Positively Mine (23 page)

The journey from that hospital in Rochester to here was a bit bumpy with my dad, Sheryl and I ultimately deciding it was best for us to return with them to New York for a couple months to heal before isolating ourselves in a house upstate. I dreaded it at first, but it hasn’t been so bad. Tara’s been over almost every day and threw me an over-the-top baby shower that provided me with most of the items on my registry. Audrey even came down for it after I called her to apologize for the way I behaved in the hospital. She told me that Bill took a job in Syracuse so she’ll only be an hour from Dresden. We’re planning to get our girls together in the fall.

Sheryl’s been helpful too – although not so much now that she’s due in a couple weeks. We’ve hired a contractor to work on my grandparents’ house while I’m here. When I return in August, there will be a new kitchen and a new roof, an internet connection and at long last…a television.

Prof. Stoker was able to convince my other instructors to change my grades to pass/fail to avoid incompletes. Thankfully, most of them passed me though I do have to write a thirty page paper for my seminar that’s due next month. I’m not looking forward to the research but at least it allows me to finish freshman year. I doubt I’ll be looking at Magna Cum Laude at graduation with my GPA, but that’s okay. I got through.

As for Mike…between helping me move out of the dorm, making small talk with my dad and Sheryl to distract them from the fact practically everyone on the hill was gawking at the sight of me, baby in tow, clearing my stuff out a week before finals, to showing me how to improve my diaper changing skills…it’s clear, he’s a keeper. But just a friend for now.

The ferry captain signals me onto the loading ramp. My recently purchased Rav-4 is the last of eleven cars to be loaded on the flat-bedded boat. As soon as he has locked the gate behind me, I jump into the back seat. Carolyn is wide awake, mesmerized by her ability to clasp and unclasp her hands together. It’s her latest talent. “Hi.” I smile. “Are you hungry?”

The trip across the Peconic is fast, but since I was the last car on, I’ll be the last off. No need to rush. Carolyn is a good little eater. She’s managed to more than double her birth weight in just a few months, and she’s now almost eleven pounds. As we pull into Dering Harbor, I burp her and return her to the car seat. She lets out a loud cry of discontent.

“It’s just for a while longer, I promise.”

Soon I am waved off the boat, but instead of following the cars up North Ferry Road, I take the other one that hugs the shoreline and pull into the parking lot of the marina.

An easterly breeze is blowing off the water, putting some mist in the air and cooling the warm summer sun. I change Carolyn and then move her to the stroller, put on her sun hat, and we head down to the docks that are now filled to capacity with the boats of Shelter Island’s summer residents.

We wander around the boatyard until we reach the office at its far end. His fishing boat is moored in its usual spot in the middle of the harbor, and his car is in the lot, so I know he’s here. Where else would he be this time of year? When we edge around the side of the building, I spot him talking to a boat owner, a clipboard in his hand. He’s got his usual dark summer tan, and his shoulder-length hair is pulled into a ponytail.

I hesitate before proceeding forward, waiting for him to finish. My stomach is in knots.

“Danny,” I call when it seems they’re done talking. He glances at me, and it takes him a second to process who he’s even looking at. But then his eyes light up and he smiles so genuinely, I know he’s happy to see me. Maybe this will be okay after all.

I move to close the distance between us. As I get nearer to where he’s standing, sea water laps against the pilings, and the sound reminds me of all those nights we used to spend here together after we got off work, our legs dangling off the dock, talking about who knows what until he had to catch the last ferry. Danny’s eyes move from mine to Carolyn’s stroller and I take a deep breath.

Here we go
.

<<<<>>>>

I’ve decided it takes a small village to write a novel, especially when it’s your first and there’s a family, a job, and a whole lot of other commitments involved. So it goes without saying - but I’ll say it anyway - thank you Paul, Maggie, and Brian for allowing me the time to steal away and write. I could not have done this without your support. You are my world.

For your time and thoughtful critiques, beta readers, I am ever indebted. Thanks to Ted Allen, Katie Bartlett, Sherry Berrett, Benjamin Cummings, Samantha Cummis, Laura Donovan, Rae Padulo, and Caryn Tomljanovich. And, for the “just do it” encouragement from Rod Learmonth, thank you. Without it, my novel would still be collecting laptop dust.

To the ever-talented ladies of New Jersey’s brilliant Westfield Critique Group and all those Saturday mornings spent in the comfy chairs at the library discussing character development, plot, pacing, and paths to publishing: Katie Bartlett, Tami Charles, Candice Davenport and Deborah Amadei; I’m glad we found each other.

For the in-depth insight into 21
^st
century campus life and for answering the question
“
What if?” thank you Kate Bucklein, Ramona Dunning, Heather Kaczynski and Kerry Rogers. You helped me more than you realize. And a special thanks to my old college roomie-turned-biology-professor, Dr. Jennifer Waldo…because of you, I’ve learned more about plant DNA writing this book then I ever would have in college!

And lastly, but not least, thank you to editor and one-woman rock star Meredith Rich for inviting me to embark on this journey with Bloomsbury Spark. I am thrilled to be along for the ride!

<<<<>>>>

Christine Duval has been writing creatively since the fourth grade when she penned her first short story entitled “London Terror,” about the murder of a cat in London. She grew up on Long Island and lived in Italy twice as a teenager. Her parents wondered if she’d ever come back! College was spent in the Finger Lakes: the inspiration for Colman, Milton, and Kashong Lake. Life eventually took her to New York’s Upper West Side and then to New Jersey, where she resides with her guitar-playing husband and two awesome kids.

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

Copyright © 2013 by Christine Duval

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means,
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in December 2013
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury Spark, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018
Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at
[email protected]

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request
ISBN 978-1-61963-465-7

Visit
www.bloomsbury.com
to find out more about our authors and their books.
You will find extracts, author interviews, and author events, and you
can sign up for newsletters
to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers.

Cover design by Jessica Cantor