The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted

The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted

by Bridget Asher

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Overview

The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted by Bridget Asher

“Every good love story has another love hiding within it.”
 
Brokenhearted and still mourning the loss of her husband, Heidi travels with Abbott, her obsessive-compulsive seven-year-old son, and Charlotte, her jaded sixteen-year-old niece, to the small village of Puyloubier in the south of France, where a crumbling stone house may be responsible for mending hearts since before World War II.

There, Charlotte confesses a shocking secret, and Heidi learns the truth about her mother’s “lost summer” when Heidi was a child. As three generations collide with one another, with the neighbor who seems to know all of their family skeletons, and with an enigmatic Frenchman, Heidi, Charlotte, and Abbot journey through love, loss, and healing amid the vineyards, warm winds and delicious food of Provence. Can the magic of the house heal Heidi’s heart, too?

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780385343916
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 03/29/2011
Pages: 448
Sales rank: 650,657
Product dimensions: 5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.90(d)

About the Author

Bridget Asher is the author of My Husband's Sweethearts and The Pretend Wife. She lives on the Florida panhandle but is always happy to do research in Provence.

Read an Excerpt

Ever since Henry’s death, I’d been losing things.
 
I lost keys, sunglasses, checkbooks. I lost a spatula and found it in the freezer, along with a bag of grated cheese.
 
I lost a note to Abbot’s third-grade teacher explaining how I’d lost his homework.
 
I lost the caps to toothpaste and jelly jars. I put these things away open-mouthed, lidless, airing. I lost hairbrushes and shoes—not just one of a pair, but both.
 
I left jackets behind in restaurants, my pocketbook under my seat at the movies, my keys on the checkout counter of the drugstore—afterward, I sat in my car for a moment, disoriented, trying to place exactly what was wrong and then trudged back into the store, where the checkout girl jingled them for me above her head.
 
I got calls from people who were kind enough to return things. And when things were gone—just gone—I retraced my steps and then got lost myself. Why am I here at this mini mart? Why am I back at the deli counter?
 
I lost track of friends. They had babies, defended dissertations, had art showings and dinner parties and backyard barbecues …
 
Most of all, I lost track of large swaths of time. Kids at Abbot’s bus stop and in the neighborhood and in his class and on his Little League team kept inching taller all around me. Abbot kept growing, too. That was the hardest to take.
 
I also lost track of small pieces of time—late mornings, evenings. Sometimes I would look up and it was suddenly dark outside, as if someone had flipped a switch. The fact of the matter was, life charged on without me. This realization still caught me off guard even two years later, although by this point it had become a habit, a simple unavoidable fact: The world charged on and I did not.
 
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me that Abbot and I were running late for the bridesmaid bonding on the morning of my sister’s wedding. We had spent the morning playing Apples to Apples, interrupted by phone calls from the Cake Shop.
 
“Jude … Jude, slow down. Five hundred lemon tarts?” I stood up from the couch where Abbot was eating his third freezer pop of the morning—the kind that come in vivid colors packaged in plastic tubes that you have to snip with scissors and that sometimes make you cough. Even this detail is pained: Abbot and I had been reduced to eating frozen juice in plastic. “No, no, I’m sure,” I continued. “I would have written down the order. At least … Shit. This is probably my fault. Do you want me to come in?”
 
Henry hadn’t only been my husband; he’d also been my business partner. I’d grown up making delicate pastries, thinking of food as a kind of art, but Henry had convinced me that food is love. We’d met during culinary school, and shortly after Abbot was born we’d embarked on another labor of love: the Cake Shop.
 
Jude had been with us from the start. She was a single mom—petite, mouthy, with short bleached-out hair and a heart-shaped face—that strange combination of beauty and toughness. She was our first hire and had a natural flair, a great sense of design, and marketing savvy. After Henry’s death, she’d stepped up. Henry had been the one to handle the business side of things, and I’d have lost the shop, I’m quite sure, if it weren’t for Jude. Jude became the guiding force, my rudder. She kept things going.
 
I was about to tell Jude that I’d be at the shop in half an hour when Abbot reached up and tugged on my sleeve. He pointed at the watch he wore, its face in the shape of a baseball. Perhaps as a result of my spaciness, Abbot insisted on keeping his own time.
 
When I realized that it was now after noon, I shouted, “The wedding! I’m so sorry! I’ve got to go!” then hung up the phone.
 
