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READING ON THE GO AT UNION STATION LENDING LIBRARY
In the spring of 2015, The Union Station Redevelopment Corporation launched a […]
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GREEN STREET BOOKS
Rebecca Martin fell in love with a monk. She couldn't help herself but that didn't make it any easier. Mike meditated every morning in bed, was up before the sun, hated socializing and small talk, and last but not least believed in some religious higher calling. What had she gotten herself into?
Filled with seamless dialogue and real life characters, The Monk Upstairs is a witty and irresistible novel that is enchanting from start to finish.
And when Rebecca's turn came at last, and she followed her mother up the aisle, moving at her own stately pace along that laboriously cleared path through the rose petals, she felt those same eyes of love on her, and she felt unexpectedly buoyed and moved, borne along by that unforeseeable grace. She was glad that they had gone for decency after all, in the end. And even gladder, perhaps, that she was just drunk enough to appreciate it.
That afternoon, as they drove to another secret beach, Rebecca realized that her brooding had reached critical mass and tipped over into paranoia. Didn't Mike understand that their relationship was doomed? That they had fallen totally out of sync? But he seemed oblivious, chattering on about an old friend...
The life that follows:
"Mike, it's Bonnie's birthday..." Mike groaned, frankly, and Rebecca saw him for a moment as just a guy, her guy, tired, grumpy, and recalcitrant. It was actually arelief. She could deal with guys. No one knew how to deal with saints. If he was really a damn saint, or even trying to be, he should have stayed in the monastery where it was safe. The world was the world. St. Francis had hung out with lepers, the least Mike could do was go to a birthday party.
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