“Hi, Dad,” I said.
He was standing by the corner of the house, wearing gardening gloves and holding an aluminum ladder.
“It’s you,” he said after a moment. “I was getting a branch off the roof. I thought I was imagining things.”
“I got your card,” I said. “I wanted to thank you.”
He put down the ladder, then took off his gloves and rubbed his hands against his khaki trousers. “I drove up right away when I heard. Julie, I’m so sorry.”
“You drove up?” I asked. “To D.C.?”
“You weren’t home. I waited for a couple days … and then I wanted to come to the funeral, but I wasn’t sure …” His voice trailed off.
“You waited for me?” I felt my forehead wrinkle. “You mean at a hotel?”
He shook his head. “I brought a sleeping bag, just in case. And I turned on the heat in the car when it got cold,” he said.
I swallowed hard, thinking of him parked outside my house for so long.
“I wasn’t home for a while, and I didn’t think to go through the mail until a few days ago. That’s why I didn’t answer your card sooner.”
He ducked his head. “I wish I’d been there for you.”
I took a deep breath. “You would have been, if I’d let you.”
I don’t know which of us took the first step toward the other, but suddenly I was hugging my dad. He was so much thinner now; my arms could fit all the way around his waist and touch each other. But he still smelled like Old Spice.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair.
“I need to tell you something.” I brushed the tears off my cheeks and leaned back to look up at him and saw the worry spread across his face.
“No,” I said. “It’s good news.”
Earlier I’d done the math and figured it out: Paris.
I reached into my purse and handed him the envelope. He opened it and took out the slippery piece of paper. He stared at it for a long moment, then his eyes grew wide.
“Is it—are you—?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s your grandson’s first photo. He’ll be here this summer.”
Isabelle had already bought a full wardrobe of miniature shirts and pants and shoes—yes, shoes—and I’d woken up from a nap yesterday to see her stacking boxes of diapers in a closet.
“What?” she’d asked when I’d raised an eyebrow. “Girl Scouts taught me to be prepared.”
“First, you were never a Girl Scout,” I’d responded. “And second, I’m not Octomom. Do you think we need eight cases of diapers?”
I’d already asked her to be my birthing partner, and she was insisting that the baby and I live with her for as long as we wanted. “I was the one who said families come in all shapes and sizes,” she’d reminded me. “Why can’t we create a new one?”
“But what if you meet someone?” I’d asked.
“Then I’ll kick you out on the street and stop taking your calls, of course,” she’d said. “Come on, Julia. I’ve got seven bedrooms. Let’s just take it day by day, okay? I want you here. I want both of you here.”
I’d looked down and put a hand on my stomach. It had started to curve, just the tiniest bit, like the beginning of a smile. “Is being constantly hungry a normal side effect of pregnancy?”
“Let me check,” Isabelle had said. She’d reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a half dozen books.
“Isabelle!” I’d laughed. “Can we just make some sandwiches and fruit salad?”
“Oh, great. Every other pregnant woman wants ice cream. I get stuck with the only one with healthy cravings,” she’d groaned. “I need to gain my sympathy weight, you know. Don’t deny me that.”
Now my father looked back at the sonogram photo as I pointed out the baby’s head and his round little torso. At four months, he was the size of an orange, one of the books said. But he was getting bigger and stronger every day.
I thought back to that morning in Paris, when I’d run out of the hotel room and had suddenly seen children everywhere. Michael had forgotten to pack my birth control pills for the trip, and neither of us had thought about protection that night.
Had I known, even on some subconscious level, that inside of me cells were busily multiplying, laying the groundwork for this little person to be formed?
“He’s perfect,” my father said. He shook his head. “You’re having a son. I can’t believe it.”
I stared at my father as he looked at the photo again. His face was deeply lined, and gray had overtaken the brown in his hair. His canvas coat looked too big for him; he probably hadn’t bothered to buy a new one after he’d lost weight. My mom had always been the one to cook and clean and buy socks when my father wore holes in the heels of his old ones. It must have been hard for him to learn to live without her.
