Then he saw a woman at the kitchen table, wearing a blue dress. Her face kept changing—he couldn’t quite see it. But he knew she was pretty. He saw himself opening the kitchen door, swinging a briefcase which he put down at his feet, and he held out his arms, and the woman stood to welcome him, making a happy girlish sound, and held out her arms, too. Then she was close. He smelled her perfume, and she said—in a woman’s voice, warm and honeyed—Wayne, and he a felt a leaping excitement, like he’d just been scared—but better, much better—and he laughed and squeezed her and said, into her soft neck and hair, his voice deep: I’m home.
Acknowledgments
This is my first book, so please forgive the indulgence of a long list of thank-yous.
I’m the product of two graduate programs in creative writing, and the people I met in each need to be mentioned, not only as teachers and colleagues, but as friends and family. So thanks to the good folks at Miami University of Ohio: the fine professor/writers Steven Bauer, Constance Pierce, Eric Goodman, Kay Sloan, and Laura Mandell; and my esteemed fellow workshoppers and friends—especially Scott Berg, Peirce Johnston, Beth Slattery, Kathleen Riggs, Greg Kaufmann, Bill Willard, Tom Hyland, Kathy Wise, and Michael Parker.
My MFA is from Ohio State University, and most of this book was written while I was a student there. Primary thanks go to Michelle Herman, writer and mentor extraordinaire; much of my current life wouldn’t be happening without her insistence that I buckle down and get one. And thanks, too, to the extraordinary OSU faculty who’ve taught me personally—Lee K. Abbott, Erin McGraw, Lee Martin, and Kathy Fagan—and to those who’ve always offered advice and encouragement: Stephanie Grant, Steve Kuusisto, David Citino, and Andrew Hudgins. And thanks to my classmates who workshopped these pieces—a more talented and goodhearted bunch I could not have dreamed up for myself: Rebecca Barry, Erica Beeney, Jeff Butler, Akhim Cabey, Keith Cooper, Cameron Filipour, Bill Fowler, Nancy Ginzer, Holly Goddard-Jones, Teline Guerra, Charles Harmon, Buddy Harris, Matt Healy, Donna Jarrell, Cecilia Johnson, Joanna Kalafarsky, E. J. Levy, Bob Loss, Bill Lamp, Danielle Lavaque-Manty, Jolie Lewis, Kelly Magee, Amanda Scheiderer, Nick Scorza, Amy Thorne, Kristina Torres, and Star Zagofsky. Thanks also go to Jenny James Robinson, Heather Sebring, Joshua Jay, Adam Cole, Eddie Lushbaugh, Scott Black, Kathleen Gagel, Christopher Griffin, Preston Pickett, Susan Wittstock, Jack Nasar, Judith Mayne, and Terry Moore.
Here are a few more teachers. At Western Boone: Janet Dingman, Margaret Keene, Denise Beck, Virginia Smith, and Lloyd Tiffany. At Ball State University: Marjorie Smelstor (how I hope this book finds you!), Dennis Hoilman, William Miller, David Upchurch, William Liston, Richard Whitworth, and especially Margaret Kingery, a terrific writer and teacher to whom I attached myself, barnaclelike, during my final two years as a Cardinal. (And I can’t mention Ball State without thanking Mike McCauley, Frank Eikenberry, and all the good folks at OPASSS, who for three years listened to me explain my writer fantasies in excruciating detail.)
I worked for several years for Half Price Books, a wonderful company that provided me with unblinking support when I badly needed it. Many, many thanks—with an understanding that they’re inadequate—to John Wiley. And I have to mention a few of the great folks I’ve worked for and with: Marie Wiley, Doug Gurney, Mark Maxwell, Rob Zapol, Christine Rohweder, Mark Eppich, Shannon Rampe, Jeff Mathys, Timmy Schmidt, Tracy Nesbitt, and Karen Graham. And special thanks to Ed Morrow, for the pep talk.
Thanks to Stacy at Caribou Coffee and Anton at Caffé Apropos, for time and space and fuel and, in Stacy’s case, employment.
I don’t know how to begin thanking Larry Weis and Terry Hartley for going far above and beyond the call of duty.
Big thanks go, of course, to my agent, Marian Young, and my editor, Ann Patty, who conspired in giving me the best present ever. And thanks as well to Nat Sobel, Lindsay Sagnette, Otto Penzler, and especially Nick Hornby, who has been unflagging in support of my writing.
I’ve gone through a lot in the last few years, and I could not have done it—could not have imagined getting out of bed, let alone writing a single word—without the support of the following group of friends and adopted family:
Taylor, Heidi, and Michael Snodgrass; Greg Harris (and his wonderful parents, Charlie and Victoria); Pat and Gina Kanouse; Doug Bowers; Wes and Tory Herron (and the whole wacky Herron clan); Michael P. Kardos and Catherine Pierce; Linda Bevington; Rodney and Dawn Fontana; Kelly Bahmer-Brouse and Andrew Brouse; Sean Apple; James Michael Taylor; Lori Rader Day; Beth Giles; Gail Bartlett; Rob and Elizabeth Trupp; Kristina Chilian; Chad Hill; Ariane Bolduc; Shari Goldhagen; the Lauers (Steve, Gretchen, John, and Liz), and the Thomases (Maryellen, Kenny, and Jennifer).
I’ll end with thanks to four extraordinary women, all of whom I love without measure:
My mother, Jan Coake—who, when I was five, wrote down the stories I dictated to her (we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?), and who has been my biggest fan ever since.
My sister, Whitney Coake, who’s younger, but who has always tried to protect me (or, failing that, to dress me).
My late wife Joellen, who showed me what it takes to be courageous and happy, all at once.
And, at last, Stephanie Lauer, whose love continues to surprise me. I didn’t expect to find her—but every day I consider myself lucky I did.
About the Author
CHRISTOPHER COAKE lives in Reno, where he teaches creative writing at the University of Nevada.
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