By Danielle Ganek
When estranged sisters inherit a Hamptons seashore condo, they look for fortune yet locate love as a substitute.
Cassie and Peck are part sisters with little in universal past a shared final name--that is, till their loved aunt Lydia bequeaths them equivalent stocks of her ramshackle outdated cottage within the Hamptons with directions to "seek the object of maximum price" inside of it. Cassie and Peck fantasize approximately studying a misplaced Jackson Pollock, or a primary version of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The nice Gatsby, as they experience one final summer time of extraordinary events and nostalgia.
From the writer of Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him, Danielle Ganek's The summer time We learn Gatsby, an ideal seashore learn, captures the spirit of latest York's such a lot glamorous inn city, and may captivate readers with its spellbinding combination of romance, secret, and charmingly eccentric characters.
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Extra info for The Summer We Read Gatsby: A Novel
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So at first I politely declined Peck’s invitation to join her. But being polite and declining invitations do not agree with my glamorously eccentric half sister, and since I was at the very beginning of what was supposed to be a month of sisterly togetherness at the house we’d jointly inherited from Aunt Lydia, I reluctantly agreed to go with her. In the interest of getting along, I pulled the only dress I’d brought with me from my suitcase of jeans and T-shirts and borrowed a hat from the strange assortment Aunt Lydia had left in the house, unwisely choosing a drooping off-white bowler that made my head itch and kept falling over my eyes as Peck inexpertly maneuvered our aunt’s ancient station wagon down the driveway.
Forty thousand square feet, at least. Indoor and outdoor pools. ” We stepped out of the car and a valet parker handed Peck a ticket. Then we were greeted at a long table by five or six very attractive women in tiny black dresses. Peck took my arm in excitement as she stated regally, “Pecksland Moriarty. ” We made our way behind other white-clad arrivals along a path, lined with hurricane lanterns, that led to the back of the house. “I can’t believe Miles lives here,” Peck whispered to me, still holding on to my arm.
But she had been going on and on endlessly about that very subject—“Literally? I can’t believe he’s so . . successful”—since I’d arrived, so I wasn’t exactly being the contrarian. I was simply trying to get out of putting on a dress and a hat and going with her. Since then, she’d been even more impatient with me, and she made another noise when I clutched the armrest as she swerved to avoid a woman walking three Labradors. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, as we then narrowly missed a Range Rover headed in the opposite direction.