You Could Be Home by Now
Page 26
They found a motel off Highway 15, an off-brand, shingled barn of a place with a politically incorrect totem pole visible all the way from the off-ramp. The room was warm and when the AC kicked on Seth smelled dust. The sheets were clean though and the bed made up with hospital corners. They coupled on that bed, and Alison laughed at the creaking springs that would give them away to anyone who cared to listen. His hands tightened at her hips; she shifted beneath him, then stilled, eyes crinkling at the corners with every breath. In time, with luck and patience, those crinkles would deepen into lines and Seth would learn to love them.
But that would be then. For now he held his wife. For now the sweat began to bead. Together, they held the knowledge, tender and taught, utterly daunting. She’d tossed her last clamshell of pills with their final move-out trash run. The foil accordion of Trojans lay unopened in their suitcase. The thought of it was nearly enough to collapse him unspent. Shift his hips this way and it was one baby; if she bucked to meet him in the moment, they might spark another entirely. And then there was this: Perhaps you were only ever whole for an instant. That cellular moment of fusion: each nucleotide reaching out to find its counterpart, two single helixes spiraling into double. One cell, briefly, then mitosis. One into two, two into four, eight, sixteen. Ali moaned, flushed on her cheeks and on her chest. Amazing. Amazing that you could call life beautiful—and it was—when it was relentless separation upon separation upon separation.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There simply aren’t thanks enough for my agent, Ayesha Pande, for her faith in this venture and in its author; I’d accomplish very little without her patience, perceptiveness, warmth, and wit. The same can be said for “Team Truck” at Tyrus Books, Ben LeRoy and Ashley Myers, for their enthusiasm, humor, and keen editorial eyes; this book wound up so much better than the one I thought I’d written, and so much of that is due to them.
There would’ve been no book at all without the extraordinary generosity of my many talented teachers: Kiana Davenport and Anne Greene at Wesleyan University, and Ethan Canin, Edward Carey, Adam Haslett, James Hynes, Marilynne Robinson, and Jennifer Vanderbes at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Copious thanks. Prodigious thanks. I’d list more adjectives, every one of them true, but they also taught me the value of restraint.
Probably the best thing about being a writer is that you get to make writer friends. I am deeply indebted to V.V. Ganeshananthan and Robert James Hicks for their support, both literary and moral, their friendship, and for the way they put up with my intermittent bouts of whining. I’m fueled, as a writer and a social being, by the Wednesday night wisdom of The Guttery, a thriving writers’ group that has lasted longer than the average American marriage (at least if Wikipedia’s statistics are to be believed). This work owes a particular debt to longstanding and emeritus members David Cooke, Bruce L. Greene, Jennifer Lesh Fleck, Beth Marshea, Lara Messersmith-Glavin, A. Molotkov, Brian Reeves, Kip Silverman, Cameron McPherson Smith, Carrie-Ann Tkaczyk, and Robin Troche.
Thanks also to Sigrid Brunet, who looked at this book earlier and oftener than any friend of the author should be obliged to; Lily’s voice especially owes her an uberdebt. To Rachel Jagoda Brunette, for the constant general support and the occasional specific word. To Cristina Cavazos, who converted me (kind of) to running; I got a subplot out of it and also a really great friend. To the denizens of 40 Fountain, Ben Paradise, Emily Archibald, and Nicky Pessaroff, who have been waiting a long while. To Sophie Bird, who always gets it, and then helps me say it better.
To my parents, Steve and B.J. Manaster, for telling me my first stories, and to my sister, Katy Strand, whose willingness to listen encouraged the nascent storyteller in me. Thanks is far too small a word. To my in-laws, Jeff and Susie Alifanz, for their many years of cheerleading.
To my astonishing daughters, Adeline and Elodie, with absolute love. Next book, I’ll try to put in the witch and the cheetah that you asked for.
And to my husband, Marc Alifanz. It sounds glib to say thanks for everything, but it’s exactly what I need to do here. For your support. For your patience. Your humor. Your taking out the compost and talking me off metaphorical ledges. For your insight and your honesty. For everything. Everything.
Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Manaster Alifanz.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
TYRUS BOOKS
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.tyrusbooks.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-8312-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8312-4
eISBN 10: 1-4405-8313-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8313-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Manaster, Tracy.
You could be home by now / Tracy Manaster.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4405-8312-4 (hc) -- ISBN 1-4405-8312-9 (hc) -- ISBN 978-1-4405-8313-1 (ebook) -- ISBN 1-4405-8313-7 (ebook)
1. Married people--Fiction. 2. Grandparent and child--Fiction. 3. Retirement communities--Fiction. 4. Interpersonal conflict--Fiction. 5. Psychological fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.A527Y68 2014
813'.6--dc23
2014021993
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and F+W Media, Inc. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.
Cover design by Frank Rivera.
Cover image © Anna-Mari West/123RF.