Earth's the Right Place for Love

Earth’s the Right Place for Love is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth BergAll rights reserved.Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.RANDOM HOUSE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATANames: Berg, Elizabeth, author.Title: Earth’s the right place for love : a novel / Elizabeth Berg.Other titles: Earth is the right place for loveDescription: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2023]Identifiers: LCCN 2022010405 (print) | LCCN 2022010406 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593446799 (hardback ; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780593446812 (ebook)Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.Classification: LCC PS3552.E6996 E18 2023 (print) | LCC PS3552.E6996 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23/eng/20220303LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022010405LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022010406Ebook ISBN 9780593446812randomhousebooks.comFrontispiece photo courtesy of iStock/ImagoRBBook design by Carole Lowenstein, adapted for ebookCover design: Ella LaythamCover images: Mark Stutzman (couple), Getty Images (sky, flowers, moon)ep_prh_6.0_142845113_c0_r0 ContentsCoverTitle PageCopyrightEpigraphPrologueChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28EpilogueDedicationAcknowledgmentsBy Elizabeth BergAbout the Author_142845113_ I’d like to get away from earth awhileAnd then come back to it and begin over.May no fate willfully misunderstand meAnd half grant what I wish and snatch me awayNot to return. Earth’s the right place for love:I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.—from “Birches” by Robert Frost Mason, MissouriWinter 2016ARTHUR MOSES BELIEVES it is not a terrible thing to think that you may be dying. He is eighty-five years old and in his own house, in his own bed, in the town he has lived in all his life. He sleeps comfortably enough and is visited by people he loves.He waits for small things now. Snow falling, slow and waltzy. A door opening, then closing. The ring of a spoon against a mixing bowl, the warm smell of cake. Rose petals dropping onto the nightstand. Black clouds parting like curtains to reveal the stars. And always, the sound of the train whistle. That sound brings back memories of the spring he was sixteen, when he came into life for the second time. Chapter 1 Mason, MissouriApril 1947SOMETIMES ARTHUR SNUCK out of his house at night. He didn’t go anywhere, just sat on the back steps outside the kitchen door. Here, he pondered things that were too big to fit inside the bedroom he shared with his older brother, Frank. Even in sleep, Frank seemed a large and nearly incandescent presence. A person like Frank didn’t leave a lot of room for a guy like Arthur, unintentional though it was. And Arthur didn’t mind, really. Being outside was a reminder to him that there was a place for all things, and, in that respect, didn’t everything have equal value? Off to the side in the backyard, for instance, were daisies. Up above was the majesty of the moon and the stars and the rings of Saturn that he knew were there whether he could see them or not. And here, sitting on the steps in his pajamas, was Arthur, feeling that he was right where he should be. For him, life was like a gift perpetually ready for the opening. Cockeyed optimist, Frank called him, but Arthur wasn’t sure he was cockeyed at all.He wished that a certain someone would care to hear his thoughts. Hear and understand them. He guessed that everyone came to a time in their life when they started to be aware of a specific kind of loneliness. It reminded him of filmstrips he’d seen in science class: seeds buried in the earth and then sprouting, growing what looked like arms reaching out. On the rough concrete beneath him, he traced out the letters to her name: NOLA. Then he went back inside.—The next day, after school let out, Arthur went again to the chain-link fence near the front entrance of the high school and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nola McCollum. He’d been doing this for several days now. Sometimes he smashed down dirt clods, a poor attempt to seem like he was doing something. More often he stood sideways, as though his attention were taken up by something off in the distance.If she did not come out, he knew she had stayed after for one reason or another: a club meeting, cheerleading practice, rehearsal for a concert or a play. But if she did come out, he watched as she descended the steps and turned left toward home.Nola was very popular, and almost always with a group of friends and admirers; Arthur once counted twelve people with her. But today she came out by herself, and everything in Arthur ratcheted up to high alert.She was looking down and smiling, seemingly lost in thought. He liked the brown tweed skirt and yellow sweater she was wearing, and the way her coat was open to the mild April day. It was a chance for him finally to talk to her alone, to say…Well, that was the problem. To say what? She was mythical to him, barely real. But there she was, carrying books and wearing socks and shoes like everyone else. Just as she passed Arthur, the wind lifted her black hair and blew it across her face. Arthur swallowed around the boulder in his throat and called out, “Hey, Nola!”She moved her hair aside and turned to look at him. “Oh, hi, Arthur!”He walked up to her, his heart banging in his chest.“I’m glad to see you,” she said.“Oh!” he said. “Well, that’s nice!”“I’ve been meaning to ask you if you could do me a favor.” She turned her head and regarded him sideways, her eyebrows raised. Was she flirting with him?“Sure! What is it?”“Well…it’s just that, like a lot of other girls, I have a