Island Girls

Island Girls

by Nancy Thayer


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Nancy Thayer returns to her beloved Nantucket in a highly emotional, wholly entertaining tale of three sisters forced to confront the past over one event-filled summer on the island.

Charming ladies’ man Rory Randall dies with one last trick up his sleeve: His will includes a calculating clause mandating a summer-long reunion for his daughters, all from different marriages—that is, if they hope to inherit his posh Nantucket house. Relations among the three sisters are sour thanks to long-festering jealousies, resentments, and misunderstandings. Arden, a successful television host in Boston, hasn’t been back to the island since her teenage years, when accusations of serious misbehavior led to her banishment. College professor Meg hopes to use her summer to finish a literary biography and avoid an amorous colleague. And secretive Jenny, an IT specialist, faces troubling questions about her identity while longing for her sisters’ acceptance.
To their surprise, the three young women find their newfound sisterhood easier to trust than the men who show up to complicate their lives. And if that weren’t problematic enough, their mothers descend on the island. When yet another visitor drops by the house with shocking news, the past comes screaming back with a vengeance. Having all the women from his life under his seaside roof—and overseeing the subsequent drama of that perfect storm—Rory Randall might just be enjoying a hearty laugh from above.
Nancy Thayer’s novel insightfully illustrates how the push and pull of family altercations make us whole. It’s how the Randall sisters come to forgive, and learn to open their hearts to love.

Praise for Island Girls

“Nancy Thayer is one of my favorite writers, and Island Girls is one of her best. The Randall sisters are like your own family members or your best friends: funny, smart and emotional, infuriating and good-hearted. Here is a book to be savored and passed on to the good women in your life.”New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
“Full of emotion and just plain fun, this novel is delightful.”—Romance Reviews Today

“In this touching summer read, forgiveness benefits both the person bestowing it and the recipient.”Kirkus Reviews

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780345528742
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 06/17/2014
Pages: 336
Sales rank: 522,030
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 7.98(h) x 0.75(d)

About the Author

Nancy Thayer is the New York Times bestselling author of A Nantucket Wedding, Secrets in Summer, The Island House, The Guest Cottage, An Island Christmas, Nantucket Sisters, A Nantucket Christmas, Island Girls, Summer Breeze, Heat Wave, Beachcombers, Summer House, Moon Shell Beach, and The Hot Flash Club. She lives on Nantucket.

Read an Excerpt


Arden’s half-hour television show for Channel Six, a local Boston station, was called Simplify This, which Arden privately knew was a ridiculous title because, really, nothing in life was simple.

She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a vacation, and even when she had a weekend off, she’d worked, tapping away at her laptop or considering DVDs prospective entrants had sent her, or reviewing call sheets or expenses. Even watching television was work because she recorded and savagely studied competing shows, comparing theirs to hers, searching for what she was missing, what she could improve. Reading books and magazines: same thing. Even exercise was work for Arden because she had to keep her thirty-four-year-old body in shape for the merciless cameras that made everyone’s butt look ten inches wider and ten pounds heavier. Same with having her nails and her hair done. She was fairly certain she worked when she slept.

Simplify This expressed her hard-won life’s motto: to simplify your life, to stuff useless old family heirlooms like grandmothers’ tea sets and framed photos of relatives so distant you couldn’t remember their names into neat cardboard boxes, tidily labeled and piled in the attic or basement, or given away to the secondhand shops so you could claim a tax deduction. As you did this, you vanquished the ghosts of the past, the should-haves and could-haves, the expectations of parents, the dreams of childhood. Then your present life was clear and spacious, facing forward, not back.

Arden had spent her adult years simplifying. She had created a television show and her own life’s battle cry out of the desire to simplify her odd, complicated family (if you could even call it that), which was like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces scattered by the winds.

Today she parked her posh little Saab convertible in her reserved spot in the station’s lot, whipped through the glass doors, nodded to the security guard, and strode down the corridor to her private lair. She unlocked it, stepped inside, leaned against the door, and kicked off her high heels.

