Excerpt
When I first moved to Maine, I missed my friends from the city so much that I
would invite them to visit me. Shamelessly I lured them, promising steamed
lobsters and blueberry pies, while they grumbled about the long drive and the
probable absence of Starbucks mocha latte once they arrived.
Well, they were right about the Starbucks. Soon enough, though, they caught on:
Eastport (population 2,000), located on Moose Island at the northeastern tip of
the Maine coastline, is so remote it might as well be on Mars. And that, if you
are a high-powered executive type — most of my friends had the kinds of
jobs in which Maalox extra-strength is known only half jokingly as Vitamin M
— can be a selling point.
Before I knew it, all my bedrooms were booked from the first of June right on
through Labor Day weekend, and I began thinking of summer as a fine time to
stock up the refrigerator, put fresh sheets on the beds, and leave town.
But this summer, I had decided, would be different. Anyone who angled for an
invitation was told that the plumbing in my old house had exploded, and by the
way, I was sure that it was only a coincidence, but also we all had hepatitis.
So on the morning when the whole awful business ... read full excerpt from: Repair to Her Grave ebook
