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By Courtney Walsh

A light scrapbook finds secrets and techniques that reconnect previous buddies in a spot known as Sweethaven.
Campbell Carter has come to Sweethaven looking for solutions approximately her mother's heritage. ahead of wasting a conflict with melanoma, Suzanne Carter despatched letters to early life buddies from her place of origin of Sweethaven, Michigan. Suzanne's 3 neighbors -- Lila, Jane, and Meghan -- haven't spoken in years, but every one has items of a scrapbook they made jointly as ladies. Suzanne's letters have lured all of them again to the idyllic lakeside city, the place they meet Campbell and start to recollect what used to be so unique approximately their lengthy Sweethaven summers. because the scrapbook finds secrets and techniques from the earlier, outdated wounds are mended, lives are replaced, and friendships are restored -- simply as Suzanne meant.

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Ik onderdrukte de aanvechting om ‘Dat weet ik want dat is precies wat ik heb besteld’ te zeggen, en concentreerde me op de pink. Dichterbij dan dit was hij vanavond nog niet gekomen, ook niet bij het inschenken van de wijn. De gerant had ten slotte voor de makkelijkste oplossing gekozen en was uit de open keuken teruggekeerd met een nieuwe fles waar de kurk al half uitstak. Na de wijnkelder en het reisje naar het Loire-dal was de zesweekse wijncursus gekomen. Niet in Frankrijk maar in een leegstaand klaslokaal van een avondschool.

Als de historici over een paar eeuwen willen weten hoe achterlijk de mensheid was aan het begin van de eenentwintigste eeuw hoeven ze alleen maar een kijkje in de computers van de zogenoemde toprestaurants te nemen, want al die gegevens worden bewaard, dat weet ik toevallig. Wanneer meneer L. de vorige keer bereid was om drie maanden op een raamtafeltje te wachten dan wacht hij nu ook wel vijf maanden op een tafeltje naast de deur van het toilet – dat noemen ze in die restaurants ‘het bijhouden van de klantgegevens’.

Ik denk eerder dingen met school,’ zei ik. ‘Hij heeft net die proefwerkweek achter de rug, volgens mij is hij gewoon moe. ’ Klonk dit geloofwaardig? En vooral: keek ik er geloofwaardig bij? Claires ogen schoten heen en weer van mijn linker- naar mijn rechteroog; daarna bracht ze haar hand omhoog naar de kraag van mijn overhemd, alsof er iets verkeerd zat dat nu nog kon worden recht gestreken, zodat ik straks niet voor gek zou lopen in het restaurant. Ze glimlachte en legde haar hand met de vingers gespreid plat op mijn borst, ik voelde twee vingertoppen op mijn huid, op de plek waar het bovenste knoopje van mijn overhemd openstond.

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