It was a hot day for early May. Arden stripped off her suit jacket and unzipped her tight skirt. She collapsed in the wonderfully padded chair behind her desk, put her feet up, and listened to her voice mails.

Messages: The dry cleaner said the stain wouldn’t come out of the lavender silk dress. The masseuse reminded her she’d changed the time of her appointment. Marion Cleveland understood that all entries to Arden’s wonderful show should be sent by mail with a DVD, but Marion was a close personal friend of Ernest Hilton, the program director of Channel Six, and so Marion thought Arden wouldn’t mind Marion phoning directly because Marion’s house would be perfect for Simplify This.

Four forceful thuds sounded at her door, and before she could speak, Ernest Hilton barged in, followed by a tiny wide-eyed brunette.

“Ernest.” Arden swung her legs off her desk and straightened in her chair, yanking her shirt down over the undone zipper of her skirt.

“Arden.” Ernest hauled a chair from the corner of the room, moved the stack of folders off it onto the only empty space on Arden’s desk, and set it next to the visitor’s chair facing Arden. He gestured to the size zero to sit.

I’m not going to like this, Arden thought. She knew Ernest well enough after six years of working with him. He was fifty, jovial, and fat, and he never appeared in front of a camera.

“I’d like you to meet Zoey Anderson.”

Arden smiled. “Hi, Zoey.” The young woman was dazzling, with enormous dark eyes and long dark hair clipped loosely to the back of her head. Her dress was a simple sleeveless sheath of linen, at least two sizes smaller than what Arden wore, and Arden was slim.

“So here’s the deal,” Ernest continued, after Zoey gave a brief smile. “Channel Six has been bought out. New management. Now new show.” He held up his hands and spread them in a banner. “Simplify This from A to Z. Get it? From Arden to Zoey.”

Arden’s heart turned to ice.

“What the numbers are telling us, see, Arden, is that we’re not getting any of the younger demographic. You’ve captured the marrieds, the empty nesters, the first new homes in the suburbs, but no one under thirty watches ST.”

“I wouldn’t say no one,” Arden objected.

“Time to move on, any old hoo.” Ernest slapped his hands on his mammoth thighs. “Things get old fast. Gotta change.”

“ST has excellent ratings,” Arden reminded him. “The ratings show—”

“Of course, of course,” Ernest interrupted. “But they could be even better, and they will be once we’ve got Zoey on board. She can work with the under thirties. Who needs help simplifying more than they do? They live in lofts, share apartments, don’t know how to do their taxes or keep records, trip over all the wires for adapters for their thousands of devices. . . .”

Zoey spoke up for the first time. Her voice was high pitched and girly girl. “One week I’ll do the youngies, and the next week you can do the oldies.” Arden was surprised Zoey didn’t put her finger in her dimpled chin.

The youngies, Arden thought, inwardly moaning. The oldies.

Another tap at the door. Once again it opened before Arden could speak. Sandra, her secretary, stuck her head in.

“Sorry, Arden, but you’ve got an emergency phone call.”

Arden stared. She had no husband, no children. She didn’t even own a pet. “Thanks, Sandra.” She nodded toward Ernest. “Excuse me. I’d better take this.”

Her mother spoke. “Arden? Honey?” Her voice sounded different. It didn’t crack with its usual take-charge, You know I’ve found the perfect house for you, Boston real estate agent’s pizzazz.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, darling. But, Arden, . . . your father died.”

“My father died.” Arden repeated in robot tones, trying to make the words compute.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Across from her, Zoey’s enormous eyes filled with real tears.

“He died on the island,” Nora continued. “I’ve spoken with Cyndi and Justine. The funeral will be on Monday.”

“Mom, can I call you back?” Arden asked. “I’ve got people in the office. I need just a minute. . . .”

Her mother clicked off.

“I have to go to Nantucket,” Arden reported in a stunned monotone. “My father died. The funeral is Monday.”

Ernest nodded lugubriously and got to his feet. “Terrible thing, terrible thing,” he intoned, although for all he knew, Arden’s father could have been an ax murderer. “Take all the time you want, Arden. In fact, you’ve got a lot of vacation due you. Why not take a month. Or two. Or three? I’m sure Zoey can handle it. The timing is just right; she can start her part of the series, and then in the fall we can segue you back in.”

