Chapter one: Alone in her home on a remote island, Aster communes with her husband. She clearly dislikes living on the island. Why didn't she move away?
'As I was reading I thought what does this remind me of? The thoughtful choice of words, the realistic conversational tone... Carol Shields! Following in some good prairie writer's shoes!' -Linda Patricia Smith
Chapter two
Yes, there are a million things I could have done. Everyone always has options, even if they think they don't, that's what you maintained.
She returned the photo to its spot, picked up her knitting, and stabbed her needle into a stitch.
Your sister, Emma, she offered me an option--out of the goodness of her heart. She's next to a saint, is your lovely sister Emma.
Her voice had a firm, commanding tone of the phone. Why do you continue to live on that god-forsaken rock? I don't know how you can stand it. I'd go mad--living like you do, all alone. You could suffer a long, painful death--and no one would even know. You could get sick with cancer or MS. There's no end of accidents an old woman could have. Choking to death on long strings of cheese. Or you could cut a vein while chopping kindling. She painstakingly described the scene--quarts of blood staining the area rug as I lay there in agony, unable to do anything but die. By the way she spoke, I wondered if envisioning my gory end brought her comfort.
Really, Aster, think. Logically, you have no choice. You can't continue to live by yourself. It's too dangerous. I know you think you have no place to go but you could move in with me, I suppose. I do have more than enough room.
She was always a forthright, confident woman. I can tell you, she'd never have ended up here.
True the home she had with Baldur wasn’t a castle—little more than a cottage by the sea, really. So small, in fact, that I wondered how they squeezed in all those children. But
somehow they managed. What their home lacked in square footage it more than made up for in charm—a white picket fence with a flower garden. I always thought that was the type of house we should move to after we left the city. But, we, I ended up here. Emma would laugh if she saw it.
After Baldur died she moved from that cottage in Sidney-by-the-Sea to a condo in the city of gardens Victoria. I know you hear condo and right away your back goes up. I know, I can hear you, It’s confining, you’d say. I had to tolerate living like a caged animal throughout my work life. Now that I’m retired I want something more, something better. And you considered this better.
Aster forced a chuckle.
Oh, you. You could be so thick-headed. I could just hear us now. Me trying to talk some sense into you and you not listening to a word, just going on and on—without taking a breath. I don’t want neighbours prying into my affairs, you’d say.
Secrets, secrets, you always thought you had all those interesting secrets, which everyone wanted so badly to know. What you didn’t realize is that no one cared what you did. Everyone was too busy with their own concerns to give two shakes about what you were doing. And besides, no matter where you go, you always have neighbours. Even here, on this remote island, I have neighbours. They talk about me. She’s such a nutter. So daft living in that house all alone—never going anywhere.
My ears ring with their snide remarks, but I don’t care. That’s the difference between you and me. You always cared what people said—I never did.
No, you were wrong living in a condo is not the end of the world. It’s not a living hell. That’s what living here is.
When Baldur died, Emma realized that the house was too much for her. So, she sold it and moved to a grand place. She’s on one of the upper floors—not the penthouse apartment but close. Large windows offer panoramic vistas of the harbour. I swear you’d think that you could step off the balcony and dive several stories into the water below. It has hardwood floors and thick luxurious carpets. It’s modern not like this drafty, dreary shack.
Is she lonely? Never. She has neighbours and besides, she’s rarely by herself. Her children are always circling around like she’s a queen and they are merely her subjects. She wants something, anything and she just has to whistle and one of them comes running. If you ask me it’s more than a little odd. I mean it’s not like they don’t have lives of their own.
Emma has tons of grandchildren and even one great-granddaughter. A couple of months ago, I received a birth announcement. They enclosed a photo—and you should see that little doll, Kenneth James. She’s adorable—all chubby cheeks and big blue eyes. They call her some strange name like Twig or Sprout or Root rot. I don’t know, something strange thing like that. I feel sorry for the child— being saddled with such a handle.
But I’m sure Emma gloats about her. I’m sure she does because she acts that way with all her grandchildren. I have no idea why. I mean it’s not like she gave birth to them. The walls of her condo are covered with matted and framed photos of them. She spends hours arranging and re-arranging.
Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby
Chapter three
Emma, Aster's sister-in-law, thinks Aster is foolish to live on a remote island. She advises Aster to move. She asks Aster to move in with her. Does Aster accept this offer?
