She put her hand over the top of mine. “God loves you very much. Let Him be enough for you. Don’t be afraid of the future, and stop trying to control it. There’s so much waiting for you out there. For both of us.” She squeezed my hand. “I can’t wait to see where we all end up. God’s got it under control. That much I know. And that brings me great peace. I want you to find that same peace. I’ll help you as much as I can.”
“I could use some peace,” I said with a sigh.
She laughed. “And hey, maybe you have a future in private investigation. Erica says the pictures are good.” She rose from the bench and swung the tote bag over her shoulder. She surprised me by pulling me into a hug.
“So,” I said, “Erica says you’re still going to sing in the Patriotic Pageant.”
She shrugged. “It’s my part. Why shouldn’t I?”
“You go, girl.” I held up my hand, and she gave me a high five.
“Are you going to come?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be the one cheering for you the loudest.”
She winked at me, and I sat back down on the bench to watch her walk away. I had wanted to be friends with Justine so I could learn how to control my domain and also control my future. Then I had wanted to catch Justine so I could stop her from making an irreversible mistake. In the end, neither mattered. People did what they wanted to do and life spun out of control no matter how much I tried to rein it all in. Betsy found peace in spite of that. It was time for me to do so as well. I had to let God be enough—not David, not the boys, not my house, and not Justine. Just Him. Alone in the empty park, I whispered a prayer asking Him to be enough and to help me just let go. I pictured myself falling, falling, falling and His arms open, always waiting to catch me.
I slid into the pew next to Erica and Heather, the boys and David following behind me quietly to fill in the remaining empty seats in our row. Erica nudged me and smiled. Heather leaned across me and waved at the boys, who smiled shyly at her. As the first orchestra strains sounded, I whispered to Erica, “Was Betsy nervous about this?”
Her eyes misted over. “Nah,” she said. “She knew we’d be here. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
I turned my eyes to the stage to watch as the choir came out to fill the risers, flanked by a hundred children dressed in red, white, and blue. I leaned over to Erica and whispered, “I’m proud of you for coming here tonight. For being here for her.”
She smiled at me. “That’s what friends do,” she said.
I squeezed her hand and found Betsy in the choir, looking scared but happy. She wiggled her fingers at me, and I gave her a thumbs-up. There was a pause before the choir started to sing, and I sat in expectation, waiting to celebrate our freedom.
… a little more …
When a delightful concert comes to an end,
the orchestra might offer an encore.
When a fine meal comes to an end,
it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.
When a great story comes to an end,
we think you may want to linger.
And so, we offer ...
AfterWords—just a little something more after you
have finished a David C Cook novel.
We invite you to stay awhile in the story.
Thanks for reading!
Turn the page for ...
• Author Interview
• Discussion Questions
• Recipes
• Excerpt from The Mailbox
Author Interview
Q: This is your second novel. How is it different from your first novel?
A: She Makes It Look Easy is an entirely different novel from The Mailbox, which was light and breezy and fun—a great beach read. This novel is more serious in nature, and while it takes place in the summer and could certainly be read by the pool, the similarities pretty much end there. This novel required me to dig deeper into the writing—the craft. I couldn’t rest on the unique premise or the fun “are they going to end up together?” plot. This time I had to work harder to develop the characters, to dig into their motivations and complexities. It required more of me as a writer.
Q: What did you like about writing this novel?
A: Though I resisted it at first, I ultimately enjoyed digging into the character of Justine, juxtaposing her and Ariel. I found that when I was writing Ariel, I couldn’t wait to get back to Justine. At first she felt dangerous, but as time went on and I dug into what made her tick, I just felt sorry for her. It was good for me to get inside her head and discover my own sympathy for her. I didn’t like the choices she was making, but I really did like her and want more for her—even if she ended up not choosing more for herself. I can only guess that’s what God feels like when He sees us making the wrong choices.
Q: Is this novel based on a true story?
A: This novel is based on something that happened in my own community, something we watched happen right before our eyes but dismissed because we trusted the people involved. We thought they were immune, and we wanted to believe the best about them, similar to what Ariel does in the story. I never forgot the experience and wanted to revisit it through this book. Of course as with any fiction, I doctored it up a lot so what was true is now so buried under my own creation it doesn’t look at all like the situation I witnessed. But some of the scenes were inspired by things I saw—and the rest was easy enough to imagine.
Also, a lot of the scenes with Ariel’s boys were shared by my friends who are the mothers of all boys. They served as my creative consultants: the real Ariel and my friend Tamery. It was Ariel who told me boys will do things in packs they’d never do on their own, and that quote made it into the book. Some of the kid stories are from my real life too. You can’t make some of this stuff up!