Arden sat dumbfounded, staring at her boss and his new, young, discovery. She knew how Ernest worked. With some degree of accuracy, she could interpret his every mouth crimp or eyebrow lift. Terror struck: was she losing control of her own show?

That would be a horrible thing, a betrayal of her and the years she’d put into Simplify This, and into this station, but as Arden sat quietly smoldering, there stood little Zoey with her eyes full of tears.

Lucky little Zoey, who wept when someone’s father died. Obviously, Zoey’s father had never abandoned her and her mother.

Arden could imagine Zoey’s life clearly: parents who adored each other and never divorced, brothers and sisters who were real siblings, a father who was a strong disciplinarian but fair, a mother who attended the school plays where Zoey had the leading role.

Nothing like Arden’s mess of a life. Or like Arden’s oh-so-charming disaster of a father.

She had always assumed she would somehow get more of him later. My God, Rory Randall was only sixty and in good health. He golfed, he played tennis, he swam! How could he be dead? Arden still had so much to say to him, so many difficulties needed to be discussed and settled—he had so much to say to her, she knew he did, she knew! She was his first daughter, his first child. Because of that, she was special! Her mother had made a mistake, someone had gotten their information tangled; Rory Randall might be ill, perhaps in the hospital with a minor heart attack, but not dead.

Emotions shifted within her like fractures in the earth, warning of a tidal wave surging her way. Arden reminded herself she was a pro. Some people in the station considered her practically a goddess; she was gorgeous, clever, energetic, invincible. If she allowed herself to display anything except expertise bordering on disdain, everyone in the station from the janitor to the CEO would think she’d broken down because of Zoey’s arrival. It wouldn’t matter that Arden’s father had died. Everyone knew Arden’s only love was her work.

She would not humiliate herself.

“I’ll pencil in another meeting for next Wednesday,” Arden said decisively. “I’ve got to leave now.”

“Of course.” Ernest and Zoey went out, closing the door respectfully behind them.

Arden zipped up her skirt, then grabbed her purse and jacket. She slipped her feet back into her murderous high heels and trotted out of her office to her secretary’s desk.

“Sandra, I’ve got to go to Nantucket for a week. My father died. You can reach me by cell.”

“Oh,” Sandra began, “I’m so sorry—”

But Arden didn’t trust Sandra. She knew the moment she was out of the building, Sandra would be gossiping about her with the other employees and interns. Really, there was no one you could trust.

Atop those impossible heels, she stalked, head high, out of the station. She got into her car, fastened her seat belt, and drove away. She didn’t allow herself to cry.


Meg Randall sat in her ancient Volvo tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she waited for the car ferry to bump into its place in the pier so the vehicles could be unloaded. She considered herself one of the most moderate, gentle, easygoing women she knew, but at this moment she felt as impatient as Secretariat stalled behind the starting gate.

The steamship Eagle rumbled, shuddered, and groaned into its berth. Chains clanked as the dockworkers raised the ramp into place, jumped aboard, and waved the cars off. With a flash of triumph, Meg drove onto Nantucket.

She was here before Arden!

It had been years since she’d been on the island. She’d never been old enough to drive here before, but her car carried her with perfect assurance down Steamboat Wharf, through the cobblestone grid of town, and along the winding narrow lane of Lily Street, into the driveway of her father’s house.

She stepped out into the sunshine and looked around. The street, with its houses clustered closely together, its narrow brick sidewalk, and tidy trimmed privet hedges, lay in timeless peace beneath the morning sun. It was very quiet.

Meg stretched. She had actually arrived before Arden, and she passionately wanted to have first choice of bedroom. That was why she’d hardly slept last night, and had left Boston before six a.m. to make the nine thirty ferry from Hyannis. Meg was going to claim the back bedroom overlooking the yards, lawns, and rooftops of the other houses in the village.

