A DVA NCE R E A DER’S COPY — U NCOR R EC TED PROOF
PRAISE FOR SISTERS ONE, TWO, THREE
“Delightful, heart-wrenching, and honest, this book is a
lovely examination of memory, the past, and how, despite
flaws, the strength of family ties remains throughout years of tumult and misunderstanding.”
— Publishers Weekly
“An emotionally gripping portrait of a family’s secrets and confessions … Star brings all the members of the Tangle
clan to life—these are multifaceted, complex characters
with remarkable depth and nuance. Readers will enjoy
seeing childhood quirks resurface in the Tangle adults,
and fans of Jamie Brenner and Elizabeth Kelly will adore
this compelling multigenerational story.”
— Booklist
“A consistently compelling and entertaining read from
cover to cover, Sisters One, Two, Three clearly showcases author Nancy Star’s genuine flair for deftly created characters and original storytelling.”
— Midwest Book Review
“An extraordinarily moving, beautifully written novel,
Sisters One, Two, Three is a searing portrait of a family haunted by tragedy and fractured by the toxic power of
secrets. As the story progresses, we grow to know and love the fierce and eccentric Tangles, a family at once familiar and like no other. I was riveted from the first page.”
—Christina Baker Kline, #1 New York Times
bestselling author of Orphan Train
“Witty, compelling, and wise, Sisters One, Two, Three is the kind of novel I always crave but rarely find. Glory
Tangle’s relationship with her children, both as kids and as grown-ups, is as real as it gets. She’s a fantastic character, a match for the surprises to be found in the perfectly evoked island setting of Martha’s Vineyard. I really loved each of the three sisters, too, and was very nervous for all of them! Nancy Star, thank you so much for the hours I
spent in these pages.”
—Alice Elliott Dark, author of In the Gloaming and Think of England
“Nancy Star’s gripping novel of mothers and daughters and
sisters shows us how we can never escape our families—
and why that may be our salvation. Full of surprising
twists and deep emotional insights, Sisters One, Two, Three will keep you glued to your beach chair, casting worried
glances at those little clouds threatening to gather into
a storm. This book will transform the way you see your
own family’s past and its future along with the way you
experience the power of now.”
—Pamela Redmond Satran, author of Younger
“With delightful wit and the prowess of an expert sto-
ryteller, Star offers profound insight into the maternal
heart in this deftly braided tale of the utterly original
Tangles. Sisters One, Two, Three begs to be read in one big gulp—and will leave you with a lasting understanding
of the treacherous balance between love and autonomy.”
—Lisa Gornick, author of The Peacock Feast
and Louise Meets Bear
“What is it that fascinates us about the bonds between
sisters? There have been many great stories about that
special bond, and this is no exception. Enter the Tangle
sisters, held together by love, common experience, and a web of secrets. From cautious Ginger to adventurous
Callie to busy bee Mimi, you won’t be able to help see-
ing yourself in this family, the things that pull it apart and ultimately tie it back together. Set some time aside
to read this gem; you won’t regret it.”
—Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of
Hidden and Fractured
RULES FOR MOVING
ALSO BY NANCY STAR
Sisters One, Two, Three
Carpool Diem
Now This
Up Next
Buried Lives
RULES FOR MOVING
NANCY STAR
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Nancy Star
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542006378
ISBN-10: 1542006376
Cover design by David Drummond
Printed in the United States of America
for Larry
as the inhabitants in general love variety, and seldom
reside in the same house for two consecutive years,
those who have to change, which appears to be nearly
the whole city, must be all removed together. Hence,
from the peep of day till twilight, may be seen carts
which go at a rate of speed astonishingly rapid, laden
with furniture of every kind, racing up and down the
city, as if its inhabitants were flying from a pestilence, pursued by death with his broad scythe just ready to
mow them into eternity
—Felton, American Life: A Narrative of Two
Years’ City and Country Residence in the United
States, 1843
PROLOGUE
Spring 2018
What a headache. It had never crossed her mind that
the house on Applegate Road—her neighbor’s house—
would end up to be one of those listings that kept her
awake at night. A stubborn house that just wouldn’t
sell. A gem of a place where everything went wrong.
Today’s problem, a pregnant woman. Dana had noth-
ing against pregnant women. She’d happily led five
perfectly normal pregnant women up and down these
stairs this month alone. But this woman was so pregnant—
nine months at least, possibly ten—she could barely move.
