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ISBN-13: 978-1943826339
Publisher: Antrim House
Release Date: 1-15-2018
Length: 416pp
Buy It: Amazon/B&N/Kobo/IndieBound
Publisher: Antrim House
Release Date: 1-15-2018
Length: 416pp
Buy It: Amazon/B&N/Kobo/IndieBound
Overview:
Landslide is the story of Jill and her lifelong friend, Susie, who grow up in a remote mountain garden. The Garden's realm has many rooms, each a showcase of designs by Jill's mother. When tragedy strikes in the Garden, how does a child find the resilience to go on? Alternating between Jill's childhood and adult life, Landslide depicts the adventure that happens when life is lived full out, regardless of consequences. As the girls come of age, mature, and find love, the Garden is a constant, reverberating through their psyches and in their hearts. Teeming with poignancy, humor, and love, Landslide is a resplendent exploration of resurgence, and the truth that even death can reveal paths as wondrous as those created by life.
Read an excerpt:
Chapter 1
Garden
“Jill,” Mom
called. “Breakfast!”
I stepped into
the chilly air, carrying Lionel. When I
was four, Jay had given Lionel to me to look after me while he was away. When
we were little, I would push Lionel in carriages, and dress him in baby
clothes. Now that we were ten, Lionel was my equal, and he stood guard when he
was needed. Mom said whoever loved me must also love Lionel, as he would be getting
a twofer when he got married. I didn’t
want to get married. If I could, I’d stay here in our garden forever.
When I found Mom,
she was by the Scented Beds. Her long auburn hair shined copper where it was
free from her hat’s darkening shadow. On the nearby mosaic table, my favourite French
toast waited warm. Mom had cookie-cut the toast into lion shapes decorated with
brown and yellow icing manes, iced blue eyes, and brown, sprinkled sugar
noses. Our glass house strawberries
ringed the plate like a frame. In a mug,
mini marshmallows floated atop steaming chocolate.
“Happy birthday dear
Jill, happy birthday to you.” I blew on the chocolate’s top while Mom sang,
pooling the marshmallows. Then I caught them up, frog-like with my tongue.
Mom eyed me with
disapproval. She was strict about manners. ““If it weren’t your birthday….”
“But it is!” I
shot back happily.
“Are you
intending to eat like a savage at your party?”
“I was thinking
more green space alien.”
Mom laughed.
“Give me strength.”
“What about
me?”
“You could use a fork and a knife,”
indicating the French toast in my fingers.
“What fun is
that?” I asked, leaning in close to nestle. She smelt of mint, dirt and vanilla
lotion.
“What are you
snuffling at?” she asked.
“You smell like
mint.”
“The mint has
jumped the bed again,” Mom admonished. “It’s such a weed!”
I laughed. Mint
was so not a weed.
“I thought we
could use the clippings to make jugs of mint lemonade for your party.”
“Yes!” Mint
lemonade was my favourite.
“But first we have to finish your cake.”
For my birthday,
we always made cakes - lady birds, horses, pirate ships – this year it was a
lion. We had lion napkins and plates. Toys and sweets filled a lion piƱata.
Helium balloons waited to be changed to floating lion balloons with streamer
legs and tissue paper faces. After the
balloon lions were made, we would play who could pop theirs first, throwing real
darts from behind a masking-taped line. The best party game, though, would be Hide
and Seek! Our garden was great for hiding!
Our garden was in
the foothills of the mountains. From its edge we could see far out into the
rocky scrub that Jay said was caused by the mountain’s rain shadow. Our garden
would have been dry as well, but high mountain springs fell through it in
wandering brooks.
“We should close the
fabrics,” Mom said, pushing back her hat.
“It’s going to be hot.”
The fabrics were
our awnings. Mom used them to cover the flower beds most vulnerable to fierce
sun. Mom had collected the cloth traveling with Jay when they were first
married. Her first textiles were from Morocco. She had bought them back when
she was still at school, and didn’t have money. Mom was bargaining for the
cloths, when Jay cut in, speaking in Arabic.