She beeped her station wagon locked, reached into her pocket, and took out the small key to the front door. It lay in her hand like an icon, like a treasure. It was a treasure. She had never had a key to this house before. Even though she had lived here, she had never belonged.

White clapboard, three stories high, with a blue front door sporting a bronze mermaid door knocker, the house was similar to the others in the neighborhood. The driveway next to the house was short, ending at a privet hedge centered by a rose-covered arbor. Already some of the pale roses were blooming. On either side of the front door, blue hydrangeas blossomed, and pink impatiens spilled from the white window boxes.

A storybook house. A house with many stories.

Meg went up the eight steps to the small porch, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Cleaners had been in; she smelled lemon polish and soap. Ignoring the first floor, she took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. Like all old Nantucket houses, this one rambled oddly around, with rooms that had fireplaces or closets built in at odd angles. But the path to the bedroom, her bedroom, was embroidered into her memory like silk thread on muslin.

Here it was, at the back, with the morning glory wallpaper and two walls of windows gleaming with light. An old-fashioned three-quarter mattress lay on a spool bed, covered with soft old cotton sheets and a patchwork quilt in shades of rose, lemon, and azure, echoing the colors in the hand-hooked rug covering most of the satiny old pine floor. An enormous pine dresser stood against one wall, still adorned with the posy-dotted dresser scarf that had been there when Meg was a child. This room had no closets, only hooks for clothes, but that had never mattered to Meg. She had cherished the room because of the slightly warped, ink-stained wooden desk and creaking cane-bottom chair placed against the back window, where she could sit and write or contemplate the starry sky and dream.

When she was a girl, for a year this had been her bedroom. Then Arden got into one of her jealous snits, claiming that since she was the oldest, she got first dibs. Meg had to take the side bedroom, which should have delighted her. It was twice as large as the odd back bedroom, and actually decorated. The theme was mermaids, and Meg’s mother, Cyndi, who at the time had been the current Mrs. Randall, had gone a bit wild, draping the windows with mermaid curtains, covering the twin beds with mermaid sheets and comforters, softening the floor with a thick Claire Murray mermaid rug. Even the bedside lamps were held up by mermaids. It should have been a young girl’s paradise.

It just made Meg cranky. She wouldn’t give her older, snotty half sister Arden the satisfaction of showing she preferred the back room, and she really wouldn’t beseech Arden to exchange rooms with her. She just accepted it. She was used to acceptance as a way of life.

Then their father married Justine and adopted Jenny, and Meg got to spend one blissful summer there. The next summer was when what Arden and Meg called The Exile began. After Justine took over, Meg and Arden didn’t get invited to spend any time at all at their father’s house, not one summer month, not one summer day.

But that was then, and this was now, a new stage in life, a new day. Years had passed.

Meg would pretend to be selfless, thoughtful, taking the small back bedroom, allowing Arden one of the big front rooms. Jenny had the other front bedroom, years ago done up in pinks and greens.

She needed to unpack quickly, before anyone else got here. She needed to spread her belongings out all over the room, claiming her territory.

What People are Saying About This

“Nancy Thayer is one of my favorite writers, and Island Girls is one of her best. The Randall sisters are like your own family members or your best friends: funny, smart and emotional, infuriating and good-hearted. Here is a book to be savored and passed on to the good women in your life.”—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

“Nancy Thayer has a deep and masterly understanding of love and friendship, of where the two complement and where they collide.”—Elin Hilderbrand

Summer Breeze
“Nancy Thayer is the queen of beach books. . . . All [these characters] are involved in life-changing choices, with all the heart-wrenching decisions such moments demand.”—The Star-Ledger
“An entertaining and lively read that is perfect for summer reading indulgence.”—Wichita Falls Times Record New
Heat Wave
“Vintage Nancy Thayer . . . Enjoy Heat Wave along with a cool drink . . . and plenty of sunblock.”—Huntington News
“A heartwarming novel that will take readers on an emotional roller coaster full of family connections, hysterical summer guests and the drama of everyday life.”—Nantucket Today
“Thayer’s sense of place is powerful, and her words are hung together the way my grandmother used to tat lace.”—Dorothea Benton Frank
“A charming and fun summer read . . . Readers will love this story of family and love.”—The Plain Dealer

Reading Group Guide

Nancy Thayer on Sisters

In a catalog, I read this message needlepointed on a pillow: “Fate made us sisters, Hearts made us friends.” Such a sweet sentiment, but to my way of thinking not entirely accurate. If I needlepointed a pillow, it would read: “Sisters are created by genetics . . . but also by shared memories, passing years, and forgiven arguments.” Okay, probably too much for a pillow.

