Nothing of substance, nothing unexpected. Just tears and platitudes. The man watching hears nothing. A chocolate Lab trots through the shot and his heart pinches. He doesn’t know what happened to the greyhound he adopted a week before the world he knew imploded. The dog was supposed to be a surprise for his wife. Speckled and sweet, just like she wanted, and she would have loved the name: Freshly Ground Pepper. He let the dog sleep in their bed, even the night she got into the trash and vomited a foamy pile on the first step of their evening walk.
The anchor spots the black boy in the red sweatshirt. His stranger, a white woman in a stained green fleece and a blue hat, is walking with him, her hand resting lightly on his back. The boy looks delighted and overwhelmed, but the woman’s face is stone. The anchor loves the contrast, the connection. She thanks a weepy widow for her time and strikes toward the pair.
The man’s eyes and shoulders perk. He thinks his hope and his imagination are working against him. After all this time, all this not knowing, he’s not sure. She’s bone-skinny and her hair is light and short where it peeps out of the hat, but—
“How do you feel?” asks the anchor. Surrounded by so much ruckus, the boy is at a loss for words. The anchor smiles at him sweetly, thinking him shy, then turns to the stone-faced woman and repeats her question.
Certainty rips through the man, and he stands with a shout, believing—knowing. He looks around for someone to tell but is alone. For months he’s been seeking, fearing; now he’s laughing and pounding the air with his fists.
The camera jolts sidewise; the stone-faced woman is attempting to walk past.
“Miss?” prods the anchor, leaning in.
The woman glances at her, then at the lens. She cannot see the eyes watching her so joyfully. She can no longer imagine these eyes exist, that what she wouldn’t let the boy tell her—what the boy didn’t know she couldn’t see—was this: The body in the bed wasn’t human. The woman scans the crowd, the crush, the saviors, the bottled water, and the orange vests. She does not feel blessed. It’s over. It’s just beginning. She will endure. The cameraman edges closer and the anchor tilts her microphone toward the woman’s face. But the woman has no confession and these obstructions, these devices sucking in her breath, her image, these are all things that are no longer real. Her hard green gaze slides past the lens to the man behind it. “Get the camera out of my face,” she says. “Now.”
Acknowledgments
I have many thanks to disperse, and my first bundle goes to the smartest man I know, who is just enough of a chump to have legally bound himself to me for life. Andrew, thank you for giving me a second chance at our first date, your loving and logical support during the writing of this novel, and everything in between and yet to come—especially the laughter.
Next up, rapid-fire family thanks: Thank you to my dad for understanding the creative drive and supporting my decision to follow such an uncertain path. Thank you to my mom for my off-kilter upbringing, which I know plays such a huge part in who I am today. Thank you to Jon for answering my Air Force questions and general big brother awesomeness. Thank you to Yvette for her kindness and gentle understanding throughout the years. Thank you to Helen for weathering my teenage ambivalence and for her friendship.
A shout-out to my ninth-floor suities: Purva, Katie, Xining, Shelly, Lynn, Emily, and Aditi. Your support and camaraderie over these many and occasionally very long years has meant the world to me, and your outpouring of selfless joy when things finally started to click is the definition of friendship. Extra thanks to Dr. He for answering my writing-related medical questions with such speed and thoughtfulness; to Lynn for the photo shoot; and to the Galipeaus for providing dinners, drinks, and much good company while the world shifted beneath my feet.
Alex and Libby: Thank you for your feedback and your friendship, and for not letting years or miles get in the way of our little writing group. You not only push me to be better, you inspire me to be. I hope I’ve been half as helpful to you in your own work.
To the incredible BOSS staff: Thank you for a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Seriously, once was enough. Special thanks to Cat, Jess, and Heath; I can’t imagine having had better guides through those trying and extraordinary two weeks. Thank you also to the staff (and residents) of the Prospect Park Zoo, for providing sanctuary and inspiration amidst the bustle prior to my escape to the Pacific Northwest.
Thank you to Shelley Jackson for that extra little push toward the weird. Thank you to Lee Martin for the givens, though I later stripped most of them away. Thank you to Julia Glass for her kindness at an airport during an overwhelming time.
Thank you to the Catto Shaw Foundation for a quiet space for the finishing touches. Thank you to the good people of Aspen Words for a community, and for Lucy.
Lucy Carson. To call her a dream agent is an understatement, because I never dreamed I’d have the privilege of working with someone as passionate as she. Lucy, you gave me hope and give me confidence. Knowing you have my back makes all the difference. Thank you. Thank you also to Nichole LeFebvre, for handling the details so deftly and with such kindness.
Thank you to Jessica Leeke for quite possibly the most exciting and surreal morning of my life, and for her continued enthusiasm since. Wider thanks to my entire team at Michael Joseph.
Thank you to Gina Centrello and everyone at Ballantine who’s had a hand in bringing this book into the world, including: Libby McGuire, Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Jennifer Hershey, Susan Corcoran, Melanie DeNardo, Quinne Rogers, Kelly Chian, Betsy Wilson, Kara Cesare, and—of course and especially—Mark Tavani. Mark, this book could not have become what it is without your insightful questions, on-point suggestions, and good-humored support. I literally cannot thank you enough.
Finally, thank you to Andrew, who asked to be mentioned first and last. He may have been joking, but he deserves it.