With Entering Normal and Leaving Eden , Anne LeClaire brilliantly probed the interior lives of women–friends, mothers, daughters–bringing to vivid life the conflict, surprises, and resilience of their complex relationships. Now in her new novel, The Law of Bound Hearts , LeClaire focuses her gaze on sisters, with the same compassion, insight, and startling breadth of emotion.
Sisters Libby and Sam Lewis were inseparable as little girls, best friends and soul mates. But a terrible event during in their 30s completely shatters their tender connection. Now the sisters live entirely unconnected lives. Happily married, Libby manages a spotless household, clings to schedules, and maintains a vigorous exercise routine; a pastry chef who harbors no romantic delusions, Sam runs a successful decorative cake business out of her newly purchased Victorian home. Neither wishes to be the first to reach out and make amends–until a sobering turn of events forces action.
Libby discovers she has contracted a rare kidney disease that could end her life. A transplant will increase her chances for survival. Sam would be the ideal donor. But Libby is stubborn and unwilling to seek help from others. Much to the dismay of her husband, she is resolved to face her illness alone. Sam avoids the sentimental and refuses to allow Libby back in her life. Once she knows the truth, will Sam bury the past and reach out to her estranged sister?
Anne LeClaire’s The Law of Bound Hearts is an extraordinary story of family that lingers in the mind. It is a novel about courage, betrayal, and forgiveness that penetrates the very core of love.
From the Hardcover edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Law of Bound Hearts|
|Release Date: 12-18-2007|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
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The Law of Bound Hearts
Autumn finally came again. The world slowed down and the prairie air grew clear. As if this year were the same as any other, Elizabeth Barnett performed her annual chores. She shopped and packed and got the twins off to their respective colleges. She sorted and washed the summer cottons and packed them away. She replaced the batteries in all the smoke detectors and emptied and stored the terra-cotta planters that lined the front steps and back patio (twenty in all). She arranged with the yard service to rake and bag fallen leaves, to mulch the perennial beds against the coming winter. Days, functioning at a certain level of competence, she managed for the most part to fend off panic. Nights—when even sound became a fear—nights were different.
She woke to the clutch of panic in her throat, to a racing heart and sweat-dampened gown. It was a moment before she could breathe normally again. Even before she turned and slid her palm over the linen on Richard’s side of the bed, even before she touched the cool sheet, bereft of his body heat, she knew he was gone. His absence provoked in her commingled feelings of betrayal and relief, an emotional dichotomy typical of her lately. She wanted connection but pursued isolation, was obsessed with her illness but found refuge in denial, wanted the support and understanding of friends but refused to let Richard tell them she was sick.
Finally she rose and padded barefoot down the hall. His study door was ajar and she nudged it open an inch more. He had opened the drapes. Moonlight poured in, providing the room’s sole illumination. His back was to her, and there was a snifter of brandy at his side. He was listening to Bach. T...