Francine's Spectacular Crash and Burn: A Novel - Softcover

Swindle, Renee

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593475585 ISBN 13: 9780593475584

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

A heartwarming novel centered on Francine Stevenson’s accidental encounter with a peculiar ten-year-old boy who shows up at her doorstep after her mother's sudden death

Francine's Spectacular Crash and Burn is a bighearted novel that will wiggle its way into the heart of every reader. It follows Francine Stevenson. whose life revolved around her anxious agoraphobic mother—her abrupt passing rocks Francine to her core and sends her into a tailspin of depression. She copes by rummaging through her mother’s assortment of pills, dancing manically at night to the disco she and her mother enjoyed while keeping up appearances at work during daylight hours.

On one such day Francine’s blissful high is interrupted by shouts outside her door. She pulls back her curtain only to catch sight of a few older kids picking on a much younger boy. She ushers ten-year-old Davie into her home for temporary refuge. After that moment, Francine’s life takes a surprising turn.  

What appeared to be a one-off encounter evolves when Davie repeatedly shows up at Francine’s house. Despite herself, Francine begins to enjoy his unannounced visits. She finds herself wondering why a ten-year-old has so much autonomy. Francine realizes the proper thing to do is introduce herself to Davie’s foster parents and loop them in on the bullies she worries may still be giving Davie trouble, only to discover Jeanette, her high school crush, is Davie’s foster mother.

Francine's Spectacular Crash and Burn introduces a voice readers won’t soon forget. The weighty topics of grief, loneliness, and depression are offset by Francine’s offbeat, bewitching humor. This novel is a multilayered tour-de-force nested into a heart-stirring coming-of-age.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Renee Swindle’s bestselling first novel, Please Please Please (Dial/Dell), was a #1 Blackboard Bestseller, a Literary Guild Alternate Selection, and was excerpted in Essence. She is also the author of Shake Down the Stars and A Pinch of Ooh La La, both published by NAL.

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chapter one

I'm not going to spend too much time telling you about my mother's death. I have to tell you about it because it's what started everything, but her passing isn't the point. I mean, it's not the focus. Not really. I will say that even after all the therapy in the world I still sometimes blame myself for what happened, or I'll blame Aunt Liane, even though neither is true; no one was to blame. Prior to her death there was nothing going on in my life-just the days sort of bleeding into each other. I was twenty-five years old, living at home, and I spent most of my time with my mother. And yes, it was as pathetic as it sounds.

Mom gave astrological readings and motivational talks. I was in charge of filming her YouTube channel. She was corny as hell, but her followers liked her videos and trusted her readings. At the time she had over a hundred thousand subscribers.

Anyway, Sunday, two days before she died, she sat behind her desk wearing a bright yellow raincoat and hat like a meteorologist stuck in a storm. She used all kinds of props and costumes in her videos; the garage was filled with her stuff.

I fixed the lens so that it held tightly on her face. "Ready?"

She did one of her warm-up exercises-closing her eyes and blowing through her lips, making them vibrate like a rudder. She gave a nod and I counted off like a director on a movie set.

"Good morning, love doves. Corrina Stevenson here with today's astrological weather sighting. Jupiter enters Aquarius, so take hold; it's going to get stormy!"

She picked up the umbrella next to her desk and gave it a twirl. Like I said, corny as hell.

"My Leos, it's time to start that project you've had on the back burner; the winds of Venus will be growing stronger, which will create problems if you're not prepared."

We made her videos on the weekends and posted them throughout the month, one or two per week. At the end of each reading, Mom shared advice-things she'd read in books or heard from the self-help gurus she followed. She'd put her own personal spin on the lesson and pass it on. It was all bullshit when you considered the lie she was living. She was like all the other charlatans out there, like those preachers damning you from the pulpit, then you find out they're having an affair or molesting a kid. Well, she wasn't that bad. I guess you could say she was more like the celebrity you thought was living their best life, only to learn they'd checked themself into rehab.

Mom suffered from anxiety and bouts of agoraphobia that were so bad she wouldn't leave the house for weeks at a time, sometimes months if I let her get away with it. You'd never have known any of this based on the videos or if you met with her over Zoom for a reading, yet she ticked off every box for the most severe cases of agoraphobia. I asked her several times what started it, if something had happened, but she'd never tell me anything except BS like, "The past is the past for a reason, and I refuse to live there."

