Introduction

Claire Boehning's life of privilege and ease in Seattle comes crashing down thanks to her husband, Addison's, gamble on a biotech venture. Now they must retreat with their 14-year-old daughter to a bare-bones ranch house in rural Washington, where Claire struggles to revive a long-dormant medical career in order to support her family. The follow-up to Carol Cassella's national bestseller Oxygen, Healer explores the fallout of broken trust, the ongoing struggle to be truly understood, and the ultimate redemption of love and family.

---

Amazon Exclusive: Garth Stein Reviews Healer

Garth Stein is the author of The Art of Racing in the Rain, Raven Stole the Moon, How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets, and Enzo. Die Kunst, ein Mensch zu Sein.

It's tough to follow a spectacular debut like Oxygen, Carol Cassella's striking first novel, with an even stronger second novel, but she's done it with Healer.

Claire, Jory and Addison Boehning find themselves strapped to a runaway train of personal financial collapse, with only each other to cling to, and only each other to blame. Their precipitous fall from the rarified air of security and prosperity is the consequence of Addison's brilliant but risky shot at developing a cutting-edge cancer drug. With their old life in shreds, Claire, who abandoned a medical career fourteen years earlier, is forced to redefine her entire life: yesterday, she was the wealthy wife of Seattle's hottest biotech wizard; today, she is the heart and soul--and breadwinner--for her foundering family.

With Cassella's dynamic novel, something is always lingering under the surface; her narrative develops from a story of marital love and strife into a suspenseful, gripping story that is both provocative and gratifying. She leads the reader into unfamiliar and intriguing worlds peopled with vivid, complex characters. There are no blatant good guys and bad guys in Healer, no simple blacks and whites. Cassella's characters come in myriad shades of gray that make up the complex psyche of all human beings. And when money competes with good intentions, Cassella doesn't shy away from negotiating the murky ethical areas where profit and altruism collide, weaving questions of immigration, health care, and the power of big pharma into a page turning drama. I highly recommend this compelling new book by this remarkable author.

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

· 1 ·

The body is a miracle, the way it heals. A factory of sur-

vival and self-repair. As soon as flesh is cut, cells spontaneously begin

to divide and knit themselves into a protective scar. A million new or-

ganic bonds bridge the broken space, with no judgment passed on the

method of injury. In her residency, Claire had treated a trauma patient

who'd felt only one quick tug, looked down at her severed hand and

wondered to whom on earth it might belong; even pain can be stunned

into silence by the imperative to live.

As many years as it has been, Claire still understands the human

body. She understands the involuntary mechanics of healing. But how

an injured marriage heals--that remains a mystery.

This house feels so cold. Claire's fingers had been a shocking white

from the knuckles to the tips after she stripped off her gloves when

they finished unloading the U-Haul a few hours ago. She should be

somewhat warmer by now, indoors, but it's as if the cold has worked

its way into her core and radiates outward, chilling the room. They

haven't been out to the house since summer, and dust coats every

surface; seed-shaped mouse droppings dot the sofa cushions and

countertops. The pallid light seeping through the windows seems too

weak to hold color; everything in the room is muted to a shade of

gray.

Jory sits on a cardboard box with her arms hugged across her stom-

1

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 1 4/13/11 12:45 PM

2 Carol Wiley Cassella

ach, her hair draped around her shoulders. "When is Dad getting here?"

she asks.

"Between business trips. He'll come as soon as he can." Claire says

this calmly, soothingly, the way she tries to say everything to Jory these

days; announcing breakfast cereal choices and packing instructions as

if they were salves, verbal Vicodin or Xanax. She kneels to open the

door on the cast-iron woodstove and crumples newspaper between

broken sticks, watching Jory without watching. Hunting for other

emotions behind her sullen anger. Claire strikes a match, shelters it in-

side her cupped palm until it burns plump and dependable, touches it

to an edge of newsprint and a week of stock quotes flames into hot or-

ange light. The smoke stings her eyes, she squints and closes the thick

glass door, toggles the metal lever of the damper until the sluggish air

inside the chimney rouses and twists silver-gray tendrils up into the

night.

