A novel that will appeal to readers of Jodi Picoult, Miriam Toews and Jennifer Weiner.
Winner of the 2022 Firebird Book Awards.

  A sister's love versus a cruel fate. A story of fierce love and heartbreaking grief.

Claire Waters, an Italian mystery writer living in Los Angeles, rushes to Italy after her older sister's devastating brain-hemorrhage, determined to restore her health-or help her die with dignity. Claire is a gritty decision-maker, a lone wolf who values freedom above all else. Her sister, Ondina-now on the edge of death or living a severely limited life-is wise, cautious, and sociable. They may be different, but have remained close despite the distance. Claire is faced with a dilemma impossible to solve. Would her non-verbal sister want to go on struggling, damaged as she is, or end her suffering? Forsaking her career, Claire hardly leaves her sister's side, refusing to give up the hope of healing. It takes an exhausting and lonely year for stubborn Claire to listen to her silent sister.

  "Cathartic, poignant and sensitive, California Sister explores the fine line where selflessness and selfishness coalesce into a muddle mess. Gloria Mattioni's heartrending novel is not the first to walk such emotionally charged ground, but it might be the best!" - IndiesToday (5-star review)

  "A touching novel about sisterly love. An immediate audience-grabber and practical parable about the choices we make and the priorities that matter to us."-Readers' Favorite (5-star review)

  "In California Sister, Gloria Mattioni explores sibling love and navigating family, distance, and desire. A poignant story of caring and coping and of growing apart and healing together, deftly traversing California to Italy and back. A deeply touching and heartfelt narrative." David Francis, author of The Great Inland Sea, Stray Dog Winter and Wedding Bush Road

Prologue: CLAIRE

(dredging up a time when she was still CHIARA)

Lake Maggiore, Italy, September 10, 1972

“No way!” My father’s fists hit the steering wheel. The Alfa Romeo swerved and my heart skittered. The Italian Grand Prix blasted from the radio, and Jacky Ickx, his favorite driver, was out of the race after his Ferrari died past the curva grande. I bit my lips to hold back my scream. Any noise, and I’d be the target of his anger.

The blaring noise of cars pushed to their whining limit swirled in my head like the buzzing of a monstrous beehive while the curves of the winding road made me want to hurl my lunch on the car’s upholstery. And that would really put me in my father’s sights. I distracted myself drawing on the fogged car window with my finger, watching the still damp trees lining the road, their tops hovering in the absence of any wind.

Sundays were always Father’s day in our broken family. Our parents were no longer together since before I was born. Dad had run off with another woman and he and our mother had weaved their own custody arrangement, long before Italy passed a divorce law in 1974. We saw him only a few hours every Sunday, either in Milan where we lived with our mom or at the lake where we spent our summers.

This Sunday, we were on our way to visit our Dad’s Aunt, Giuseppina, who’d suffered a bad car wreck. “She’s lucky to be alive,” he’d told us before getting in the car. “Her heart stopped, depriving her brain of oxygen for some minutes.”

“And that’s bad?” asked my older sister Ondina, who was ten and sat in the passenger seat, a privilege I wasn’t given since, at seven, I could never sit still for more than two minutes.

“But she’ll be happy to see you girls.”

We were excited to go to the farm, not far from the lake. She had goats and sheep with adorable lambs, and she always made us a fresh berry pie. Besides, the visit interrupted the monotony we’d endured for the past week, forced indoors by the rain. In September, the weather turned and we became trouble. Or, truth be told, I was trouble. Ondina was books, let’s make a cake and play dress-up, who cares if it’s raining. I was a rowdy tomboy who couldn’t stand to be cloistered, eager to break free and run out, explore and seek adventure. That evening, father would deliver us back to our grandmother’s country house, where we’d stay until October 1st, when the school year resumed.

“We’re here,” Father announced as the car tires squealed into the driveway. “Remember to behave and be gentle with Auntie Giuseppina. She’s like a big baby now.” He exited the car and opened the doors for us. I frowned at Ondina. How could an old granny like our grandaunt, go back in time to be ‘like a baby’?

