Life After Life: A Novel

From Booklist Agatha Christie believed that an English village was a microcosm of the world, containing all the virtues and evils of the greatest metropolis. The same might be said of Pine Haven Retirement Center, the hub of McCorkle’s new novel, which interweaves the stories of residents, staff, and visitors in a small Carolina town. There is Joanna, the hospice worker, who records the lives of those passing; Sadie, the longtime resident and onetime schoolteacher, who believes everyone remains their eight-year-old self at heart; and the judgmental Marge, called “Extralarge Marge Barge” by the blustery, rude Stanley. Each tells his or her own story, and the bit player in one story becomes the protagonist of the next, providing an ever-clearer picture of the crisscrossing histories that have made these people who they are. By turns comic, insightful, and heart wrenching, Life after Life shows how old age can give us a second chance: to see ourselves rightly, be truer to those we love, and inspire those we leave behind. --Lynn Weber "McCorkle finds that space where the humor and the sadness in these characters' lives come together, that space where she has always worked the best of her magic...You are undoubtly changed when you reach the novel's end." ( Kevin Wilson, author of The Family Fang ) "With Life After Life, Jill McCorkle knocks it out of the park and into the cosmos. Each character holds unique surprises that unveil the intricate magic of this brilliant novel." ( Beth Henley, Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright ) "Jill is going to break your heart, but along the way make you glad you went with her. She has written a book that will haunt me for a long time - in the best way." ( Dorothy Allison, author of Bastard out of Carolina ) “Great writing, poignancy, humor, wisdom―all are in abundance here.”* Award-winning novelist Jill McCorkle takes us on a journey through time and memory as the residents of a close-knit community demonstrate that grace and magic can―and do―appear when we least expect them. From twelve-year-old Abby to eighty-five-year-old Sadie, they prove our capacity for self-discovery, second chances, and hope―at any age. “Illuminating, reassuring, and enlarging our understanding of the crossing from this world to the next, her novel sings with the mystical, the magical and the fragility of this thing called life.” ― The Atlanta Journal-Constitution “McCorkle’s masterful microcosm invokes profound sadness, harsh insight and guffaws, often on the same page.” ― Kirkus Reviews “Great . . . Sharply real.” ― Entertainment Weekly “Clever, bighearted, and wise.” ― Vanity Fair “The elderly residents of Pine Haven live and yearn and challenge one another with an exuberance that jumps off the page.” ― The New York Times “This is grown-up fun. Deep pleasure for smart people. And it is beautiful all the way.” ―Richard Bausch, author of Peace “A powerful gift for dialogue has always animated Jill McCorkle’s fiction, and here we hear some astonishing voices . . . As readers, we feel honored to witness their passages.” ― The Boston Globe “A story and characters that readers won’t soon forget.” ― Minneapolis Star Tribune “Jill McCorkle is one of the South’s greatest writers; she is also one of America’s.” ―*Ron Rash, author of Nothing Gold Can Stay Jill McCorkle is the author of nine previous books—four story collections and five novels—five of which have been selected as New York Times Notable Books. The recipient of the New England Book Award, the John Dos Passos Prize for Excellence in Literature, and the North Carolina Prize for Literature, she teaches writing at North Carolina State University and lives in Hillsborough, North Carolina. Visit her online at www.jillmccorkle.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Life After Life A NOVEL By JILL McCORKLE ALGONQUIN BOOKS OF CHAPEL HILL Copyright © 2013 Jill McCorkleAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-56512-255-0 CHAPTER 1 Joanna Now Joanna is holding the hand of someone waiting forher daughter to arrive. Only months ago, this woman—LoisFlowers—was one of the regulars in Pine Haven's dining roomwhere the residents often linger long after the meal for some formof entertainment or another. She was a woman who kept her hairdyed black and never left her room without her hair and makeupand outfit just right. She had her color chart done in 1981 and keptthe little swatches like paint chips in the zippered section of herpurse. She told Joanna that having your colors done was one ofthe best investments a woman could ever make. "I'm a winter,"she said. "It's why turquoise looks so good on me." She loved tosing and some nights she could convince several people to join in;other nights she simply stood in one corner and swayed back andforth like she might have been in Las Vegas singing everythingshe knew of Doris Day and Rosemary Clooney and Judy Garland.She loved anything Irving Berlin had ever written. Now she hasforgotten everything except the face of her daughter, random lyrics,and that your shoes and purse should always match. Joannahas watched the daughter night after night leaning into her mother'sear to sing—first upbeat ( clang, clang, clang went the