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In bestselling author Lisa Tucker's latest, a family discovers that it's only when the walls between the present and past crumble that the future can bloom.
Together for over a decade, Kyra and David Winter are happier than they ever thought they could be. They have a comfortable home, stable careers, and a young son, Michael, whom they love more than anything. Yet because of their complicated histories, Kyra and David have always feared that this domestic bliss couldn't last - that the life they created was destined to be disrupted. And on one perfectly average summer day, it is: Michael disappears from his own backyard.
The only question is whose past has finally caught up with them: David feels sure that Michael was taken by his troubled ex-wife, while Kyra believes the kidnapper must be someone from her estranged family, someone she betrayed years ago.
As the Winters embark on a journey of time and memory to find Michael, they will be forced to admit these suspicions, revealing secrets about themselves they've always kept hidden. But they will also have a chance to discover that it's not too late to have the family they've dreamed of; that even if the world is full of risks, as long as they have hope, the future can bloom.
Lyrical, wise, and witty, The Winters in Bloom is Lisa Tucker's most optimistic work to date. This enchanting, life-affirming story will charm readers and leave them full of wonder at the stubborn strength of the human heart.
- Sales Rank: #2136450 in Books
- Published on: 2011-09-13
- Released on: 2011-09-13
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.00" h x 1.20" w x 6.00" l, 1.00 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 288 pages
Review
"Motherhood, in all its magical and messy incarnations, is at the heart of The Winters In Bloom, a story that skates gracefully amid wonder, terror and redemption. Indeed, Tucker's novel is impossible to categorize, bending the confines of the psychological thriller with an eloquent literary narrative of tangled family ties."-- BookPage
“Few contemporary novelists come close to understanding families in trouble with the insight and compassion of Lisa Tucker.” —Pat Conroy, New York Times bestselling author of South of Broad and Beach Music
“In The Winters in Bloom the ties that bind are expertly knotted. With many twists, secrets, and unexpected turns, Lisa Tucker proves that sometimes these ties are wholly unbreakable. They can survive time, loss, longing—even our greatest fears—and they endure because love endures.” —Julianna Baggott, author of Girl Talk
“Lisa Tucker weaves together multiple perspectives to give us a novel rife with human entanglements of every variety . . . Most moving is the story of Kyra and David as they face the struggles every parent will recognize: how to take care of someone in a world as dangerous as it is beautiful; how to choose—daily, deliberately—joy over fear.” —Marisa de los Santos, New York Times bestselling author of Belong to Me
“Brilliant, tender, and riveting. Reading The Winters in Bloom is like falling into some beguiling dream, one you don’t want to wake from. Lisa Tucker has not described a world; she has created one unlike any you’ve never seen. She has breathed life into her characters, and they will breathe life into you.” —John Dufresne, author of Requiem, Mass.
“The author cleverly imparts life lessons through the tale of one family.” —RT Book Reviews
"Fast-paced page-turner." —Library Journal
About the Author
Lisa Tucker is the bestselling author of The Promised World, The Cure for Modern Life, Once Upon a Day, Shout Down the Moon and The Song Reader. Her short work has appeared in The New York Times and The Oxford American. She lives in Pennsylvania with her family.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
He was the only child in a house full of doubt. In bed each night, though it wasn’t dark—the floor lights his father had installed—and it wasn’t entirely private—the nursery monitor both parents refused to give up—he rehearsed the things he was certain of, using his fingers to number them. He was just a little boy, but he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep until he’d gone through both hands twice. Twenty was a good number, he thought, though of course it paled in comparison with the number of doubts, partly because his parents had had so many years to discover them, but mainly because the doubt list was always growing, towering above him like the giant boy at his old school, the one his father had called a bully. The giant boy, whose name was Paul, had never done anything to Michael, but his parents doubted that Michael could learn in such an environment and took him out of that school. The three schools that followed had led to three other doubts, and now Michael was finishing first grade in home school, even though homeschooling had its doubts, too. I doubt he’ll get the socialization he needs, his mother said. I doubt we can teach him laboratory science, his father said, but we’ll have to deal with that when the time comes. And then the words his parents didn’t have to say—if the time comes—because the future was always the biggest doubt of all.
“I will get bigger.” Michael whispered it every night, holding up his thumb. Then he said, touching his index finger, “I will not die before I get to drive a car.” He would force himself not to think of all the ways he could die, the hundreds of things his parents had told him all his life. He would also force himself not to daydream about what his first car would be like, because then he would fall asleep before he finished his counting and dream about rows and rows of shiny cars, all with headlights that looked like eyes and grills that looked like mouths.