Mom was about to get cross at him, when Jay turned to tell her that the
stall seller would sell Mom all five fabrics for the money she had been
offering. At tea after, Mom said talking with Jay was like she had known Jay
all her life even though they had just met. After that first tea, they were
together every day until Mom had to return to England to school.
“Mom, how did Jay learn Arabic?” It was a new question.
“Arabic?” Mom
asked, helping herself to lion French toast.
“When you met Jay
in Morocco.”
“Oh,” Mom said,
smiling. “Dad has a way with languages. Dad can go to a country, and just pick
them up.”
“Really?”
“Kind of how you
picked up Spanish by listening to Maria and Fernando talk.” Fernando and Maria helped Mom with her garden
business, and were part of our family now.
****
“Perfect,” Mom
said, standing back to look at our cake.
“He’s real enough to roar. Let’s take a picture to add him to our Hall
of Fame Cake Book.”
“I think he’s our
best cake yet,” I told her, pleased.
“You might be
right,” Mom allowed.
After the
Polaroid, Mom gave me my birthday present. She had made a sky blue, beaded
dress that was soft and slippery in my hands.
Mom was known for
her beadings, and Mom beaded the way grandmas knit. Mom could make anything --
wall art, bed spreads, Halloween costumes.
Some of her beads were so small that when strung, they blended like
carpets, where a hundred thousand knots became a single design. Mom kept many of her very first necklaces in
an ancient mariner’s chest Jay had brought us from Chile. I loved playing with
these necklaces, and not just for dress up.
I made them into snakes and eels, stepping stones and paths. At Christmas, they strung across our tree,
glistening like jewelled ropes.
Mom always beaded
in front of the fire. On those nights that were too warm, we were in the garden
and her box stayed shut. Mom could
string almost without looking. She would bead like the winter rain that falls
all day long without stopping once. Sometimes I would try too, but I always got
tired. Mom said she could keep on and on because she had dancing hands. I had wished for dancing hands too, but Mom
said no. “My hands are beautiful,” Mom said, “because they are still.
“So do you like your dress?”
“Oh yes,” I
breathed. Its soft weight felt nice on my shoulders. “And listen!” I swayed. The
dress swirled around my knees. “It chinkles!”
Mom laughed. “Cow
principle.”
I paused. “What
do you mean?”
“In Switzerland,
they tie bells around the cows so they can hear them wander. This way, during
Hide and Seek…”
“Mom!”
She laughed, her
green almond eyes glinting.
“No one will find me, beads or not, except
maybe Susie.” Susie lived down Mountain from us, and had been my best friend
since I was three. She was half-American
Indian. As if on cue, the doorbell sounded. I knew it was Susie even before I
started for the door.
“Wow!” Susie
exclaimed at my sky blue bead dress. Mom came up beside us.
“That must have
taken forever,” Susie said to Mom.
“It took a
while,” Mom agreed.
“Come see my lion
cake,” I said, pulling her inside.
“Can I try it
after the party?” Susie asked, skipping along with me. Although Susie was almost
two years older, we were close in size.
While in the
kitchen, the doorbell rang again. “I bet that’s Chad,” said Susie. “He said he would come early.” We rushed down
the hall together, my beads tink-tinkling as we raced.
****
“Throw!” I screamed
at Susie. The party was in full swing. Now our girls team raced to pop our lion
balloons before the boys. We had three lions to the boys’ two. We had all
thrown wildly, quickly, but Susie was not being rushed. She spread her feet,
aimed with one eye. Chad was opposite. Pop! Chad now had one lion balloon left.
“Throw!” we
cried.
Susie flung the
dart. Pop! Then rapid-fast her next! Pop! Chad looked over as they both lined
up their last shot. Susie smiled, and her black eyes had that look. Chad’s dart
bounced off his red balloon, but ours went Pop! We shrieked! Susie grinned at
Chad who was not pleased.
“Cake time!” Mom
called.
“We’ll win next
game,” I heard Chad say to Susie as we made our way to the picnic table.
