It takes me a minute to decide if I can do this, and I decide that I can, and I throw our yogurt dishes away and I put my hand in his and it’s soft and warm and instead of awkward fumbling, our hands clasp together like magnets and metal, like we’ve been hand-in-hand all along. And we are touching again.
“We could grab something to drink at this place up ahead,” I suggest.
“Is it okay if it’s iced tea?” Byron asks. “I don’t really drink.”
If only he knew how perfect that would be. “Iced tea sounds great.”
Byron smiles. His eyes are still blue, this time like the sky. The sky with the dachshund cloud. I remember one of the more spectacular sunsets aboard Fishful Thinking, when I sheepishly confided in Lily that I would like to fall in love again. How the words tripped heavily off my tongue with guilt. How even saying them out loud suggested a time after Lily. And I remember her simple response.
“You will,” Lily said.
We start walking.
I start talking.
“We met on a farm in the country when she was just twelve weeks old. She was gentle and kind and this lady called her a runt. Her father was called Caesar and her mother’s name was Witchie-Poo.”
Byron squeezes my hand twice with waggish delight.
I begin the story of Lily.
BEGIN! THE! STORY! OF! ME!
Acknowledgments
I understand that most everyone thinks they have the world’s greatest dog, and I’d be hard-pressed to make the case that Lily was the greatest dog of all time. She never rescued anyone from a house fire, she was never separated from me in a way that required her to miraculously journey hundreds of miles home, and a passing skateboard could send her cowering indoors for hours. And yet she taught me everything I know about patience, kindness, strength, and unconditional love. For that, I am forever in her debt. Lily, you were, quite simply, the greatest to me.
Thank you first to Rob Weisbach, agent, advocate, visionary, and treasured friend. Even though I’m the Taurus, you’ve been nothing shy of bullish in your enthusiasm for and devotion to this book and making it an unqualified success.
My editor, Karyn Marcus, was a champion of this book before she even acquired it. We’ve laughed together, labored together, procrastinated together, celebrated together, cried together, watched YouTube videos of Cate Blanchett together—and hand in hand we made this book better. Together.
Here I should just print Simon & Schuster’s main directory, as everyone worked overtime to make a publishing house feel like home. Instead I’ll single out Marysue Rucci for her early embrace of this first-time author, and thank Carolyn Reidy, Jonathan Karp, Richard Rhorer, Wendy Sheanin, Cary Goldstein, Marie Florio, Megan Hogan, Julia Prosser, and Stephen Bedford for their hard work and for making me feel part of a team.
If this book has a fairy godmother, she is Molly Lindley Pisani. Molly, your contributions are too numerous to list here, but I won’t ever forget them. You made magic happen. Bibbidi-bobbidi-book.
Thank you everyone who read an early draft and provided invaluable feedback: Trent Vernon, Wende Crowley, Katherine Lippa, Marcy Natkin, Susan Wiernusz, Laura Rowley, Brianna Sinon Rowley, April Wexler, Travis McCann, Lindsey McCann, Jill Bernstein, and Kristin Peterson. Additionally, this book has many friends, and they include Derrick Abrenica, Sven Davison, Malina Saval, Harlan Gulko, Sam Rowley, Evan Roberts, Cara Hancock Slifka, Steve Lekowicz, Ryan Quinn, Kyle Cummings, Elissa Dauria, and Barry Babok.
My entire life, my parents, Norman Rowley and Barbara Sonia, have given me nothing short of their full support, encouragement, enthusiasm, and love. They championed this book and embraced its weirdness, even when it was tough to read. I thank you both.
Tilda, you had big shoes to fill. Thank you for being exactly who you are.
Evelyn, Emmett, Harper, Elias, and Graham, being your uncle is one of the great joys of my life. Please don’t ever stop loving books, as they will take you everywhere.
Finally, a heartfelt thank-you to Byron Lane, who read a short story entitled “The Octopus” and said, “I love it! Now go write chapter two.” You were my first reader and my last. Your insight, passion, honesty, ardent margin notes, and gung ho enthusiasm simply gave this book life. All the lessons Lily taught me about love? I hope to spend a lifetime living them with you.
About the Author
Steven Rowley has worked as a freelance writer, newspaper columnist, and screenwriter. Originally from Portland, Maine, he is a graduate of Emerson College. He currently resides in Los Angeles with his boyfriend and their dog. Lily and the Octopus is his first novel. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram @mrstevenrowley.