In the morning, he was often very tired. When he slumped down for breakfast, his mother would put her hand on his forehead and ask if he was feeling okay. He hardly ever got sick, except when he was two years old and then he was so sick he had to spend weeks in the hospital, though all he remembered about that now was the pattern of elephants and monkeys on the nurses’ clothes. His mother always made him touch his chin to his chest, even if he told her his neck didn’t hurt. Sometimes she would take his temperature and inspect his throat and ears with a flashlight and push on his belly to make sure his appendix wasn’t about to burst. Only after she was satisfied that he wasn’t coming down with something would she ask, “Did you have any nightmares?”
He used to tell her, but he’d stopped when he realized that she and his father discussed his dreams the same way they discussed all the books they were reading about Raising Your Gifted Child. So he didn’t tell her about the dream he kept having where the ocean came up to his bedroom window and he jumped in a boat and floated off. He only thought of it as a nightmare because he knew it should have been scary—if he was alone in the boat, this meant his parents must have drowned. In real life, he would have cried and cried for his parents: their love for him was one of the things he was most certain of; it was always somewhere in the first five things he counted every night. But in the dream, it never occurred to him to wonder where they were. He was sitting on a flat wooden seat in the middle of the boat, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the sides, blinking at the sun hanging so low in the sky it looked like he could row right to it. He felt like the biggest, scariest parts of the world were all gone, washed away by something that was winking at him in the soft fat cloud that floated overhead.
The lady who appeared that day was like the cloud, though she wasn’t fat and she wasn’t at all soft. Her arms were so skinny that when she bent her elbows, Michael thought of the paper clips he liked to twist apart when he was supposed to be learning geography. He didn’t really like geography, though he loved the maps hung up in the room where he studied—the schoolroom, his parents called it, though it was nothing like school, because there was only one desk. The map of the city was right in front of him, and he’d stared at it so many times that he knew the lady wasn’t lying when she said she was taking him to the ocean. He’d always wanted to go there, but his father said a jellyfish might bite him, or he might swallow a mouthful of dirty, germy sand, or, worst of all, a tide current might pull him out to the sea and he would never, ever come back.
The lady had asked him where he wanted to go more than anywhere in the world. She was so nice to him that he felt like it might be true when she said she loved him, even though he’d never seen her in his life until that morning. He was outside the house, in the backyard. It was the second day of the outside alone half hour, which his mother had decided he needed after she read a book about letting kids be free range, like the good-for-you kind of chicken. Michael didn’t know what to do outside—his mother had told him to go ahead and do whatever he wanted, but he was afraid to touch anything, because dirt on your hands could make worms grow in your stomach, and he knew he should never climb a tree, he could fall and break his neck—so he walked around in circles and waved back each time his mother waved at him. She could see him perfectly while she did the dishes. So she must have seen the lady, and it must have been okay for him to go with her, like the lady said. It’s a surprise! Like on your birthday, except better!
He knew he wasn’t supposed to even talk to strangers, but the lady said she wasn’t a stranger. You’re my little buddy, the lady said, and she was crying, which made Michael feel bad for her. She was so skinny and sad, but in her car, she had lots of toys, just like she promised. She had toys he’d always wanted to play with, like robots with little parts that could break off and choke him, and bright red and blue and yellow cars that were probably made with lead paint. He was afraid to touch the toys at first, but then he decided that he wouldn’t choke or swallow lead paint unless the toy went in his mouth. And why would the toy go in his mouth, when it was so much more fun to move the robot arms and pretend the cars were zooming up and down his legs, like the lady’s car was zooming up the highway?
He might have had trouble believing that his parents had agreed to let the lady take him somewhere if he hadn’t overheard them just last night, talking about how they had to change. It can’t be good for him to be trapped in the house all summer. Other children are out of school, going to camp, playing with their friends. The two of us are doing our best, but it’s not enough. He needs more people in his life.
His mother was the one who’d talked the most, but his father had made noises that sounded like agreement. So this trip with the lady that his parents had planned must be like the time they replaced the entire heating system in the house, rather than trying to get the old one fixed. Sometimes you have to take extreme measures, his father had said, and then he’d explained that an extreme measure was necessary when the problem was so big, the only way to deal with it was to give up on what you’d done before and start over from square one.
Being with this lady, sitting in a regular seat in the back of her car belted in with a regular seat belt, next to another seat covered with dangerous toys he’d taken out of a dangerous plastic bag, on the way to the ocean, was definitely an extreme measure. On some level Michael felt this, but most of him was just excited. The lady was happy now, too; her laughs sounded like Christmas bells. She had a really friendly smile and nice straight teeth, but when she pushed her hair back, he noticed a big scar on her wrist, and he wondered if it hurt sometimes, the way Mommy’s scar on her knee did whenever it rained.
If they talked about anything important on the way to the Jersey Shore, Michael didn’t remember it. What he remembered—and would for the rest of his life—was that afternoon on the boat. It wasn’t a rowboat like in his dream; it was a big fishing boat with an upper deck and a lower deck and lots and lots of people. Michael was on the upper deck looking out at the wavy sea when a giant fish jumped straight out of the ocean and landed with a huge splash. It was a humpback whale, the fisherman announced, and everybody on the boat was pointing and talking when the whale jumped up again! It did it seven times, which Michael heard people say was amazing, because a lot of times these whale-watching boats went out for hours and didn’t see anything.
