became disabled because of a stroke. What do you know about this medical condition? Can it change a person’s personality?
7. Jean has very specific memories of what she saw, heard, and felt when the nurse told her that her daughter had been visiting O.T. Do you have specific memories of a time when you got shocking news? What do you remember? Did it feel as if time stopped or slowed down?
8. Jean spoke of her daughter and the significance of her name. How did you get your name? Are you named after somebody important? What does your name mean? If you have children, how did you decide on their names?
9. How do you think our society does in dealing with infant death? Have our attitudes changed over the years? If yes, in what ways?
10. O.T. was changed after fighting in World War II. How does war change a person? A marriage? A family? A nation?
11. Jean talks about how she was treated after her husband died. Do you think we treat widows differently than we do other single women? What attitudes do we have in this society about widows? About widowers?
12. O.T. had an affair. He fathered a child, though he never knew she existed. Do you think Lilly should have contacted O.T. and Jean, or should she have never introduced herself?
13. Jean is able to forgive O.T. for his infidelity because she has a broad definition of what it means to be “unfaithful.” She seems to believe that her emotional absence from the marriage was just as damaging to the relationship as having an affair. What are your thoughts on this? What does it mean to you to be “unfaithful”?
14. If you were Jean, could you have forgiven your husband and accepted his daughter into your life?
15. How do you define redemption? Did it come for Jean? If so, how does Jean find redemption?
Opportunities for Action
1. Start a library at a local nursing home and every month have your book club donate a favorite book to the library. Be sure to include books that will be supportive and inspirational to families.
2. Contact a local nursing home and see if there is information to help families during the decision-making process of placement. If not, put together a reading list of books that offer support and encouragement and give this to the nursing home to give out to families during the time of admission.
3. Contact a local hospital and find out ways to assist parents who lose a child. Often the hospital takes pictures of the infant or has special blankets or clothes to give to the bereaved parents. Have your book club donate money for these services.
About the Author
LYNNE HINTON is the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed novels in the Hope Springs series, Friendship Cake, Hope Springs, and Forever Friends, as well as The Things I Know Best.
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PRAISE FOR LYNNE HINTON
The Last Odd Day
“The Last Odd Day vibrates with insight. It swoops and soars with all the trademarks of Lynne’s fiction—quirky humor, compelling characters, and a lyricism so powerful it can take your breath away.”
—Penelope J. Stokes, author of Circle of Grace
“A poignant and lyrical novel about one woman’s journey from unknowing into knowing…a book worthy of quiet consideration and contemplation, for we must all learn the value of faith, hope, and joy.”
—Guy Johnson, author of Standing at the Scratch Line
“Lynne Hinton paints a loving portrait of the unlikely yet inevitable friendship between two remarkable women. This book is a sweet and soulful gem.”
—Kathi Kamen Goldmark, author of And My Shoes Keep Walking Back to You
Friendship Cake
“I would welcome a friendship with Lynne Hinton. I would welcome an invitation to sit down at her table, but mostly I would welcome her next book.”
—Maya Angelou, author of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
“Friendship Cake will give you plenty to chew over. Delicious!”
—Rita Mae Brown, author of Rubyfruit Jungle
“Reminiscent of Jan Karon’s Mitford series.”
—Rocky Mountain News
Hope Springs
“…an anthem to friendship…. To miss it is to deny yourself a small treasure.”
—Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of The Deep End of the Ocean
“With unexpected humor, sensitive dialogue, and an intimate knowledge of relationships, Lynne Hinton shows us that the ongoing capacity to love and give is the very essence of womanhood.”
—Ann Howard Creel, author of The Magic of Ordinary Days
“If books had a taste, this one would be the genuine tangy sweetness of a small homegrown strawberry.”
—Lois Battle, author of The Florabama Ladies’ Auxiliary and Sewing Circle
Forever Friends
“I want to move to Hope Springs and I want these strong, wonderful women as my friends…forever. Whatever you do, don’t miss this book!”
—Cassandra King, author of The Sunday Wife
“Lynne Hinton writes about the kind of life we all dream of having—abiding friendships, deep roots, and love no-matter-what.”
—Philip Gulley, author of the Harmony Series
“Lynne Hinton writes about the most important things—family, friends, and faith—with grace, wit, and a keen insight. This highly readable novel was a pleasure from the first page to the last.”
—Silas House, author of Clay’s Quilt and A Parchment of Leaves
The Things I Know Best
“Compelling and enjoyable slice of small town life…a satisfying blend of love, death, grace, and redemption.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A lovely book.”
—Malachy McCourt, author of Singing My Him Song
Also by Lynne Hinton
FICTION
Friendship Cake
Forever Friends
Hope Springs
The Things I Know Best
NONFICTION
Meditations for Walking
Copyright
THE LAST ODD DAY: A Novel. Copyright © 2004 by Lynne Hinton. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition April 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-194506-9
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