Javier ran all the way across the border and then across the ocean. He left after that first week with us, and he moves from place to place, sending us postcards that say nothing. He and Star talk more, I know, but not much. He keeps trying to lure her away with him and she keeps trying to pull him back. Theirs is a love story not yet written but one that will be, I’m certain, in time.
If there is time.
There is talk even now of rebuilding, of opening a car factory with government funds, out here on the grounds of the old beet plant. I’m the head of the protest committee, and I’ve managed to get several important environmentalists on my side. The black squirrels, you see, rare as they are, are not the rarest things on this land. They have many brethren in the animal kingdom here who can thrive only in open space. Elk and wolves, who ride high on endangered-species lists. I have to admit I didn’t know or care anything about those lists until now. But these animals need the clean, uninhabited grassland to survive, and so I’ve rallied others to help me keep it that way, keep it protected. It doesn’t matter that they don’t really know what they’re fighting for. As long as they fight.
But humans are stupid creatures, and the talk of the factory goes on and on.
And so we wait. And we watch. We, the Keepers.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I see John. He comes to me and tells me that everything is okay. That we are free to start over, to begin again. And sometimes, he tells me other things. Darker things.
The important thing is that I remember.
We remember. Even if we do not speak of it, we remember.
Sometimes it is the only way to love. The only way to keep the dead alive.
For P
Acknowledgments
There are many people to thank for this book ever seeing the light of day.
First to Parker, who read and reread and edited, even after I told him to visit a place most horror books do. Thanks as well to all the folks who read drafts, especially Jasmine McGee. And a big thank you to my family for their continued support. Mom, if it helps you can pretend this is just a children’s book for adults. Dad, thanks for letting me watch Alien.
My undying gratitude to my agent, Barbara Poelle, for taking a chance on me and then pushing through, long after others would have given up. Thanks, too, to Sarah Peed and the Hydra crew for making this book half of what it was and twice as good.
Robert Boswell, Antonya Nelson, Kevin Mcilvoy, and all you miscreants of the desert who ever spent time with me at The Circle Bar waxing poetic about Barfly and “The Progress of Love”—thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
And to all you, fearless readers. For believing.
PHOTO: DANA DAMEWOOD
HEATHER HERRMAN holds an MFA from New Mexico State University, and her work has appeared in such publications as Alaska Quarterly Review, The South Carolina Review, and Snake Nation Review. She is also a literacy advocate and educator, previously working with such groups as the Minnesota Literacy Council and the Loft Literary Center. In 2012, she started the Shakespeare Project, an arts-based initiative created for underserved and low-income adults seeking their GEDs.
www.heatherherrman.com
Facebook.com/HeatherHerrmanAuthor
@horrorandbrains
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