My inspiration for Island Girls came from the realization that my nine-years-younger, blue-eyed, blond, spoiled little brat of a sister grew up to be one of my best friends. I was fiercely jealous of her when I was young. But as adults, we grew close, partly by sharing humorous memories about our childhood spats and our clueless too-strict parents.

On page 218 of Island Girls, Jenny thinks,

“She had had so little of this fierce thrust and yank of family altercation, the daily squabbling, making up, hugging, laughing, bickering, fussing, stomping, snorting, and simple collapsing side by side on the sofa . . . Now she saw how it made people whole, how life was made of dark and light, yin and yang, quarrels and peace. This was how a person learned to forgive.”

What makes a sister? There are a few women friends whom I consider my sisters, and not just because we’ve shared all-night laughing, sobbing, confessional sessions involving wine and chocolate. Not even because we’ve seen each other through seriously heartbreaking ordeals. Along the way, we’ve also had serious disagreements and snarling arguments—the sort of harrowing tests that make or break a tight connection.

I have a best friend, Jane. In our thirties, Jane and I were hiking in Scotland when we got hopelessly lost. She insisted on reading the map when I knew I could read it the right way. We were hungry, thirsty, cranky, and sure we’d never find our way out. We’d die among the trees, our starved bodies trampled by Highland coos and pecked clean by ravens.

I finally plopped down, exhausted, behind a bush. “Go on,” I told her. “Just go on.”

Jane stomped off.

I thought of all the things about her that made me furious—how she’s disorganized, impatient, and bossy. Then, after a time, I admitted to myself that I’m also disorganized, impatient, and bossy. I staggered through the thickets and eventually found the way out, and my friend was waiting there. We looked at each other with dirt on our faces and leaves in our hair and burst out laughing.

But when we travel, she still insists on reading the map. Jeez Louise!

I have a crush on Russell Crowe. Jane calls Russell Crowe “greasy.” What? Greasy? Russell Crowe? She thinks the same of Sandra Bullock, which drives me out of my mind, because I adore Sandra Bullock. She thinks I don’t get off Nantucket enough. I feel she never comes to visit me on the island. (She was here last week.) She loves jazz. I don’t. She wants to change—in her mind, correct—the punctuation in my books. I want my prose and commas just as they are. She hates breakfast and stays up till one in the morning. I love a hearty breakfast and am snug in bed at ten. Oh, yes, and like my birth sister, she’s younger, blue-eyed, and blond. Eye-catcher. Not that I’m jealous.

Jane is brilliant, articulate, and incredibly generous. She’s endlessly kind. Most of all, she’s hysterically funny. My husband always knows when I’m talking on the phone with Jane because I’m shrieking with laughter. Best of all, we share memories of days long ago when we were divorced from our first husbands and were single women with little children in a conservative town. I baby-sat her daughter the day she got divorced. She traveled with me to Milwaukee where I spoke about my newest book for a library. Later that day, as we crossed the wide street in front of the library, a policeman roared up on his motorcycle and, nearly spitting with fury, arrested us—for jaywalking. She’s the only person with whom I’ve ever been arrested. A definite bonding moment.