trolley ).She always ends with one of her very favorites like "It Could Happento You" or "Over the Rainbow" or "What'll I Do?" Joanna—asordered by Luke's many rules—keeps a notebook with an entryon each of the people she sits with. She has to do an official oneto turn over to the nurse who oversees her work, but this is a different,personal notebook she writes just after someone has died.It's a notebook she bought and showed Luke to prove to him thatshe was taking his assignments seriously—a bright yellow college-ruledspiral-bound notebook, which was all she could find at theThrifty Market there close to Luke's house. It was near the endfor him so she didn't venture far. "This is my page," he told her."Everybody should get at least a page." She writes what she knows:their names and birthplaces and favorite things. Sometimes sheasks questions: What is your first memory? Your favorite time ofday or holiday or teacher or article of clothing? How would youdescribe your marriage? Was there something you learned in yourlife that surprised you? She records the weather and season andlast words if there are any. Luke said that this would be her religion,the last words and memories of the dying her litany. Sheshould read and reread the entries regularly like devotionals. Keepus close , he said. Keep us alive. Don't ever let us disappear. The longest and most expensive journey you will evermake is the one to yourself. Joanna's life is blip blip blip like imageson an old film projector that keeps sticking and burning. She'sbeen spliced a lot of times over the years, but finally she feelsfree—not perfect, not problem free, just free. No one likes to talkabout the positive parts of getting older and aging into orphanhood,how with your parents you often bury a lot of things youwere never able to confront or fix or let go of. She has spent long hours discussing this with C.J., a girl mostlikely not to be Joanna's best friend, and yet she is. C.J. is halfher age, punk and pierced and tattooed with a baby boy whosefather she won't discuss—not yet at least. C.J. is beautiful andso unaware of it, long legs and hazel eyes and a beautiful darkcomplexion that leaves people perplexed and wondering about herethnicity. It seems she might even be perplexed herself and camouflagesherself with tattoos and loose clothing and colors of hairdyes that are not natural to any race. C.J. claims to have lots of secrets, lots of ghosts, and she saysshe writes down all the bad stuff in her journal, which she callsPandora's Box, and hides it there in the best security safe of all.She said she made a special trip to Costco to buy her "safe depositbox"—a mega-sized box of Kotex, which she then positionedat the back of her linen closet with "the sentry" placed in front:Monistat and Vagisil and all kinds of douches. She said it was asecurity system easily tested in the checkout line, the man nextto her going from way too warm to icy cold in minutes. She saidif there were any doubt, a good scratch in the right place wouldreally get rid of someone you weren't interested in. "If something ever happens to me," she once told Joanna, "everythingyou need to know is in the journal in the giant Kotex boxat the back of the linen closet and you can have everything I own,even Kurt—especially Kurt." Joanna told her that if anything everhappened to her , she had a fake book, Darwin's Descent of Man ,that opens and holds important papers. She also has a fake canof Campbell's tomato soup. The bottom screws off and somedaywhen she makes lots of money, that's where she plans to keepsome for security. "You can have that and the Dog House," Joannatold her. Like Joanna, C.J. has done a lot of different things. She hascleaned houses and read palms and groomed dogs and nowgrooms the elderly—hair, hands, toes—at Pine Haven and leadsthem in a few activities and exercises. She rents the little apartmentover the Dog House and in exchange for sometimes openingor closing, Joanna babysits her son, Kurt. Joanna's only rule as alandlord is no candles since she herself has had a couple of housefires as a result of purification rituals. "That would do it," C.J.said, and laughed when the rule was explained and adjusted herlip ring, which she always removes before going to work. "I'll comeup with another way to purify ." Joanna wasn't there for her mother, but she was there for herdad and seeing him through those last days allowed her to let goherself. Being there may prove to be the greatest gift of her life.And of course none of that would have happened without Lukeand Tammy. In her work, Joanna has learned the importance of makingpeace. She sees it all the time, the stubborn child who won't cometo the bedside and so the parent lasts far longer than should beasked of anyone. It is painful to watch, and for this reason shefeels lucky to have journeyed her way back to this place. Her dadwanted her to promise to keep the the Dog House running andnow she is doing her best, opening and closing and hiring responsiblepeople to work the place, so she can devote herself to the volunteerhospice hours she gives over in Pine Haven's nursing wing. "Make their exits as gentle and loving as possible," Luke hadsaid. "Tell them how good it will be, even if you don't believe