Rules for Moving (ARC) Read online

  A DVA NCE R E A DER’S COPY — U NCOR R EC TED PROOF

  PRAISE FOR SISTERS ONE, TWO, THREE

  “Delightful, heart-wrenching, and honest, this book is a

  lovely examination of memory, the past, and how, despite

  flaws, the strength of family ties remains throughout years of tumult and misunderstanding.”

  — Publishers Weekly

  “An emotionally gripping portrait of a family’s secrets and confessions … Star brings all the members of the Tangle

  clan to life—these are multifaceted, complex characters

  with remarkable depth and nuance. Readers will enjoy

  seeing childhood quirks resurface in the Tangle adults,

  and fans of Jamie Brenner and Elizabeth Kelly will adore

  this compelling multigenerational story.”

  — Booklist

  “A consistently compelling and entertaining read from

  cover to cover, Sisters One, Two, Three clearly showcases author Nancy Star’s genuine flair for deftly created characters and original storytelling.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  “An extraordinarily moving, beautifully written novel,

  Sisters One, Two, Three is a searing portrait of a family haunted by tragedy and fractured by the toxic power of

  secrets. As the story progresses, we grow to know and love the fierce and eccentric Tangles, a family at once familiar and like no other. I was riveted from the first page.”

  —Christina Baker Kline, #1 New York Times

  bestselling author of Orphan Train

  “Witty, compelling, and wise, Sisters One, Two, Three is the kind of novel I always crave but rarely find. Glory

  Tangle’s relationship with her children, both as kids and as grown-ups, is as real as it gets. She’s a fantastic character, a match for the surprises to be found in the perfectly evoked island setting of Martha’s Vineyard. I really loved each of the three sisters, too, and was very nervous for all of them! Nancy Star, thank you so much for the hours I

  spent in these pages.”

  —Alice Elliott Dark, author of In the Gloaming and Think of England

  “Nancy Star’s gripping novel of mothers and daughters and

  sisters shows us how we can never escape our families—

  and why that may be our salvation. Full of surprising

  twists and deep emotional insights, Sisters One, Two, Three will keep you glued to your beach chair, casting worried

  glances at those little clouds threatening to gather into

  a storm. This book will transform the way you see your

  own family’s past and its future along with the way you

  experience the power of now.”

  —Pamela Redmond Satran, author of Younger

  “With delightful wit and the prowess of an expert sto-

  ryteller, Star offers profound insight into the maternal

  heart in this deftly braided tale of the utterly original

  Tangles. Sisters One, Two, Three begs to be read in one big gulp—and will leave you with a lasting understanding

  of the treacherous balance between love and autonomy.”

  —Lisa Gornick, author of The Peacock Feast

  and Louise Meets Bear

  “What is it that fascinates us about the bonds between

  sisters? There have been many great stories about that

  special bond, and this is no exception. Enter the Tangle

  sisters, held together by love, common experience, and a web of secrets. From cautious Ginger to adventurous

  Callie to busy bee Mimi, you won’t be able to help see-

  ing yourself in this family, the things that pull it apart and ultimately tie it back together. Set some time aside

  to read this gem; you won’t regret it.”

  —Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of

  Hidden and Fractured

  RULES FOR MOVING

  ALSO BY NANCY STAR

  Sisters One, Two, Three

  Carpool Diem

  Now This

  Up Next

  Buried Lives

  RULES FOR MOVING

  NANCY STAR

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Nancy Star

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542006378

  ISBN-10: 1542006376

  Cover design by David Drummond

  Printed in the United States of America

  for Larry

  By an established custom, the houses are let from this day [May 1st] for the term of one year certain; and,

  as the inhabitants in general love variety, and seldom

  reside in the same house for two consecutive years,

  those who have to change, which appears to be nearly

  the whole city, must be all removed together. Hence,

  from the peep of day till twilight, may be seen carts

  which go at a rate of speed astonishingly rapid, laden

  with furniture of every kind, racing up and down the

  city, as if its inhabitants were flying from a pestilence, pursued by death with his broad scythe just ready to

  mow them into eternity

  —Felton, American Life: A Narrative of Two

  Years’ City and Country Residence in the United

  States, 1843

  PROLOGUE

  Spring 2018

  What a headache. It had never crossed her mind that

  the house on Applegate Road—her neighbor’s house—

  would end up to be one of those listings that kept her

  awake at night. A stubborn house that just wouldn’t

  sell. A gem of a place where everything went wrong.

  Today’s problem, a pregnant woman. Dana had noth-

  ing against pregnant women. She’d happily led five

  perfectly normal pregnant women up and down these

  stairs this month alone. But this woman was so pregnant—

  nine months at least, possibly ten—she could barely move.

