Heartbreak Hill is indeed a fucking bitch. The steep incline is cruel and unforgiving at this stage of the run. People say that it’s all downhill after this, but it’ll still be a hell of a run. Going downhill takes control.
“Slow and steady, sweet girl,” Chris says. He keeps my slow pace. He is as strong as ever, but he doesn’t make me feel weak. He makes me feel capable despite how I falter in my run.
Chris and I live a quiet life in Bar Harbor. I mean, except for the loud sex. Of which we have plenty. I’m still freelance writing for the magazine, but I’m working on a novel also. This was Chris’s idea. I have no idea if it’ll go anywhere, but I’m enjoying giving it a try. Chris has immersed himself in Acadia National Park, and he’s become quite a good guide, leading us on challenging hikes and day trips. He got a job in the park’s administrative office and has surprised himself by getting involved in all the boring details, like the park’s budget. We’ve met some people who live in the area, and occasionally we have another couple over for dinner or go out with friends for an evening. Chris’s coworker owns a sailboat and has offered to take us out when the weather warms up a bit.
The winter months there would be considered impossible by some people, but Chris and I don’t mind. His truck can drive over nearly any snowfall, and we have a lot of supplies shipped to us. I’m quite happy not to leave the house for days at a time. Jonah keeps me company while I curl up with a blanket and my laptop and write by the fireplace. Our life is blissfully low-key. Except for when James and all the Shepherd siblings come to stay. Then it’s the best kind of chaos possible. Christmas was absolutely insane. Annie came out, too, and I think we all want her to adopt us. Except for Sabin, who still flirted with her like only he can. They will all be back out this summer, and James and Sabin have more plans for restoring the house, including sanding the wood floors and redoing the deck. Annie is staying with us for just a week, though. She has a boyfriend now, and they’re going to rent a place near us for the summer. She wants to be available for us—or, I’m guessing keep an eye on us—without having to live with seven recent college grads. I can’t blame her.
For months Chris resisted seeing a counselor. When his father died in the late fall, however, I insisted. He wasn’t sad about his father dying, but he was less relieved than I think he expected. There are pieces of his past that I cannot help him work through. He does talk to me, but it’s going to be a long time before he chooses to share everything. Or maybe he won’t share everything, and that’s okay, too, but he knows that I am always available. I’ve gone with him a few times to talk to the counselor. Hearing his stories is hard for me, and I have been battling my own rage and sadness over his childhood. I had amazing parents who died too soon, and he had an abusive, sick father who died too late.
When we are at the midway point of the hill, he wipes tears from my cheeks as we run. This moment is both incredibly painful and equally freeing. He knows how to read my body, and he knows when I’m about to break.
“I am overwhelmingly in love with you,” Chris says as he matches my steps. “I’ve spent most of my life thinking that my father never gave me anything but pain. But that’s not true. He did give me something. Someone. You. He gave me you. Last summer, you asked me to believe in us. I don’t believe in much, as you know, but I do damn well believe in us. Forever.”
Reaching the peak of Heartbreak Hill is easy now.
“We’ll make it to that finish line, won’t we, Blythe?”
“Always.”
We run through the remnants of our pain, and more importantly, we run for our present and for our future.
Together we kick heartbreak’s ass.
Acknowledgments
While writing may often be a solitary process, the times when it isn’t require a certain strength from those who dare to get involved with a moody, stubborn, exhausted, overcaffeinated author. I owe thanks to so many people.
My asssociate publisher at Amazon Skyscape (US), Tim Ditlow, believed in Left Drowning before knowing what exactly this book would become. An act of faith if ever there was one.
The indescribably talented Kate Chynoweth did the most spectacular editing job any author could dare to hope for, and she brought out the best in me and in this story.
Lots of love to my most tolerant agent, Deborah Schneider, for telling me that I “wowed” her. (I suspect I may have wowed her with chaos, but she’s too nice to say so.)
Another round of thanks to Lori Gondelman for proofreading and all-around handholding during the birth of yet another book. Jenny Aspinall, Marlana Grela, and Chrystle Woods all read chapters at various stages and were immeasurably helpful and supportive. Huge thanks to my cheering squad!
Thank you to Karen Lawson for connecting me with the very kind Dr. Barnett, who explained medical facts in shockingly understandable language.
Julia Clark, assistant Chief of the Orland Fire Department, and Michael Ferreira, First lieutenant of the Upper Greenwood Lake Fire Company, both volunteers in Maine, graciously donated their time to walk me through more detail than I knew I would need, but that I demanded anyway. Both of them are amazing, tough, and unspeakably brave. Stay safe, you two.
Andrea DiMella endured emergency phone calls to answer my repeated questions about running. She is an angel. And disgustingly athletic and non-lazy.
Carmen Comeaux jumped in at the last minute and did a remarkable job tackling my comma issues. Not only are her grammar skills solid, but she left delightful comments in my manuscript that made me giggle. Who knew that Track Changes could be funny?
Damonza created an incredibly beautiful and striking cover (I am once again so grateful to have him as one of my self-publishing resources), and Benjamin Carrancho did a gorgeous job formatting Left Drowning for the ebook and for print.
Mad love and respect to my father, Carter Umbarger, a most brilliant psychotherapist and even more brilliant father. Thank you for helping these characters stay real. I love you, Daddy. And equal adoration to my mother, Susan Conant, who gets both the blame and the credit for getting me into this business. I am very lucky to have such wonderful parents. Not everyone does.
My readers and bloggers gave me the ability to continue writing. I don’t know how to thank them for all the reviews, the enthusiasm, and the humbling love. I lean on them more than they will ever know. Endless gratitude to each of them for sticking with me.
And, oh, my fellow authors. There is no way I could have survived the Left Drowning process without them. Endless love, thanks, and admiration to Michele Scott, for her daily (sometimes hourly) assistance as a friend and talented writer and to Tracey Garvis-Graves for her unfailing and powerful championing during my darkest hours. To Andrew Kaufman, because he never failed to holler, “See? Now they’re listening to Jessica!” when I needed it the most. To Abbi Glines and Tammara Webber, for being rocks of sanity in a chaotic world. To Colleen Hoover, because sometimes you really do just need some damn flowers. And to Jamie McGuire, for also being a rebel with a cause.
To my twenty: I love all of you, and I would have undoubtedly collapsed without your strength. Fight the good fight, girls. Our power together is immeasurable.
About the Author New York Times bestselling author Jessica Park mines the territory of love’s growing pains with wit, sharp insights, and a discernible heat and heartbeat. Her previous novels include Flat-Out Love (and the companion novella, Flat-Out Matt) and Relatively Famous.
Please visit Jessica on the web, Twitter, and Facebook at these locations:
• jessicapark.me
• @JessicaPark24
• https://www.facebook.com/authorjessicapark