audience cheered for Jimmy’s deep, lush voice singing with the haunting melody, but I rejoiced at the words, the lyrics of a man who still believed.
I glanced down at the stage; the band gave way for the main act. Jack came out, glanced into the audience, squinted and raised his hand over his eyes. I waved frantically in a futile attempt to make him see me all the way in the back row against the stone wall. He jumped off the stage, wound his way among the tables to the left of the theater—opposite from where I stood.
I pushed my way through the crowd to the other side of the stage. “Excuse me, excuse me. . . .” I kept my eyes on Jack, knocking over coolers, beer bottles, chicken salad on paper plates as I hurried toward him.
Then he looked up, and saw me. A smile so wide and accepting spread across his face. His strides were long, deliberate as he stepped over blankets, between people. He reached me at the back right side at the last row of chairs; I ran into his open arms, buried my head against his chest. “Jack, I love you.”
He lifted my chin, placed his palms on either side of my face and drew me to him. He kissed me as I’d dreamed of since that first realization of love beyond family. The kind of kiss I’d wanted and needed all my life; a kiss filled with truth.
Then he pulled back from me, smiled again, and I touched his face. “I’m sorry about what I said, I’m sorry for being such an idiot,” I said.
He shook his head. “No apologies. You’re here.”
“If I ever thought I loved anyone else, it was only because he reminded me of you.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “My beautiful Kara—you know exactly what to say to make a man weak, doncha?” He picked me up, swung me around, then kissed me again.
“Do I?” I looked out over the amphitheater to the bay and almost swore I saw three brown sails, a sloped boat coming around the bend.
He nodded, then touched my face as the lead singer began to sing behind us: “I get weak in the knees, and I lose my breath....”
Jack grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the side stage. “Follow me.”
“Always,” I said, and did.
a cognizant original v5 release october 08 2010
CONVERSATION GUIDE
When Light Breaks
PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY
This Conversation Guide is intended to enrich the
individual reading experience, as well as encourage us
to explore these topics together—because books,
and life, are meant for sharing.
A CONVERSATION WITH PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY
Q. What inspired you to write When Light Breaks?
A. I am fascinated by the power of story to change lives. I wanted to write a novel in which one woman’s story moves another woman in a positive direction. I believe that our minds communicate through reason and intellect, but the heart communicates through story. If Kara were to change her life, it would never be by logic alone, since the reasons for her life decisions are sure and strong. But through story, and its effect on her heart, she gains new insights, which help her take her life in new directions.
Q. The idea of one generation passing on its stories to another generation lies at the heart of this novel. Why is that theme important to you?
A. In today’s world, the different generations are separated much more than in previous generations, since we tend not to live together. Yet the wisdom and wit passed from one generation to another are what help tie families together. Kara lost her mama at a young age, and she yearns for the mother-daughter connection, the wise advice that comes from experience. Although Kara doesn’t understand it at first, Maeve’s words fill a need in her. I believe we must learn from previous generations, from those who have gone before us in this life journey.
Q. There’s a strong Irish element in the novel—of Irish poetry and politics, story and myth. Can you comment on this choice?
A. The Irish culture is incredibly rich in myth and legend. My daughter is an Irish dancer, I am Irish, and the culture fascinates me. I wanted to delve deeper into the idea that a story or legend holds truth, although it might not be factually true, and how, either way, this affects the listener or reader.
Through centuries of conquest and persecution, the Irish have held steadfastly to their unique heritage and storytelling. The Gaelic word for storyteller