Nightingale (33 page)

I don’t want to die alone.

My leaden feet shuffle toward the house, but my knees buckle and I fall. Gravel digs into my cheek.

My necklace,
I think
.
Cool metal rests in my hand, soothing me.

Memories flood my mind.

Beck sliding his hand in mine. The dancing snow. The feel of his breath, hot and fast against my neck.

His red knit cap and rosy cheeks. The way his lips brushed softly over mine.

The beat of his heart, strong and steady, against my hand.

The urgency of his kiss as the clock chimed midnight.

His plea, begging me to wait for him. His promise to find me when it was safe. My leaving, because I knew it would never be safe for him.

I remember loving him. Protecting him. Wanting him to live.

I remember love.

My eyes flutter shut.

The nightingale sings so sweetly.

Acknowledgements

First and always, I have to thank the agent who puts up with my crazy, Kathleen Ortiz. This past year has been particularly tough, and knowing that I had someone watching my back professionally helped me in more ways than she’ll ever know. Thank you, KO, for understanding my missed deadlines and just generally being awesome.

I wouldn’t have a book if not for the team at New Leaf Literary & Media: Jo Volpe, thanks for having an exciting vision and allowing me to be part of it; Danielle Barthel, you are an editing genius and my commas never looked so good.

When my life became too overwhelming, I took refuge in Paris. Fancy, I know, but being in a strange city, where I only knew a handful of people, gave me the courage to write again. It was here that I finished revising Nightingale and really allowed myself to explore the depths of Lark’s breakdown.

If it weren’t for Debra Driza and Erin Brambilla, I may never have finished this book. They propped me up, gave me a safe place to land, and kept the blender going. Thank you, thank you, thank you for not letting me completely fall to pieces.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Johnyne Garcia. Without her, I would never have understood the depth of betrayal, insanity, and desperation Lark experiences.

Having a mom as writer sometimes isn’t fun, but my boys were troopers. Keegan, thank you for making sure I ate and for going on many, many walks; Finn, thank you for making me smile every day; and Boone, thank you for reminding me that love is a powerful thing.

And finally, my husband David, who loves me more than I knew. Never fade away.