Abbot, wide-eyed, said, “Auntie Elysius is going to be so mad!” He leaned over to scratch a mosquito bite on his ankle. He was wearing his short white sports socks and his ankle looked like it had a golfer’s tan, but really it was dirt.
 
“Not if we hurry!” I said. “And grab some calamine lotion so you don’t itch during the ceremony.”
 
We darted around our little three-bedroom bungalow madly. I found one of my heels in the closet and the other in Abbot’s bedroom in a big tub of Legos. Abbot was wrestling on his rented tux. He struggled with the tiny cuff buttons, searching for the clip-on tie and cummerbund—he’d chosen red because it was the color that Henry had worn at our wedding. I wasn’t sure that was healthy, but didn’t want to draw attention to it.
 
I threw on makeup and slipped the bridesmaid’s dress over my head, grateful that the dress wasn’t your typical bridesmaid’s horror show—my sister had exquisite taste, and this was the most expensive dress I’d ever worn, including my own wedding dress.
 
When I’d declined the role of Elysius’s matron of honor—or was it, to be grimly accurate, widow of honor?—my sister had been visibly relieved. She knew that I’d only gum up the works. In a heartbeat, she’d called an old college friend with a marketing degree, and I was happily demoted to bridesmaid. Abbot had been enlisted as the ring bearer, and to be honest, I didn’t even feel like I was up for the role of mother-of-the-ring-bearer. I’d made a last-minute excuse to get out of the rehearsal dinner the night before and that day’s spa treatment and group hair appointment. When your husband has died, you’re allowed to just say, “I can’t make it. I’m so sorry.” If your husband died in a car accident, like mine, you’re allowed to say, “I just can’t drive today.” You can simply shake your head and whisper, “Sorry.” And people excuse you, immediately, as if this is the least they can do for you. And perhaps it is.
 
This was wearing on my sister, however. She’d made me promise that I would be at her house two hours before the wedding. There was a strict agenda that we had to stick to, and it included drinking mimosas with all of the bridesmaids while each gave an intimate little toast. Elysius likes it when the world finds her as its proper axis. I couldn’t judge her for that; I was painfully aware of how selfish my grief was. My eight-year-old son had lost his father. Henry’s parents had lost their son. And Henry lost his life. What right did I have to use Henry’s death as an excuse—time and again—to check out?
 
“Can I bring my snorkel stuff?” Abbot called down the hallway.
 
“Pack an overnight bag and bring the gear,” I said, shoving things into a small suitcase of my own. My sister lived only twenty minutes away—a quick ride from Tallahassee to the countryside in Capps—but she wanted family to spend the night. It was an opportunity to capture my mother’s attention and mine and hold it for as long as possible—to relive the strong bond the three of us had once had. “You can snorkel in the morning with Pop-pop.”
 
Abbot ran out of his bedroom, sliding down the hall to my doorway, still wearing his sports socks. He was holding the cummerbund in one hand and the clip-on bow tie in the other. “I can’t get these to stick on!” he said. His starched collar was sticking up by his cheeks, like the Halloween he dressed as Count Dracula.
 
“Don’t worry about it. Just bring it all.” I was fussing with the clasp of a string of pearls my mother had lent me for the occasion. “There will be ladies there with nervous energy and nothing to do. They’ll fix you up.”
 
“Where will you be?” he asked with an edge of anxiety in his voice. Since Henry’s death, Abbot had become a worrier. He’d started rubbing his hands together, a new tic—a little frenzy, the charade of a vigorous hand-washing. He’d become a germophobe. We’d seen a therapist, but it hadn’t helped. He did this when he was anxious and also when he sensed I was brooding. I tried not to brood in front him, but it turned out that I wasn’t good at faking chipper, and my fake chipperness made him more nervous than my brooding—a vicious cycle. Now that his father was gone, did he feel more vulnerable in the world? I did.
 
“I’ll be with the other bridesmaids doing mandatory bridesmaidish things,” I reassured him. It was at this moment that I remembered that I was supposed to have my toast prepared. I’d written a toast on a napkin in the kitchen and, of course, had since lost it and now couldn’t remember anything I’d written. “What nice things should I say about Auntie Elysius? I have to come up with something for a toast.”
 
“She has very white teeth and buys very good presents,” Abbot said.
 
“Beauty and generosity,” I said. “I can work with that. This is going to all be fine. We’re going to enjoy ourselves!”
 