ityourself. You're southern, you know how to do that." And nowfamily members greet and embrace her like she is one of them.Lung. Brain. Breast. Uterus. Pancreas. Bone. The families discussand explain the symptoms and diagnoses for her as if they havenever been heard of before, have never happened to anyone else,and she listens. Mistakes are made in the telling and she does notcorrect them. It is important to remain separate, to allow them toclaim the disease, claim their grief. It is important not to get tooattached or personally involved. Sometimes, when family membersare naming the tests and the symptoms and prognosis, sheallows herself to imagine her mother, getting the news and thendriving home. Actively deciding what to do next but not callingher. But Joanna can go only so far with that or she'll undermineher purpose in the present. She is there, compassionate and listening,guiding the patients to talk and tell their stories if inclinedbut knowing when to step back into the shadows of the drapes ora closet door so family members get their time. She knows howto disappear. Relatives show her all the old photos and letters; they tell herof accomplishments and regrets and then afterward, they driftaway, her presence like something from an old dream, a reminderof their grief and loss. Sometimes they see her in the grocery orhardware store or when they drive up to the Dog House, and theycan't help themselves, their eyes well up and words get choked.Like Pavlov's dogs, they react to her presence. It makes her thinkof poor Harley, the docile old orange cat at Pine Haven withenough poundage to warm even the coldest circulation-free feet,only now all of the residents are terrified of him because of thestory in a recent news broadcast about a cat who chose to curl upbeside whoever was most likely to die. The reports speculatedhow the cat knew. Did he sense something? Did he smell somechemical release of a body shutting down? His track record wasconvincing enough that the people who worked in that particularplace paid attention to where he spent his time and the story toldwas convincing enough to ruin poor Harley's life there at PineHaven. Once he was the most beloved and coveted creature inthe place, and now he is greeted by shrieks and screams—slippersand plastic cups tossed his way. He is just a reminder of what iscoming, a feline representation of Joanna herself, the one who appearsbedside at the end and massages their cold darkening feet. Now Lois Flowers's daughter, Kathryn, comes rushing into theroom, a look of relief to find her mother still there. She is wearingher name tag from Bank of America where she is a teller. Shenods at Joanna, no need for words. Joanna has already told herthere isn't much time. Lois Flowers has not opened her eyes ineighteen hours, but her breathing does change when Kathryn'scheek is pressed against hers. "She's listening," Joanna says. "Sheknows you're here." Before Lois stopped talking, she always asked Kathryn howschool was and did she have homework. Joanna offers her seat andgoes to stand by the window. It is important to be present and alsoallow people space and privacy. Outside the sun is shining andthe roses are in full bloom. Mr. Stanley Stone and his son, Ned,are sitting on a bench talking. They were the first family Joannaworked with when she moved back. Mrs. Stone was dying and everyonein the family remained separate and distant. They lived upto the family name, though these days, the son, Ned, always sayshello and acts like he wants to say more to her. Ned was severalyears ahead of her in school and then went to military school soshe never really knew him. She's heard all the sad stories peoplethink of when they see him, though, and now add his father'sdementia on top of everything else. Mr. Stone walks the halls ofPine Haven, often insulting those who make eye contact. NowNed Stone is leaning forward, his head in his hands while his dadstands in front of him shaking his fist. "Mama? Mama, it's me," Kathryn says. "It's Kathryn." Kathryn strokes the hair back from her mother's face and leansin close. She tells her mother how much she loves her and what agood mother she has been. She tells her about a new pair of shoesshe just bought and how she got them for half price and what abeautiful June day it is. "Clang, clang, clang went the trolley,"she sings, and then stops, closes her eyes, and presses her cheekagainst her mother's. She sits smoothing her mother's hair, shakingher head in disbelief that she is here in this moment. How canit be? her expression seems to ask. It's an ordinary Friday morningand Joanna cannot help but imagine what it would have been likeif she had had the chance to be with her own mother, to lean inclose and whisper good-bye, and in that moment there is a changein the air, and in that moment, they all come back to her, all thelast days and last words and last breaths. Kathryn whispers thewords, What'll I do—when—you ... and then it is time; withouta word, everything changes and they know that it is time. Notes about: Lois Elizabeth Malcolm Flowers Born: July 14, 1929 Died: Friday, June 7, 2010, at approximately 10:35 a.m.Pine Haven Retirement Facility Fulton, North Carolina It was a warm sunny day, drapes fully opened