He’d aged so much since I’d last seen him.
He caught me watching him and suddenly asked, “Will you—I mean, would you want to come inside for a bit?”
I took a deep breath, and he quickly said, “I’m sorry. You probably need to get going.”
“Dad?” I put my hand on his arm. “I thought I might stay with you for a couple of days. I wanted to see if you’d make the baby’s crib. Then I was hoping you could come to D.C. next month and help me paint his room.”
He looked at me for a moment, then my dad reached out and held me in his arms for a long time.
* * *
Acknowledgments
* * *
The first person I need to thank is Seth Goldman, the “TeaEO” of Honest Tea. Seth graciously welcomed me into his office—twice!—plied me with delicious drinks, and answered my questions about how someone could start a successful beverage company from scratch. Of course, my character is nothing like Seth—and my fictional DrinkUp company isn’t even remotely based on Honest Tea, which, by all accounts, is one of the most honorable businesses around. Remember: my book is pure fiction! And, incidentally, Honest Tea is addictive.
I’m still pinching myself over my good luck: Not only do I get to write novels—a pretty fabulous job in itself—but also I’m surrounded by the smartest, kindest people in publishing. My editor, Greer Hendricks, is the type of woman I’d pick out of a crowded room as the one I’d want to be friends with—and she constantly amazes me with her editorial vision, creativity, and infectious, upbeat energy. My agent, Victoria Sanders, is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met (her e-mails are legendary), and she’s wicked smart. V, thanks for making my dreams come true.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately express my gratitude to the author Jennifer Weiner for her unprecedented support, which still takes my breath away—but she told me she doesn’t need to be thanked. All she wants is for me to pass along kindnesses to other authors. Yup, she really is that incredible.
Super publicist Marcy Engelman took an interest in my first book and decided to spread the word about it in a very big way—despite the fact that I once sent her a gift that broke en route. Luckily, she has a sense of humor as well as a giant heart and I’m proud to be her newest client. My thanks also to the lovely Dana Gidney Fetaya.
My dad, John Pekkanen, is still my first reader, a first-rate editor, and an even better father. My mother, Lynn, singlehandedly sells my books to all of her neighbors as well as to random strangers at Barnes & Noble. And my brother Robert and his wife, Saadia, generously gave suggestions to help shape my first draft. My brother Ben and his wife, Tammi Hogan, created an incredible trailer for my first book (um, guys? This might not be the right time to ask, but I may need help with another one soon). And my sister-in-law, Carolyn Reynolds Mandell, astutely critiqued my early draft, as did the author Amy Yurk Hatvany and my friends Rachel Baker, Anita Cheng, and Janet Mednick.
My agent’s literary director, Benee Knauer, as always, made this a much better book with her spot-on editorial suggestions and thoughtful, encouraging notes. And my thanks to Chris Kepner in Victoria Sanders’s off
ice.
Several books were invaluable as I researched opera, including Renée Fleming’s wonderful autobiography, The Inner Voice; Opera Anecdotes by Ethan Mordden; Arianna Huffington’s Maria Callas: The Woman Behind the Legend; and Opera for Dummies by David Pogue and Scott Speck. The Kennedy Center also kindly welcomed me to a behind-the-scenes opera workshop. And Mark Hillman patiently answered my questions about the finances of wealthy, made-up people.
My thanks to Chandler Crawford, international agent extraordinaire, and to my foreign publishers. My deep gratitude to everyone at Atria Books/Washington Square Press, including Judith Curr, Chris Lloreda, Rachel Bostic, Lisa Keim, Natalie White, Carole Schwindeller, Anna Dorfman, Yona Deshommes, Paul Olsewski, and the amazing sales team. And to Sarah Cantin, who is a pure pleasure to work with.
