When I was in high school, I poured over the fiction section at my local B. Dalton. I’d look at it so often, I knew where every book went and when something new had been added. Pretty much everything I read came from that part of the store, and I never really wandered into the romance section (well, almost never). Years later, burned out on fiction with its overabundance of poignant coming of age stories and their often unsatisfying endings, I picked up a Catherine Coulter book and started reading romance. Within a few months, my reading habits had shifted to the point where I read far more romance than fiction. At this point I don’t know the title of everything in the fiction section, but I do like to dip my toes in the fiction water now and then.

Blessings is one of those books that reminds me of all the reasons I used to love straight fiction. Thoughtful and beautifully written, it showcases people from dysfunctional families, but it’s not about dysfunctional families. It has an ending that’s not the proverbial HEA, but manages to be both hopeful and satisfying. Most importantly, it poses questions that make you think about your own life, in the subtle way that only the best fiction can.

One warm June night, a young couple drives up to Blessings, a gracious country house, and leaves a baby in a box by the garage. They both figure that any child raised there will lead a charmed life with every luxury, with a loving family and a beautiful home. Actually, the only people living there now are Lydia Blessing, a woman in her eighties, and Skip Cuddy, her groundskeeper/handyman. Skip recently served a stint in jail for driving a getaway car, and he lives in a small apartment in the garage at Blessings. He’s the one who finds the baby in the morning, and his reaction is a peculiar one; he tells no one, and begins to care for the baby secretly. He starts out with a trip to the store for everything he thinks a baby might need, then he reads up on childcare. He wears the baby in a front pack as he mows the lawn and tend to other chores, and she sleeps in a bureau drawer at night. At first, Lydia is unaware of what’s going on, but a frightening thunder storm sends her to Skip’s apartment one night. He’s not there (having just run out to retrieve a letter) but the baby is. Lydia is flabbergasted, but soon she finds herself encouraging Skip and trying to help him keep the baby. They are aided by Jennifer, the daughter of Lydia’s maid.

The plot sounds a little far-fetched, and some aspects of it are unlikely. Would a rich, almost reclusive woman really hire some guy off the street to be her handyman, and keep him on when she finds out he’s an ex-con? Would an ex-con with only an indifferent education really read up on childcare and care for an infant? Actually, that’s the main point of the story; the baby girl changes the lives of the people who are connected to Blessings, and not in a cliché “oh, I’ve finally learned to love” kind of way.

The story takes place in the present, but Lydia’s mind wanders to the past so often that the book could actually be considered to cover much of the period stretching from World War II to the present day. The way Quindlen writes Lydia’s flashbacks is absolutely fascinating. Lydia will be thinking about something in the present, and her mind will shift to past events. The past is not explained in a neat, chronological way; Lydia remembers different things at different moments. One minute she’s in the present, then she’s recalling an affair she had during the war. Then she’ll revert back and remember something from her childhood or an odd memory from her fifties. This isn’t as confusing as it sounds; the reader is drawn into Lydia’s mind to such an extent that her thinking becomes clear and even makes sense after a fashion. Her recollections of the past are always connected in some way with what’s going on in the present.

Quindlen often poses great questions in her books. My favorite one from One True Thing is asked at the end by the heroine’s mother, who is dying of cancer. A lifelong fan of Pride and Prejudice the mother wonders why Jane, the “good” sister, can’t also be the “smart sister.” Her reflections have a bearing on her own life, and that of her daughter. My favorite question from Blessings has to do with socialization and biological destiny: Are we destined to live lives similar to those of our parents? Skip poses the question/observation this way:

“The thing that amazed him…was that you couldn’t get loose from what you were born into. Everyone believed you could, in America, but it wasn’t true. One moment you were a Boatwright baby, with a crusty nose and a diaper that should have been changed two game shows ago, and then you were a Boatwright girl, giving hand jobs in pickup trucks and carting around a baby of your own. You weren’t ever a cheerleader, or a college girl, or one of the women who sat behind a desk at First National Bank and said, ‘Can I help you?’ and ‘Your mortgage approval should take approximately ten to fourteen working days.'”

Skip goes on to think about his own life, but the interesting thing is that he himself is more than he was raised to be, even though he has trouble recognizing that. Caring for the baby sets his life in a positive direction, and inspires change in the lives of Lydia and Jennifer as well. Since closing the book, I’ve thought a lot about Skip’s words and what parts of my life are like what I was “born into.”

The romance fan in me couldn’t help mentally pairing Skip and Jennifer, and hoping (just a little) that things would work out for Skip and the baby. The ending is not a tidy HEA, but it’s satisfying nonetheless. As I turned the last page, I couldn’t help thinking that this was exactly what good fiction was supposed to be. I’d encourage those who want a break from romance to pick this one up. Quindlen’s engrossing writing style and her thoughtful observations about human nature make Blessings well worth reading.