Extraordinary Deaths of Mrs. Kip

Sara Brunsvold

Description

Aidyn Kelley is talented, ambitious, and ready for a more serious assignment than the fluff pieces she's been getting as a cub reporter for the Kansas City Star. In her eagerness, she pushes too hard, earning herself the menial task of writing an obituary for an unremarkable woman who's just entered hospice care.But there's more to Clara Kip than meets the eye. The spirited septuagenarian may be dying, but she's not quite ready to cash it in yet. Never one to shy away from an assignment herself, she can see that God brought the young reporter into her life for a reason. And if it's a story Aidyn Kelley wants, that's just what Mrs. Kip will give her--but she's going to have to work for it.Debut author Sara Brunsvold delights with this emotional multigenerational story that shows that the very best life is made up of thousands of little deaths to self. You'll want to be just like Mrs. Kip when you grow up!

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 05 juillet 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493436354
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Endorsements
“A dying stranger radically alters the life of an ambitious young journalist in this remarkable debut novel by Sara Brunsvold. Winsome and wise, this thoughtful story of an unlikely friendship between two women will stick with you long after you finish the last page. Oh, if I could only be like Mrs. Kip as I grow old!”
Suzanne Woods Fisher, bestselling author of On a Summer Tide
“Just as I was craving an uplifting novel, Mrs. Clara Kip entered my life. Sara Brunsvold’s inspiring debut invited me into the world of the characters to bear witness to their joys and heartaches, their gains and losses, their lives and deaths. Readers who enjoy Katie Powner and Lisa Samson will want to get their hands on The Extraordinary Deaths of Mrs. Kip . Grab some tissues and hunker down. Once you start reading you won’t want to stop.”
Susie Finkbeiner, author of The Nature of Small Birds and My Mother’s Chamomile
“You don’t want to miss this beautifully crafted generational story that weaves together the lives of two women in an unforgettable read. Sara Brunsvold has captured the essence of what can happen when love, grace, mercy, and God’s Word are the gifts extended to those we meet on our journey through life.”
Judith Miller, award-winning author of A Perfect Silhouette
“In Sara Brunsvold’s poignant yet inspiring novel, Mrs. Clara Kip is dying to show that living well means loving well—and dying well, if she has her way. In her story, Brunsvold writes, ‘The Lord will give you all the words you need. It’s not about whether they sound pretty.’ And her words are more than pretty. They’re beautiful, impactful, and adeptly written and will touch the reader in heart-deep places.”
Robin W. Pearson, award-winning author of A Long Time Comin’ and Walking in Tall Weeds
“Sara Brunsvold’s debut has a big heart, just like Mrs. Kip. As someone who has spent countless hours in care homes and hospice situations, I loved reading a book that brought such tenderness and respect to the end-of-life experience. The Extraordinary Deaths of Mrs. Kip gently teaches that even in death there is much to learn about life. A thoughtful and touching read.”
Katie Powner, author of The Sowing Season and A Flicker of Light
“Sara Brunsvold’s debut is a delight. She weaves stories that draw the reader in with an investment in the final outcome. Her characters are rich with individual personalities. Sara is a writer to watch.”
Christina Suzann Nelson, Christy Award–winning author of The Way It Should Be
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2022 by Sara Brunsvold
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3635-4
Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is from the Christian Standard Bible®, copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible® and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.
The quotations on page 272 are taken from “Anti-U.S. Tension Surges in Laos,” Kansas City Star , May 26, 1975; and Matt Franjola, “Tragic End to Long March by Meo Tribesmen,” Kansas City Star , August 13, 1975.
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Management, www.booksandsuch.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
Dedication
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Author Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
CHAPTER 1
Monday, June 6, 2016
Clara Kip had prayed repeatedly to die in São Paulo. It truly seemed the smallest of requests. People died in Brazil every day. What was one more? Especially one who had dreamed of the country most of her life.
The Lord, however, gave her Kansas.
She watched the white line edging the Kansas City interstate pass by her window. It gently carried her toward a facility she’d hoped she would never need in a city she never thought she’d still be in, and she could only trust that the Lord was up to something. Because he usually was.
