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  What people are saying about …

  She Makes It Look Easy

  “Oh how subtly sin can tangle its way into lives. A masterfully written story with a warning every woman should read and heed.”

  Lysa TerKeurst, New York Times best-selling author of Made to Crave

  “I sit here with tears in my eyes having just reread the last chapter featuring Marybeth Whalen’s character Justine, and I wonder how many women will read this novel and decide to make different choices because Whalen was brave enough to put into words what so many women deal with in their lives, even if it just plays out in their heads. Although this book definitely brought out the nosy neighbor in me, it also made me seriously examine my own life to determine which character I had more in common with. And sometimes, that’s a hard place to go. I simply loved this novel and think every woman should read it!”

  Shari Braendel, America’s foremost Christian modesty expert and author of Good Girls Don’t Have to Dress Bad

  “Marybeth Whalen knows Southern! She Makes It Look Easy is as lovely and delightful as iced tea and lemon meringue pie, and Ms. Whalen makes it look easy as she dishes up a charming and emotional story.”

  Leanna Ellis, award-winning author of Forsaken

  “Skillfully written, compelling, and honest, Whalen’s heartfelt story takes a revealing look at the price of perfection, the weight of secrets, and the blessing of those who love us just as we are.”

  Lisa Wingate, national best-selling author of Larkspur Cove and Dandelion Summer

  “Who hasn’t had a friend with an enviable life? With her typical Southern charm, Marybeth Whalen has penned a novel about friendship, love, and the power of true happiness.”

  Jenny B. Jones, four-time Carol Award–winning author of Save the Date and the YA series A Charmed Life

  “If you’ve ever wanted to walk in someone else’s shoes—without actually stepping in their messes—you’ll enjoy this novel, which lets you see a situation from two points of view. One is that of ‘perfect’ Justine and the other is of Ariel who is trying to live up to Justine’s standards—and they both find out they are wrong, wrong, wrong. But which one is eternally wrong?”

  Latayne C. Scott, author of Latter-Day Cipher and fiction blogger on NovelMatters.blogspot.com

  “In She Makes It Look Easy, author Marybeth Whalen creates authentic characters that could easily be your neighbors or mine. With each decision, I asked myself what I would do in the face of temptation and disappointment. Mixed with interludes of humor that any mom can relate to, this thought-provoking novel is a must-read!”

  Cindy Thomson, author of Brigid of Ireland and Celtic Wisdom

  “Marybeth Whalen writes with a strong, insightful voice that pulls you into her stories. In this wry, compelling story, she dissects the inner workings of the lives of wives and mothers with engaging characters and fascinating twists. A terrific story!”

  Judy Christie, author of the critically acclaimed Green series, including The Glory of Green

  “In this novel, the author addresses head-on the way we as women compare ourselves, leaving us feeling empty and unfulfilled. Read this engaging novel and you’ll enter a neighborhood of women living lives eerily like your own, from the overworked mom with a life of chaos to the mom who’s created the image of a perfect, yet loveless world. Join Ariel on a journey toward freedom from comparison, inspiring us to live our lives as God has called us and to develop deep friendships with other women.”

  Cara C. Putman, author of Stars in the Night

  “Marybeth Whalen possesses a remarkably keen understanding of the inner workings of a woman’s heart, and in her new and timely novel, She Makes It Look Easy, she takes an unflinching look at the lives of two upper-middle-class women in search of meaning and purpose beyond their seemingly picture-perfect existences. This novel will remind you of what is most important, and it will certainly stir your soul.”

  Beth Webb Hart, best-selling author of The Wedding Machine and Love, Charleston

  “Marybeth Whalen’s She Makes It Look Easy is a riveting story that proves, once again, the grass is never greener.”

  Sharon K. Souza, author of Lying on Sunday and Every Good and Perfect Gift

  “She Makes It Look Easy is poignant and insightful, dramatic and challenging. Whalen details the inner struggle of two ordinary women with grace and wisdom, women who could easily be our friends, our neighbors, our family. This is a great read.”

  Rachel Hauck, award-winning author of Dining with Joy

  SHE MAKES IT LOOK EASY

  Published by David C Cook

  4050 Lee Vance View

  Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.

  David C Cook Distribution Canada

  55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5

  David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications

  Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England

  The graphic circle C logo

  is a registered trademark of David C Cook.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,

  no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form

  without written permission from the publisher.

  The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  LCCN 2011924092

  ISBN 978-0-7814-0370-2

  eISBN 978-1-4347-0389-7

  © 2011 Marybeth Whalen

  Published in association with the Wheelhouse Literary Group, PO Box 110909, Nashville, TN 37222.