Dad’s uncle, Piero, blocked us before we could enter their bedroom. Eighty-six-year old, but still a tall and lanky man. “Wait outside. Maria’s changing her diaper.”

Maria was their older daughter, about our father’s age. I was shocked at the idea of an adult peeing and shitting herself. Ondina lowered her eyes and hid her face behind Dad’s broad torso, but I caught her smirk. Did she think that was funny?

When we were finally admitted, the room smelled of stale air and urine. Auntie’s gaze was unfocused, running over our faces without a sign of recognition. Her mouth hung low on the left, giving her a crooked smile, and without dentures her mouth looked caved in. Her left hand kept lifting only to slap limp on the white bedspread, over and over. I couldn’t make sense of the globe of white plastic deep in the hollow of her throat. I learned later that was a tracheostomy but at that time it was just another big scare.

Dad gestured us close to the bed. I moved two small steps forward, trying to hold my face neutral. Ondina kept her distance, staring at her shoes. He picked me up and held me, and I thought it was a reward for my courage. “Give a kiss to your grandaunt.” He lowered my face close, but Auntie Giuseppina suddenly jerked her head to the side revealing a cratered skull with a long red scar on her shaved scalp. Dad flinched and lost his balance. My dangling legs landed on the poor woman’s stomach.

Aunt Giuseppina reacted at first with a low, sad grumble that increased to a prolonged screeching wail. My father pulled me back and I squirmed from his grasp, lurched across the room seeking a place to hide while he tried to calm her. Her eerie howl pierced my ears even under my palms. Frantic, I ran out of the room, sobs rippling through my chest and fear propelling my shaky legs. I ran out of the house, across the pasture full of indifferent cows to the stables, my favorite hiding spot. The cows and sheep were out in the meadow but the animal smell lingered inside and comforted me. I climbed the wooden ladder to the loft two steps at a time, then plunged into the pile of hay.

Time went by. When I could no longer keep my eyes open, I close them but to no avail. After a while, a sudden metallic sound pulled me out of my daydreaming. Somebody had just pushed the door open and a pitch fork leaning on the wall had fallen on the cement floor.

“Chiara? Dad is ready to go.” My sister’s voice sounded like a bubbling stream curving gently through the trees and dissipated my dread.

“Is he mad at me?”

I was scared around him, convinced it was my fault that he abandoned us. He was home before I was there, and then he wasn’t.

“Don’t be silly. I felt afraid, too. Now hurry up.”

I still hesitated, reluctant to abandon my protective nest. “Why don’t you come up here first?”

Ondina made her way up the ladder. “Here, here,” she said, opening her arms. “It’s safe and we’re leaving.”

I felt safe in her embrace, I could tell her things I wouldn’t anybody else. She had my back in so many ways. “I never want to come here again,” I hiccupped on her shoulder, dampening the fabric of her sweater with my tears and inhaling the musty smell of wet wool. “I can’t see Auntie Giuseppina like that. It’s just… wrong!”

It was wrong for so many reasons. Wrong that she had to live like a mummy, bedridden and unable to speak or walk, maybe even understand. Wrong that our father took us there without warning. Wrong that such a terrible thing happened to a sweet lady like her.

“I know.” She shifted wisps of tangled hair from my face, still holding me tight. “I wouldn’t want to live like that either.”

“Then, promise! Promise that we won’t let each other live that way or… We’d be better off dead.”

Ondina scanned the loft. “We need a knife. We’ll each make a cut on our palms and then we’ll shake and our blood will mix with the handshake. Like in that movie about the Norsemen, remember? The blood oath will seal our pact.”

“But I don’t want to bleed!”

“Don’t cry. We can spit on our hands then.”

Gross. Still, it beat the pain from a cut.

“Spit!” She ordered, and I expelled a good chunk of saliva on my palm, while she did the same. “Now, shake. We promise that we will never, ever end up like Aunt Giuseppina. And if we do… you know what I mean.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant but I felt heartened that she went along with my plan.

We had a pact. An allegiance sealed with spit, which my sister assured me was as good as blood. We were stronger now, reinforced by our renewed sisterhood. Fierce Norsemen sisters. We’d never yield to a terrible fate. We had forbidden it. view abbreviated excerpt only...

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