My publicists Jessica Purcell and Crystal Patriarche worked magic on The Opposite of Me, and I’m so lucky to have them both on my side and ready for round two. My deep thanks also to Susan Coll and Steve Hull of Bethesda Magazine for their continued support (and you guys really know how to throw a party!). And to Lindsay Maines, who started a trend with her brilliant idea for “Spike Day.”
Thanks again to the bloggers, who keep spreading the love of books around, and to the readers who have friended me on Facebook, found me on Twitter, and sent me notes through my website. I love chatting with you.
All of my love, as always, to my four boys—my husband, Glenn, and our sons, Jackson, Will, and Dylan.
Skipping a Beat
SARAH PEKKANEN
A Readers Club Guide
INTRODUCTION
What would you do if your husband suddenly wanted to rewrite the rules of your relationship?
Julia and Michael met as high school students in their small, poverty-stricken West Virginia town. Both products of difficult childhoods—Julia’s father is a compulsive gambler and Michael’s mother abandoned his family when he was a young boy—they find a sense of safety and mutual understanding in each other. Shortly after graduation they flee West Virginia to start afresh.
Now thirtysomethings, they are living a rarefied life in their multimillion-dollar Washington, D.C., home. From the outside it all looks perfect—Julia has become a highly sought-after party planner, while Michael has launched a wildly successful flavored water company worth $70 million.
But one day Michael stands up at the head of the table in his company’s boardroom—then silently crashes to the floor. More than four minutes later, a portable defibrillator manages to jump-start his heart. Yet what happened to Michael during those lost minutes forever changes him. Money is meaningless to him now—and he wants to give it all away to charity. A prenuptial agreement that Julia insisted upon back when Michael’s company was still struggling means she has no claim to his fortune, and now she must decide: Should she walk away from the man she once adored, but who truthfully became a stranger to her long before his near-death experience—or should she give in to her husband’s pleas for a second chance and a promise of a poorer but happier life?
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. When a teenaged Julie asks Mike where he sits in class, he responds, “I’m right behind you, Julie. I always have been” (p. 20). Does this statement remain accurate for their entire relationship?
2. Why is Julia so reluctant to hear about Michael’s neardeath experience?
3. “I had no doubt Michael would be successful, but as much as I loved him, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to gamble on him” (p. 70). Why does Julia feel this way? Why does she insist on a prenuptial agreement?
4. When Michael leaves Julia a card telling her that he loves her, she crumples it in her hand and thinks, “I wanted to hurt him. He was ruining everything” (p. 86). Considering how unhappy she is in their marriage, what exactly is Michael ruining?
5. How did her parents’ relationship affect the one she shares with Michael? Does Julia trust anyone?
6. Michael is often described as jittery. Why does he seem to never stay still for very long?
7. Michael senses that he doesn’t have much time left. Does Julia believe him? Why does she have nightmares that she is losing him?
8. Throughout the novel, Julia frequently mentions her favorite operas. Why are they so important to her?
9. What significance do you see in Noah’s restaurant riddle (pp. 153-54)?
10. Michael frequently laments that success changed him for the worse, from taking risks with the exploding glass bottles to the “Let’s see you bastards ignore me now” (p. 204) checks for his family to Scott’s lawsuit and the many other examples of hush money. Do you agree that money changed him? Was he always a good man, or did power truly corrupt him?
11. What do you think the future holds for Isabelle and Beth? Will they stay in touch?
12. “‘I never went with you to visit your mother.’ This was what Michael and I had been heading toward ever since he’d fallen to that conference room floor, I realized” (p. 237). Why is it so important for both of them to visit Julia’s mother?
13. Why does Julia confess her affair to Michael? Why had they never discussed Michael’s assumed affair?
14. What does giving her jewelry to Michael symbolize? Does this decision mean that Julia wants to stay married?
15. At the novel’s end, why does Julia return to her father’s house? Does she forgive him?
16. Discuss how things could have been different if Michael had never collapsed in the conference room. Would he still be married to Julia?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. Did Noah’s riddle stump you? Challenge your fellow book club members with your favorite head-scratchers and see who can solve the most!
