Excerpt from Love and Other Consolation Prizes by Jamie Ford, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

When Mayor Clinton and the City Council had broken ground on the fairgrounds three years ago–­–­when a gathering of reporters had watched those men ceremoniously till the nearby soil with gold-­plated shovels–­–­that's also when Gracie began to cry in her sleep. She'd wake and forget where she was. She'd grow fearful and panic.

Dr. Luke had told Ernest and their daughters, with tears in his eyes, "It's a rare type of viral meningitis." Dr. Luke always had a certain sense of decorum, and Ernest knew he was lying for the sake of the girls. Especially since he'd treated Gracie when she was young.

"These things sometimes stay hidden and then come back, decades later," the doctor had said as the two of them stood on Ernest's front step. "It's uncommon, but it happens. I've seen it before in other patients. It's not contagious now. It's just—­"

"A ghost of red-­light districts past," Ernest had interrupted. "A ripple from the water trade." He shook Dr. Luke's hand and thanked him profusely for the late-­night house call and the doctor's ample discretion regarding Gracie's past.

Ernest remembered how shortly after his wife's diagnosis her condition had worsened. How she'd pulled out her hair and torn at her clothing. How Gracie had been hospitalized and nearly institutionalized a month later, when she'd lost her wits so completely that Ernest had had to fight the specialists who recommended she be given electroshock therapy, or worse—­a medieval frontal-­lobe castration at Western State Hospital, the asylum famous for its "ice pick" lobotomies.

Ernest hung on as Dr. Luke quietly administered larger doses of penicillin until the madness subsided and Gracie returned to a new version of normal. But the damage had been done. Part of his wife—­her memory—­was a blackboard that had been scrubbed clean. She still fell asleep while listening to old records by Josephine Baker and Edith Piaf. She still smiled at the sound of rain on the roof, and enjoyed the fragrance of fresh roses from the Cherry Land flower shop. But on most days, Ernest's presence was like fingernails on that blackboard as Gracie recoiled in fits of either hysteria or anger.

I didn't know the month of the world's fair groundbreaking would be our last good month together, Ernest thought as he watched scores of wide-­eyed fairgoers–­–­couples, families, busloads of students—­pouring through the nearby turnstiles, all smiles and awe, tickets in hand. He heard the stadium crowd cheer as a pyramid of water-­skiers whipped around the Aquadrome.

To make matters worse, when Gracie had been in the hospital, agents from the Washington State Highway Department had showed up on Ernest's doorstep. "Hello, Mr. Young," they'd said. "We have some difficult news to share. May we come in?"

The officials were kind and respectful—­apologetic even. As they informed him that his three-­bedroom craftsman home overlooking Chinatown, along with his garden and a row of freshly trimmed lilacs in full bloom–­–­the only home he'd ever owned and the place where his daughters took their first steps—­all of it was in the twenty-­mile urban construction zone of the Everett-­Seattle-­Tacoma Freeway. The new interstate highway was a ligature of concrete designed to bind Washington with Oregon and California. In less than a week, he and his neighbors had been awarded fair-­market value for their properties, along with ninety days to move out, and the right-­of-­way auctions began.

The government had wanted the land, Ernest remembered, and our homes were a nuisance. So he'd moved his ailing wife in with his older daughter, Juju, and watched from the sidewalk as entire city blocks were sold. Homes were scooped off their foundations and strapped to flatbed trucks to be moved or demolished. But not before vandals and thieves stripped out the oak paneling that Ernest had installed years ago, along with the light fixtures, the crystalline doorknobs, and even the old hot-­water heater that leaked in wintertime. The only thing left standing was a blur of cherry trees that lined the avenue. Ernest recalled watching as a crew arrived with a fleet of roaring diesel trucks and a steam shovel. Blossoms swirled on the breeze as he'd turned and walked away.

Excerpted from Love and Other Consolation Prizes by Jamie Ford. Copyright © 2017 by Jamie Ford. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.