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The Edge of Maybe
The Edge of Maybe
$15.95
Paperback
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BOOK DETAILS

  • Paperback
  • Mar.01.2012
  • 9780982708446

Ericka gives an overview of the book:

"Lutz's delightful family drama skewers all that we enlightened Bay Area folk hold dear, from organic food and green tea to yoga and husbands who cook risotto." — SF Chronicle What makes a family a family? And what do we owe the people in our lives?Adam and Kira Glazer live a Northern California liberal lifestyle, entering middle age with politically correct values, an obsession with gourmet organic food, and no idea what has happened to their punk rock, adventurous youth. Then, a shocking reminder of the past lands on their doorstep. Adam, Kira, and their 13-year-old daughter Polly take on freeways, yoga classes and junk food, face dark truths and blood secrets, and drive—alone and together—all the way to The Edge of Maybe.
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"Lutz's delightful family drama skewers all that we enlightened Bay Area folk hold dear, from organic food and green tea to yoga and husbands who cook risotto." — SF Chronicle

What makes a family a family? And what do we owe the people in our lives?
Adam and Kira Glazer live a Northern California liberal lifestyle, entering middle age with politically correct values, an obsession with gourmet organic food, and no idea what has happened to their punk rock, adventurous youth. Then, a shocking reminder of the past lands on their doorstep. Adam, Kira, and their 13-year-old daughter Polly take on freeways, yoga classes and junk food, face dark truths and blood secrets, and drive—alone and together—all the way to The Edge of Maybe.

Read an excerpt »

There were strangers on the porch of their Oakland, California bungalow, a young woman in pink sweats and a small boy in dirty blue pajamas. They waited as Kira and Polly walked from the car to the house, Kira balancing groceries, purse, phone, keys, Polly wearing a backpack too large for her thin, thirteen-year-old frame. The woman sat on the top step, thick-bodied and barefoot; she rested her bandaged right ankle on a dingy canvas bag. The little boy crouched by the redwood planter, breaking Kira's dendroideum succulent. He held each section between tiny thumb and forefinger – snap.

Kira winced, a pang of guilt and uselessness: Too shabby for the Jehovah's, homeless people didn't usually venture up the hill… "Can I help you?" she said, her voice shut tight. Fragments of succulent littered the old wooden porch. Behind Kira, Polly had stopped abruptly, too.

"I'm Amber," the woman on the porch said.

"Excuse me?"

The young woman's voice a monotone, "I'm Amber. Looking for Dad."

"Dad?"

"Adam. Adam Glazer. I'm Amber. Sandi's daughter."

It took Kira a moment to register: Dad. Adam. Amber. Sandi. Her stomach turned. What had been swept under the rug was now exposed to light of day – old skin, hair, dust, garbage. The boy stripped years of growth from the succulent – snap.

"Please… stop hurting my plant." The little boy didn't turn around. "Um. Please stop him," Kira said to the woman – to Amber – arms full, pointing with her chin.

Amber moved her head slowly to look at the child. "Joey. Told you not to touch stuff." She smacked the toddler across the back of his head and he cringed. "Is Dad home?"

"I'm Kira. I'm Adam's wife. This is our daughter Polly."

"Yeah. I'm looking for Dad."

"Adam's working today. He'll be home in a couple hours."

"Do you got something to eat? I lost my shoes and money and we walked from the Greyhound station."

The Greyhound station, miles away, through grimy downtown Oakland avenues. All the way to Moss Street in her bare feet, carrying the canvas bag with its zipper pinned and gaping, the little boy dragging behind. In early January.

"Mommy?" Polly's voice from behind her.

Kira turned to introduce: "Polly, this is Amber and… Joey?"

Polly silently mouthed, "Who?"

"Polly, c'mere." She set down the bag of groceries on the bottom step and put her arms around her daughter. Polly's head came to Kira's neck now.

Kira took a deep breath. That pause before lake ice gave way underfoot; when lips moved towards each other for the first kiss; when the knife stuck on the bread crust before skittering across to slice into an index finger; when teeth tested the tension of pomegranate seeds before their decisive crunch. She exhaled and spoke softly into Polly's brown curly hair smelling of sweat and tea rose conditioner.

"Amber is your half-sister. She's Daddy's daughter, from a long time ago."

Maybe.


 

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About Ericka

Ericka Lutz writes fiction (short and long), non-fiction (creative and commercial), and performance pieces. She's the author of the novel, The Edge of Maybe (March 2012), many short stories, columns, personal essays, and advice books. With a...

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Published Reviews

May.01.2009

"One of the more interesting essays is by Ericka Lutz, a "fourth generation 'Red Diaper Baby,' born into a family-on my mother's side-of atheist, culturally Jewish, Marxist, Feminist, West Coast lefty union...

Mar.02.2012

The Edge of Maybe speaks to those spaces in-between, both geographically and spiritually, that we mostly don’t think exist in the certainty of youth. In particular, those in-between spaces that...