His Manual for Life advice, he called it.

It’s funny that I’m thinking about it now.

It’s funny that you can’t really understand the best way to do a thing until after it’s done. But good advice is good advice, and good advice is never too late, even when it seems like it is.

I consider Edward my father, by the way. I liked Henry very much, but I loved Edward. I had two fathers, I guess.

We were a family, as damaged and strange as any of them.

I know my mother misses us. I visit her often. I was with her when she shot Roy, and I’m watching her now.

Lyn is standing on the riverbank, staring into the water. I know she’s thinking of me because I can feel her as clearly as I used to feel my own thoughts spearing through my brain. She’s wondering if I’ve stayed the same age, if I’m happy, if she’ll see me again. I have, I am, and she will. I beam these answers to her as best I can, in little flashes of silver, and I hope that the way she just pressed her hand into her chest means that she understands.

She’s suffered so much.

She’s unbuttoning her blouse now, and slipping her arms out of it. She’s carefully stepping out of her long skirt. Everything she does is very slow and deliberate, in time with her rhythmic breathing. It’s ritualistic, exactly as she intends it.

The only noise is the sound of the crickets starting up. She can hear them all around her. I know she thinks it’s a way that I talk to her. Maybe it is.

She’s out of her slip and her bra, and she’s taken the pins from her hair. She’s even unwrapped the bandage from her head. Everything is discarded on the bank.

With slow, careful steps, she makes her way down to the water and wades in. I know how cold the river is, but she doesn’t hesitate. She keeps walking, letting the water seep up over her knees and her hips and the lower back that gives her so much pain. It’s above her waist now, and her elbows, and now her breasts. When it comes up to her chin, she stops and sinks down underwater, where she stays for as long as she can. For as long as a human can. She weighs herself down with all her unfulfilled years, gripping roots to hold herself tight to the bottom. I can feel the last traces of oxygen leaving her lungs, abandoning her body, releasing outward.

But when she surges back up into the late summer air, she’s not gasping.

She’s free.

About the Author

Kristin Gore is the author of two previous novels, the New York Times bestseller Sammy’s Hill and Sammy’s House. She has also written for several television shows, including Futurama and Saturday Night Live, for which she received an Emmy nomination and a Writer’s Guild Award. She has several screenplay projects in development. Kristin lives in New York City.

ALSO BY KRISTIN GORE

Sammy’s Hill

Sammy’s House

Copyright

Copyright © 2011 Kristin Gore

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eBook Edition ISBN: 9781401396589

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