For the last video, Mom changed into a Viking princess costume with a Viking hat that had long blond ponytails attached to the inside. Mom had soft features: big warm brown eyes, a small gap between her front teeth. I knew her heart was in the right place, but the blond wig clashed with her dark-brown skin, and at five feet four inches, she was nearly three hundred pounds and the dress she wore tight and ill fitting.

I counted off. Pointed. She held up her plastic sword and shield, did her thing until I said cut.

"Are you sure that was okay?"

I was tired and ready to tell her whatever she needed to hear. "You were great."

"I don't know. I feel like my energy is off today. I think it's because you-know-who is coming."

You-know-who was my Aunt Liane, my mom's half sister. Those two couldn't stand each other.

She took off the silly Viking hat. "Go and get me a pill, would you?"

"You already had your pill."

She begged, and we went back and forth. Mom and I bickered like enemies at times, but she was my best friend, my only friend, really, and I knew how much Aunt Liane stressed her, so we compromised on her taking half a pill.

"Thanks, baby." She smiled her Corrina Stevenson smile, the smile she saved for her videos. I hated that smile.

Her pills were lined up on the kitchen counter under the windowsill. She'd stopped taking her regular medication about two years before, after one of her clients, Alfonse, became her direct supplier. We weren't sure how Alfonse-he didn't give his last name-a man from the Czech Republic of all places, had access to so many drugs. We assumed he was a chemist or pharmacist. Mom didn't ask and Alfonse never disclosed his secret. Through the tarot, she predicted his wife was cheating and guided him through his divorce. Over time they became friends and she told him about her anxiety and depression. One day, she read his chart and advised him not to go to work. Sure enough, the train he normally took jumped the rails, leaving two passengers dead and several others injured. He'd paid her back for saving his life by sending her pills. You no longer go to doctor. I take care of you, his note read.

And boy did he take care of her. No matter how much I complained, she refused to go back to her regular meds. The prescriptions were printed in Czech, so Alfonse wrote on the labels with a black marker in scrawny script and poor English, instructions like TAKE THESE WHEN YOUR SAD ALWAYS or TAKE THESE FOR GOOD SLEEP.

I halved a pill from the bottle TAKE THESE FOR VERY GOOD COURAGE and poured a glass of orange juice.

Mom's anxiety had started several years earlier, around my freshman year of high school. She'd always had bouts of depression, but with my help-and this meant sometimes pleading with her to get out of bed-she was able to keep her job working in the human resources department at East Bay Utilities.

Over time, she stopped letting anyone into the house. But her YouTube business kept growing and she started selling bath potions and oils meant to help customers ward off bad juju and manifest the life of their dreams. By the time I'd graduated from high school, she was living solely off her astrology business and a telemarketing job she'd found that required no commute.

I had a shitload of resentment toward her during that time, which you'll have to forgive me for. I mean, I had no idea she was going to die. How was I supposed to know she was going to die? Which leads me to telling you right now, ask forgiveness, accept the apology, ask the burning questions, give the hugs, and say your I-love-yous, because it may be cheesy AF, but it's true: We are all on borrowed time. Every one of us.

chapter two

Aunt Liane and Uncle CJ showed up a few hours after we'd wrapped up filming. It was a week before Christmas. Uncle CJ was a Jehovah's Witness, so out of respect, Mom and I decided not to put up a tree until he was out of sight. Neither of us was into the holiday anyway since there was no one to celebrate it with. Aunt Liane and Uncle CJ were our only remaining relatives, and the best thing about Aunt Liane was that she lived in Fresno, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Oakland, which meant we didn't have to see her much. My dad, I should mention, died when I was nine years old. He was one of a handful of black foremen in the Bay Area and was struck by a beam on a construction site. He was the kind of man who liked to joke around. Like the time he gave me a plate of Oreo cookies but had secretly replaced the fillings with toothpaste-that kind of thing.

Aunt Liane and Mom lasted a good thirty minutes before the bickering started. Aunt Liane said something about Mom's weight, and Mom mentioned getting plenty of exercise from working in her garden.

Aunt Liane rolled her eyes. "Planting flowers...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593475585
• ISBN 13: 9780593475584
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 321
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar