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Ten Tortures for Courtney Procter 1. Tell her she's finally growing into her face. 2. Organize a boycott of her show's sponsors. 3. Send her a silicon recall notice. 4. Get a convict to mail her fan letters from prison. 5. Tell everyone who she used to date-and why he dumped her. "... officially ruled an accident, but the sleepy coastal town of Paradise still holds one woman responsible for the tragedy that took prominent politician Victor Winslow- his beautiful young widow, Sandra. Despite last night's ruling by the state medical examiner, unsettling questions persist." The bluish image flickered as the camera tightened its shot on the blond TV reporter. "Witnesses who last saw State Senator Winslow alive on the night of February ninth have testified that he was engaged in a heated argument with his wife. An anonymous caller reported that the Winslows' car was traveling at a high rate of speed when it spun out of control on Sequonset Bridge and plunged into the Sound.
"Investigators later discovered a bullet embedded in the car's dashboard. Traces of the victim's blood were detected on Mrs. Winslow's clothing. "None of this was sufficient to satisfy the state's burden of proof that a murder occurred, but this reporter promises to investigate further the trail leading to the late Senator Winslow's wife, the sole beneficiary of a large life insurance policy ... "And so Sandra Winslow, known locally as the Black Widow of Blue Moon Beach, is left with only her conscience for company. This is Courtney Procter, WRIQ News." Sandra Winslow set down her journal and pen. Picking up the remote control, she aimed it at the morning newscaster's taut, surgically enhanced face. "Bang," she said, pressing the OFF button. "You're dead. What part of 'ruled an accident' didn't you get, Courtney Proctologist?" She stood and walked to the broad, bow-front window, with her arms wrapped around the emptiness inside her. She savored a fragile sense of triumph-finally, the accident ruling had come through-but the local news report left the door open for trouble. No matter what the ME ruled, there were those who would always hold her responsible. A harsh wind, on the leading edge of the coming storm, flattened the clacking dune grasses and churned the waters of the Sound into a froth. A handcrafted suncatcher in the shape of a bird vibrated against the windowpane, stirring memories she couldn't escape. Sandra felt so far away from the person she'd once been, and not just because she'd moved into the old beach house after being released from the hospital. Only a year go, she'd sat at the head table of the Newport Marina ballroom, wearing a pink knitted suit with black trim and matching shoes, her gloved hands folded in her lap. With his trademark panache, her husband held forth from the podium, speaking with compelling eloquence of his commitment to the citizens who had just elected him to a second term. He'd spoken of service and gratitude and family. And love. When Victor spoke of love, he could make even the most jaded heart believe. He'd singled Sandra out as his steady anchor in the shifting seas of politics. His family and friends surrounded her in a warm cocoon of affection, as if she were truly one of them. After the speech, she sipped coffee, shared small talk and smiles, held other women's babies and stood proudly at the side of her famous husband.
The man who was missing, and now presumed dead. She stared out the window, tucking ink-smudged hands into the back pockets of her jeans. For Sandra, there was no "presumed" about Victor's death. She knew. The wounded morning sky, as lackluster as midwinter itself, grew duller rather than brighter with the coming day. Looking out over the gray-shadowed beach, she felt a piercing loneliness, so sharp and cold that she flinched and hugged the oversized sweater tighter around her. Victor's sweater. She shut her eyes and inhaled with a shudder of emotion. It still smelled of him. Faintly spicy and clean and tinged with ... him. Just him. Damn Victor. How could he have done this, told her those things and then died on her? One minute you love someone, she thought, you believe you're tied to him forever, the next minute fate cuts you loose. And all the disillusionment and shattered hopes had nowhere to go. She picked up the notebook again, flipped the page and read over her notes for the story she was working on. Her editor had already granted a sixty-day extension, and she was coming to the end of the second deadline. If she didn't turn in the manuscript soon, she'd have to repay the money they'd advanced her to write the novel in the first place. The money-modest sum that it was-had been spent long ago on luxuries such as groceries and legal fees. Even though she'd never been charged with a crime, she had incurred an amazing sum of attorneys' fees. Now, at last, she would be entitled to the life insurance settlement. The idea of profiting from Victor's death made