EBOOK
About
Georgia "Peachy" Archer Laliberte has almost gotten her life under control. Peachy, her husband Beau, and their two rambunctious sons live on the family farm in a small town in Canada, just across the border from the U.S.. Their closest neighbor is Peachy's draft-dodging hairdresser father, Lou, who lives in a trailer on their land. Although her son Sam has epilepsy, Peachy, Beau, and Lou have worked out a successful system to care for him and maintain as normal a family life as possible, and Peachy's status as a superhuman caregiver has its own rewards.
When her life on the farm isn't quite enough, Peachy can always live vicariously through her glamorous, New York City—dwelling sister, Beth. Thin, successful, and passionate Beth has clawed her way to the top, stepping on anyone it takes to get there - including, every so often, her younger sister. Still, Peachy and Beth are close, and they support each other through crises of all kinds.
They support each other, that is, until Beth decides to sleep with Peachy's husband Beau - who just happens to be Beth's ex-boyfriend. Furious, Peachy decides to go to New York City - alone - and leaves Beth home to care for her family. As she spends a terrified, exciting weekend alone in the middle of Beth's life, Peachy must confront questions of love, loyalty, and family to find her way back home.
Chapter One
Until she left the farm for good, I never thought much about what made me different from my sister, what set me apart from her beyond our looks, beyond her hair color (unnatural blond) and mine (unremarkable brown), her body type (tall, thin) and mine (neither). She had always been fickle where I had been firm — mean to my kind. She shone brighter than me, for sure, but sometimes painfully so, like the way the sun hurts to look at when you have a head cold.
But it wasn't until I left the farm years later that another difference made itself clear: unlike with Beth, men had mostly been good to me; it was women who broke my heart. First our mother, then Beth.
I was almost sixteen the morning she left Lou and me for school in New York, her packing so purposeful that the whole house seemed windy with her escape. As I watched her, my slippered feet swinging off the side of her bed, I don't remember thinking that I'd never leave myself. I hadn't planned to stay forever in the same house, town, and country in which I was born. Do stayers do that? Do we toddle around as babies, then children, then teenagers, fingering the chipped Formica, the cat-mangled armchairs, the muggy drapes, thinking, I'm pretty sure this old house and these burnt fields are as good as it's ever going to get for me, think I'll stay? I didn't do that. That's not how it happened.
"Throw me that belt, Peach," Beth said, half-awake, sipping coffee Lou had carried upstairs on a tray. "Dammit, I hate my clothes. I'm gonna have to steal some new outfits."
"Go ahead. Dad says you're old enough to go to jail now and he won't bail you out this time."
She gave me an arch look.
When her life on the farm isn't quite enough, Peachy can always live vicariously through her glamorous, New York City—dwelling sister, Beth. Thin, successful, and passionate Beth has clawed her way to the top, stepping on anyone it takes to get there - including, every so often, her younger sister. Still, Peachy and Beth are close, and they support each other through crises of all kinds.
They support each other, that is, until Beth decides to sleep with Peachy's husband Beau - who just happens to be Beth's ex-boyfriend. Furious, Peachy decides to go to New York City - alone - and leaves Beth home to care for her family. As she spends a terrified, exciting weekend alone in the middle of Beth's life, Peachy must confront questions of love, loyalty, and family to find her way back home.
Chapter One
Until she left the farm for good, I never thought much about what made me different from my sister, what set me apart from her beyond our looks, beyond her hair color (unnatural blond) and mine (unremarkable brown), her body type (tall, thin) and mine (neither). She had always been fickle where I had been firm — mean to my kind. She shone brighter than me, for sure, but sometimes painfully so, like the way the sun hurts to look at when you have a head cold.
But it wasn't until I left the farm years later that another difference made itself clear: unlike with Beth, men had mostly been good to me; it was women who broke my heart. First our mother, then Beth.
I was almost sixteen the morning she left Lou and me for school in New York, her packing so purposeful that the whole house seemed windy with her escape. As I watched her, my slippered feet swinging off the side of her bed, I don't remember thinking that I'd never leave myself. I hadn't planned to stay forever in the same house, town, and country in which I was born. Do stayers do that? Do we toddle around as babies, then children, then teenagers, fingering the chipped Formica, the cat-mangled armchairs, the muggy drapes, thinking, I'm pretty sure this old house and these burnt fields are as good as it's ever going to get for me, think I'll stay? I didn't do that. That's not how it happened.
"Throw me that belt, Peach," Beth said, half-awake, sipping coffee Lou had carried upstairs on a tray. "Dammit, I hate my clothes. I'm gonna have to steal some new outfits."
"Go ahead. Dad says you're old enough to go to jail now and he won't bail you out this time."
She gave me an arch look.