  Dana could feel it coming; the prospective buyer’s water

  was going to break right there, on the recently recleaned

  round rug that sat in the center of the once-again-spotless foyer. She took a breath and reminded herself that she had a fully stocked Realtor’s Secret Kit in the trunk of her car.

  While it was true that so far the kit had only been put to the test on ink, coffee, and blood, she was confident—

  pretty confident—that it would be up to the challenge

  of placental fluid, if it came to that.

  The woman’s husband, who’d already made two jokes

  about how it wasn’t his idea to move, was sluggish until

  he got to the basement. There, as if woken from hiberna-

  tion, he charged into the utility room. A moment later

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  Nancy Star

  he slumped. There was nothing in Dana’s secret kit to fix

  this. Sellers could scrub till their muscles were sore but a clean boiler still wasn’t pret
ty. Basements were so often

  like that, disappointing.

  She hustled him out and guided them both to the

  main downstairs space. “Here’s what I love. A blank

  slate. Waiting to be transformed. You see bare walls. I see magical playroom.”

  Two stony faces stared back at her. Normally she

  could connect with anyone. Her husband said she could

  connect with a corpse. But these two? Nothing. It was

  the house. It made her nervous. Like it was judging her.

  “So!” She brightened her smile. “Ready to go up and see

  the kitchen? You are going to be over the moon when

  you see the kitchen.”

  “Could use an update,” she allowed as she watched

  them scan the maple cabinets, doors askew. “But the

  beauty of that is you get to do it how you want.” She

  saw the man glance at the one chipped terra-cotta floor

  tile. “What counts is the bones. Floors you can change.

  If the bones are bad, nothing you can do.”

  The air felt flat. She leaned toward the woman. “Can

  I tell you a secret? This is my block. Trust me, I don’t

  show this house to anyone I wouldn’t want on my block.”

  The woman’s spine seemed to stiffen. “Don’t worry. I’m

  a very respectful neighbor. I never pry. Come. Let me

  show you the best part.” She whisked them to the large

  window at the back of the living room. “Look how big

  the yard is. And how private. There’s so much you could

  do with that space. Put in an outdoor kitchen. Bluestone

  patio. Farmhouse table. Tea lights on the bushes. Oh my

  god, I want to come over to your house for dinner and

  you haven’t even said if you like it.”

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  Rules for Moving

  “I like it,” the woman said.

  Dana smiled. “I knew you would. You remind me

  a little of Lane. She’s the woman who used to live here,

  with her son, Henry. Precious boy. Six years old. Face

  of an angel. Dark curly hair. Huge eyes. Sweetest thing

  you ever met. Even though he didn’t talk.”

  The woman placed a protective hand over her belly.

  “Didn’t talk?”

  “But smart as a whip,” Dana quickly added. “And very

  talented. His drawings were deep. Not surprising. His

  mom was deep. She used to write the Ask Roxie column.

  Ever read it?”

  The woman shrugged. What did that mean? Did

  she not know the column? Did she not like the column?

  That would be a surprise. Even people who didn’t like

  Lane liked her column. “Lane rented the house from my

  neighbor Nathan. He was one of my favorite neighbors.

  This was his divorce house. A totally amicable divorce.

  I guess the house started to feel too big for him, living

  alone. Or maybe he just needed a change. Like I said,

  I never pry. All I know is one day, out of the blue, he

  tells me he’s moving and renting the place out. I was the

  one who showed Lane the house. Nathan was supposed

  to, but there was an emergency at his job. He’s had a lot

  of jobs. He’s a voice actor now. For a video game. How

  cool is that? I don’t know what kind of emergencies they

  have in video games but an emergency is an emergency.

  Nathan tried to reach Lane to reschedule but she was

  already in the Lincoln Tunnel, on her way, and the call

  didn’t go through. So he called me. Everybody calls me.

  Because they know I love to help. Lane fell for the house

  the minute she saw it. A lot of people were interested in

  renting it, but Nathan is a mensch so he rented it to her.

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  Nancy Star

  Which thank god, because you would not believe what

  Lane had just been through. It was…” Dana caught herself.

  “Icing on the cake, the two of them hit it off like you

  wouldn’t believe. It was bashert. You know what bashert means?” They didn’t. “Meant to be. Soul mates. Very

  unusual people: a voice actor and an advice columnist.

  People tell me I should write an advice column. Which

  if I did? My advice to you? This is your house.”

  The woman crossed her arms. Full defensive position.

  All eye contact over.

  It was because of her stupid comment about Henry.

