“Kristy girl, do they know something? What’s going on?”
She hugged Pops and reached out to grab Ryan, pulling him close to her. She would never be the same. They would never be the same, but they’d survived. No matter what happened next, they had one another. That’s what all of this had been for. For this moment right here.
“Mom, what is it? What did the ranger say? C’mon, tell us,” Ryan said.
“Kristy Ann, what’s going on?” Pops asked.
Through Kristy’s tears, she offered Pops and Ryan a smile, wanting to stay right here forever.
“It’s over,” she whispered. “We’re free.”
Dear Kristy,
Here I am. My last night at Polunsky and I can’t sleep. Bruce assured me he’d mail this letter to you. I’ve said it before but it’s been an honor to call you a friend. In just a few short hours, it’ll all be over. Wish I could say I wasn’t scared. I’m trying to be the kind of man my children would be proud of, courageous and strong, but I’m failing. I’ve screamed myself hoarse, cursed God and the devil and everyone in between. I am so tired of being a number, tired of people calling me evil or baby killer or a million other names besides my own. I am tormented by these concrete walls that imprison me, and haunted by the wails of my children. But I must let go of those things. Sure as hell won’t change the outcome. I’ll have myself a pity party tonight, and tomorrow, when they come for me I’ll hold my head high.
I’ve spent years trying to make sense of why good folks like you and me are made to suffer. You better believe I have a whole bunch of questions for the Big Guy in the Sky. I’m hoping I’ll get some answers.
So here it is. The end of the road. Our last hurrah. The final tour. Kristy, I don’t know how your story ends, but I sure do hope you find peace within the chaos. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m off to get my babies.
’Til we meet again,
Clifton Harris
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I foolishly believed that writing a second novel would be easier than the first. Cue maniacal laughter. This book challenged me in ways I never imagined, but of course it was worth it in the end. As with every creative endeavor, it would not have been possible without these incredibly talented and supportive people who helped bring The Walls to life.
To my brilliant editors, Selina Walker and Cassandra Di Bello at Penguin Random House and Anne Clarke at Redhook, thank you for trusting my vision of this book and then making it even better with your spot-on insights and expertise. To my PR masterminds, Gemma Bareham and Sarah Ridley at PRH and Ellen Wright at Redhook, thank you for tirelessly championing my work.
To my outstanding agents at WME, Eve Atterman and Covey Crolius, thank you for being the best at what you do. I’m so very grateful to have you on my team.
To my manager, Adesuwa McCalla, thanks for being my constant in this crazy business. Six years later and we’re still going strong. Here’s to many more years together making magic happen.
Eduardo Santiago, my guru, my friend, thank you for being there through countless drafts, panicked e-mails, and some occasional spiraling. Even when I couldn’t always see it, you reminded me that this book was special. It’s been a wild ride and I can’t wait to do it again.
To my beta readers, Jennifer Kramer, Lee Ann Barnhardt, Martin Aguilera, and Megan Kruse, thank you for your wonderful insights and encouragement with my earliest drafts.
Angela Downs, Nick Chapa, and Matt McArthur, you guys are officially my good luck charms. (Texas forever!)
To Michelle Lyons, thank you for sharing your knowledge and expertise with me. You’ve enriched this book beyond measure.
I would not have been able to complete The Walls without these creative muses and life champions, my own female dream team: Zoe Broad, Sarah Haught, Kay Kaanapu, Mem Kennedy, Shireen Razack, Allison Rymer, and Elena Zaretsky.
To Giselle Jones and Shahana Lashlee, through my darkest times this past year, your love, encouragement, and creative guidance kept me going.
To Heather Overton, my other half, thank you for reading millions of drafts, listening to countless pitches, and when I got discouraged, reminding me that quitting isn’t our style. This year may have battered our spirits, but we’re still here, with plenty of stories left to tell.
David Boyd, my husband, you deserve endless accolades for being the world’s most patient husband. You’re the best partner, friend, dog-father to Stevie, and dispenser of (tough) love, not to mention you have a great head of hair!
Finally, this book would not exist if it weren’t for my mother, Betty “BJ” Overton. Mom loved a good story, which makes sense why I became a professional storyteller. She was so proud of Baby Doll and couldn’t wait to read The Walls. Unfortunately, after a long battle with emphysema and COPD, Mom passed away a week before it was completed.
I like to imagine that we’re sitting at Mom’s kitchen table and she’s sipping her coffee, her slow Southern drawl filling the room as she recounts everything she loved about this book. Just weeks before she took a turn for the worst, she sent me pitches with ideas for potential covers and started working on her marketing plans. I’m going to miss her unwavering support and so much more. This story, that of a domestic abuse survivor, is deeply personal. Mom endured violence at the hands of her husband—my father. But she never saw herself as a victim. She made the choice to walk away from him in order to protect her daughters. That Texas grit and dogged determination made her my hero. I didn’t realize it while I was writing The Walls, but my mother’s imprint is on every single page. Her wit and courage, her fighting spirit, and the countless sacrifices she made are embedded in this story. But it’s not just this book. All that I am is because of her. Breathe easy, Lady Bird, and know you’re always with us.
By Hollie Overton
Baby Doll
The Walls
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