Jenny and Amanda Ruth were best friends in a small Alabama town until eighteen-years-old Amanda Ruth was murdered. Now, fourteen years later, Jenny has traveled with her husband to China to scatter Amanda Ruth’s ashes and finally fulfill her friend’s dream of visiting her Chinese father’s homeland. It’s also, Jenny hopes, an opportunity to repair her own troubled marriage. But as she journeys through a foreign landscape, the guilty secrets of Jenny’s past rise up and her life will be inexorably altered.
From the New York Times bestselling author of The Year of Fog (“Highly recommended [for fans of] authors like Jodi Picoult and Jacquelyn Mitchard” — Library Journal , starred review) and No One You Know (“Luminous . . . will keep you thinking long after the last page has been turned”— Family Circle ), Michelle Richmond’s stunning novel captivates with its depiction of the powerful intimacies of marriage, friendship, and family that shape our paths and the bonds of home that buoy us—wherever home may be.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: Dream of the Blue Room|
|Release Date: 02-16-2010|
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|Parent title||Dream of the Blue Room|
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Dream of the Blue Room
In the dream Amanda Ruth is not dead, she is only sleeping. We are lying under a sycamore tree beside a rugged mountain path. The grass around us is littered with the pits of fruits we have eaten: peaches and figs, plums and nectarines. Her fingers are still wet from our feast. In the cool mountain light, they glisten. So elegantly she sleeps, one leg bent slightly beneath her, one arm flung wide on the grass.
I slide the strap of her sundress off her smooth brown shoulder. She does not stir. All down the front of her dress are small blue buttons. I undo them one by one, careful not to wake her. A fine rain begins to fall. I feel her fingers in my hair and discover that she is awake, smiling, watching me.
"You look different," I say. "Older."
"Yes. Thirty-two, now."
"But I thought you had died."
"Died?" she says. "What do you mean?"
I tell her never-mind. I tell her it was only a dream. She asks me to describe it. I say, "You were dead. You'd been dead for a long time. I missed you terribly. I went to China to find you."
"No," she says. "You went to China to lose me."
"That's right. To let go of you. But now it doesn't matter."
The wind rustles the tree above us; raindrops are slapping the leaves, the sound getting increasingly louder. Soon, the drops will work their way down through the branches and begin to fall on us.
"You went to China?"
"And what did you see?"
"Well," I close my eyes, trying to remember, trying to come up with some answer, some truth that will satisfy her.
"Was it wonderful?"
"Yes," I want to say. I want to tell her that China is everything she dreamt it ...