Reading Group Guide

1.   Heidi’s mother believes strongly that the house in Provence has magical qualities that help people make decisions and see their lives clearly.  Have you ever heard stories about an object or place similar to the love stories that Heidi’s mother tells her and Elysius when they’re growing up? Do you believe that a place can heal?
 
2.  One of the first lines of the book is “Every good love story has another love hiding within it.” What do you think the author means by that? Do you agree?
 
3.  Discuss Abbot’s obsessive compulsiveness.  In what ways does he use his tics as a coping mechanism?  In what ways do you think they hold him back? Have you ever experienced similar symptoms brought on by a trauma or loss?
 
4.   During the summer, Charlotte is supposed to be studying SAT vocabulary words, and Abbot is reliant on his father’s dictionary.  What is significant about language and vocabulary for this family?  What do you think it means that their books are stolen at the beginning of the trip?
 
5.   Veronique tells Heidi that it was only because of the fire that the archeological team was able to set up near the property, saying that tragedy allowed them to dig into the past.  In what ways is that true for Heidi?  For Julien?  For Heidi’s mother and Veronique?
 
6.   Heidi and Elysius are sisters, but approach nearly every situation differently.  Why do you think that is?  Based on their lives as adults, what would you say were the primary repercussions of their father’s affair and their mother’s lost summer? 
 
7.  Why do you think Charlotte is so drawn to Veronique and to her kitchen? 
 
8.  Heidi has a complicated relationship with food and cooking—she’s a professional baker, yet after Henry’s death she can’t bring herself to go near a kitchen.  Why does it take that side of her so long to reemerge?  Discuss some key food scenes and why they are important to Heidi’s summer.
 
9.  Discuss the injured swallow, and the ways in which it serves as a breakthrough in Heidi and Abbot’s grieving process.  How does Abbot uses the bird to think about his father? Why do you think the author chose a swallow to explore this theme?
 
10. Charlotte tells Heidi that when she prays, she thinks of herself as one of the Flying Wallendas and asks for a good net.   What does that come to mean to her?  What do you think the concept of a safety net means to other characters in the book?
 
11. Heidi tells Charlotte that there are many different kinds of love.  In what ways does that apply to Heidi’s life? How is she able to reconcile her love for Julien with her love for Henry?
 