  The Team: Terry Behimer, Nicci Jordan Hubert,

  Sarah Schultz, Jack Campbell, Karen Athen

  Cover Design: Amy Kiechlin Konyndyk

  Cover Photos: iStockphoto; Veer

  First Edition 2011

  For the real Ariel and the real Erica …

  Ariel, of course I had to name the character after you. All of my writing somehow involves you … why not this, too?

  Erica, you have been and will continue to be one of my heroes. Keep getting up and fighting, because I am confident one way or another, you’ll win this battle.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

 
Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  AfterWords

  Author Interview

  Discussion Questions

  Recipes

  Excerpt from The Mailbox

  Acknowledgments

  You might want to sit down … this is going to take awhile. A mom of six doesn’t see a novel all the way through to publication without a lot of help.

  A big thank-you goes out …

  To the Word, for supplying my words.

  To my family, for supporting me like you do.

  To Jack, Ashleigh, Matthew, Rebekah, Bradley, and Annaliese … I am blessed six times over. You inspire me, each one of you in your own unique way.

  And to Curt, so many thanks. You make countless sacrifices and never waver in your support of this crazy dream I have of writing novels. What a gift you’ve given me.

  To my mom, who really is my biggest fan and cheerleader. I was so fortunate to have been raised by you. You made me who I am, and I love you.

  To Becky Sykes and Nancy Scott Malcor, you are friends and family, both.

  To the folks at Cook: I have thoroughly enjoyed working with each one of you. You all are total professionals with hearts of gold. Special thanks to Terry, Don, Amy, Karen, Jack, Ingrid, and Michelle.

  To Jeane Wynn: You and I clicked the moment we started talking about the subject matter of this book. Thanks for helping spread the word about it.

  To Nicci Jordan Hubert: You didn’t give up on this book even though most likely you wanted to at times. Thanks for dragging a great story out of me. Again.

  To the Writers and Sisters in Christ: Cara Putman, Kim Cash Tate, Jenny B. Jones, Cindy Thomson, Nicole O’Dell, and Kit Wilkinson. I love how we pray for each other, cheer for each other, and spur each other on to bigger things. I love crazy believing with you girls!

  To the Southern BelleView girls: Lisa Wingate (who totally thought of the idea for our group blog—genius that she is), Jenny B. Jones, Rachel Hauck, and Beth Webb Hart. You girls gave me a seat on the porch when really I should still be in the yard. I am blessed to be a Belle.

  To the Proverbs 31 Ministries team: There are too many names to list individually, but I have to say, I love what we do as a team. Thanks for the chance to share great fiction through She Reads and to share truth through the devotions. It is an honor to serve women through this ministry and to witness firsthand all the ways it touches so many lives. A special shout-out to Rachel Olsen, Lysa TerKeurst, Karen Ehman, and Shari Braendel for always making me laugh.

  To fellow writers who have turned into friends: Mary DeMuth, Susan Meissner, Alice Wisler, Judy Christie, Carla Stewart, Christa Allan, and Leanna Ellis. Love our writing and life conversations.

  To Tonia Bendickson: You push me, encourage me, challenge me, and listen to me. Thanks for listening in the middle of the night when I know you’d much rather have been sleeping!

  To Lisa Shea, Tamery Stafford, Christy Baca, Melissa Milbourn, Dawn Massey, and Debra Zantman: Thank you for always praying for me.

  To Jonathan Clements: Thanks for serving as my agent, talking music with me, and politely laughing at my dumb jokes.

  To Kathy Patrick: Thanks for making me an official Pulpwood Queen and for including me in Girlfriends Weekend. You are an inspiration!

  To the employees of Caribou Coffee, Panera Bread, and Barnes and Noble. Thanks for always having coffee, food, and a place away from the chaos that is my home.

  To the young women who care for my kids when I can’t be there: Kara Simpson, Bradelyn Levi, and Laura Mullen. Your presence is an assurance to this mom.

  To my blog readers, Facebook friends, and Twitter followers. You guys are amazing people who encourage me so much. Thank you.

  And a special thanks to Mandie Cipcic, who took my youngest for playdates and freed me up to make my deadline in the process. You didn’t even know what a big deal that was for me. Perhaps now you do.

  She is dancing away from you now

  She was just a wish, she was just a wish.

  Fleetwood Mac, “Gypsy”

  Prologue

  Ariel

  I saw her years later in the grocery store near my house. I had to look twice to be sure it was her. She had lost weight, a lot of weight. Her collarbones jutted out from the neckline of her shirt like the framework of a building. When she spoke to the young woman accompanying her, her neck muscles pushed against her skin as though they were straining to break free. I thought of all our morning walks together and had to stop myself from approaching to congratulate her. She always did want to be thinner.