“Next game is
Hide and Seek,” Susie told him. “You don’t stand a chance.”
****
That night, I
opened my presents before a crackling fire.
Susie had given me a silver and turquoise bracelet. On her card, she
said she had one too, and that once on, we must never take them off. Maria and
Fernando had given me a pink present with a big pink bow. Inside, were more
Maria-made animal clothes. Lionel might be grown up, but Michael Marmot, Red
Rabbit, Daisy Deer, Harry Hedgehog, Squirrel, and Rascal Racoon were all still
young.
My last presents
were from Jay. Two were books - Shackleton’s Antarctic
Adventure and Buddhism for Children. He also gave me a rectangular moving
machine. It tilted side to side. Blue, black, white and green liquid sand
swirled inside like crashing waves. Each crash created a new shade of blue, a
different colour of green. I wondered
about Jay in Antarctica where the wind screamed instead of blew. Was he
thinking about me?
“What’s Jay doing
right now?”
Mom set down her
beads. Her mouth turned down, but she caught herself, and her voice stayed
light. “If I know Dad, he’s probably out
there taking pictures of penguins.”
“Or icebergs.”
Mom smiled. “Or
icebergs.”
Jay’s photos covered
the walls on each side of our fireplace. In one, Jay was on Everest; in
another, he was kayaking down the Amazon.
Amongst these and his pictures of deserts, seas and trees were photos of
monasteries. Jay collected monasteries like Mom gathered mint. There was also a
snap of Mom taken the day they had first met. She was wearing a yellow sun
dress and a large, flappy straw hat.
“How come you
don’t still travel with Jay?”
Jay was famous
for his photos the way Mom was famous for her gardens. When they first married,
Mom had gone everywhere with Jay. They had even been to Varanasi together,
where holy cows wandered ancient streets, and pilgrims bathed in the Ganges at
breaking dawn.
Mom said what
made Jay such a good photographer was that he was exceptionally patient. When he sensed a shot, he waited, sometimes
for days. Mom said she couldn’t count
how many times she had watched with him while the clouds came and went, while
morning turned to night. Just when she had been looking at the same tree or
village or road for so long that there was nothing left to see, the sun would
come or go, or the clouds would shift just right. That was when Jay took his shots.
“I had you for one,” Mom said, starting to
bead again. She was making another wall art. On one wall in our living room she
displayed these hangings, changing them out as mood took. I also had a place in
my room where I could put them up. I could choose any one I liked, and swap
them as often as I wished.
“We could travel together,” I offered. I had
often tried to imagine how it would be to travel faraway.
“Most of the
places Dad goes are no place for a child,” she answered, her voice hardening
like it did when she was firm.
“Like the war in
Rwanda.”
“Like Rwanda,”
Mom agreed.
“But couldn’t Jay
photograph things that weren’t so dangerous?”
Mom smiled
gently. “I also have my garden.”
“But Fernando could look after it,” I
persisted.
“And my clients?”
she reminded.
“He could look
after them too.”
Mom’s eyes
smiled. She cascaded another vial of black into her beading bowl. “Poor Fernando. Can you imagine him alone to
tackle Mrs Lewis?” Mrs Lewis always changed her mind. “Or Mr Hawk?” His name wasn’t really Mr Hawk,
but he rescued hurt birds, so we called him that.
“I bet he could
handle it.”
“I know he could
too,” Mom agreed. “But that’s not the
point. Following Jay wasn’t right.” Her eyes flickered, narrowed. She had said
more than she had meant.
“What do you
mean?” I asked. I still wanted to know.
In her eyes I
could see Mom gather her thoughts. After a bit she said, “It was hard for me to
do nothing for myself when I travelled with Jay. Always, Jay would find places to just sit and
watch, and the more he watched, the more it seemed he had always been wherever
we happened to be. Within no time, he would be getting by in the local
language, slipping into their habits. It made me feel left out, even though I
would try to stay busy.”
I had never
thought about how hard it would have been for Mom to wait while Jay took
pictures. Everyone knew that Mom was busy like bees.
“Beading helped.
