by Kim Savage
Liv’s breath is at my neck. “This is the end, Julia. You have to say goodbye,” she murmurs.
Porch planks groan under my feet as I face her. Liv holds out her arms, and I drop the bag from my shoulder, pressing myself into the brushed weave of her coat, clavicle mashing against a hard button. She squeezes, then shoves me away and holds me, stiff-armed. Her eyes flicker over my face.
“You won’t tell anyone. You’ll keep your promise?”
I wait, considering. “I’ll keep my promise if you tell me one thing. Why did you bring me with you that day in the woods?”
Her cheeks rise with a faint crinkle. “Because I knew if things went bad, you’d save me. The truth is, we’re both brave.”
I touch the tip of my finger to her bandage. “You’re right.”
I sink down the porch stairs as the door clicks behind. At the last step, sunlight cuts through the clouds, a momentary, milk-white explosion. I reach for the porch rail and hold on, waiting for the memory of when I topped the crest of the Hill, before the Sheepfold. It comes, and in a moment, I am back. I am in control. I am out of the woods.
I cut through the evanescent haze toward my car, hand in my bag. When I reach the trash can I lift the cover and drop my notebook inside. I don’t need to write Donald Jessup in the blank cat’s eye, the seed shape, the space common to Liv, Ana, and me. It is no longer relevant. It’s not a bad thing, to be irrelevant.
This is the last time I will leave the Victorian. I cross the lawn and touch the edge of the staked sign advertising Park Pro Painting. A contract will be canceled, a stop payment placed on a check. The sign will disappear, because there is a new project to occupy the owner’s time. The house will blister and peel into reptilian cracks, then bare wood.
In the parlor window, a silk curtain moves aside, and a bandaged face smiles through pain, waiting to carry her suitcases out the front door and find her own version of perfect.
EPILOGUE
400 Days After the Woods
A flutter of porcine blinks. “Who are you?”
Liv hops from foot to foot, panting and shaking out her hands. “It’s me, Liv!”
Jessup presses his palm to his forehead and paces on short legs, three steps, two steps, one step. “You can’t be Liv.”
“I know you’re confused. Listen, I don’t have much time. I’m not alone.”
He freezes and lowers his head, peering from the rim of a black knit skullcap. “Not alone?”
“Don’t you get it? I’m the girl you love! We’re finally meeting in person!”
His jowls quiver. “You sound like her. But you don’t look like her.”
“Describing myself differently was something I had to do,” Liv says. “I thought you deserved to know I wasn’t truthful. You loved me, and that proved something I needed to know my whole life. I’m grateful for that.”
Jessup stares stonily.
Liv steps closer. “This is the real me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He bares small teeth. “You’re perfect.”
“I—what?”
He touches her smooth cheek. “Perfect.”
“Oh my God! You’re pleased. You’re happy I look this way!”
“Of course I am!”
“Of course you are?”
“I mean, it’s better. For the game.”
Liv staggers backward. “I’m not here for the game.”
“It’s okay!” He stalks up to her. “It’s more than okay. I think it’s great.”
She covers her face and groans through her hands. “It’s a relief to you, that I look like I do. It’s a bonus.”
He does a fluttery pantomime to calm her. “No—wait—what?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you? I am not what you fell in love with! If anything, you should be disappointed.” Her hand meets his face with a shallow slap.
He raises his palm to his blooming cheek. His eyes slit and spark. “Don’t. You. Ever!”
“You prefer that I look this way. You’re saying Mother’s right. You SUCK!” Liv winds up and gives him another slap, harder.
Clanging buckles. She whirls backward and meets the ground with a thud, him on top. Digs her heels into the earth, kicks up gravel, tries to get out from under him, while he rocks and shifts his weight.
“Let her go!” I scream.
Jessup jerks his head as his body goes rigid. He looks from Liv to me. His pupils jitter. What next, he wonders? Seconds ago, the universe had gifted him a jumbo check from Publisher’s Clearinghouse, the winning Megabucks ticket, a girl-sized box wrapped in a bow. But his anger made him blow it, and he succumbed to his worst self. Now she is under his thumb, where for so long he was under hers. The experiment is over. It was unsuccessful. Deborah will always be right.
“Who are you?” Jessup wails to Liv.
Metal at her throat. I howl like an animal. His eyes move between us, hovering on Liv. When she squirms, he pulls the knife away from her neck, for this is not his plan, not her plan. Not at all.
“Walk away and forget what you saw! Now, or her blood’s on your hands!” His pitch wavers.
I break into a slow smile, because this time, I know Donald Jessup had it backward. I will remember everything I see, and his blood will be on her hands.
“I’ll end her life, right here!” Jessup says.
I laugh, a long, low, glorious, empty-belly laugh. Donald Jessup was so very wrong.
Right here was where Liv’s life began.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The following people must be thanked for their guidance, inspiration, help, and love.
Thanks to Janine O’Malley, for her sure hand and deft editing of After the Woods, and for understanding Julia from “statistically speaking.” I am also grateful to Angie Chen, for her meticulous editing and delightful ways; and to Beth Clark, who conveyed perfectly Julia’s predicament and the revelations to come in a haunting, beautiful cover.
Sara Crowe, thank you for knowing exactly the right home for After the Woods. You embody high wisdom worn lightly.
I am blessed to have two men in my life who never doubted: my father, Allan Haas, who read to me nightly and nurtured a passion for words; and my husband, Gary, my best advocate and best friend, who, luckily, finds me far more interesting than a Bengal tiger.
Thanks to my mother, Lillian Haas, who inspired none of the flawed mothers in this novel, but who, along with Alice Hall, introduced me to the best of female friendships. Alice, I miss you every day, and I wish you were here for this.
To my incandescent children, Jackson, Charlie, and Lila. Everything is for you.
To the friends and relatives who mothered my children while I was in the woods, most especially Jenny Bernitz, Bobby Brown, Leah Brown, Theresa Brown, Cathy Donaghey, Kim Freund, Dana Garmey, Deirdre Giblin, Diane Hesterberg, Michele Kulik, Amy Legere, Margaret Mack, Liz Mara, Maria O’Connor, Tillie Savage, and Cristy Walsh.
To Julie True Kingsley and Cameron Rosenblum, my first real writer friends.
Lastly, but certainly not least, my deep appreciation and love to my beautiful colleagues at the office. C and L, my bags are packed for you.
About the Author
Kim Savage was born in Quincy, Massachusetts, and received her degree in English from Stonehill College. She lives with her husband and three children north of Boston, Massachusetts. After the Woods is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers
175 Fifth Avenue, New York 10010
Text copyright © 2016 by Kimberley Haas Savage
All rights reserved
First hardcover edition, 2016
eBook edition, February 2016
fiercereads.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Savage, Kim, 1969–
After the woods / Kim Savage. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: “On the eve of the year anniversary of the Shiverton Abduction, two former best friends grapple with the consequences of that event” — Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-374-30055-5 (hardback) — ISBN 978-0-374-30056-2 (e-book) [1. Kidnapping—Fiction. 2. Psychic trauma—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.1.S27Af 2016
[Fic]—dc23
2015005287
eISBN 9780374300562
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