Q: Is Essex Falls based on a real neighborhood?
A: Not really. So many of those master-planned communities have sprung up in the suburbs that it was easy enough to hodgepodge the different ones I’ve seen and create Essex Falls. My family and I do not live in a neighborhood like Essex Falls primarily because my husband does not want to live so close to his neighbors and be so involved in each other’s business, which is what you see happening in the story. However, our next-door neighbor has been known to play music on his screened-in porch, which is what inspired Silent Joe.
Q: Have you found your stride as a writer after two novels?
A: I have found that writing one thousand words a day is my sweet spot. If I write one thousand words every day for eighty to ninety days (about three months), I’ve finished a draft. Getting into the habit of consistently writing every day has been like exercising every day: My writing muscles have gotten stronger, so to speak. I try to stick to writing one thousand words a day no matter what.
Q: What’s next for you?
A: I’d love to write more love stories like The Mailbox, and I have some ideas for stories along those lines. Plus, I am playing with a Christmas novel that I hope one day you’ll see in print. Most of all I just intend to keep on writing.
Discussion Questions
1. When Ariel moved in, she was immediately impressed with Justine. Why do you think she was?
2. At what point did you know all was not right with Justine?
3. How was Justine’s life-management notebook helpful or not helpful to Ariel? Why do you think Justine loved it so much?
4. If you were in Justine’s place where someone you once deeply cared for was suddenly back in your life, what would you do? Do you think the affair could have been prevented?
5. Was Ariel wrong for going out on the patio with the guy at the salsa club? Why do you think she did that?
6. What does this book teach us about women like Erica? Has it caused you to rethink someone you assumed you know all about?
7. How was Mark culpable in
his marriage’s unraveling? Were he and Justine in trouble before Tom came on the scene? What can we learn from this?
8. Was Justine’s leaving inevitable? What was her alternative?
9. How did you feel about the ending? Would you have chosen for Justine to make things work, or do you feel it was more realistic to let things happen as they did? Have you ever known someone whose story ended differently than you would have liked for it to?
10. Ultimately what did Ariel learn about Justine? Betsy? Erica? Herself?
Recipes
Blueberry Lemon Tea Bread
1/2 cup margarine or butter, softened
1 1/3 cups sugar (divided)
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2 large eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups blueberries
1/4 cup fresh-squeezed lemon juice
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour 9 x 5 loaf pan.
In large bowl, with mixer at low speed, beat margarine and 1 cup of the sugar just until blended. Increase speed to medium, and beat until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes.
In medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt.
Reduce speed to low, add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition until well blended, scraping bowl with rubber spatula. Alternate adding flour mixture with milk, mixing just until blended. Gently fold in blueberries. Spoon batter into loaf pan.
Bake loaf for 1 hour and 5 minutes or until tester inserted in center comes out clean. Cool loaf pan on wire rack for 10 minutes, then remove from pan.
With skewer, prick top and sides of warm loaf in many places. In small bowl, mix lemon juice and remaining 1/3 cup sugar. With pastry brush, brush top and sides of warm loaf with lemon glaze. Cool cake on wire rack.
Justine’s Marinade
1/2 cup white wine
3/4 cup olive oil
3 Tbs. soy sauce
1 Tbs. Worcestershire sauce
1 Tbs. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. honey
Sea salt
Pepper
Place all ingredients in gallon-size plastic bag and add chicken pieces. Marinate for at least 4 hours, but the longer the better. Grill.
Easy Homemade Yeast Rolls
1 pkg. dry yeast
2 cups very warm water
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1 egg, beaten
4 cups sifted flour
2 Tbs. baking powder
2 tsp. salt
Dissolve yeast in water. Add sugar, vegetable oil, egg, flour, baking powder, and salt to yeast. Stir together. Store in refrigerator for up to 1 week. To bake: Spoon into greased muffin tins. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes.
Homemade Play Dough
1 cup flour
1/2 cup salt
3 Tbs. vegetable oil
1/3 cup water
Food coloring
Pour 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup salt, and 3 tablespoons of vegetable oil into a medium bowl and stir with a wooden spoon. Add 1/3 cup water tinted with 17 drops of desired shade of food coloring. Knead dough with hands until it feels smooth. If the dough is crumbly, add more oil; if it’s sticky, add more flour. The dough can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for several weeks. You can also add scented oils (peppermint, almond, etc.) to the dough.
Also from David C Cook
THE MAILBOX
Published by David C. Cook
4050 Lee Vance View
Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.
David C. Cook Distribution Canada
55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5
David C. Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications
Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England
David C. Cook and the graphic circle C logo
are registered trademarks of Cook Communications Ministries.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,
no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form
without written permission from the publisher.
The Web site addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These Web sites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C. Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer,” Building the Perfect Beast © 1984 The David Geffen Company.
LCCN 2010923222
ISBN 978-0-7814-0369-6
eISBN 978-1-4347-0217-3
© 2010 Marybeth Whalen
The Team: Terry Behimer, Nicci Jordan Hubert,
Sarah Schultz, Jack Campbell, and Karen Athen
Cover Design: Amy Kiechlin
Front Cover Photo: iStockphoto.com
Back Cover Photo: Peter Doran, www.peterdoranphotography.com
First Edition 2010
Do you ever wonder, where did the summer go?
The Blue Nile, “Broken Loves”
The Kindred Spirit Mailbox
Sunset Beach, NC
Summer 2003
The Kindred Spirit waited from a safe distance for the man to leave the mailbox before she approached in the amber light of the late July evening. Because they knew each other, she would normally have spoken to him. But not here, lest he suspect her purpose. She watched until he drifted out of sight before she limped toward the mailbox tucked into the dunes, her knee aching dully. The doctor wanted to replace her knee but the recuperation would keep her from coming to the mailbox. There would have been no one to tend it in her absence, so she told the doctor the surgery would have to wait.
The sun had nearly set, as she removed her turtle-watcher visor and stowed it in her bag. No one saw her take out the notebooks and various pieces of loose-leaf paper, all dampened by the sea’s spray and more than a few tears. She planned it this way, making the trek out to the mailbox only when she could come and go unnoticed, keeping her identity a mystery. She replaced the filled notebooks with blank ones, their pages crisp and smooth. She added a few new pens and took out the ones that had gone dry. Finally, she laid some extra loose-leaf paper on top of the new notebooks, smoothing it out with satisfaction, anticipating the words that would fill the pages by the time she returned.
She turned away from the mailbox and looked out at the sea. She breathed in the scent of the ocean, watched two seagulls chase each other in midair, then turned to walk slowly back down the beach, the weight of the notebooks she had stowed in her tote bag causing her shoulder to stoop slightly. She looked like the crazy old woman she had become, hunched over and limping, her hair askew without her visor, coming and going in secret from a rusty old mailbox that had started out as a mystery and become part of coastal folklore.
For years she had made this journey, taking her duty as keeper of the mailbox as seriously as a pastor takes his time in the pulpit. The Kindred Spirit played an important, albeit anonymous, role in their community. Every time she collected the notebooks, she remembered what the previous Kindred Spirit told her as she was dying of cancer—too weak to make the journey to the mailbox anymore—and asked her to step in. “This isn’t just some forgotten mailbox on a desolate stretch of beach. This is a place where dreams are shared, tears are shed, and lives are changed.” She remembered nodding sober
ly, grasping her responsibility to not only tend the mailbox but also to keep her own identity a secret. In her bag she carried the words of many strangers, scribbled in moments of grief or hope or joy, with the belief that the Kindred Spirit would guard their words, gathering them like pennies from a wishing well, protecting them like the treasures they were.
When she got home, she would make a pot of tea and sit down with the letters, reading through them deep into the night and praying for those who had written the words before she packed them away with the others, her own little ritual.
As she made her way home, she thought about the man she saw at the mailbox, wondering why he had been there, what story he had to tell. She had known him his whole life, yet didn’t know why he came to the mailbox. That part, she suspected, was private. She knew that—like everyone who visited the mailbox—a matter of the heart had sent him there.
Chapter 1
Sunset Beach, NC
Summer 1985
Campbell held back a teasing smile as he led Lindsey across the warm sand toward the mailbox. Leaning her head on Campbell’s shoulder, her steps slowed. She looked up at him, observing the mischievous curling at the corners of his mouth. “There really is no mailbox, is there?” she said, playfully offended. “If you wanted to get me alone on a deserted stretch of beach, all you had to do was ask.” She elbowed him in the side.
A grin spread across his flawless face. “You caught me.” He threw his hands up in the air in surrender.
“I gotta stop for a sec,” Lindsey said and bent at the waist, stretching the backs of her aching legs. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. “So, have you actually been to the mailbox? Maybe the other kids at the pier were just pulling your leg.”
She Makes It Look Easy Page 25