 
12. What do you think the future holds for Charlotte and Adam?  What about for their daughter, Pearl? 

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The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 35 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
An elegant writer with good play of words a well as a story that comes full circle as a young widow moves through grieving and ultimately learns to lean on family and discover hidden strengths. I couldnt put it down!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Wonderful characters. Well developed story.
AT_STL More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed this book. It was somewhat predictable, but the images presented keep you enthralled...the food, the scenes, the relationships. It started slow for me, so hang in there.
Frisbeesage More than 1 year ago
In the wake of her husband's death, Heidi and her 8 yr old son Abbot are lost. Struggling to get through an ordinary day, the offer of a change of scenery seems like just what they need. Heidi's mother quickly arranges for them to spend the summer in Provence, fixing up an old family home, and for them to take the inconvenient stepchild, 16 yr old Charlotte with them. It becomes a summer of healing where secrets past and present are revealed and all three of the travelers discover hidden sources of strength. A nice story with a lovely setting and some delicious food descriptions. Provence Cure strays into the predictible a bit too often to be a great story and the characters were all a little bland. Still, its hard to object too much to the gorgeous French countryside, handsome and heartbroken Frenchmen, and plucky heroines finding their own voices. The audio version is narrated by Kate Reading. Kate Reading! That's reason enough to give it a try. Her precise, clipped, and somehow dreamy reading give Heidi's grief and confusion the perfect expression.
gaylelin More than 1 year ago
A beautiful book that reminds me of Under the Tuscan Sun because a house is an important character. In this book, the house appears to be enchanted. Love happens there. This writer writes bereavement as though she has been there. A young widow goes back to the house in Provence where she spent her summers as a child. She's accompanied by her young son who has become obsessive/compulsive since his dad's death, and her sister's teenage step-daughter who has major issues of her own. The house seems to work its magic once again and you don't want to miss watching it unfold.
ILgirl07 More than 1 year ago
I have enjoyed Bridget Asher's other books and enjoyed this one as well. Loved the beautiful descriptions of the French countryside and the family togetherness this book evoked. Love will set you free if you let it. Good summer read.
jpeb More than 1 year ago
I really loved this book while I was reading it but by the end was finding it all a little to soap opera when I previously found it kind of modern day Jane Austen..ish. Heidi was just a little too wonderful and extremely self involved. Of course the whole story is about her but its really all about her at all times. She suffers the loss, her mothers story revolves around her, she finds love again so easily, and her niece prefers her to her sister. I also didn't care for the comment about America having made so many mistakes but not the wonderful French! Even the robbery was not committed by french folk but German tourists. Heidi never seems to really acknowledge what a privileged life she has lead to have the unbelievable support of a family that has given her all of this time to continue to live her life of grief and self absorption. Well written, just not sure I like Heidi so much now that I've finished.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This novel has been compared to Eat, Pray, Love, a memoir that I absolutely hated. Thankfully for The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted, this novel was everything that Eat, Pray, Love wasn't. It had characters that I cared about and a plot that actually moved. By the end of the book I wasn't happy it was over; I was sad there weren't more pages to read. Two years after her husbands tragic death, Heidi is still struggling to come to terms with it. Then, when her family's home in southern France is damaged in a kitchen fire, her mother convinces her to take her young son and jaded-with-life niece to France to begin repairs and renovations. There Heidi will learn more about herself and her relationship with her deceased husband, her son will grow, and her niece will harbor a life-changing secret that will bring the family together in a way they've never been together before. Heidi's character was not selfish. It would only be natural for her to take on a sense of "woe is me" because her husband was gone, but she was also focused on her son, whom she loved with all her heart. The characters in this novel are real, believable and deep. The scenery is gorgeous and themes throughout the novel are woven together. It was complex and beautiful.
StephanieCowell More than 1 year ago
What a tender and enchanting novel, simply full of love! Heidi is still mourning the tragic death of her adored husband in a car crash two years before; she thinks she sees him everywhere, but it is never him. Heidi's seven-year-old son also has never stopped missing his father. There is, however, an old house in Provence in southern France which had been in the family for generations and which supposedly can create emotional healing and bring love to those who care for it and live within its walls. Heidi's mother sends her and the boy there, along with her sister's recalcitrant adolescent stepdaughter. In spite of an inauspicious beginning, Heidi does find an enchantment in the house nestled against the mountains which subtly begins to bring new life to all of them. To Heidi it brings something very special for she finds that the little boy next door with whom she played as a child is now a sensitive, caring and handsome man with his own losses in need of healing. THE PROVENCE CURE FOR THE BROKENHEARTED is beautifully and wisely written, wrapping its handful of characters in such love that surely the restorative and joyful qualities of the house with all its legends will reach out from the page and also draw the reader lovingly inside. The novel is dedicated to the reader. It is really a gift to anyone who finds herself within its pages. I am the author of CLAUDE & CAMILLE: A NOVEL OF MONET.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Henry died two years ago in a car accident. His wife Heidi has failed to move on as she lives for his memory and to keep germy reality away from touching her and their eight years old son Abbott. She even stopped making her bakery a success. Heidi's mother and her sister Elysius are worried about Heidi and what her grief is doing to Abbott. They decide that Heidi and Abbot accompanied by Elysius' troubled teenage stepdaughter Charlotte will go to the family house in rustic Puyloubier in Provence, France to oversee the fixing up of the kitchen ruined by a fire. Although they object, the trio heads to the estate only to lose all their belongings. However when Julien, whose marriage has just ended, and Heidi meet for the first since they were children, they are attracted to each other. However, their mutual desire leads to Abbott running away, sixteen years old Charlotte announcing she is pregnant, and what happened the summer mom ran away to Provence. This is an entertaining family melodrama starring a wonderful protagonist who wants to be left alone in her wallowing and a strong cast who either share in her miserable outlook or foster an intervention on her. Melancholy and nostalgic, fans will agree with mom that the house in Puyloubier possesses the "logical cure for the brokenhearted." Harriet Klausner
Anonymous 12 days ago
I would recommend it, light reading several characters.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
mjmutch More than 1 year ago
Really enjoyed everything about this book, was sorry when it was over.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed this sort of generational love story. Widowed too soon,Heidi and her son travel to Provence to oversee the repairs of her family homestead. She learns to "practice joy" and in doing so begins to listen to herself over the clamouring ache of loss. A well written book and a few Provencial recipies are a great addition at the end
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