her feel queasy. But she had to do something, had to pick up her life and figure out a way to go on. It was torture for her to live in Paradise, among the people who had adored her husband. Sometimes she even went up the road to Wakefield to run errands simply because she didn't want to encounter anyone who had known Victor. The trouble was, everyone knew Victor. Thanks to his family name and the swift incandescence of his political career, followed by his spectacular demise, the whole state knew him now. Sandra would have to go somewhere far away to escape his shadow. And now, finally, she had a chance to do that. Something unexpected was happening inside her. She was free, unattached. She had nothing to hold her now-not Victor's political calendar, certainly not any social obligations. A soaring sense of freedom rose like a raft of birds from a marsh. Now that the death investigation was finally over, she edged toward a decision that had been hovering in her mind for months. She could fix up the place, sell it, hit the road. Her destination didn't seem to matter as much as the urge to run. She picked up a flyer she'd found on a community bulletin board outside the post office. "Paradise Construction- Restoration and Remodeling. Bonded and Insured. References." Grabbing the phone before she could change her mind, she dialed the number and got-not surprisingly- a voice-mail message. Sandra hesitated, not sure what to say. Her house was in a state of extreme disrepair. She needed a specialist. She settled for leaving the address and phone number. Outside, gale-force winds tore at the wild sea roses under the window. Thorns scratched across the wavy, sleet-smeared glass pane. No wonder ships lost their way in these waters; she could barely detect the slow blink of the Point Judith lighthouse in the distance. The bone-deep, icy cold of the winter storm reached invisible fingers through the cracks and chinks in the old house. Shivering, she picked up a log for the woodstove. It was the last one in the bin. The stove door opened with a rusty yawn, and she laid the log on the embers. Aiming the bellows, she pumped away until the glowing heart of the coals reddened and then burst into little tongues of flame licking along the underside of the log. Not so long ago, she hadn't known the first thing about heating with a wood-stove. Now it was as routine as brushing her teeth. As the blaze took hold, she adjusted the vents and picked up her journal again. Ten Advantages to Being Poor 1. You learn to build fires for warmth. 2. You can tell phone solicitors to- Who was she kidding? She'd never come up with ten. Setting aside the messy notebook, she glared at the small, furious fire. She felt like the Little Match Girl, burning up her whole supply of matches. Hans Christian Andersen's heroine had been at her wits' end, her survival in question. Sandra imagined herself with no heat, the last bit of firewood gone, curled into a fetal position in front of the stove. Who would find her there? She imagined weathered bones being discovered years in the future, when her memory was no more than a scandalous blot on the history of the town and some developer hired a wrecking crew to demolish the ancient house and replace it with a high-rise of oceanfront condos. She wondered if other people had these thoughts when they ran out of firewood.
Some of the local teenagers earned money by splitting and stacking wood for the summer people, who liked to build bonfires on the beach for clam bakes. But despite the new ruling, Sandra was pretty certain she wouldn't find anyone willing to split wood for her, not in this town. The icy wind crescendoed, howling under the eaves of the old beach house, entering through the cracks, making a mockery of the tepid heat from the last stick of wood in the stove. The big house had been in her father's family for generations, built more than a century ago as a summer retreat. Ever since, the old place had sat abandoned and neglected, like a bleached skull at the edge of nowhere. Although the house wasn't insulated for winter visitors, Sandra had no choice but to live here now. At least she had a roof over her head. But her husband was dead and no matter what the truth was, everyone blamed her. She held secrets in her heart that she would take to the grave. Staring out the rain-lashed window again, she tried not to feel the cold drilling into her bones. The storm had pummeled the dead tangles of brier in the field beside her house. On the beach, the wrack line lay thick with whatever flotsam the waves had driven home. A delicate rime of frost silvered everything-the dunes, the rocks, the windows of the house she couldn't afford to heat. Heat. This was getting ridiculous. She put on a heavy plaid coat, stuffed her feet into gumboots and headed outside. The rain had slacked off, but the wind blew sharply across the property. As she crossed the driveway toward the garage and shed, a flutter of paper at the side of the road caught her eye.
