Black Candle Women


 
 
 
 Advance Praise for Black Candle Women
 
 “Richly imagined and elegantly told, with plenty of satisfying secrets, heartaches, and twists. Black Candle Women is a promising debut.”
 —Sadeqa Johnson, internationally bestselling author of Yellow Wife and The House of Eve
 “A big-hearted debut, with complex, flawed, and compelling characters I was rooting for every step of the way.”
 —E.M. Tran, author of Daughters of the New Year
 “Written with warmth and an eye for detail, Black Candle Women explores the bonds of family and the magical power of belief to transform our lives.”
 —Shaunna J. Edwards and Alyson Richman, authors of The Thread Collectors
 “A compassionate novel about motherhood, sisterhood, independence, and the reflection and forgiveness required to break generational curses.”
 —De’Shawn Charles Winslow, winner of the Center for Fiction First Novel Prize and author of Decent People
 “A bold and tender story about three generations of women each attempting to find their way amidst the gifts and curses they’ve inherited.”
 —Cleyvis Natera, author of Neruda on the Park
 “Brown deftly portrays an insular family of women in all of its complicated glory... The spiritual angle gives this powerful family drama a magical twist that will delight readers.”
 —Booklist (starred review)
 
 
 DIANE MARIE BROWN is a professor at Orange Coast College and a public health professional for the Long Beach Health Department. She has a BA and MPH from UCLA and a degree in fiction from USC’s Master of Professional Writing Program. She grew up in Stockton and now lives in Long Beach, California, with her husband, their four daughters, and their dog, Brownie. Black Candle Women is her debut novel.
 DianeMarieBrown.com
 
 
 Black Candle Women
 A NOVEL
 Diane Marie Brown
 
 
 
 To my dad, who read me stories.
 To my mom, who encouraged me to make up my own.
 
 
 Contents
 Prologue
 Part I
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 October
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 November
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Part II
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 February
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Chapter 39
 Chapter 40
 Chapter 41
 Chapter 42
 Chapter 43
 Chapter 44
 Chapter 45
 Chapter 46
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 Author’s Note
 Black Candle Women Playlist
 Reading Group Guide
 
 
 PROLOGUE
 Augusta
 The flight attendant told Augusta Montrose that she would have to remove her purse from her lap and put it on the floor before the plane took off. She realized the man wasn’t joking when he stood in the aisle waiting, moving on only when her granddaughter grabbed the bag and shoved it under the seat in front of her—no place for a purse. She’d wanted to explain that it was her first time on a plane, that she was petrified. Not about the flight itself but the eventual arrival at their destination. When she’d left New Orleans all those decades ago, she’d vowed never to return.
 She should have known she’d be called back one day, that the city would never let her rest, even thousands of miles away. She’d learned early on about a certain unfairness in life. Some folks struggled disproportionately, carrying things that others couldn’t even lift. The Montrose women had taken on an overbalance of grief, but the way Augusta saw it, they’d been given what they were owed. And they were strong enough to endure it.
 The women in her family lived solitary lives, generations of them under one roof, adapting to their isolated ways, doing fine, they all believed. They were a private kind of people, had to keep others out to keep the secrets in.
 But recent events had changed them, shaking up the house, rattling the women within. 
 PART I
 August
 
 
 1
 Victoria
 In her mellower days, Victoria Montrose sometimes ate two shrimp po’boys just as a snack. Good ones were hard to find near home, but lately, when she got her hands on one, it took only three bites before her stomach convulsed in protest. Hot links, the same. Crawfish étouffée, the same. In cases where she had to pause a therapy session to dash to the restroom, she blamed irritable bowel syndrome. Sometimes diverticulitis. Pain was often how her body spoke to her. A cramp or an abrupt pang forewarned of troubles to come.
 But in most cases, an upset stomach simply meant that she’d overindulged. Her body wasn’t as forgiving as it once was. Yet today, she’d ordered one of everything greasy and fried at the most authentic New Orleans restaurant in Long Beach. Her daughter, Nickie, had been born seventeen years ago, and an overdone meal was required. Victoria had kept careful track of the years, but the number still stunned her when the woman at the bakery asked how many candles she wanted.
 “I’m sorry, seventeen? Or seven?” The woman’s brow lifted as she eyed the half-sheet cake decorated with a miniature Black Barbie figurine. She had ordered it without thinking—it seemed Nickie had been seven just days go—but luckily her daughter was not hard to please.
 It took Victoria four trips to bring the cake and all the food