  Her hair wasn’t blonde anymore. It was the exact color of my second son’s hair, a mahogany red that I clearly remembered her exclaiming over as she stood in my kitchen shortly after we met. “I love this hair,” she had said, wrapping a single curl around her finger as my son squirmed and grimaced. “Do you know how much I’d have to pay to get hair this color?” she had said.

  “But your hair’s a beautiful blonde,” I had offered. My own hair was auburn. I’d always wanted to be blonde.

  She had shrugged, rolled her eyes. “Do you know how much I had to pay for hair this color?” she had said, laughing. And I, as always, had laughed with her.

  Now, standing at a distance, it took me a moment to determine that the young woman with her was actually her older daughter. It appeared that the weight she had lost, her daughter had found. She slouched along beside her mom, a permanent sulk on her face, wearing skinny jeans that were not made for her figure and a T-shirt that read “I Didn’t Do It.” An unappealing white roll of flesh poked out between the jeans and the shirt. Her hair was no longer the blonde airy curls I remembered from back then, perennially clipped into ponytails with matching ribbons. Instead it was a dishwater blonde I imagined closely matched her mother’s real color, hanging dank and stringy around her acne-spotted face. I closed my eyes to block the longing I felt at the image of her at eight years old, radiating light and happiness. The girl I was looking at was not the same person. Yet she was.

  I found myself tailing the two of them, watching her just like I used to when she was my neighbor, and I was fascinated—too fascinated—by her. Once, I had wanted to be just like her. Once, I would’ve done anything to be like her. As she pulled microwave popcorn and diet sodas from the shelf, I thought about the time when I knew her. Or, when I thought I knew her. There was still a part of me that wanted to talk to her, to ask the questions I never could get her to answer, just in case I might finally understand what drove her to do what she did. I wondered if I looked into her eyes if I would see a flicker of the person I once knew, or if I would just see blankness. I imagined a gaping absence that was always there, even when I chose not to see it.

  Chapter 1

  Ariel

  I pulled the photo proofs out of the envelope, fanning them out on the granite countertop in my client’s McMansion with a flourish. I loved how the word client sounded, and I threw it around whenever I could.

  “I have a meeting with a client.”

  “My clients are so demanding. They all want their proofs back yesterday.”

  “This client had some very particular ideas about what she wants.”

  After years of snapping candids of my own children, I took my photography professional after someone with connections noticed that I was good at catching the little moments of life that most of us walk right by—the furrow of a tiny brow, the contentment of one lone spit bubble on a sleeping baby’s pursed bow of a mouth, even the personality of a flailing, screaming two-year-old. “Someday,” went my pitch, “you’ll appreciate the reality of the photos. Not just the posed smiles but the whole package. The mess and the mess-ups. You’ll look back and see pictures that reflect your life as it really was.” If they want
ed Sears Portrait Studio, they were welcome to go to Sears Portrait Studio. But if they wanted art, that’s what I created. Few things pleased me more than seeing a portrait I shot gracing one of my clients’ walls, surrounded by a heavy, impressive mat and frame. I aimed to create pictures that caused others to stop and stare, frozen in the awe of how something so simple could be so beautiful. Sometimes I found myself staring too.

  I leaned over the proofs on the black and gray flecked counter, watching Candace Nelson’s face as she looked at the photos we’d taken just a week before. I suppressed the urge to talk to her about them, to point out my favorites or ask her what she thought. I had learned the value in waiting quietly. It was as true in art as it was in marriage: The compliments meant more when they were unsolicited.

  She looked up at me, her eyes misty with tears. “You totally got it,” she said, pulling me into a hug. Candace Nelson and I had never met before I came to her house to photograph her children, one of whom was born prematurely and had defied the odds, home just a few days from the hospital. Candace had cried happy tears the whole time I snapped, the rhythmic clicking of my camera at times the only sound in the room. Her older two children, I noticed, had a kind of reverence for the baby. It was in the way they had held him and talked to him and even looked at him. Their reverence had hung in the air around them, an invisible force that transferred through the lens onto paper.

  “These are just lovely,” Candace went on. “They’re … priceless.”

  I nodded my assent, honored to have been a part of remembering the early days of her new son’s life. I had been inspired to start my business when I found old 8x10s of my sister shoved into a faded envelope with the words “Your Priceless Memories” stamped in tacky green and gold on the outside. My mother had apparently stuck the envelope in a trunk and forgotten all about it. I unearthed the photos like a time capsule, Ginny in her patchwork dress and me in a pea green turtleneck that clashed with her dress. My hair needed brushing, and neither of us was smiling. So much for priceless. So much for memories. I longed to give my kids—and other families—so much more.