The Invisibles: A Novel
By: Cecilia Galante
Releasing August 4, 2015
In the vein of Meg Donohue and Jennifer Close, comes Cecilia Galante's adult debut about the complicated and powerful bonds of female friendship--a compelling, moving novel that is told in both the present and the past.
Thrown together by chance as teenagers at Turning Winds Home for Girls, Nora, Ozzie, Monica, and Grace quickly bond over their troubled pasts and form their own family which they dub The Invisibles. But when tragedy strikes after graduation, Nora is left to deal with the horrifying aftermath alone as the other three girls leave home and don't look back.
Fourteen years later, Nora is living a quiet, single life working in the local library. She is content to focus on her collection of "first lines" (her favorite opening lines from novels) and her dog, Alice Walker, when out-of-the-blue Ozzie calls her on her thirty-second birthday. But after all these years, Ozzie hasn't called her to wish a happy birthday. Instead, she tells Nora that Grace attempted suicide and is pleading for The Invisibles to convene again. Nora is torn: she is thrilled at the thought of being in touch with her friends, and yet she is hesitant at seeing these women after such a long and silent period of time. Bolstered by her friends at the library, Nora joins The Invisibles in Chicago for a reunion that sets off an extraordinary chain of events that will change each of their lives forever.
The Invisibles is an unforgettable novel that asks the questions: How much of our pasts define our present selves? And what does it take to let go of some of our most painful wounds and move on?
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/06/the-invisibles-novel-by-cecilia-galante.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23460966-the-invisibles
It wasn’t until she reached the corner of Grove Street, where the sidewalk buckled and the pre-dawn smells of yeast and fabric softener perfumed the air, that Nora remembered it was her thirty-second birthday. She stopped abruptly, as if someone had yanked a leash around her neck, and let the information settle along her shoulders. Thirty-two. The number rolled around in her head, and she waited for the onslaught of—what was it exactly: relief? dread?—that was supposed to arrive at reaching the end of another year, but it didn’t come. Instead, the first line from a book she had once read occurred to her: “Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person.” Nora could not remember the title of the book or even the name of the author, but the words themselves, strung like so many lights in the distance, felt as distressing now as they had the day she had first come across them. Maybe even more so.
A band of sky behind the rooftops ahead was turning a soft purple. The moon, a lopsided waxing gibbous, was so translucent as to appear glass-like there in the heavens. It would be another forty minutes or so before the sun rose, erasing all traces of the moon for the day. Now, though, it was hers. The September air was sharply cold, the imminent warning of a quickly approaching fall, and the streets were littered with leaves browning around the edges. Alice Walker, her chocolate brown retriever, nuzzled the stiff grass for a few seconds and then turned around, staring up at Nora. She barked once, and then again. It was unusual for Nora to stop during their morning walks, a daily ritual that had become so ingrained in their lives by this point that it was hard to imagine anything preventing it. Even bad weather did little to deter her; Nora made the trek in rain and snow, and once even in a hailstorm, during which she’d had to stop and take refuge under an enormous red-and- green-striped awning until things settled down again. Walking cleared her head in a way few other things could, and she never turned around until she reached the little grove of birch trees by the railroad tracks, where she would sit for a moment and rest before starting back again.
Alice Walker barked again, loudly, the sound reverberating through the stillness, and then cocked her head. The birch trees, her eyes seemed to say. Let’s get to the birch trees. Nora looked away from the dog and stared down at her sneakers instead—pale blue Asics with orange strips on each side. She pressed two fingers beneath her breastbone and took a breath as if to steady herself. A heaviness that was not disappointment or regret or anything else she could identify yet filled her nonetheless. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, she did not want to keep walking toward the birch grove. She just wanted to go home.
“Come on, love,” she said, turning around, tugging at Alice Walker’s leash. “Let’s go.”
The dog barked a third time, obviously confused.
Nora’s feet moved with a mind of their own, leading her back to the apartment they shared on Winslop Avenue. “Yeah, well, I don’t know either,” she said. “Come on, now.”
Cecilia Galante is the author of several middle grade, young adult and adult novels. She also teaches 8th grade English at Wyoming Seminary Prep School, and teaches creative writing in the MFA program at Wilkes University.
She could hear the phone ringing in her bedroom as she unlocked her front door. Alice Walker bolted toward it, barking after each ring, as if the phone might respond. Nora hung back, struggling to get her key out of the lock, which still continued to stick, despite numerous complaints to the landlord. She tugged again. Nothing. Well, she’d have to let the machine get it. It was probably just Trudy or Marion from the library anyway, calling to ask her to pick up some more coffee beans on her way in. Between the three of them, the office coffeepot went through at least four refills a day.
“Hey, this is Nora.” The recorded sound of her voice echoed through the empty apartment. “I’m not here, but I will be eventually, so please leave a message.” Nora winced, listening. She’d gone through at least a dozen messages when she’d set up the machine, trying her voice out each time—a little happier here, more serious there—until she’d just said to hell with it and settled on this one.
There was a pause and then:
Nora’s fingers froze around the rubber grip of the keys. No one had called her Norster since she was seventeen years old. And even then, there had been only one person who had ever used that name.
A throat cleared. Then: “Nora Walker? Is this you? God, I hope I have the right number. This is . . .” There was a muffled noise, as if the receiver had just been covered, and then the faint, nearly obscured sound of a reprimand. “I need a minute, Jack, okay? Mommy just needs one minute. Now, please.”
No. It couldn’t be. Nora gave the key a final furious tug and then let go of it altogether, racing toward her bedroom. It just couldn’t be.
“Sorry about that.” The voice was back, unmuffled now and slightly raised. “Um, this is Ozzie Randol. I’m just calling to—”
“Ozzie!” Nora snatched the phone up so quickly that she almost dropped it. “Ozzie, I’m here!”
“Nora! Oh my God!”
“Ozzie.” Nora said the name a third time, as if the word itself would settle her breathing somehow, stop her legs from trembling. Her windbreaker, unzipped and loose, hung open in front of her like a mouth agape. How long had she been waiting for this moment? She couldn’t remember anymore. “Oh, Ozzie. Oh my God. Is that really you?”
Ozzie laughed. “Of course it’s really me. You know any other girls out there named Ozzie?”
“No.” A giggle emanated from Nora’s mouth like a bubble. “No, I’ve never met another Ozzie.” She sat down carefully on the end of her bed, smoothing the edge of the white comforter with the palm of her hand. Ozzie had the same laugh, a bright burst of sound that came out of a mouth so wide and lips so full that Nora used to wonder how everything fit in there together—and still looked so pretty.
(Three Print Copies of THE INVISIBLES)
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