It gave my hands something to do so the rest of me could be steady,” she said,
searching Jay’s photos. Still, when I finally found our garden, it felt like I
had finally found the place where I really belonged.” Her eyes came back to me.
“Gardens are what I love.”
“But I thought
you loved Jay.”
“I do love Jay,
and he loves us.”
“Then why is gone
so much?”
One of the fire’s
logs burnt in half, falling forward. Mom
picked up the old piece of wrought iron fence that was our poker and pushed the
wood back. She stayed squatting a
moment, while firelight danced on her face. Mom had quick emotions that could
alight like flint. She was practiced at being still until her emotions quieted.
“His work makes Jay feel right,” she said finally, turning toward me.
I nodded slowly,
trying to understand. “Like you feel in our garden.”
“That’s right.”
“Doesn’t he get
lonely?” Jay often went where there was no one at all.
“Growing up with Grandpop in Montana got him
used to looking after himself,” she told me.
“Do you think he missed his Mom?”
Mom came close to
me on the couch, taking back up her beading. “It’s hard to miss someone you
never knew.”
“Oh, but I’d miss
you,” I told her with certainty. “Even if you left the day I was born.”
Mom’s smile was
warm.
“Still,” I said,
“I don’t see why that means he has to be gone now.”
“Jay can seem
quiet,” she told me, swirling her fingers through her beads as she talked, “but
underneath he has powerful feelings. One
way he finds peace is to go to places that accommodate these feelings.”
I looked at him
on top of Everest.
“We let him be
happy, and he loves us more because we allow him to be free.”
“Like the
rabbit.”
“That’s right.
When his leg was better, we let him go.”
“Because he was
wild.”
“Exactly.”
“Is Jay wild?”
Mom laughed. “In part,
I guess he is.”
“Do you miss him when he’s gone?”
“Do you?” Mom
asked.
I hesitated,
watching the flames jump. “Not all the time,” I admitted. “Is that bad?”
Mom touched her
foot with mine. “No.”
“I get used to
not seeing him, I mean, when he is gone a long time,” I confessed.
Mom’s eyes
softened. “You see my beads?” Mom spread out the half-completed hanging on her
lap so I could see it better. “After you are in bed, I try to imagine what
Jay’s doing, and all this imagining goes into my beads.”
“It’s like the
Antarctic!” I said, really noticing the blue, white, grey, yellow design for
the very first time.
“And the green
one, of the forest? Where was Dad?”
“In the Congo! You’re following him with your beads!”
Mom laughed, but
then her face quieted. “I don’t miss him all the time either,” she told me.
“You don’t?”
“Most of the
time, I’m just too busy. Between you, the garden, work -- the day just flies.”
It was true. Time
went fast a lot. I thought some more. “But don’t you get mad that he’s gone away?”
Mom’s smile was
like a puzzle. “No one is without flaws, Sweet Pea,” Mom said gently. “Jay has
fewer than almost anyone I know except maybe Maria and Fernando.”
I thought about
how when Jay was last here, our school was about to tear down the big kids’
playground, because it was unsafe, and there was no money to fix it. Jay
organized a drive, and saved the playground.
“I’m sorry he
missed your birthday.”
On the coffee table,
I watched the coloured waves mix black with white which swirled with green.
“But we had fun,
didn’t we?”
I nodded.
“Did you really like it?”
“So much!” I
breathed
Her green eyes
glinted elf-like. “Me too,” she agreed.
Born and raised outside of San Francisco, Melissa Leet currently lives in Chicago with her husband Ken, her youngest son James, and their lovely Golden Retriever Neo. Her older children, Christopher, Dillon and William, are scattered across the U.S., attending university. When not in Chicago, Melissa is often out in the Wyoming wilds hiking, biking, and kayaking. Prior to living in Chicago, Melissa resided in London, and for shorter times in Paris and Madrid. She holds a BA from Smith College, an MBA from Columbia University, and an MA from the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. She is the founder of Chinafolio, a think tank which conducts research on China's development and its place in the changing international order.
Always fun to check out a new author :)
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