The facility’s shuttle driver—a small, meaty man with a dark complexion and a nameplate above his head that read “Trey”—hummed softly as he drove. The notes floated into her imagination. She smiled, reshaping little blips of music into the dramatic, soul-tickling sounds of samba. Beats that made feet move on impulse and hearts soar with anticipation. Her weary bones enlivened, the way they had when John taught her the dance steps.
Just once she would have loved to samba well past sundown in São Paulo, or walk along the Avenida Paulista strip, or enjoy a golden-fried coxinha hot from a street vendor’s cart.
She looked at the Kansas sky stretched above her, streaks of clouds still tinged faint orange from the fading sunrise.
But not my will, Lord , she prayed.
Around gentle curves and over hiccup slopes, they traversed farther away from the little house that had been hers for decades, until the doctor had shown her the scan and said “aggressively metastasized.” The annoying pain in her abdomen that had landed her in the hospital a week prior wasn’t the UTI she had insisted it was to him and all those ER people.
After delivering the prognosis, the doctor refused to let Clara travel outside the country. Clara had called him a square.
Somewhere at a facility in the far southern outreaches of the city, her hospice team awaited her arrival.
Eventually the driver merged into an exit lane and peeked at her in the rearview mirror as they came to the stoplight. “Beautiful morning,” he called back.
“Sure is, young man. God definitely got creative with that sunrise.”
“That he did.”
Clara considered his response. “Tell me, honey. Do you know Jesus?”
The driver’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Good. I can conserve my energy then.”
He chuckled. “I suppose so. Although I never mind talking about him.”
“Good for you, Trey. Talk about him a lot, especially when others seem uninterested. He loves that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned onto a side street, slipping closer to their destination.
Outside the window, she caught sight of a young mother herding her kids into the SUV parked in their driveway. The littlest one skipped behind her mother, a pink backpack jiggling on her tiny shoulders. Off for another day of running headlong into new life. So much to learn and explore and discover. Clara pictured her friend Mai surrounded by her sweet little ones, specifically that one day at the airport, when their months of separation had come to a glorious end.
Only one reunion could be sweeter, in Clara’s estimation.
She turned back to Trey. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What do you think heaven will be like?”
He thought. “I really don’t know. Bright?”
“No doubt there.”
They rode in silence, then Trey asked, “What do you think heaven will be like, Mrs. Kip?”
Clara grinned. “Oh, honey. I think heaven will be the wildest ride yet.”
----------
Trey parked under the awning of the main entrance to Sacred Promise Senior Care Center. The one-story building sprawled away from the main entrance in both directions. One side comprised assisted living apartments with their own little porches, and the other, skilled nursing residence rooms with large picture windows. A thick screen of trees wrapped around the property, giving it an appearance of seclusion from the busy shopping center beyond. Of the various facilities the kind people of the University of Kansas Medical Center had shown her in brochures, Sacred Promise seemed to offer the closest proximity to unadulterated nature. One of many reasons Clara felt drawn to it. That, and they took Medicare.
Trey hopped out of his seat and pulled her leather suitcases from the rack at the front of the shuttle. “Let me take these to the sidewalk,” he said as he headed for the steps. “I’ll come back to help you.”
Clara grunted at his subtle suggestion that she wait. She had been walking out to get her mail just fine until a week ago. She rose and ambled after him.
When he caught sight of his passenger hobbling down the steps, he rushed over with arms extended. “Please, Mrs. Kip, let me help you.”
“Honey, I’m only dying. I’m not an invalid.”
Regardless, he insisted she take his arm, which she did, but only because a lady never declines chivalry.
Safely on the sidewalk, she peered down at her suitcases. Poor, sad things. They had waited with her for more than half a century to see the ends of the earth. Sacred Promise wasn’t even the ends of Kansas City.
Trey lifted them by the handles and nodded to the entrance. “After you, Mrs. Kip.”
Clara gazed at the sliding glass doors of Sacred Promise. Such an odd feeling to know that once she walked in, she would not walk out. She clung to the belief the Lord had something for her here, so she shuffled forward.
The doors opened to reveal a small foyer that tried ever so hard to look homey. Burgundy wingback chairs, a grandfather clock, and floral print wallpaper made her wrinkle her nose. On either side, a hallw