Almost Missed You
Jessica Strawser
For my children,
who manage to be both the sunshine and the stars in my universe.
I love you to Pluto and back infinity times.
Acknowledgments
Thanks first and foremost to my husband, Scott, who has proven to be unfailingly good-natured about me saying, “Can I just have twenty minutes alone with my laptop?” and then sheepishly emerging from my office an hour or two later to find him cooking dinner with a hungry child dangling from each leg. And to the aforementioned children, who remind me every day that life is full of big magic and little miracles, two of whom—by some incredible stroke of luck—live under my roof and call me Mommy. Being wife and mother to these three beautiful souls is the greatest honor and purest joy of my life.
My agent, Barbara Poelle, believed in me when my faith in myself was wavering, and that is the single greatest gift that anyone—no matter who you are—can give to a writer. The list of things for which I owe her thanks starts years before that and continues today. In my mind, she’ll forever be wearing a superhero cape and clutching a fabulous Kate Spade bag. Thanks extend to the entire Irene Goodman Literary Agency team.
My editor, Holly Ingraham, not only made this publication possible, she made this book better—and I can’t think of anyone more delightful to work with. Gratitude, applause, and awe to the entire team at St. Martin’s Press: Jennifer Enderlin, Jennie Conway, Lisa Senz, Katie Bassel, Danielle Christopher, Robert Allen, and a whole host of dream-makers behind the scenes.
With appreciation for invaluable feedback at earlier stages of this manuscript: all-star beta readers and friends Amy Fogelson, Orly Konig-Lopez, Amy Price, and Megan Rader. For thoughtful critiques of my previous works: Donald Maass, Katie Merz, Joe Stollenwerk, and Lindsay Hiatt. For mentoring my editorial career from the very first, Jack Heffron; for putting so much trust in my abilities, Jane Friedman.
For kindly lending their expertise for the factual details of this novel: former FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge Toni Chrabot, who generously took time away from her important work at Confidence LLC to answer a cold call from a new writer; pharmacist extraordinaire Jamie Mitchell; and my old friend turned wonderful nurse Amanda McDaniel-Price. All are incredibly busy people who patiently answered my many questions, and any deviations from fact or procedure are mine alone, for the sake of the story. (Speaking of which, I should note to my fellow Cincinnatians that I took creative license with the timeline of LumenoCity, which did not start until 2013, as well as a few other minor details—but I hope you’ll find the city’s spirit and its landmarks intact.) At one point Violet mentions a beautiful metaphor for new motherhood involving a thread connecting mother and baby—she doesn’t remember where she heard it, but I do: Thanks to Maggie O’Farrell and her wonderful novel The Hand That First Held Mine for the flash of inspiration.
For always telling me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up, and for tolerating the constant presence of a book in my hand: my parents, Michael and Holly Yerega, and my brother, Evan. For welcoming me to your clan: Marty and Terry Strawser and the rest of the crew. For years of sisterly cheerleading when you probably would have rather talked about something else (anything else!): You know who you are. An extra wink to Erin Nevius, Marcie Holloway, and the much-missed Jackie Skukan.
Finally, I’ll forever be grateful to my Writer’s Digest family—the colleagues past and present who’ve been so enthusiastic about this endeavor (with special thanks to Brian Klems, Zac Petit, and Phil Sexton)—the talented contributors and author interviewees who keep me steeped in insight and motivation during my working hours—and the readers who share the dream.
1
AUGUST 2016
Violet couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at peace. She almost felt guilty admitting this to herself as there had been so many moments to treasure in the three years since Bear was born. Becoming a mother had been many things—often indescribably rewarding, occasionally stupefying, sometimes even terrifying in the intensity of the love she felt for someone so small and vulnerable and dependent upon her—but relaxing was not one of them.
Every moment of it had led up to this, though: The blue-green southern Florida ocean sparkling before her, the gentle waves breaking, the pelicans diving into the water, and her sitting here taking it all in, a book in one hand, a pi?a colada in the other, and a rare and blissful stillness around her in the hour since Finn had taken Bear up to the hotel room for his nap. She smiled at the memory of Bear building sand castles earlier, making crashing noises as he plowed his dump truck through the mounds of sand he’d carefully sculpted just moments before, and of the way Finn looked at her when he offered to handle naptime today—a mixture of tenderness and something she couldn’t put her finger on, as if he hadn’t wanted to look away. He felt it too, the collective release of their first vacation in years. Tonight, after Bear was in bed, they would take that fresh bottle of pinot grigio out to the balcony, and she’d lay her head on that perfect-fit spot on his shoulder as they settled in to watch the moonlight sparkle on the rolling water.
Life was good.
She couldn’t help thinking of the day she’d met Finn. It had been on this very stretch of beach, right on the other side of the pier. They’d had that kind of instant electric connection that happens only once in a lifetime, and yet by the time she’d flopped her suitcase onto her bed back at home, she’d had the sinking feeling she’d never see him again. It had left her with a desperate empty sensation, and feeling a little foolish for pining so earnestly for someone she’d only met. She wished she could reach back in time and tell her former self not to worry. It would all work out in the end.