She is, as they say, like a sister to me. We share memories, we’ve had disagreements, we’ve laughed till our sides ached. I would do anything for Jane, and I know she would for me—except watch a movie starring Russell Crowe and Sandra Bullock!
But these are minor disagreements. Many women I talk to say that the more profound issues of money, men, and children can be relationship breaking points. If your sister marries a wealthy man who buys a mansion and treats his family to educational cruises to the Galapagos while your own husband has lost his job and your child needs expensive physical therapy, can you still remain true sisters? I asked my daughter, who has only one brother, what makes a sister. She said, “Tactlessness.” I would like to think she meant honesty, and if so she’s right. You can say to a friend, “That dress makes your butt look big,” but only to a sister can you say, “Um, could I point out . . . the clothes you buy for your daughter accentuate her weight problem.” If we can share the pains and sorrows, if we can fight and then forgive, if we can admit we have differences but promise we’ll still be there holding hands in the hospital room or retirement home, if we can be our truest worst and best selves together, we are sisters.

In my new novel, Nantucket Sisters, I explore these questions of belonging, insulting, arguing, separating, and forgiving. Two young women, one wealthy, one not, meet as children and discover they’re kindred spirits. In Island Girls, three women manage to forgive and overcome and forge a lasting sisterhood. In Nantucket Sisters, that wonderful bond is tested by different stresses—circumstance and class and money and men! That’s taking an age-old conflict to a whole new level. Fasten your seatbelt, sister.

1. Arden, Meg, and Jenny come from what can be called a “blended” family. Do you know any families like this?

2. Do you think the relationship of sisters in a family whose parents never divorce is easer/less complicated/more loving than that of sisters in blended families?

3. The flap copy of Island Girls says: “. . . the push and pull of family altercations make us whole.” Do you agree?

4. Did you identify with any of the three young women? If so, which one? Why?

5. Did you identify with any of the three older women? If so, how?

6. How would you match these qualities to these mothers:
Nora                            Romantic
Justine                         Martyred
Cyndi                           Practical

7. Towards the end, the mothers get together at the Nantucket house and end up being friends, or at least friendly. Is this realistic or idealistic?

8. Was Justine justified in exiling the two girls? Was she right to keep the information about Jenny’s natural father from her? Would you have done the same?

9. One of the themes in the book is that of self-esteem. Meg’s lack of self-esteem prevents her from believing Liam could love her. On page 238, Justine’s lack of self-confidence made her want to get Meg and Arden out of her life. Do you think women let the lack of self-esteem influence crucial life choices more than men do?

10. Do you think the women of the Rory Randall fan club made the right decision about helping Marcia? What would you have done?

11. Arden, Meg, and Jenny all have work they love. Which woman do you think is most likely to have children? Which woman is least likely?

12. If you had three months—or even one week—to vacation on Nantucket, away from work, home, and everyday worries, lying on a beach in the sun or walking on the beach looking at the stars, would it change anything in your life?