When the rumors had started, she used to find the occasional roll of toilet paper hurled from a car, draping the overgrown hedge by her mailbox. She ought to be used to the humiliation by now, but she wasn't. Hers was a typical rural mailbox, poking out from a hedge of wild roses-nothing special, not even marked with a name. Just the house number. The small metal box lay torn to bits in the ditch beside the road. The crooked red signal flag lay in the middle of the pavement, pointing south. The galvanized steel housing had been reduced to twisted wreckage-a plane crash in miniature. "My God," Sandra said through chattering teeth. "Now what?" Firecrackers; probably some local kid's cherry bomb or M-80. Why hadn't she heard them? Maybe last night's storm had drowned out the noise, or perhaps she'd mistaken the sound for a car backfiring. Driven by the bitter wind, the mail rolled and tumbled along the ditch and roadside. She recognized the cover of a lingerie catalog she never ordered from, a sheaf of oil-change coupons she would forget to use until they expired, and the daily credit card solicitation. Even when the whole world was against you, the credit card companies still wanted you to shop. Kicking the debris around with the toe of her boot, she recognized a telltale scrap of pale blue and picked it up. The paper was the color of a check from her literary agency. Sure enough, there had been a check in the box. When Victor was alive, her modest earnings had been a rather gratifying bonus. Now that he was gone, the money meant survival. She suspected the vandals didn't give a rat's ass about her survival. People still thought she was the Black Widow. Sandra crushed the paper in her hand. Enough. She'd had enough. Something cracked inside her and slowly broke apart like an iceberg shoving up against a rock. Enough. At the lean-to by the garage, she glared at the stack of fat, seasoned logs. Flinging the torn check aside, she grabbed the maul from its hook, used her foot to roll a log onto the colorless grass and set it upright. She brought the blade of the maul down squarely into the heart of the log, splitting it apart. The pith of the wood was pale, slightly moist, fragrant with a clean scent. Setting up each broken half, she split them one after another, a little surprised by her deadly accuracy with the maul. Finally she picked up each split quarter and tossed it into the rusty wheelbarrow to take back to the house. She moved on to the next log, and then the next, whaling away with a sense of purpose as hot and clean as new fire. She had no notion of time passing, though the stack of quartered firewood in the wheelbarrow grew steadily. She was like a machine, pulling out a log, splitting it, splitting it again until sweat mingled with the tears pouring down her face.
Excerpted from Passing Through Paradise by Susan Wiggs Copyright ©2002 by Susan Wiggs. Excerpted by permission.
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2. In the first scene of the book, we see Sandra making a list about a TV reporter and chopping firewood. What do these two things tell us about her character? What would you say are her strengths and her weaknesses? Do you think her decision to sell her house and leave town is courageous? Are there other options she could have considered?
3. The tragedy of Victor Winslow's disappearance is officially ruled an accident, yet the locals persist in believing that Sandra murdered her husband. Why? Does the strength of their belief in Sandra's guilt justify their actions toward her? How far would you go to right a wrong that you think has been committed?
4. Mike Malloy doesn't know what to expect when he meets his high school buddy's widow, Sandra. What is his first impression of her? How does this impression change over the course of the book? If Mike didn't need work so badly, do you think he would have declined the job of restoring Sandra's house?
5. At one point Mike describes Lenny and Gloria as having "what a marriage should be." Why does Mike say this? What happened to him in his marriage? Many times in the story the idea of the "perfect marriage" arises. What is the perfect marriage? How does Sandra feel after hearing her parents may divorce? Do you think her mother has good enough reasons to leave her husband?
6. Sandra's books are available by request only at the library due to questionable material in her books. What is the "questionable material"? Did it bother Mike's daughter, Mary Margaret? Do you think the material warrants censorship? How do you feel about Sandra's attitude about the censorship of her books?
7. Mike conducts a secret investigation into the night of Victor's disappearance. Why? What role do his feelings for Sandra play? Do those feelings warrant his going behind her back? When is "I'm doing it for your own good" not an acceptable reason for taking a particular course of action?
8. Mike's ex-wife, Angela, is still a part of Mike's life. In what way do they remain connected? When Angela confronts Sandra, what does Sandra do? What explanation does Mike have for Angela's behavior? If she is happy with her new marriage, why does she act this way?
9. When Victor reveals the truth about himself, his parents reject him. How would you react to such a revelation from your child or someone close to you? Do you think Victor's parents' standing in the community will be affected? His father tells him, "You should never have come back." Is there ever a situ-ation when not knowing the truth is better?
10. Characters in the book make sacrifices and changes in the name of love: Sandra hides Victor's secret, Mike doesn't attend his daughter's confirmation, Sandra's father learns Spanish. What are you willing to do for love?
Posted February 21, 2012
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Posted July 23, 2013
I only wish the transfer to e-book format had been done more carefully! The text is littered with hyphens where they don't belong, enough to be a bit distracting. There were even a few instances of the pages not turning in order. Still loved the book, but...
