About The Sisters Club:
Four women have little in common other than where they live and the joyous complications of having sisters. Cindy waits for her own life to begin as she sees her sister going in and out of hospitals. Lise has made the boldest move of her life, even as her sister spends every day putting herself at risk to improve the lives of others. Diana is an ocean apart from her sister, but worries that her marriage is the relationship separated by the most distance. Sylvia has lost her twin sister to breast cancer, a disease that runs in the family, and fears that she will die without having ever really lived.
When Diana places an ad in the local newsletter, Cindy, Lise, and Sylvia show up thinking they are joining a book club, but what they discover is something far deeper and more profound than any of them ever imagined.
With wit, charm, and pathos, this mesmerizing tale of sisters, both born and built, enthralls on every page.
The bus chugged up the hill, depositing me at the stop outside the hospital. On the way down the stairs, book safely back in my satchel, I slipped again in my heels. Of all the things you can say about me, and Eddie always had plenty, good and bad, at least I was consistent.
If Eddie were with me, he’d have said, “Why do you have to come here every day, Cin? Give it a rest.” I knew he just said those things because he worried about me. He worried that if I spent too much time at the hospital it would depress me. But Eddie wasn’t there and it was my time, the magic purple-blue time between afternoon and evening, and for one whole hour I could do what I liked.
As big a place as the hospital was, it felt like everyone knew me. Not surprising, really. And when I got off the elevator, the nurse on Douglas buzzed me right through.
In her room, my sister was where she always was when I came to visit, in a chair by the window, looking out.
“Hey, Carly,” I said, putting my arms around her, embracing her in a hug she didn’t return. “How’s it going today?” As I settled down on the edge of the bed just a couple of feet from her, I tried to think of something perky to say. “Any new cars come and go in that lot out there?”
No answer. Not that I expected any.
I reached out slowly, so my movement wouldn’t startle her, replacing a hair gone wild behind her ear. My mom always said that seeing us side by side was like looking at a carbon copy of the same person. But growing up, I could never see it. Carly was the super-pretty one, while me, I was the paler version of her. Still, as I smoothed her hair with my hand, in profile I could see the basic resemblances: the same long and straight honey-blond hair, the same slightly darker sweep of brow over gray-blue eyes, the same lips we used to joke were made for kissing. Of course there were obvious differences: I had my work makeup on while she was scrubbed beyond clean, as though someone would be wheeling her off to the lobotomy chamber any second. Plus, there was that lifelessness in her eyes. And the lack of talk. Me, on the other hand, I was nothing but chatter.
About Lauren Baratz-Logsted:
Lauren Baratz-Logsted is the author of over 25 books for adults, teens (including The Twin’s Daughter and Little Women and Me0, and children (The Sisters 8, a nine-book series she created with her husband and daughter). Before becoming an author, Lauren was an independent bookseller, freelance editor, Publishers Weekly reviewer, sort-of librarian and window washer. She lives with her family in Danbury, CT. Visit her at http://www.laurenbaratzlogsted.com or follow her @LaurenBaratzL on Twitter.
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