by R. A. Nelson
We kissed, and I realized it was the first time since Wirtz … well.
“You want to go in with me?” I said. That felt safer.
“No. That’s too much,” Sagan said. “Hi, Mom, I’m a vampire! Some other vampires tried to kill me! And oh, hey, here’s my new boyfriend.”
“I see what you mean.”
He kissed my hand. “It’ll be okay, Emma. I know how my mom would be if I disappeared and then came back.”
“Okay. Now?”
“Yeah. But come here.”
I leaned across the seat and fell into his arms. I pulled away and looked at the stairs. The door. The kitchen window.
“Just think, tonight you’ll get to read to Manda.”
I took a long breath. He always said the right thing.
I couldn’t stop crying, even after I shut the door to the Jeep. My sleeves were soaked. I walked toward the steps. Turned and looked at the blurry image of Sagan, his yellow hair blowing. He had lost part of an eyebrow when the gasoline had exploded. There was a long slashing cut across his cheek that was probably going to leave a scar. I told him it made him look like Josey Wales.
I swallowed and slowly climbed the steps. Stopped in front of the door. My door. I stood there facing it, hands at my sides. Wondering just exactly how a girl who was half vampire was supposed to get by in this world. Wondering if I should knock.
Then it came to me. A family is like a hologram. It doesn’t matter if there is only one other person. Or two. Or six, like Sagan’s. No matter how you divide it up, when they love you, you’re never half anything. Each part is always a whole. Your family is your Feld.
I raised the little knocker and rapped several times. Listened. I didn’t hear anything. Then I heard running.
A book like Throat would not be a reality without the encouragement, faith, and support of special people. I would like to thank my editor, Joan Slattery, along with Nancy Siscoe and Nancy Hinkel, Allison Wortche, Meg O’Brien, Kate Gartner, Artie Bennett, and all the other folks at Alfred A. Knopf; Cecile Goyette; my agent, Rosemary Stimola, and her colleagues in the agenting world, Stephen Moore and Bastian Schleuck; Ann Marie Martin of the Huntsville Times; my German translator, Katarina Ganslandt; my sister, Rikki Lynn Halavonich; and Kathleen O’Dell. Special thanks to my family for bearing with me all the times I had to disappear into my study, and to my wife, Deborah, who has read this book nearly as many times as I have and always sees the forest as well as the trees.
R. A. NELSON is the acclaimed author of Days of Little Texas, winner of a Parents’ Choice Recommended Award; Breathe My Name (“Incandescent”—Kirkus Reviews); and Teach Me (“Hypnotic”—The Horn Book Magazine).
He lives in north Alabama with his wife and four sons and works at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center. Visit him on the Web at ranelsonbooks.com.
