He smelled, even in California, of maple syrup. Vida held him and let him hold her. She felt herself opening, her whole being spreading not just over Tom but over the yard, over the orchard behind her, over the palms clicking in the wind. Over the Dodge which had carried her so many places. Over her son, her very own son, watching at the window. She pressed her mouth to the warm stubble on the back of Tom’s neck. Desire rose easily. He’d waited, and had come when she asked. And yet she did not feel as Tess had felt when Angel finally came. Unlike Tess, her urge was not to die. This happiness was too much, Tess said. I have had enough. But Vida had not had near enough. Oh God, she thought, nearly unable to reckon with the vastness of the moment. This is it and I am right here. This is what there is.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
EVERYONE IN MY LIFE HAS HAD A HAND IN HELPING ME WRITE THIS BOOK. Thank you to each one of you. I would still be stuck in chapter nine without the extraordinary help of Judith Burwell, who opened all the doors and windows. I am grateful for the support and encouragement of my writers’ group: Susan Conley, Debra Spark, Anja Hanson, and Sara Corbett. I am indebted to the following people for all their help: Sue Loomis, Fabiola Parra, Alix Bowman, Tina Barber, Paula Price, Nidia Restrepo, Holly Adams, and Hannah McCain. I’d also like to thank my mother, Don Lee, Maryanne O’Hara, Ann and Jack Cobb, Anita Demetropoulos, Cornelia Walworth, Cammie McGovern, Lisa Adams, and Becky Dilworth. And I need to acknowledge a real-life high school English teacher, Tony Paulus, who introduced me to both literature and creative writing, and without whom I would never have begun writing stories. I am blessed with a fantastic agent, Wendy Weil, and an exceptionally talented editor, Elisabeth Schmitz, who speaks my language, only better.
I need to give a special thanks to Susan Conley who, in a true act of friendship, somehow managed to read my manuscript twice in one week despite her responsibilities as teacher, writer, and mother of two small boys. Her feedback was invaluable to me. And to my husband, Tyler, who listened, and read, and made me go on when I wanted to give up. And to my daughters, Calla and Eloise, for their love and understanding, and for the expression on their faces when they took turns holding the pile of pages that night I finished.