Dana could feel it coming; the prospective buyer’s water
was going to break right there, on the recently recleaned
round rug that sat in the center of the once-again-spotless foyer. She took a breath and reminded herself that she had a fully stocked Realtor’s Secret Kit in the trunk of her car.
While it was true that so far the kit had only been put to the test on ink, coffee, and blood, she was confident—
pretty confident—that it would be up to the challenge
of placental fluid, if it came to that.
The woman’s husband, who’d already made two jokes
about how it wasn’t his idea to move, was sluggish until
he got to the basement. There, as if woken from hiberna-
tion, he charged into the utility room. A moment later
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Nancy Star
he slumped. There was nothing in Dana’s secret kit to fix
this. Sellers could scrub till their muscles were sore but a clean boiler still wasn’t pret
ty. Basements were so often
like that, disappointing.
She hustled him out and guided them both to the
main downstairs space. “Here’s what I love. A blank
slate. Waiting to be transformed. You see bare walls. I see magical playroom.”
Two stony faces stared back at her. Normally she
could connect with anyone. Her husband said she could
connect with a corpse. But these two? Nothing. It was
the house. It made her nervous. Like it was judging her.
“So!” She brightened her smile. “Ready to go up and see
the kitchen? You are going to be over the moon when
you see the kitchen.”
“Could use an update,” she allowed as she watched
them scan the maple cabinets, doors askew. “But the
beauty of that is you get to do it how you want.” She
saw the man glance at the one chipped terra-cotta floor
tile. “What counts is the bones. Floors you can change.
If the bones are bad, nothing you can do.”
The air felt flat. She leaned toward the woman. “Can
I tell you a secret? This is my block. Trust me, I don’t
show this house to anyone I wouldn’t want on my block.”
The woman’s spine seemed to stiffen. “Don’t worry. I’m
a very respectful neighbor. I never pry. Come. Let me
show you the best part.” She whisked them to the large
window at the back of the living room. “Look how big
the yard is. And how private. There’s so much you could
do with that space. Put in an outdoor kitchen. Bluestone
patio. Farmhouse table. Tea lights on the bushes. Oh my
god, I want to come over to your house for dinner and
you haven’t even said if you like it.”
xii
Rules for Moving
“I like it,” the woman said.
a little of Lane. She’s the woman who used to live here,
with her son, Henry. Precious boy. Six years old. Face
of an angel. Dark curly hair. Huge eyes. Sweetest thing
you ever met. Even though he didn’t talk.”
The woman placed a protective hand over her belly.
“Didn’t talk?”
“But smart as a whip,” Dana quickly added. “And very
talented. His drawings were deep. Not surprising. His
mom was deep. She used to write the Ask Roxie column.
Ever read it?”
The woman shrugged. What did that mean? Did
she not know the column? Did she not like the column?
That would be a surprise. Even people who didn’t like
Lane liked her column. “Lane rented the house from my
neighbor Nathan. He was one of my favorite neighbors.
This was his divorce house. A totally amicable divorce.
I guess the house started to feel too big for him, living
alone. Or maybe he just needed a change. Like I said,
I never pry. All I know is one day, out of the blue, he
tells me he’s moving and renting the place out. I was the
one who showed Lane the house. Nathan was supposed
to, but there was an emergency at his job. He’s had a lot
of jobs. He’s a voice actor now. For a video game. How
cool is that? I don’t know what kind of emergencies they
have in video games but an emergency is an emergency.
Nathan tried to reach Lane to reschedule but she was
already in the Lincoln Tunnel, on her way, and the call
didn’t go through. So he called me. Everybody calls me.
Because they know I love to help. Lane fell for the house
the minute she saw it. A lot of people were interested in
renting it, but Nathan is a mensch so he rented it to her.
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Nancy Star
Which thank god, because you would not believe what
Lane had just been through. It was…” Dana caught herself.
“Icing on the cake, the two of them hit it off like you
wouldn’t believe. It was bashert. You know what bashert means?” They didn’t. “Meant to be. Soul mates. Very
unusual people: a voice actor and an advice columnist.
People tell me I should write an advice column. Which
if I did? My advice to you? This is your house.”
The woman crossed her arms. Full defensive position.
All eye contact over.
It was because of her stupid comment about Henry.
