“Yeah.” I repeat his words. His words that really do say it all. “Who knows?”
Then, out of the blue, George leans over and gives me this super-quick hug, and then scrambles to his feet, turns around, and walks away from me, down our beach. Leaving me sitting there alone, just holding his paper bag. My heart aches as I watch his strong back get smaller and smaller with every step he takes away from me. I meant what I said. It doesn’t have to be good-bye between us. Not for forever. But still, the hurt inside of me is there, growing, manifesting, with every second he’s away from me.
I wait for him to look over his shoulder, just look at me one last time, but he doesn’t. And even though I may never get inside his head, probably will never fully know just who he is and what makes him tick, whom he loves and whom he doesn’t, I still know him well enough to know that, in all likelihood, George is crying right now.
For everything that was. For everything that never will be.
I can’t help myself. I open his bag, just a bit, and peer inside. And what I see makes my heart stop. I nuzzle my face in it. Breathe in the scent of our life. It brings me to my feet.
“George!” I call. “Wait!”
He stops. Turns. His eyes, which I’ve spent most of my life dying to be a part of, bore into me. And then I know the truth.
I just don’t know why it’s taken me so long to figure it out.
I run toward him.
Well, not actually run because of my foot, but do my best to skip, dragging my cast behind me. And then he’s running to me, too. And two seconds later, our chests are together and we’re in each other’s arms.
Not kissing.
Of course not kissing, because that’s not who George and I are. That’s not who we’ve ever been. Not in fourteen years. Not even the day his lips touched mine for one brief second. But we’re touching and hugging and laughing. And then suddenly, our Summerland sky opens up and it’s thundering and lightning and then pissing down this rain that’s cold and so darn miserable, just like everything about this place. Like nothing about this place.
“You really want me to have these?”
I hold up George’s bag, filled with his gum boots, the red fire truck ones with the little wheels on the toes and heels that he was wearing the day we met on this beach.
“Yeah. But if I ask for them back one day.” His face flushes. “Well, you’ll understand.”
I nod, but neither of us says another word. Instead, we just stand there, our arms locked together, holding on like we’ll never let go. And then I know. Everything I’ve ever needed to know about the two of us.
That we’re a part of each other. Like two halves of a razor clam shell.
Sometimes we’re open. Sometimes we’re closed.
But always, we’re connected.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say it takes a village.
And I know that when they say it they’re usually talking about raising babies, but I happen to think that it applies to writing books, too. Or, at least, it did for me with this book. Luckily for me, there were so many people in my village. So it’s like a big village; a town, really. I wish I could name all the people in my town. To anyone I’ve missed here, my sincerest apologies. Please know that you are loved and that I appreciated every single way you contributed to my journey with this story.
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my super-agent, Victoria Marini. I seriously doubt there is any agent on the planet more patient, encouraging, steadfast, or cool than you. Thank you for always bringing me back down to earth. I know it’s no easy feat.
Thank you to Julie Matysik for loving and acquiring this little story to begin with. And for handing it to my super-editor-extraordinaire, Adrienne Szpyrka, who continued to love it and worked on it, tirelessly, to make it what it is today. I know how lucky I am to have fallen into your hands, Adrienne. You are a magic worker. And I am grateful.
Thank you to Georgia Morrissey for creating the kind of cover that truly represents Magnolia’s story, and to Joshua Barnaby for putting it out into the world as the beautiful finished product it is. Thank you to Katherine Kiger for being the most careful copy editor out there. And to Kylie Brien for coming in toward the end and loving it like you had been there all along. I feel so lucky to have you as my editor partie trois. I guess everything really does happen for a reason, and I’m happy that it did.
Thank you to everyone from SCBWI Florida. There are so many people here I want to mention—probably like a hundred of you guys, actually. Forgive me for not naming you all, but know that I am grateful that you came into my life. You are an incredible organization that helped make my dreams come true.
