By Joshilyn Jackson
A GROWN-UP type of beautiful is a strong saga of 3 generations of girls, affected by hardships and torn through a devastating mystery, but inextricably joined through the bonds of relations. Fifteen-year-old Mosey Slocumb-spirited, sassy, and at the cusp of womanhood-is shaken while a small grave is unearthed within the yard, and made up our minds to determine why it's there. Liza, her stroke-ravaged mom, is haunted by means of offerings she made as undefined. however it is Jenny, Mosey's powerful and big-hearted grandmother, whose maternal love braids jointly the strands of the women's shared past--and who will cease at not anything to protect their destiny.
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Additional info for A Grown-Up Kind of Pretty: A Novel
Maybe tonight’s newspaper would be better. Or maybe I’d take Liss’s way out of things and try a simple Finding and Summoning Spell. Put the energies of the universe at work for me. Sighing in momentary defeat, I went back to the laptop and pulled up my email account, looking for distraction. And there, between the advertisements from my favorite retail establishments, churchy forwards from my mom’s ladies’ auxiliary group (gosh, I wonder how they got my email address; it’s a mystery . . ), a joke video featuring two dancing squirrels who may or may not have been putting the moves on, and a couple of rogue emails hawking a certain little blue pill that had somehow made it through my spam filter, there was an email from Uncle Lou, sent just this morning.
No, it’s okay. ” I shrugged, miserable. “You couldn’t have known that I didn’t know. ” Because Steff was my best friend. Why wouldn’t she have told me that she was going to be leaving me behind? Panic started to set in as I tried to remember when, specifically, Danny’s residency was officially over. Was it November? December? That was right around the corner. The first sunny days of September were already upon us. The next couple of months were bound to be a whirlwind for Steff, preparations for leaving, tying up loose ends.
Quite handy, that trait. The apartment complex proved to be in the older, southern end of town, over the Bolander bridge and south of the river. In fact, it was no more than five blocks from Marcus’s little Craftsman bungalow. It was an older complex, seventies-tastic in so-called architectural style, a typical two-up, two-down with exposed central stairs and a faux brick front. Maybe the age of the building should have scared me. It didn’t. For one thing, Lou had said something about the place being remodeled and ready for new tenants, so it was worth my time to take a look at it.