The breakout novel from award-winning author Joan Thomas, it perfectly balances the dark underside of modern life, love, and family with wit and sharp observation: for fans of Good to A Fault, the works of Carol Shields, of Meg Wolitzer, and Jonathan Franzen.
A stunning character-driven novel about the human desire to do the right thing, and the even stronger desire to love and to be seen for who we truly are. Deeply felt, sharply observed, and utterly contemporary.
Liz, Aiden, and Sylvie are an urban, urbane, progressive family: Aiden's a therapist who refuses to own a car; Liz is an ambitious professional, a savvy traveler with a flair for decorating; Sylvie is a smart and political 19 year-old, fiercely independent, sensitive to hypocrisy, and crazy in love with her childhood playmate, Noah, a bright young scientist. Things seem to be going according to plan.
Then the present and the past collide in a crisis that shatters the complacency of all three. Liz and Sylvie are forced to confront a tragedy from years before, when four children went missing at an artists' retreat. In the long shadow of that event, the family is drawn to a dangerous precipice.
The breakout novel from award-winning author Joan Thomas, it perfectly balances the dark underside of modern life, love, and family with wit and sharp observation: for fans of Good to A Fault, the works of Carol Shields, of Meg Wolitzer, and Jonathan Franzen.
A stunning character-driven novel about the human desire to do the right thing, and the even stronger desire to love and to be seen for who we truly are. Deeply felt, sharply observed, and utterly contemporary.
Liz, Aiden, and Sylvie are an urban, urbane, progressive family: Aiden's a therapist who refuses to own a car; Liz is an ambitious professional, a savvy traveler with a flair for decorating; Sylvie is a smart and political 19 year-old, fiercely independent, sensitive to hypocrisy, and crazy in love with her childhood playmate, Noah, a bright young scientist. Things seem to be going according to plan.
Then the present and the past collide in a crisis that shatters the complacency of all three. Liz and Sylvie are forced to confront a tragedy from years before, when four children went missing at an artists' retreat. In the long shadow of that event, the family is drawn to a dangerous precipice.
The breakout novel from award-winning author Joan Thomas, it perfectly balances the dark underside of modern life, love, and family with wit and sharp observation: for fans of Good to A Fault, the works of Carol Shields, of Meg Wolitzer, and Jonathan Franzen.
A stunning character-driven novel about the human desire to do the right thing, and the even stronger desire to love and to be seen for who we truly are. Deeply felt, sharply observed, and utterly contemporary.
Liz, Aiden, and Sylvie are an urban, urbane, progressive family: Aiden's a therapist who refuses to own a car; Liz is an ambitious professional, a savvy traveler with a flair for decorating; Sylvie is a smart and political 19 year-old, fiercely independent, sensitive to hypocrisy, and crazy in love with her childhood playmate, Noah, a bright young scientist. Things seem to be going according to plan.
Then the present and the past collide in a crisis that shatters the complacency of all three. Liz and Sylvie are forced to confront a tragedy from years before, when four children went missing at an artists' retreat. In the long shadow of that event, the family is drawn to a dangerous precipice.