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Posted December 6, 2014
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Posted April 26, 2013
I love a book that keeps drawing me back to it and makes be think about it when I'm away. This one totally did that for me. Passing Through Paradise is not part of a series, which I appreciate once in awhile.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted February 21, 2013
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Posted December 28, 2011
One of my all time favorite books ever is Table for Five written by Susan Wiggs. Just Breathe - was a gift to read What is so tremendous about her writing is that the characters are always complex and have lived through difficult situations yet have come out stronger for them. If I could write like anyone - it would be this woman, her modern romances are simply great.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted September 24, 2008
Posted August 11, 2008
I found this book enjoyable and you could feel the pain that she was going through. I felt that her husband left her with a hard road to go down, I was just glad she found some support.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 8, 2005
This book is amazing!!! The characters are so easy to fall in love with! You can almost step onto the page and be there with the characters. Another wonderful story by Susan!!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 30, 2004
I just finished this book. I put it down long enough to take my kids to the park out of guilt since I spent most of the day with my nose buried in it. I found this book to be full of romance, sadness, despair, hope, and suspense and I totally fell in love with the hero, Mike Malloy. I recommend this book as a very good escape read.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 12, 2003
A friend told me this was a good book, but I think it is the best one I have ever read. This author is just the greatest. I have read so many of her wonderful books. This was interesting, and just held my interest thru the whole thing. Susan Wiggs has become one of my favorites. She knows how to tell a story and her characters are just wonderful. You have missed a lot if you don't read this book.It is a must.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted January 20, 2002
Many of the residents of Paradise, Rhode Island observed the intense argument between Sandra and Victor Winslow. When their car crashed through a safety railing into the nearby Sound, Sandra survived, but Victor apparently died though his body was never found. Ruled an accident, most locals encouraged by the media branded Sandra as the Black Widow of Blue Moon Beach. Even her friends believe she got away with the murder of their favorite son, a state legislator. <P>Two years later, Sandra remains the town pariah. She decides to sell her family home, but knows the historical house needs costly renovation. Victor¿s friend Mike Malloy needs the money badly after getting killed during a divorce. Though he believes Sandra murdered his pal and he does not really want the job, he accepts the work for the fee he will earn. As he becomes acquainted with Sandra, he realizes that she could never have killed her husband. As he falls in love with her, he wants to prove her innocence not for his own need, but for hers. <P> PASSING THROUGH PARADISE is an engaging romantic suspense that never stops entertaining readers. The story line takes off once Mike makes up his mind to prove to the world what is heart knows. Sandra is innocent. Though Sandra should have filed a liable suit against an obnoxious reporter and a final twist leaves a key character seem disjointed, the lead couple makes the tale succeed. Known for her fabulous historicals, Susan Wiggs scores with this superb thriller that hooks the audience from beginning to end. <P>Harriet KlausnerWas this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 6, 2002
This one is not to be missed. Wonderful characters, romance, mystery and local New England color. I am a huge fan of contempory romance writers Sandra Brown, Linda Howard, Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Elizabeth Lowell. This book is right up there with anything they have written. I'm not familiar with Susan Wiggs but I plan to search out more of her books.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted January 30, 2002
Well-known for her historical romances, author Susan Wiggs once again delves into the contemporary venue in this moving read complete with healing hearts and and simmering mystery. <br><br> Widow Sandra Winslow moves into the old beach home along the coast of Rhode Island. The home, given to her by her grandfather, is all that she has left after the death of her husband, Victor Winslow. By all accounts, Victor was the consummate politician and perfect husband and son. Only Sandra knows what happened on the bridge that fateful February when the car she was driving careened off the bridge and landed in the frigid water below. Though Victor¿s body was never found, Sandra survived and was exonerated at the inquest. But the townspeople and media feel otherwise as the author credibly exhibits their disdain, making it believable and not overdone. <br><br> Feeling the pressure to start anew, Sandra enlist the aid of ¿handyman¿ Mike Malloy to restore the beach home so that she can sell it and move on. But she wasn¿t bargaining on her attraction to Mike, at first in an elemental way she hasn¿t felt before. There is more than just physical desire, though, as Ms. Wiggs develops their attraction in such a way that they reinforce the empty spaces in each other¿s lives. <br><br> Their emotional baggage seems almost insurmountable, with Mike¿s difficulties as a single divorced dad, and Sandra¿s conflicting feelings concerning her apparently happy marriage. In a compelling parallel to Sandra¿s own parents, who are considering divorce, Mike and Sandra must learn to work through each others differences to achieve a relationship worth saving. Complex characters, a hunky hero, and a constant undercurrent of mystery, lend creativity to this novel that is so much more than a formulaic romance. A must read!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.