“What color are they?” she asked.
Evan laughed. “What?”
“You heard me. What color are my eyes?” She smiled and burrowed her face into his neck, hiding from him. Evan tried so hard to think, to place them in some context, to find the answer in a memory. But even with her head on his shoulder and with all the luck in the world, he could never have guessed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Neither this book nor its author would be possible without the care and friendship of so many, too many to name really, which won’t, of course, keep me from trying. Unintentional omissions will be repaid with shame and cocktails.
Profound thank yous and never-ending gratitude go to the following:
To Dan Wickett, Steven and Mary Gillis, and Steven Seighman for their hard work and faith. To Matt Bell for his dedication and careful editing. And to the whole extended Dzanc family, for having me.
To the brilliant and nothing-short-of-wonderful Terra Chalberg. Thank you for everything. If Thornton Wilder was right and an incinerator is a writer’s best friend, then a talented agent who champions the work of her authors runs a close second, and does so with far more grace.
To all of my friends at Penn State Erie, The Behrend College, for giving me the brief but lasting honor of being part of the finest BFA in Creative Writing program in the country. And especially to George Looney, Tom Noyes, and Greg Morris, gentlemen-scholars and the finest group of cronies a fella could ask for.
To all my family, the Crosses and the Garcias , for keeping me. To my sister for always being there for me, and to her family for their love and open door. To the trillizas and Baby Liz, you stole my heart and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And to my mother, una mujer de fe. There aren’t enough words so I’ll say only this: God blessed me with you.
To everyone at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and our writers’ group. To my entire Bread Loaf family, and especially Michael Collier, Jennifer Grotz, Noreen Cargill, Nina McConigley, Ru Freeman, Paul Yoon, Kevin Winchester, Xhenet Aliu, and to Laura van den Berg for her friendship and guidance. And Social Staffers, you know who you are. My idea of heaven is fifteen minutes of drinks on Treman Porch before dinner with each and every one of you.
To Erie, which will always be home. To Merski, Marz, Troy, Shea, Kenny, and the whole Erie crew. To the Deimel family. To everyone from 419 McKee. To Chad Simpson, mi hermano numero uno, and to his lovely and talented wife, Jane. To all the editors who gave my stories a shot, especially Tom Jenks at Narrative Magazine, M.M.M. Hayes at Story Quarterly, and Jill Meyers at American Short Fiction.
To my students, for keeping me busy and inspired, and to all my teachers, especially Cathy Day, Percival Everett, Buddy Nordan, Michael Byers, and Chuck Kinder, the toughest son of a gun I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.
To Kevin “Mc” McIlvoy for his close eye, friendship, and continuous joy. To Bill Kirchner for getting me started. To Jeff Martin and Keely Bowers. To all my Chicago friends, especially Kyle Beachy, Cristina Henriquez, and Nami Mun.
And finally, to Kelly, my heart. Always remember, I’m the lucky one.