Why did she tell a pregnant woman about a boy who
didn’t talk? “You know what? I misspoke. It’s not that
Henry didn’t talk. He was a chatterbox with his mom.
He just didn’t talk to me. Which if you think about it, was smart. Because once you get me going, you can’t shut me
up. I wish you could meet them. Great people. Salt of the
earth. Like you. They’re at Nathan’s summer place now.
On the Cape. Or Martha’s Vineyard. Or maybe Maine.
I don’t know. I don’t pry. A beautiful place is the point.
This place is beautiful too.” Stop talking. Move them
along. “Shall we step outside?”
Outside Dana directed their diminishing attention
to the newly installed top-of-the-line-roof. “Looks like
slate but it isn’t, which means you don’t have to take out a mortgage every time you need to replace a shingle.”
She pointed toward the stone below the clapboard. “One
hundred percent Manhattan Schist. Forget insulation.
Nothing gets through Manhattan Schist.”
A mailbox door creaked open. Their heads swiveled
toward the house next door. A woman scooped out her
mail and disappeared inside. “That’s Rory. My dentist.
I know she doesn’t look like a dentist. She looks like a
xiv
Rules for Moving
model. But she’s a dentist. What a doll. Last month I had
a toothache in the middle of the night and she met me at
her office. In her nightgown. That’s the kind of block it
is. Best block in town. Best people. Best kids. The col-
leges the kids end up at? Amazing. I can get you a list.”
She was a moron. Parents didn’t think about college until
after the baby was born. What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with her was this house. Selling
houses wasn’t hard for her. She was a positive person who
saw the best in everything. All she had to do, all she ever did, was tell it like she saw it. But showing this house? It was like sciatica. One wrong move and everything went
out of whack. What kind of idiot tells a pregnant woman,
The boy who used to live here didn’t speak. She took a silent breath and went in for the close.
“You know how they say, if the walls could talk? Well
these walls do. They talk to me. And what they’re saying
is, this is the house for you.”
The woman thanked her and told her they’d think
about what they’d seen and the man said he’d get back to
her, which was a bad sign because nine times out of ten,
when there was good news, it was the woman who called.
Dana got in her car, checked her phone and zoomed
off to her next showing.
The house on Applegate Road—a road with neither
gates nor apples—was left alone with its memories of the
people who’d lived there before: the man who did voices,
the woman who gave advice, and the child, with the fac
e
of an angel, who didn’t speak.
xv
PART ONE
New York City
Winter 2017
January 15, 2017
Ask Roxie!
Roxie Reader Good News Alert!
Do you wish you could send Roxie a question and get
your answer in real time?
Now you can! Roxie’s first ever online Live-Chat
Wednesday is coming soon!
This is a bonus for Guild-Plus Members only! Sub-
scribe today so you don’t miss out!
Dear Roxie,
My maid of honor just told me I’m a psychopath. Talk
about psychopaths!
It’s because we had a fight. Because she’s not com-
ing to the bridal party dress fitting. Because it conflicts with her boyfriend’s grandmother’s ninety-fifth birthday party. Choosing her boyfriend over me is so high
school! Not to mention we made the plan two months
ago. Aren’t plans supposed to be honored? Why does
she think they call it maid of honor anyway?
As far as her boyfriend’s grandmother’s birthday,
that’s just an excuse. The real reason she’s getting her
dress fitted another day? She doesn’t like how she
looks in it. Which I’m sorry, but I didn’t pick it. The bridal party voted. Twelve bridesmaids love it. Because it’s
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Nancy Star
one of those dresses where no matter how tall or short
you are, it looks super great on you.
To be honest, it doesn’t look super great on her. But
it’s not her wedding. Who’s going to be looking at her!
And seriously, if she wanted to, she could do some-
thing about her weight. It’s not like she has a “condi-
tion.” If I could stop smoking for my wedding, she could
lose ten pounds. All right, fifteen. All right, twenty.
I am a person who values friendship. So in the spirit
of friendship, I told her what I thought—about her re-
sponsibility as my maid of honor and about the dress
and her weight. She didn’t even bother to pretend to
listen. When I asked her if she was listening is when she
called me a psychopath.
Since when is it a crime to say the truth?
Yours,
Very Disappointed Bride
Dear Very Disappointed,
Congratulations on your upcoming wedding! Be sure
to try and take it all in. Weddings go by so fast. And
congratulations on your talent for reading minds!
What? You can’t read minds? Then how do you know