eBooks - Literature - Modern Fiction - Curtis Sittenfeld - American Wife


American Wife eBooks

by Curtis Sittenfeld


American Wife - Adobe eBook

American Wife eBook

Adobe

Platforms
Windows Vista / XP / 2000, Mac OS X, Sony Reader

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and multiple viewing options.

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Price: $15.00


American Wife - Microsoft Reader eBook

American Wife eBook

Microsoft Reader

Platforms
Windows PC, Windows Mobile 5.0-6.0, Pocket PC 2003

Features
ClearType, advanced navigation, search, personal library, bookmarks, notes, and drawing.

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Price: $15.00


American Wife - Palm eBook

American Wife eBook

Palm

Platforms
Palm, Windows Mobile, Pocket PC, Windows PC, Mac, iPhone/iPod Touch

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and powerful viewing features.

Availability:
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Price: $15.00


American Wife Summary

PART I
1272 Amity Lane  

In 1954, the summer before I entered third grade, my grandmother mistook Andrew Imhof for a girl. I’d accompanied my grandmother to the grocery store—that morning, while reading a novel that mentioned hearts of palm, she’d been seized by a desire to have some herself and had taken me along on the walk to town—and it was in the canned-goods section that we encountered Andrew, who was with his mother. Not being of the same generation, Andrew’s mother and my grandmother weren’t friends, but they knew each other the way people in Riley, Wisconsin, did. Andrew’s mother was the one who approached us, setting her hand against her chest and saying to my grandmother, “Mrs. Lindgren, it’s Florence Imhof. How are you?”

Andrew and I had been classmates for as long as we’d been going to school, but we merely eyed each other without speaking. We both were eight. As the adults chatted, he picked up a can of peas and held it by securing it between his flat palm and his chin, and I wondered if he was showing off.

This was when my grandmother shoved me a little. “Alice, say hello to Mrs. Imhof.” As I’d been taught, I extended my hand. “And isn’t your daughter darling,” my grandmother continued, gesturing toward Andrew, “but I don’t believe I know her name.”

A silence ensued during which I’m pretty sure Mrs. Imhof was deciding how to correct my grandmother. At last, touching her son’s shoulder, Mrs. Imhof said, “This is Andrew. He and Alice are in the same class over at the school.”

My grandmother squinted. “Andrew...




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