Unlike Jeremiah, Gordon will never let this go. He won’t return to Wisewood without Teacher by his side—he has no attachment to this place, only to her. Just as well. We don’t need Gordon to keep Wisewood going. The community doesn’t depend on any single person. It’s bigger than that. It’s about to get much better.
Naturally I’m concerned about releasing him back into the world, but he’s an old man. Without Teacher to serve, he’ll become rudderless. Time will do what time does. I hope before then he finds peace, a way to pursue his Maximized Self in the outside world. Though I don’t like him, he has as much of a right to work the path as I do. Jesus didn’t get to kill the disciples he found grating.
The Hourglass is in sight, floating at the end of the pier. The sun warms my face. Only a couple of months until spring.
“I can’t believe you’re willing to do literally anything to keep Wisewood going.” Nat says this like it’s a bad thing.
You’re a tidal wave, Kitten.
I imagine my sister marching into the police station, demanding they dismantle everything we’ve worked so hard to build. I see Debbie returning to Carl, collecting bruises like baseball cards. Raeanne is forced into the back of her truck, four hands holding her down. Ruth is alone in Utah. Sofia weeps nightly at her daughter’s grave site. Sanderson is back on the streets, begging for booze. We’ve already had one close call with him.
A few days ago he confided to Ruth that he was leaving for good. He claimed it had nothing to do with drinking—he felt stronger than ever but had changed his mind about Wisewood and wanted to return to his family. But we all knew better than that. Luckily Ruth reported the plan to Gordon, who jumped on the Hourglass to save Sanderson right before he snuck away. I shudder to think what might’ve happened if we’d lost him.
Principle I: I want to live a life in which I am free.
I replace the ghastly images with a memory. All of us stand around a bonfire, swaying with the trees and singing “Hallelujah.” We’ve constructed our own family here, one without lies or judgment. None of us is better than another. No one wins or loses. No one is overweight or underpaid. No one is doing life wrong. We love one another as we are.
I can better this place. In some ways I already have. Take the blinds, for instance. Putting cameras in the guest rooms was too much; we don’t need to monitor our students every minute of the day. It’s enough to remove the blinds from the windows, to prove to one another we have nothing to hide. The cameras will soon come down—the one in my cabin already has.
The only person with the potential to cause real trouble for Wisewood is my sister. She is lonely and determined and has all the energy in the world. She could upend our fragile ecosystem. She could take my family from me. What wouldn’t she do to get me back under her thumb? Teacher warned me.
Principle II: As long as I fear, I cannot be free.
We reach the end of the pier, stare out at the sparkling water. How gentle, how inviting, it appears now, no longer a thrashing and crashing monster. My sister and I stand shoulder to shoulder. For a second I forget the weight of the responsibilities that have landed in my lap. I gaze at her.
I’m seven; she’s ten. I ask Mom if we can go to a baseball game. We don’t have the money, but instead of telling us that, Mom hands out glittery tickets the next afternoon. Numbers have been tacked to folding chairs in the living room. She makes a big show of ushering us to our assigned seats. She turns the kitchen into a concession stand, giving out Monopoly money to pay for tubs of popcorn and paper cups of soda. During the seventh-inning stretch, she makes us stand and belt “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” along with the crowd on TV. It’s one of the best days of my life.
The tickets were written in Natalie’s handwriting. So were the seat numbers. So were the prices at the concession stand. All of it was my sister’s doing. She let Mom take the credit.
Principle III: I must eliminate any obstacles that impede my path to freedom.
I check my watch. Gordon and Jeremiah will be here in a few minutes.
I glance at my sister. She’s gripping her duffel bag, watching me with a face full of fear. I wonder what she’s so scared of: Gordon? This place?
Me?
“Forget them.” I wipe away a tear and point to the Hourglass.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
Acknowledgments
When I started working on this book, I had no idea how much more difficult it would be to write than my first novel. Over the course of two years and seven drafts, I wrestled this story into its final shape. My work was made easier by, and I am indebted to, the following people—
My readers! You have countless ways to spend your free time, and I’m honored you’ve chosen to spend some of it with my books. Your insights, comments, and questions have been sources of both joy and reflection. Thank you for giving me the boosts I need to keep writing.
My tireless agent, Maddy Milburn, plus the rest of the team at MMLA, especially: Emma Dawson, Liv Maidment, Giles Milburn, Valentina Paulmichl, Georgina Simmonds, Liane-Louise Smith, and Rachel Yeoh.
My editors, Amanda Bergeron in the US and Max Hitchcock in the UK. I told you at least once that I’d bitten off more than I could chew with this story. You guided me with patience and brilliance through draft after draft . . . after draft. . . . You get the picture. Without you, there would be no book—or not one anyone would want to read, anyway. Three years in, I still can’t believe how lucky I am to work not only with the two of you, but with the geniuses that are Sareer Khader and Emma Plater as well. Thank you to Eileen Chetti and Emma Henderson for such thorough copyediting.
My publishing teams, who continue to amaze me. To the Berkley team: Loren Jaggers, Danielle Keir, Bridget O’Toole, Jin Yu, Emily Osborne, Dan Walsh, Claire Zion, Craig Burke, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Christine Ball, and Ivan Held. To the Michael Joseph team: Jen Breslin, Gaby Young, Christina Ellicott, Lauren Wakefield, Vicky Photiou, Elizabeth Smith, Hannah Padgman, Sarah Davison Aitkins, James Keyte, and Catherine Le Lievre. And to the Simon & Schuster Canada team: Nita Pronovost, Shara Alexa, Felicia Quon, Rita Silva, Jasmine Elliott, Greg Tilney, and Kevin Hanson. You all work so hard to get my stories into the hands of readers, and I will never stop thanking you for it.
The doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals who generously offered their knowledge when Google wasn’t cutting it: Kimmery Martin, Duncan Alston, Laura E. Hudson, Arnaldo Vera-Arroyo, and my cousin Shannon Soukup. Thanks as well to Savitri Tan and Jeanne Marie-Hudson for connecting me with these individuals. Any errors are my own.
John Drury for taking me on a tour of mid-coast Maine in his boat, which was the single most helpful day of research throughout the entire writing process. Thanks too to photographer Peter Ralston, whose stunning pictures brought the region to life for me once I was back in the UK. I hope my descriptions are half as good as his photos.