to let all the light in, justas Lois Flowers always requested. The room was comfortable; somehowin spite of all the stark nursing apparatus, the room was as warmand welcoming as Lois herself. On the very first day, she invited mein and told me how lovely it was to have me there. Not the ideal situation ,she said, but still lovely to see you . She said she had not known myparents well but sure did like those hot dogs my dad made, especiallythe Chihuahua because whoever heard of putting hot salsa on a plainold hot dog? Lois Flowers loved music and she loved fashion. She hada subscription to Vogue that had never lapsed in over forty years. "Youcould never get away with outfits like that here in Fulton," she said. "Butit is important to know what folks are wearing elsewhere." She lovedturquoise and the way people complimented her when she wore it. "I'ma winter," she liked to say, and referred often to a folder labeled "PersonalColor Harmony" and all the little color samples within. She neverwent shopping for clothes or lipstick without it. Her favorite holiday wasHalloween because she loved to see children having so much fun, butmainly because she liked a good excuse to wear orange even though herchart said that winters do not wear orange well . She decided that evenif she looked horrid, so what? It was Halloween, but , she said, I lookedquite striking in an orange alpaca sweater and black gabardine slacks. It'sthe one time the chart got it wrong. She still had the orange sweater andinsisted that I take it and promise to wear it every October 31. She gaveher daughter, Kathryn, the newer Halloween sweater, a honey-coloredcashmere with black cat and witch hat buttons. Kathryn is a true autumnand that sweater is perfect for her , she said. You can see why I want everythingperfect for her. She suggested I rethink the way I wear my hair andthen put a hand to her mouth and apologized for such a rude remark."This is all new," she told me. "This way I say things I don't mean tosay," and I was able to assure her that I completely understood and thatI am reconsidering what to do with my hair. She smiled and blew me akiss. She said, how about some golden highlights and something layeredto give body? She had matchbooks from every nice restaurant she had ever goneto. Her favorites were Tavern on the Green and Windows on the World.She said she loved eating in New York City. She said her husband teasedher that all it took for her to love a restaurant was for it to be in NewYork City and have lots of windows and a preposition in the name. Shetold Kathryn she needed to get back there, that they should take a tripand see a show. When told that both restaurants were gone, she helda firm position that she still needed to go there. "And so do you!" shesaid, always pulling me into the conversation. "And if there's not a youngman in your life" (she asked me often if I had met anyone interesting),she said that I should just go alone. "Women do that now," she said. "Awoman can go wherever she wants right by herself." Once, while her husband and Kathryn were out at the County Fair,Lois Flowers burned her Maidenform bra in a hibachi in their backyard.When her husband asked what's that smell ? she said she had no earthlyidea. She said it made her feel connected to something big and important,that she stood there in the backyard and pretended she was at arally in New York City. She never told him what she had done, evenwhen she saw him studying the ashes and what looked like a scrap ofnylon. She had never even told anyone about it until that day; she said, I have always felt liberated. Her last words were to Kathryn, spoken two days before she died."Honey, do you have homework?" She had asked that question hundredsof times over the years and if Kathryn did not have homework, the twoof them went shopping. Lois Flowers loved her daughter and she lovedto shop. Kathryn said that all of their important conversations took placeduring those little shopping trips. What to expect when you start yourperiod. Why you got that bad grade. Why a sassy mouth is not a goodthing. How your reputation is your most prized possession. Why youshould always do your best. Why good hygiene is a must. What boysdo and do not have good sense about or control over. These topics wereoften whispered over the lunch counter at Wood's Dimestore whereKathryn got a cherry Coke or a milkshake and Lois got a cup of blackcoffee, her red lipstick staining the fat lip of the heavy white mug. Sometimesthey ate pie or got a hot dog and always they were flanked witha bag or two of things they had found to buy over at Belk or the FashionBar or Smart Shop. "I can't wait to get home and see what all wegot," Lois would say many times, and Kathryn said that once home, hermother kept the excitement going for many more hours with a fashionshow and then talk of all the places Kathryn would go to wear the newthings and all the wonderful things that would happen as a result. "Herpredictions were not often right," Kathryn said. "But she was sincere." (Continues...) Excerpted from Life After Life by JILL McCORKLE . Copyright © 2013 Jill McCorkle. Excerpted by permission of ALGONQUIN BOOKS OF CHAPEL HILL. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. Read more