“You’re brilliant,” you tell Margaret, and she beams.
She’s the only one who knows about the photograph, and you intend to keep it that way. Your biggest mistake was involving others. John. The police. Sam York. Everyone but her. And you won’t make that mistake again. The truth, you’ve come to know, is a private thing. The right to know it must be earned, and no one has earned it but you and Margaret. The truth about your sister is a secret for you and Margaret alone. For mother and daughter. For countrymen.
That’s why she’s coming with you. You’ll finish this yet, and you’ll finish it together.
The others make their own arrangements, and you play along. They think you’re going to Pennsylvania. They think you’re leaving Alaska alone. Ten days pass, and your aunt and uncle send you two tickets through the mail: one for a flight to Seattle, and the other for a train bound for Philadelphia. They want you to come live with them in Lititz. They want to help you “convalesce.” To them, to all of them—John, the police, your own family—you’re a mess that must be managed. You’re a crazy woman, and an unhinged mother. John will remain in Alaska, and the idea is that Margaret will, too.
But that’s not going to happen. The day before Margaret and you are to be discharged, you make your own arrangements. John has already delivered your luggage for the trip to Lititz, and that makes it all very easy. It takes one phone call. Nothing more. You call Elmer Whitlock and arrange for him to pick you up at the hospital. You’ve broken your ankle after slipping on some ice, and you need a ride home, just like you needed a ride to the penitentiary all those months ago. Not only that: To pay for your hospital bill, you’d like to sell him your Plymouth. Yes, the very same Plymouth that he sold you and John. Of course three hundred dollars will do. Never mind that you paid almost twice that hardly three months ago. You’ve simply got to pay this hospital bill.
From the house, you’ll walk to the airfield. It isn’t far, even on crutches. You’ll exchange tomorrow’s plane ticket for one that leaves today, and you’ll purchase a ticket for Margaret, too. You’ll have about two hundred dollars left over, at least. You’ll stock up for the trip in Seattle, and from there you’ll travel to Chicago.
And then? You’ll finish what you started. You need to be patient, and you need to be careful—you’ll arm yourself along the way—but sooner or later, you’ll finish this, and you’ll finish it together.
“You really think we’ll find her?” Margaret asks.
Elmer Whitlock will arrive in ten minutes. You’ve already changed out of your hospital gown and into your street clothes. Margaret has, too. She’s wearing your blouse, your slacks, your boots, and it’s uncanny how much she looks like you. You’ve known this all her life, but now more than ever you can see the resemblance. Looking at her is like looking at a perfect image of your younger self. You smile, and you take your daughter’s hand.
“That’s the plan,” you say.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel has been in the works since at least 2012, and there are numerous people I’d like to thank for supporting its progress and inspiring my work as a writer.
First, my utmost thanks to Michelle Brower, my agent, whose professional and editorial guidance have been central to this book. I sincerely appreciate your expertise, Michelle, and your keeping faith in me all these years.
Likewise, my sincerest gratitude to Jen Monroe, my editor at Berkley. Jen: Your vision, feedback, and enthusiasm are deeply appreciated, and I feel truly honored to work with you. Thank you for taking me on, and for championing my work.
I’d like to thank the entire team at Berkley and Penguin Random House, particularly Lauren Burnstein, Jin Yu, and Craig Burke. This book simply wouldn’t be what it is without your dedication and expertise, and I feel incredibly thankful and humbled to have such brilliant people promoting my novel. Thank you, too, to Laura K. Corless, Emily Osborne, and Anthony Ramondo for the gorgeous interior design and cover art, which I’ve proudly displayed above not one but two desks.
In addition to various family resources, several books and articles provided invaluable information for my research in writing this novel, particularly Tanacross Learners’ Dictionary (editor: Gary Holton), Kenny Thomas Sr.’s Crow Is My Boss: The Oral Life History of a Tanacross Athabaskan Elder (editor: Craig Mishler), and William E. Simeone’s article “The Northern Athabaskan Potlatch in East-Central Alaska, 1900–1930.”
I’d like to thank my parents, Nicholas and Sandra, and I’d like to thank my sister, Lydia. Each of you has shaped the person who I am, and I’m profoundly thankful for your love and support. We may live many miles apart, but in my heart and my soul you’re always close. So although I may go, I’ll be coming home soon.
I’d like to thank my aunt and my grandparents, in loving memory. Like my parents and my sister, each one of you has been an inspiration, and you’ve made an indelible impact on my life. I miss you all, and I think of you every day.
I’d like to thank my professors at Ohio State University, in particular Michelle Herman, Lee Martin, Erin McGraw, and Lee K. Abbott. I’d also like to thank my entire MFA cohort, particularly Claire Vaye Watkins and Ali Salerno.
I’d also like to thank the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and Richard Hugo House, in particular Peter Mountford and Ross McMeekin.
I’d like to thank you, the reader, for picking up this book, and for perusing the acknowledgments, no less. I’ve probably never met you, but I hope you enjoy(ed) the novel. Thank you for reading.
I’d like to thank my friends and colleagues at Indiana University, particularly Travis Paulin and the rest of the office on Park Street.
I’d like to thank my daughters: Lennon, Aurora, and Alice. Thank you for inspiring me, and for being the wonderful girls you are. You make my life complete, and you make this world make sense. It may be many years until you read this, but I am thinking of you, and if you’re reading these words from a distant place and time, know that I am counting the very seconds until we’re together again. My girls: I love you endlessly, and I always will.
And, finally, I’d like to thank my wife, Madeline. You are a dream come true. Thank you for your boundless support, and love, and inspiration. You’ve taught me so much, and it’s my honor to be your partner and husband. Every day, I look forward to growing up with you. Every day, I want to live my life to the fullest because of you. I didn’t know how good life could be before I met you, and I owe you everything. Past and present, future and forward, I cherish you. I love you, Madeline. You’re my now and forever. My apple blossom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raymond Fleischmann received his MFA from Ohio State University, and he’s earned scholarships and fellowships from Richard Hugo House, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, and others. He lives in Indiana with his wife and three daughters. How Quickly She Disappears is his first novel.
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How Quickly She Disappears Page 31