Jory is quiet for a while, then says, almost accusingly, "We don't

have very much wood."

Claire flinches, hears it as, "Fathers build fires, mothers only turn up

thermostats," wants to retort that they have a lot less of everything they

are used to, thanks to her husband. "We have plenty of wood out in the

shed," she answers. "I should teach you how to get the stove going."

Jory ignores her, tucking her hands between her knees and turning

toward the windows so that all Claire sees is the fall of gold hair.

"It's a good woodstove," Claire continues. The Realtor had told

them that, hadn't he? She hadn't really cared at the time; they'd never

expected to sleep here in winter. "I'll call the furnace man tomorrow.

And Dad can bring some space heaters when he comes."

"School starts tomorrow," Jory says. Claire chucks bits of wood

onto the conflagrant pile and slams the stove door before they can spill

out. "School starts tomorrow," Jory repeats, taunting her now.

Claire looks up and answers her, for the first time today, in the

voice of an equal. "It will be all right. There's a school in Hallum if we

stay very long." She sees Jory's stony expression and adds, "Or you can

homeschool if you want. Whatever you want."

Jory seems to grow smaller, as if she would clench herself into a

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 2 4/13/11 12:45 PM

Healer 3

tight ball. Her face is locked inside her crossed arms so that her voice is

barely audible. "I want to go back."

Claire sits on the ash-covered hearth and stares at the burning cin-

ders tumbling against the glass like small animals scrambling to escape

an inferno. "Well. There is no going back. Not yet." The words come out

as stern as a slap, not what she'd intended; she clenches her teeth at the

sound. But other words still burn inside her head, words she chokes be-

fore she can hurt the people she loves--a litany of all they can't go back

to: no private school, no ballet lessons, no abiding trust that tomorrow

will be the same or better than today. Not even the leeway to haggle for

a fair offer on their lakeside home in Seattle.

It seems a perverse joke, Claire thinks, that after years of saving and

insuring it had not been a fire or flood or disease that brought their

world down. It wasn't global warming or terrorism, no collapsing levies

or tsunamis--none of the headline threats that had spurred her to re-

stock their Rubbermaid emergency boxes and stash wads of cash in suit

jacket pockets at the back of the closet. Instead, for Claire and Addison

and Jory, it felt quite personal, like a precisely-placed bomb destroying

only their lives, leaving their neighbors and friends to stand unscathed

and sympathetically gawking.

Claire had discovered the first hint of their ruination smoldering in a

declined Visa credit card on a Christmas shopping trip with Jory, buying,

of all the ironic possibilities, a twelve dollar collapsible umbrella. She'd

left a message on Addison's cell phone warning him that their credit card

number had been hacked, thinking the problem lay with the bank or the

computer system. Surely they had been wronged by some outside force.

The daylight has almost faded but she doesn't want to leave the fire

even to turn on the light. It is easier with Addison away. The thought

darts across the surface of Claire's subconscious with the speed of an

endangered bird. Jory is staring down at the scarred pine floor, obliv-

ious to her mother's distress. Claire can keep up a front for Jory--

mothering teaches you that from the first reassuring smile you give

your toddler after a tumble. But if Addison were here he would see

through Claire, she is sure. He would see her doubt and then the doubt

could become real--could become the edge of the splitting maul. It

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 3 4/13/11 12:45 PM

4 Carol Wiley Cassella

almost makes her want their life here to be too difficult without him.

If they can make it alone, just Jory and her, what unites their family

except the tenuous hold of memories?

Jory is shivering and Claire hunts around for a box that might

hold sweaters. She rips packing tape off cartons of china and shoes and

bedding, the gritty sound of tearing cardboard almost welcome in the

face of Jory's determined silence. In the third box Claire finds some

of Addison's ancient high school track sweatshirts protectively folded

around candlesticks and vases and a favorite Waterford bowl. She tosses

a sweatshirt to Jory and pulls another one over her own head, cinch-

ing the hood close around her face, smelling something familiar in the

thick cotton: a musty hint of old wood, or even, she imagines, Addi-

son's gym locker, the indelible perfume of his adolescent sweat. She

lines the fragile crystal pieces along the mantelpiece, dusting the bowl

with her sleeve before she sets it down.