  Why did she tell a pregnant woman about a boy who

  didn’t talk? “You know what? I misspoke. It’s not that

  Henry didn’t talk. He was a chatterbox with his mom.

  He just didn’t talk to me. Which if you think about it, was smart. Because once you get me going, you can’t shut me

  up. I wish you could meet them. Great people. Salt of the

  earth. Like you. They’re at Nathan’s summer place now.

  On the Cape. Or Martha’s Vineyard. Or maybe Maine.

  I don’t know. I don’t pry. A beautiful place is the point.

  This place is beautiful too.” Stop talking. Move them

  along. “Shall we step outside?”

  Outside Dana directed their diminishing attention

  to the newly installed top-of-the-line-roof. “Looks like

  slate but it isn’t, which means you don’t have to take out a mortgage every time you need to replace a shingle.”

  She pointed toward the stone below the clapboard. “One

  hundred percent Manhattan Schist. Forget insulation.

  Nothing gets through Manhattan Schist.”

  A mailbox door creaked open. Their heads swiveled

  toward the house next door. A woman scooped out her

  mail and disappeared inside. “That’s Rory. My dentist.

  I know she doesn’t look like a dentist. She looks like a

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  Rules for Moving

  model. But she’s a dentist. What a doll. Last month I had

  a toothache in the middle of the night and she met me at

  her office. In her nightgown. That’s the kind of block it

  is. Best block in town. Best people. Best kids. The col-

  leges the kids end up at? Amazing. I can get you a list.”

  She was a moron. Parents didn’t think about college until

  after the baby was born. What was wrong with her?

  What was wrong with her was this house. Selling

  houses wasn’t hard for her. She was a positive person who

  saw the best in everything. All she had to do, all she ever did, was tell it like she saw it. But showing this house? It was like sciatica. One wrong move and everything went

  out of whack. What kind of idiot tells a pregnant woman,

  The boy who used to live here didn’t speak. She took a silent breath and went in for the close.

  “You know how they say, if the walls could talk? Well

  these walls do. They talk to me. And what they’re saying

  is, this is the house for you.”

  The woman thanked her and told her they’d think

  about what they’d seen and the man said he’d get back to

  her, which was a bad sign because nine times out of ten,

  when there was good news, it was the woman who called.

  Dana got in her car, checked her phone and zoomed

  off to her next showing.

  The house on Applegate Road—a road with neither

  gates nor apples—was left alone with its memories of the

  people who’d lived there before: the man who did voices,

  the woman who gave advice, and the child, with the fac
e

  of an angel, who didn’t speak.

  xv

  PART ONE

  New York City

  Winter 2017

  January 15, 2017

  Ask Roxie!

  Roxie Reader Good News Alert!

  Do you wish you could send Roxie a question and get

  your answer in real time?

  Now you can! Roxie’s first ever online Live-Chat

  Wednesday is coming soon!

  This is a bonus for Guild-Plus Members only! Sub-

  scribe today so you don’t miss out!

  Dear Roxie,

  My maid of honor just told me I’m a psychopath. Talk

  about psychopaths!

  It’s because we had a fight. Because she’s not com-

  ing to the bridal party dress fitting. Because it conflicts with her boyfriend’s grandmother’s ninety-fifth birthday party. Choosing her boyfriend over me is so high

  school! Not to mention we made the plan two months

  ago. Aren’t plans supposed to be honored? Why does

  she think they call it maid of honor anyway?

  As far as her boyfriend’s grandmother’s birthday,

  that’s just an excuse. The real reason she’s getting her

  dress fitted another day? She doesn’t like how she

  looks in it. Which I’m sorry, but I didn’t pick it. The bridal party voted. Twelve bridesmaids love it. Because it’s

  3

  Nancy Star

  one of those dresses where no matter how tall or short

  you are, it looks super great on you.

  To be honest, it doesn’t look super great on her. But

  it’s not her wedding. Who’s going to be looking at her!

  And seriously, if she wanted to, she could do some-

  thing about her weight. It’s not like she has a “condi-

  tion.” If I could stop smoking for my wedding, she could

  lose ten pounds. All right, fifteen. All right, twenty.

  I am a person who values friendship. So in the spirit

  of friendship, I told her what I thought—about her re-

  sponsibility as my maid of honor and about the dress

  and her weight. She didn’t even bother to pretend to

  listen. When I asked her if she was listening is when she

  called me a psychopath.

  Since when is it a crime to say the truth?

  Yours,

  Very Disappointed Bride

  Dear Very Disappointed,

  Congratulations on your upcoming wedding! Be sure

  to try and take it all in. Weddings go by so fast. And

  congratulations on your talent for reading minds!

  What? You can’t read minds? Then how do you know