Also by Joan Thomas Curiosity Reading by Lightning Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 2 5/23/14 12:06 PM The Opening Sky Joan Thomas McCLELLAND & STEWART Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 3 5/23/14 12:06 PM Copyright 2014 by Joan Thomas All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency is an infringement of the copyright law. CIP DATA IS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST isbn: 978-0-7710-8392-1 ebook isbn: 978-0-7710-8393-8 The epigraph is from the poem River Edge: from the collection Torch River. Elizabeth Philips 2007. Used by permission of Brick Books. Typeset in Faireld Printed and bound in the United States of America McClelland & Stewart, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company www.randomhouse.ca 1 2 3 4 5 18 17 16 15 14 Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 4 5/23/14 12:06 PM Nothing is more beautiful than anything else: this is how April warns us and breaks us down. Elizabeth Philips, River Edge: Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 6 5/23/14 12:06 PM 1 F OUR CHILDREN WERE LOST THAT NIGHT, THATS what they thought at rst. And at rst this reassured them how could anything terrible happen to four kids at once? Then an open Jeep drove into the clearing with two little boys in the back, the white-blond brothers from Wisconsin. Someone from a nearby cottage had picked them up on the highway. Their mother, a pretty woman with platinum hair cut as short as theirs, ran across the clearing and fell on them, hugging them, cufng at them (You brats, you stupid little jerk-offs, she cried), and their father, who had spent the afternoon drinking cider and sleeping in a hammock tied between two trees, strode around the Jeep to shake the drivers hand. So then it was just Sylvie missing, and the dark-haired boy with the sick mother, Liam. From where she crouched at a corner of the woodpile, Sylvie could hear most of what they said. She was thirsty, and light- headed from hunger, and her feet were cold and hurting. Shed run barefoot up from the lake, avoiding the paths where the adults hur- ried back and forth, calling the kids names. The tops of the trees Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 1 5/23/14 12:06 PM 2 were bright, catching the last of the light, but darkness had settled onto the forest oor. The nameless trees were wide enough to hide her, and in the dusk shed scrambled from one to the next, stiing her yelps of pain when the twigs and roots hiding under the leafy carpet bit at her. Not a child, she was not a child. She was a dark forest creature, lost by her own hand. At the edge of the clearing, she squatted in fragrant shreds of bark. Above her the forest canopy opened to a dome of brilliant evening sky; a minuscule jet from a different world lifted silently into it. She saw a police car roll up the lane, and then they were all around it, the blond boys and their parents, the driver of the Jeep, the lmmaker, the babysitter, and Sylvies mom. The faun was led forward. She was the fth child, the one kid who had not been lost. Two policemen in Smokey the Bear hats (sheriffs, they were sheriffs) bent over her. She was wearing jeans now, and her hair had been taken out of its elastics and straggled down her back. She was talking now too, though Sylvie couldnt make out what she was saying for her crying. Then Sylvie heard her own name ring out. She shifted on her heels and pressed her face to a gap between the logs. Her mother was standing with her back to the woodpile. Eleven, she said to the ofcers. Quite tall for her age. Her hairs about to here, sort of reddish blond. Shes wearing a bathing suit. No, sobbed the faun, shaking her head. No, said the mother of the blond boys. Shes not wearing the swimsuit. So Liz tossed her head and began to describe Sylvies clothes in detail: her jeans, her sandals, her glittery belt, her white T-shirt with the turtle design. Yellow, interrupted the faun. Its yellow. White, yellow, Liz cried. I doubt youll mistake her either way. Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 2 5/23/14 12:06 PM 3 Did you think of searching your own vehicles? asked one of the sheriffs. Everyone started eagerly across the clearing in the direction of the cars. In her yellow T-shirt Sylvie sprang from her crouch and slipped towards the house. There was a side door that opened to the kitchen. The house was quiet and full of warm light. She ran quickly up the stairs, heading for the front bedroom and a man was standing there. She gave a little prance of fear. But no, it wasnt a man at all, it was a shirt hanging on the back of the closet door. She was alone, in the room with the braid rug and the iron bed and the big wooden desk, where a family photo stood in its cardboard frame, and the boy with the falconers sleeve gazed out at her with neutral brown eyes. She went to the desk and opened the drawer. In a tray of pens and paperclips lay a retractable knife, the sort of blade people use to cut open a cardboard box or hijack a plane. She shed it out and slid back its casing. The point of the blade bit boldly into the photo- graph, slicing through it and through the cardboard backing. More, the blade ordered, deeper, so when she was done excising the boy from his family, she went to the bedside table and picked up the book she had looked through earlier, a beautiful gilt-edged book. First she slashed its cover with jagged lines, and then she turned to the colour plates inside and took the blade to them. It was a furious relief, this slashing and gouging; it felt natural, like a language she used to speak when she was little. When shed had enough, she slipped the picture of the boy into the pocket of her jeans and went to the window. Night had fully fallen. She could hear the squawk and stutter of police radios. A revolving light revealed and then erased the trees at the edge of the forest. Car doors slammed and strangers stepped into the clearing; they sprang up in brilliant detail and vanished. The faun, wearing Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 3 5/23/14 12:06 PM 4 a jean jacket now, stood with the parents of the blond boys. The father reached for her, and in spite of her size (she was almost as tall as Sylvie), he picked her up. She clung to him, drooping over him. Then headlights caught Sylvies mother. Alone, perched on the edge of the picnic table, her white capris gleaming. Standing in a fold of the dust-smelling curtain, Sylvie pressed her forehead against the cold glass and peered down, through hot tears willing her mother to turn and look up. Thom_9780771083921_3p_all_r1.indd 4 5/23/14 12:06 PM