Instead, I took my notes out of my pocket, folded them into two small squares, and reached up high to stuff them into one of the emptier cracks, pushing them in with my fingertips until I knew they wouldn’t fall out. Then, resting my hands on the stone, I looked up again into the blue desert sky, searching for … I’m not quite sure what. A sign of heaven? A sign of God? A sign of Mom? I didn’t see anything, but it didn’t really matter. I felt good, like I’d finally written the goodbyes I’d never had the chance to say.
A minute later I walked away through the crowd of women and went back to find Dad. Not long ago, the sight of all these mothers and daughters would have made my heart ache with sadness. But not today.
I guess maybe I have changed.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is never a solitary endeavour. I’d like to thank the following people for their help: Gordon and Shirley Pape, for a lifetime of support and encouragement; Jordan Kerbel, for his limitless love and devotion and for affording me the luxury of pursuing a career in the arts; Jonah and Dahlia Kerbel, for those golden stretches of rare silence that allowed me to work on this book; Simone Spiegel, for inspiring this story and generously sharing her wealth of personal memories; Marsha Skrypuch, for believing in me, pulling me out of the writer’s dumps, and pointing me in the right direction; Martha Martin, for her invaluable insights and advice; and Natalia Buchok, for sharing her knowledge and experience of Israeli-Arab culture.
I’d also like to thank the uber-talented group of writers on the online kidcrit literary forum for their outstanding critiques. And, lastly, I’d like to thank my valiant agent, Margaret Hart, and the wonderful team at Dundurn, especially Barry Jowett, for working their magic and breathing life into Mackenzie Hill.
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