“Sure,” the Brit said, but he didn’t understand, and Abby didn’t try to clarify. The wins were the wins, the wrecks were the wrecks, as Hank Bauer used to say. They all worked together. The only risk was in expecting that one or the other was promised to you. Neither was. When the starting flag was waved, all you ever had was a chance.
“I won’t waste it, though,” Abby said, and this seemed to please the Brit; this part he thought he followed.
“Good,” he said, and he clapped Abby on the shoulder and promised her that they’d be in touch soon. Abby was going to be important when they got the Blackwell lad in a courtroom.
Abby assured him she’d be ready for that moment. Then she left to drive to the hospital, where Shannon Beckley waited with her sister. Tara had therapy today. Tongue-strengthening exercises. Dr. Carlisle thought she was coming along well enough that spoken conversation might be possible sooner rather than later. She wouldn’t make any bolder predictions, but she’d offered this much encouragement:
She fights, and so she has a chance.
It was, Abby thought, a patently obvious statement, and yet it mattered.
She drove south to Massachusetts alone.
The coastal Maine sun was brighter than the cold day seemed to allow, an optical illusion, the sky so blue it seemed someone had touched up the color, tweaking it beyond what was natural. The Scotland Yard man had taken longer than expected, and rush-hour traffic was filling in. Abby drove at seventy-five in the middle lane, letting the impatient pass her on the left and the indifferent fall behind to the right.
Her hand was steady on the wheel.
65
The girl in the kayak is testing new waters. There are channels all around her, currents previously unseen that are now opening up, and some are less inviting than others, as dark and ominous as the mouth of a cave. Others show promising glimmers of brightness but are lost quickly behind gray fog. Still, she knows they are out there, and she has the paddle, and she has the will. She knows that she must be both patient and aggressive, traits that seem contradictory only if you have never run a long race.
She pushes east through fogbound channels, and then the current catches her and carries her, turns her east to south, and the fog lifts and gray light brightens, brightens, brightens, until she is flying through it and there are glimmers of green and gold in the spray.
Satisfied, she coasts to a stop. Pauses, savoring the beauty of it all, savoring the chance.
When she’s caught her breath, she paddles back upstream. The current spins and guides her, north to south first, then south to north. These are unusual waters, but she’s learning them, learning when to fight them, when to trust them. Each day she travels a little farther and a little faster.
She dips the blade of the paddle and holds it against the gentle pressure, bringing the boat around in a graceful arc. Now she faces the dark mouth of one of the many unknown channels looming ahead. So much of the terrain is unknown, but none of it is unknowable.
There is a critical difference in that.
She paddles forward boldly into the blackness, chasing the light.
Acknowledgments
Let’s start off with readers, librarians, and booksellers — who should always be first when it comes to author gratitude.
The team at Little, Brown and Company is the best. Thanks to Joshua Kendall, Michael Pietsch, Reagan Arthur, Sabrina Callahan, Craig Young, Terry Adams, Heather Fain, Nicky Guerreiro, Maggie (Southard) Gladstone, Ashley Marudas, Shannon Hennessey, Karen Torres, Karen Landry, and Tracy Roe. Everyone involved in the process of taking the book into the world is deeply appreciated.
Much gratitude to Richard Pine and the team at InkWell Management, and to Angela Cheng Caplan. Lacy Whitaker has done her best to make me presentable to the social-media world, which is no small task.
Thanks to Dr. Daniel Spitzer for his guidance and expertise.
Early readers who suffered painful drafts are always appreciated — Christine Koryta, Bob Hammel, Pete Yonkman, and Ben Strawn provided invaluable feedback and support. My parents always do, and always have.
And thanks to the Blackwell family. You’re the gift that keeps on giving.