Customer Reviews

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Island Girls: A Novel 3.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 54 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Superficial and dumb. Guys. Sex. Makeup. Guys. Beach. Bad dad. Champagne. Clothes. Shoes. Ambition. Silly rich mom. Guys. Dysfunctional family. Makeup. Hair. Beach. Clothes. There: you have read the whole book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Nancy Thayer is a very skilled writer. I found this book to be quite moving. Its a story about three sisters confronting their past. The characters are richly drawn and well developed. The plot was very interesting and easy to follow.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Predictable summer read. Had hoped it might be a little better. Three half sisters that seem stamped out of generic molds.
SharonRedfern More than 1 year ago
Complicated relationships set on a beautiful island setting. When their father dies, three estranged step-siblings make their way back to Nantucket to spend the summer in his house. Arden and Meg Randall have not been to the house in years ever since their dad’s third wife got him to “exile” them. Their step sister, Jenny has grown up in the house which causes resentment because Jenny wasn’t even related to Rory Randall. All three women have issues with each other and their three mothers. Besides the house issue, all three women have changes happening in their lives. In Arden’s case, she is having a younger, thinner, woman foisted on her as an assistant on her successful television show. Meg is juggling her work towards tenure at the college where she teaches, a book she wants to write and an unwelcome attraction to a younger colleague. Jenny is looking at having to leave the house she has lived in for years and trying to work collaboratively with a professional rival on a big community project. Her step-father’s death has also re-awakened her questions about her birth father. I really enjoyed this book. It was a pleasant read and I just wanted to hop on a ferry to Nantucket after reading it. Obviously, the focus of the book was going to be the relationship between the three women. I liked that they didn’t solve their problems in a snap and even after they did start to resolve some of their issues, the old hurts had power to anger them again. This is how life really works. I also enjoyed the interactions between the two exes and the widow of the father. There is romance but it is subtle and not the primary theme. And just when you think everything is settled, a surprise pops up. I have always enjoyed Nancy Thayer’s books and this is a great one to add to the collection.
Cecita More than 1 year ago
Horrible. Did not even finish it. Another beautiful house on the beach: picnics, lobster, sailing. Women who are supposed to be smart and yet do not realize men are in love with them. Soap opera dialogue and scenes. Skip it!
jbarr5 More than 1 year ago
Island Girls by Nancy Thayer This book I wanted to read for the pretty cover and I've been an island girl, growing up off the shore of RI where the tourists come tenfold during the summer months and just 100 are there for the winter months. Talks about each of the women now and how they were summoned to the island for their fathers funeral. Each is from a different mother so not all got to be with their father as they grew up. We learn of each of the girls ambitions and their careers and I wonder how they will ever survive in the same house. The terms of the will are a bit ordinary but the girls will give it a try. Arden has a TV show called Simplify This a similar show that Martha Stewart has these days. She hopes to meet others on the island that might help advance her career. Meg teaches at a college on the mainland and has a professor in the English dept the same one she works in, that she has taking a liking to. Jenny is the home body-she likes to cook even. She runs her computer company from her location. The girls have arguments right off the bat: which bedroom to sleep in, everybody wants the same one, schedules for cleaning and cooking... they all miss him... We get a feel of the island life when some go out on dates with men, sailing, swimming and dining out or dressing up going to cocktail parties. Title has such a cool meaning to the girls, after all this time has gone by. Love how the sisters are working together...fascinating watching they do their career work, in action. when the 3 woman get their mothers to the house on the island for one day/night things are becoming very interesting to say the least... Love their talk of staging the house and decluttering. I received this book from Edleweisse and Ballantine Books in exchange for an honest review.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Just finished reading this over the weekend. Another great novel from Nancy Thayer......Can't wait for the next one.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book was awful! If you looking for a book with NO plot with NO point the please buy this book. I found this book to be dull, dry and no fun. I read a lot of "chick-lit" and this was a wast of my time. I read the entire thing to see if it would ever get better and no the ending is as bad as the opening. 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved the story about the three sisters coming together after there father died. Loved the setting of the book and how everyone comes back together to be a family. Outstanding story. Didnt want it to end.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A lovely, enjoyable, relaxing, sweet read.
Atthebeach More than 1 year ago
Truly a chick lit beach read. It's fun if you don't want to think too much. Interesting scenario as the set-up. Pretty hard to believe how it turns out, but if you suspend reality and just go with the flow, it's possible. It's a fun read.
grendelSC More than 1 year ago
Enjoyed it; flowed smoothly. I like Nancy Thayer's stories. You get engrossed quickly.
Katykins More than 1 year ago
Really enjoyed this book. Ending was great!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
In this book Nancy Thayer explores the stormy relationships of three young women united by a common love of their recently deceased father/step father. This book is a nice escape, relatively light .and doesn't draw you so far into the characters that you don't want to come up for happy hour at the beach.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
That was one of the best summer books I've ever read!! I absolutely enjoyed it!!! I cannot believe someone actually hated this book. It was a delight & it was meant to be light and a fun read!!
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
bookluvr35SL More than 1 year ago
Rory Randall died unexpectedly at the age of 60, leaving 2 ex-wives, a current wife, and 3 daughters.  Arden produces a successful TV show, her half-sister Meg is a professor at a community college, and their step-sister Jenny is a computer genius.  The three girls have been estranged for years, but due to a stipulation in the will, the girls must spend the summer in their Nantucket beach house before they can sell it and split the proceeds.  Those three months give the girls the closure they need to become true sisters once again.  Island Girls is great beach read!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Not one of the authors best.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Not much to the story. I was bored
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Can I b ur gf?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago