By Paula McLain
"It was once August. For years it used to be August . . . . there has been warmth like rainy gauze and a excessive, white sky and tune coming from all over at once." within the lengthy, scorching Illinois summer season of 1973, insecure, motherless Jamie falls lower than the damaging spell of her older, extra worldly cousin Fawn, who is come to stick with Jamie and her uncle as penance for committing an "unmentionable act." it's a time of awakenings and corruptions, of tragedy and loss, as Jamie slowly discovers the level to which Fawn will use something and a person to additional her personal ends—and acknowledges, possibly too past due, her personal complicity within the catastrophe that takes form round them.
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Extra resources for A Ticket to Ride: A Novel
I understood that Fawn had decided to make me a project—like a new recipe in a test kitchen—and was flattered, of course. But would I turn out? What if Fawn thought she was making a chocolate soufflé and I was more like one of those cake mixes that come with the EasyBake Oven? ” Fawn asked. “No. ” “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving us a loan,” she said, and walked down the hall to his room. I followed and stood at the door, watching, as Fawn went over to Raymond’s dresser and rifled through a pile of bills sitting on top.
I was lying, but maybe that didn’t matter. There was a sense of permission with Fawn, that if I kept talking, I’d ultimately arrive at the truth, but if I didn’t, that was okay too. The self I was inventing by the minute, the day, the week, seemed just as interesting if not more so, to Fawn. I began to feel I was under construction, that behind this flawed surface—like a plywood facade at a building site—something wonderfully inevitable was happening. CAN’T YOU HEAR MY HEARTBEAT W hen Raymond headed down to Oxnard from San Francisco to try to find Suzette, a storm followed him all the way down the 101 to Pismo Beach, semis with a death wish passing him fast, kicking up water in endless sheets.
Men look great in suits. ” Fawn looked at my handiwork and grimaced. “I’d better save you from yourself,” she said. Taking up the polish remover and a Q-tip, she held my foot in her lap and went around the nails with a light but precise stroke, all of my swerving outside the lines disappearing. ” Fawn mused. “He could probably be a model or something. One of those guys in the Sears catalog wearing a flannel shirt and holding a shovel. ” I nodded, laughing. Raymond was handsome, I had to agree, but I had never tried to imagine him doing anything other than what he did, being anyone other than my uncle Raymond— though who that was exactly remained pretty murky territory.