2. At one point Julia contemplates the fate of Scarlett O’Hara, saying she’s protected herself so she’ll never have to make a dress out of drapes. Discuss which other famous literary characters Julia reminds you of, if any.
3. Michael feels confident that he only has a short time left. Discuss among yourselves what you would do if you knew you only had a few weeks left to live.
4. Julia is an opera enthusiast who frequently draws parallels between her own life and La Bohème, Arabella, and others. While discussing Skipping a Beat, play some of her favorite arias to discover why they’re so important to Julia.
5. Author Sarah Pekkanen has a significant online presence. Visit her website (http://www.sarahpekkanen.com) to read her bio, find out about upcoming events, and more. You can also follow her on Twitter (@sarahpekkanen) and Facebook.
A CONVERSATION WITH SARAH PEKKANEN
Skipping a Beat has such a unique premise. What inspired the idea?
For me, ideas take shape gradually. I knew I wanted to write about a married couple forced to reexamine their relationship after the husband’s near-death experience, but other pieces of the book—like Noah’s character, the specifics of Michael’s company, and Julia’s love of opera—didn’t snap into place immediately. I think gearing up to write a book is like cooking soup on the back burner of your stove. Soup, like writing, works best if you swirl in a few ingredients and let it simmer for a long time (I’m sort of making this up, because I’m a terrible cook, but I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it on the Food Network). It’s actually more productive for me to open myself up to ideas by reading lots of newspapers and books, chatting with people, and daydreaming. Then I let my subconscious sort through ideas while I do things like grocery shop, do laundry, and walk the dog before sitting down to write.
As the novel unfolds and the reader discovers more of Julia and Michael’s backstory, their perspective on the couple’s marriage might change. Why did you decide to structure Skipping a Beat in this manner? How did you decide when to reveal certain aspects of Julia and Michael’s relationship?
As Skipping a Beat opens, Julia and Michael are thrust into a crisis, and it’s unclear whether their marriage will survive. In order to move forward, they also need to look back at the decisions and
moments, both big and small, that shaped their relationship. So I wove in scenes from their past to show how complicated their life together has become, and to reveal why Julia feels so conflicted. But there are two sides to every story—so even though everything is unfolding from Julia’s point of view, it’s not necessarily the complete picture. She, like the readers, discovers how much more there is to the story of her marriage.
When Julia is recalling her favorite parties, she remembers the affinity she felt for a woman who said, “How can I be eighty years old when I’m still a girl?” (p. 164). Of course you’re a safe distance from eighty, but do you ever relate to her statement of still being a little girl?
Absolutely! I do feel young at heart and hope I always will. I saw a quote on one of those refrigerator magnets recently that said something like, “How old would you be if you didn’t know your age?” My age would probably be nine or ten.
If you believed you only had three weeks to live, how would you spend your remaining time?
I didn’t have to think about this one for longer than a second—the answer is, with my family. I’d take photographs and film some moments, but mostly it would be cuddling and talking and storing up as much love as possible.
You used to work as a journalist covering Capitol Hill. Do you have a favorite story from that era of your life?
Probably the most memorable moment would be the time an elderly senator’s thumb and index finger made contact with my rear end as I got out of an elevator and he got into it. I’ve since learned I’m not the only one he pinched, but I laughed it off. He was a frail old guy, and if I’d exhaled vigorously, I could’ve blown him over.
I’m proudest of my yearlong investigation into the tangled, highly illegal activities of a U.S. congresswoman from Detroit. I uncovered evidence that she set up a college scholarship fund for poor kids from her district, then used the donated money to go shopping. Not only did she get voted out of office, the Justice Department, House Ethics Committee, and Federal Election Commission launched simultaneous investigations as well.
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