"Why are you unpacking that stuff?" Jory asks through her cloak

of hair.

"No reason to leave everything in storage." Claire unwraps a serv-

ing platter, searching her emotional reserves for some way to mitigate

the desolation she hears in her daughter's voice. "They're pretty, aren't

they? We might as well enjoy them while we're here."

"They'll just get dirty. Or broken."

"Your grandmother gave us this plate, right before you were born."

Claire looks at her distorted image in the silver, imagines her own

mother sitting down for dinner with them in this drafty room, pursing

her lips as she serves herself slices of tomato or fruit tart while Claire

tries to explain why they've moved. "Put it on the table for me, please?"

Jory doesn't move. Claire sets the platter on top of another un-

opened box and stands up, brushes the ash off her blue jeans. "Let's go

into town for dinner."

Without looking at her, Jory says, "I thought we couldn't afford to

eat out anymore."

"We can't." Claire pats her pockets and kicks aside the newspapers

scattered beside the woodbin. "Where did I leave my keys?"

· · ·

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 4 4/13/11 12:45 PM

Healer 5

Food helps. The cheaper and greasier the better, sometimes. Over

a cheeseburger Jory starts to talk again: a conversation about hair

straighteners--what is the ideal width of the irons? Can eyelash curlers

really pull out your lashes? And ballet, of course, her friends at the

dance school and what they think of the recital piece. Maybe she could

get new pointe shoes mailed to her, since there is no place to buy them

in this itsy town.

Claire has begun to view adolescence as a compartmentalized, re-

volving door. Openings flash by into different sectors of her daughter's

life and the trick is to stand close at hand, poised and ready to jump in.

There is a time-warping aspect to it: a flash forward to Jory at eighteen,

competent and hopeful; a glimpse back to Jory at eight, vocal, with

fresh, uninhibited awe.

Claire pushes her French fries across the Formica table toward her

daughter and rests her chin on interlaced hands. "We'll drive back to

Seattle when you need new toe shoes. It's not so far if the passes are

clear. We can make a weekend of it now and then. Get your friends

together." She doesn't bring up the fact that there is no ballet school in

Hallum Valley. "Once the furniture comes how about you invite some

friends over here?"

"Like, to do what?"

"Ski. Hike. Mountain bike." Claire eats another French fry, stalling

to come up with something teenage girls might actually enjoy in Hal-

lum. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Go to the movies. Shop. Hang out in the mall. Nothing we can do

here." Jory drifts into silence again. "Speaking of, where am I supposed

to sleep tonight?"

"Were we speaking of that? Just share with me tonight." The house

is minimally furnished with a sofa they'd bought at a yard sale last sum-

mer, a set of folding metal chairs and a dining table. But until the mov-

ing truck arrives they have only the old double bed they'd squeezed

into the U-Haul with some smaller boxes. "We'll be warmer that way."

She expects Jory to balk at this suggestion, but instead her face softens,

as if she's been relieved of an unexpressed burden. It occurs to Claire

that it is the very mattress Jory was conceived upon.

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 5 4/13/11 12:45 PM

6 Carol Wiley Cassella

The waitress brings the check over and asks if they want any des-

sert. Claire orders two ice creams and a coffee only to postpone look-

ing at the bill. Every penny of it will be borrowed; they are borrowing

to pay interest on borrowed money. What's another ice cream? Jory

slides the plastic binder that holds the check toward herself and flips it

open to see the total, then slaps it shut again and pushes it back to her

mother. "Let's say Dad finds a new investor next week. Can we buy our

house back?" She flashes the comic grin that has always signaled she is

near the edge, ready to snatch her feelings back at the slightest threat

and turn everything into a joke.

Claire does her best to smile. Her mouth turns up, she can force that,

but she can't seem to make the rest of her face--her exhausted eyes, her

knotted brows--go along. She wants to ask Jory how much she's over-

heard behind closed doors, what rumors she's picked up at school be-

yond the explanations Addison and Claire have given her. And at the

same time Claire doesn't want to know. She doesn't have the heart to

reassure Jory, yet again, that the family is the house, and thus it will go

wherever they go and can never be sold or lost. But as if graced by a mo-

ment of precocious instinct, Jory averts her gaze from her mother's face,

suddenly intent on drawing faces in her melted ice cream. "We'll find a

better house this time. You get your pick of rooms," Claire says. Jory lets

out one short laugh without looking up and Claire can't tell if she appre-

ciates this effort at optimism or is scoffing at her mother's simplification.

