A funny, bittersweet, and wonderfully peopled family saga from the acclaimed author of The Hills at Home , and a fitting farewell to the Hill clan. Great-aunt Lily's pile of a house in Towne, Massachusetts, is once again the gathering place for her far-flung grandnieces and grandnephews. As always, their arrival brings a high summer of comedy and drama. While Lily struggles to get her new business venture off the ground, her granddaughter Sally befriends the local math whiz; brothers and software entrepreneurs Brooks and Rollins turn heads with their supermodel dates; Cousin Julie announces her wedding to a man who may or may not be imaginary; and the family faces the possibility of a final leave-taking of Aunt Ginger, who continues to dish up crucial life wisdom-whether it's sought or not-while reclining on a lawn chair in the sun.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of Science Fiction eBook: July and August|
|Release Date: 06-10-2008|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||July and August|
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July and August
Lily knelt amidst the strawberry vines reaching for the brightest fruit among the stiff crowns of leaves. The ripe ones wanted to be picked; their stems released from the runners and they subsided into her palm, several accumulating there coolly ajuggle before she dropped them into the waiting flat which she was shoving and dragging along as she moved down the lane of bushes (for there came the moment when she reached among the foliage and reached at nothing and so had to move on from the previously prime spot she had just made a nest of). Fixing on a promising new spot speckled with berries like a mother lode of rubies in the rock, she settled into the dusty dirt with a henlike declination, her shoulders rounded above a soft slump of torso and limbs, her head lowered and questing forward nose first, into the foliage as she plucked. Her left hand operated independently of the right, and she was twice productive. Sometimes a berry resisted as her fingers closed round its shoulders, and she tugged at it to no avail. Not yet, Lily would think, her easy rhythm broken, and she would pause to consider just how something knew when it was ready to be taken and how it knew, just as well, when it was not.
She swiped her brow, conveying the rose-and-honey scent that infused the skin of her hands most directly to her nose, and overwhelmed as if by a fermented draught of summer, she toppled over, sitting down hard on her bottom. She recovered herself and looked up and about with the immediate wish of having been left unobserved. Her position was not dignified; then again, she felt more comfortable resting on her haunches in the soft dirt than braced upon her knees with all her weight reliant