Kerry O’Malley Cerra, I have thought long and hard about how to thank you here. When I first arrived in Florida, you took me under your wing. You taught me about craft when I really had no idea. You introduced me to the people I needed to know and you never let me quit when I thought I’d quit a thousand times over. And the crazy thing is, you still do all of that today, ten years later. Without you, none of this would even be possible. Thank you, Kerry. I am so grateful for you.
Thank you to Joyce Sweeney and Marjetta Geerling for being two of my earliest, wisest teachers. I will always look up to your work, your words, and hear your advice in my head even when I don’t see you for so long. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me, and for being really great friends.
Thank you to my L2W peeps. Kristina Miranda and Michelle Delisle. I’ll never forget when I walked into Panera and saw you guys. I knew I’d always know you. The moment is etched into my mind forever. Meredith McCardle, thank you for sharing with me your incredible smarts. And Nicole Cabrera, your sweetness. I’ve learned so much from you all. I love being part of you guys. I hope it never ends.
Thank you to Steven Dos Santos for being one of my earliest readers of this book, who muddled through my first draft and pointed me in the right direction with where to take it. You were gentle with your advice and kind with your critique, even though you had every reason not to be.
Thank you to Jonathan Rosen, Mindy Weiss, Stacie Ramey, Faran Fagan, Laen Ghiloni, David Case, Cathy Castelli, Nicole Lataif, and Lorin Oberwerger. You have all helped me along the way—some with your brilliant writing and helpful suggestions, others with your wise words and friendship. I am lucky, and I am grateful to know you all.
To my entire MFA program at the University of British Columbia, thank you. Specifically, thank you to my buds, Danielle Daniel and Sarah Richards. You two are the best, not only because you’re both writers I admire, but because you always keep it real.
Thank you to Sarah Glenn Marsh, Cara Chow, Kathryn Holmes, Liz Coley, Beth Neal, and Liz Czukas for reading the almost finished version of this. Your kind words mean so much to me because I look up to you all.
Thank you to my writing bestie, the girl I call early in the morning or late at night with a new idea. The girl I send crazy amounts of pages to, saying, “Hey, can you have this back to me by noon?” and she always does. The girl who taught me how to write love scenes and really, really mean them. Ty Shiver, I feel so comforted knowing that we will travel this dusty road side by side for many, many years to come.
And thank you to my “civvie” friends. You listened to me talk (shout, sob, grumble) about writing when you really had no idea what I was talking about and I’m sure I probably bored you to tears with this stuff. Amie Thomas, Eden Scanlon, Brigette Barker, Amanda Furia. And the others—there are others I’m surely forgetting here. Thank you for your support and your friendship. I love you guys.
To the real people of real Summerland. You know who you are. Thank you for letting me borrow you and bend you for this story. I hope to meet you again one day.
And to my family. My mom, my dad, Jody and Darryl. Thank you for knowing that in order to get me back, you had to first let me go. I know you thought I was doing the impossible when I started this whole thing, but I’m grateful that you stepped back and let me do it a
nyway. Only you guys could know everything about me and love me anyway. This is a work of fiction. Please tell yourselves that over and over when you read this thing. I know it’s hard, but you have to know it’s true. I love you guys.
Thank you to the loves of my life: my Alice and my Lila. You are everything to me. I hope you forever spin your own skies.
And finally, thank you to my husband, Gus, for giving me the single most important thing I needed to write this book: time. Truly, you are the most patient and tolerant man I’ve ever known. I am lucky to be your wife.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jill Mackenzie spent a good part of her youth reading books that she wasn’t supposed to while wandering beaches in Hawaii, Australia, and Oregon. Though Jill danced for most of her life, the most important thing she learned from dancing was how good it feels to dance herself clean on a regular basis. Currently, Jill is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing with a focus on Children’s Literature from the University of British Columbia. Jill lives in Florida with her non-dancing husband, two beach-loving daughters, and two cats who (Jill swears) dance whenever the music is on.
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