"So," Jory says after a deep sigh, her tone altogether new, as if the

prior sentences had been spoken by other people in some other place.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Unpacking. Dusting. Want to help?"

"No," Jory answers, rocking back on her chair.

"Great! I get to decorate your room, then?" Claire asks, hungry for

her own ice cream again.

"I thought I'd just paint bull's-eyes around the spots of mildew on

the walls. So what are you doing after you unpack?"

"After we unpack?" Claire picks up her spoon and pulls the sweet

thick cream onto her tongue, a simple pleasure. Any topic feels easy to

her now. "I might start looking for a job."

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 6 4/13/11 12:45 PM

Healer 7

"A job?" Jory sounds dumbfounded, and the front legs of the chair

slam onto the concrete floor. "Doing what?"

Claire cocks her head at Jory's incredulity, gives her a moment to

backpedal before she answers, "Being a doctor. What else? Should I try

to earn money as a professional mother?"

Jory considers this. She looks at her mother appraisingly, and a

flash of the eighteen-year-old whips by. "I can't see you as a doctor."

Claire shrugs and spoons a lump of ice cream into her coffee, watches

the ivory whirl blend to an even chocolate hue. Jory's snorts--the four-

teen-year-old returns. "I mean, I know you're a doctor. But you've, like,

probably forgotten everything by now. I mean, how long has it been

since you actually took care of a patient?"

"Well, how old are you?"

"Fourteen. And three months. And thirteen days," Jory answers

after a moment's calculation.

"Okay. It's been fourteen years, six months, and twenty days

since I saw a patient," Claire answers, remembering those last weeks

in bed, unsuccessfully willing her own uterus to hold quiet and nur-

ture Jory's wispy lungs one more day, one more hour, to inch her

over the line of survival. All Claire's years of medical training would

have felt absurdly pointless if the final price paid was losing this life

inside her.

"God. Please don't make me the first guinea pig," Jory says. "So, are

you going to wear a white coat and all?"

"I don't know. Is that what makes somebody a doctor?"

Jory is quiet for a moment. She studies her mother with a skeptical

look on her face that makes Claire feel oddly insecure. Or maybe it isn't

skepticism--maybe it's embarrassment. Is she embarrassed to think

about her mother seeing actual patients, possibly her own classmates, if

indeed she deigns to attend school in Hallum?

Claire shifts uncomfortably in her seat and fingers the handle of

her coffee cup. Then she tucks her hands between her knees and leans

across the table confidentially, "Maybe you can help me write a résumé.

Know how?" Jory shakes her head but sucks in her bottom lip, prob-

ably considering the opportunities she might wrangle out of this offer.

Cassella_Healer_CV_PTR.indd 7 4/13/11 12:45 PM view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher:

1. Claire is shocked and angry to learn the extent of Addison's financial gambling, and feels betrayed that he hid it from her. However, Claire also hides her true feelings from Jory, so much that it exhausts her. Why do you think she does this?

2. What role does money play in the relationship between Claire and Addison?

3. The story provides several examples of the relationship between mothers and children: Claire and Jory, Miguela and Esperanza, and Frida and her son. How are they similar and different? How do these relationships illustrate the sacrifices made for the sake of family?

4. Do you think Addison is a dreamer? Is he selfish? Is he more scientist or more businessman?
5. How do their shared experiences affect the relationship between Claire and Addison by the end of the story? They leave lasting scars, but do they also make it stronger?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Carol Cassella's web site
»	Request a Call-in to your book club Email Carol at [email protected] to request a call-in to your book club or a visit if you are located in the Bainbridge Island, WA area.
»	Discussion Questions from Carol as well as Q&A

Book Club Recommendations

Recommended to book clubs by 0 of 0 members.

Member Reviews

Rate this book