It’s because we’re lucky, the lady said. She pointed at the whale’s tail, which seemed to be waving before it disappeared back into the water. It likes you.
Michael closed his eyes tight, but when he opened them it was all still there: the bright blue sky and the soft pillow clouds and the endless ocean lapping at the sides of the boat. His hand was still tucked in the lady’s bony hand, and the boat hadn’t tipped over and the seagulls hadn’t pecked his eyes out and the big scary fish wasn’t really scary at all.
“It likes me,” Michael whispered; then he grinned as big as he could, in case the whale was looking up at him through the water. In case the whale was like the lady, who’d promised when she appeared in his backyard that all she wanted was to be Michael’s friend, more than anything in the world.
Most helpful customer reviews
24 of 25 people found the following review helpful.
You Won't Be Able to Put This Novel Down!
By Pageturner in NYC
Lisa Tucker is a marvel. When I read THE SONG READER in 2004, I thought it was one of the best debut novels I'd ever read. What is amazing about her writing career is that each novel continues to raise the bar; each new novel continues to surpass the last one in creating riveting story lines, fascinating characters and surprising twists. THE WINTERS IN BLOOM is her sixth novel and it's truly her best yet. (If you don't trust me, trust PAT CONROY who raves, "Few contemporary novelists come close to understanding families in trouble with the insight and compassion of Lisa Tucker. The Winters in Bloom is one page turner you will not want to miss.")
I'm not going to spoil your fun by revealing too much about the plot because one of the great joys of this compelling, funny, tender and moving novel is the way Tucker layers her tale, revealing mysterious bits and pieces along the way. No one is better at plotting twists and surprises like Tucker. All I'm going to say is that the small son of a very over-protective mother and father disappears from their back yard....and the hunt is on. Family secrets are brought to the surface that illuminate each character's motivation. As all the pieces fall into place and all questions are finally answered, you're going to have a strong urge to re-read the book so that you can marvel at how cleverly everything was laid out with perfect logic and how each satisfying "reveal" not only pushed the plot along but also deepened your understanding of the characters involved.
This is a novel that will stick with you long after you've finished it. I could not put it down. Every time I reached the end of a chapter, I'd tell myself, "Okay, just one more..." I haven't felt that way since I read THE HELP.
This is a psychological thriller and a family saga brimming with unforgettable characters and tension-breaking humor. Don't miss it!
8 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
This book made me a Lisa Tucker fan!
By Gail Jackson
I just finished The Winters in Bloom. I love it. The characters all seem so real and very human in their response to life. If you have a sister, you can relate to the complicated relationship between Amy and Kyra. Some characters seem fragile and so broken but are able to propel themselves through the journey of their lives. I liked the contrast between the overprotective parents and those parents in the novel who seemed to care very little about their children. It is a truly enjoyable read for anyone who enjoys reading of the intricate interactions at the heart of a family .
I was fortunate to win an advance copy of this book not only because I received a free book, but because it introduced me to an author I had not previously read. I now consider myself a fan!! I have read several other books by Lisa Tucker and have just downloaded the Kindle edition of The Winters in Bloom.
6 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
Absolutely Beautiful!
By Christina (A Reader of Fictions)
When I started reading my e-galley of The Winters in Bloom, I noticed first the page at the beginning where the publisher was talking about how much she loved this book and how it was the best one of the year. Her praise was so high that I kind of rolled my eyes, thinking that she loves it because it will make her money. I am happy to report that the book really was that good. From the absolutely incredible first chapter, I was totally involved in the story.
My one previous experience with Lisa Tucker proved disappointing (The Song Reader), perhaps because my expectations were really high. I own a couple of her other books, but haven't gotten to them yet. I am now super glad that I have them.
So yeah, I mentioned how mindblowing the first chapter was. The book opens from Michael's point of view (although in third person) and you can see how much he has been affected by his parent's worries. Young as he is, he has already inherited their fear of everything, as evidenced in the first line: "He was the only child in a house full of doubt." Five years old and he looks around thinking about the many ways he could get injured. This is what he was doing in his time in the backyard by himself when the nice lady came and asked him if he wanted to go on a ride. Wow. Just wow.
While the rest of the story was not as dramatic and intense as this one, the story definitely maintained its beautiful simplicity. I loved finding out what had happened to the various characters to make them into who they now were. There are a lot of hints as you go along, allowing you to make your own suppositions (I was right about David/Courtney, but wrong about Kyra).
If you like stories of family drama and broken people, this is one that is not to be missed. What a completely beautiful, depressing, uplifting story!
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