Close Your Eyes (27 page)

There was a large black door at the front of the building, and I put my shoulders back and walked toward it. The door opened, and a guard and an old man came out. The man lit a cigarette and laughed at something the guard said. The guard laid his hand on the old man’s shoulder and went back inside. The man wore a cheap windbreaker and jeans. His hair was thin, combed over a pale skull. My feet crunched through the snow. I was afraid I would slip, but I did not slip.

The old man turned to face me. He froze, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

I remembered the way I had adored him as a child—unthinkingly, with complete faith. I didn’t think I was capable of that sort of love anymore. I was too hard, too old, for that, now.

I started to run. I ran until I reached him, my father. He closed his arms around me. He was slender, but he was strong. In his embrace, I felt a long-dormant flood of need and devotion rush through me. I wanted to be held, and my father was holding me.

“Little One,” he said.

I said, “Daddy.” I spoke so quietly I wasn’t sure I had spoken at all, so I said it again, and louder.

Acknowledgments

For reading one or more of the many, many drafts of this book—and for inspiring me with their own work—I would like to thank: Jami Attenberg, Anika Streitfeld, Masha Hamilton, Allison Lynn, Mark Lane, Juli Berwald, Ellen Sussman, Mary Helen Specht, Sarah Bird, Dalia Azim, Vendela Vida, Hyatt Bass, Leah Stewart, Emily Hovland, Clare Smith, Marc Parent, Jenna Blum, and Beth Howells.

All my love, as always, to my beautiful mother, Mary-Anne Westley; my sisters, Sarah McKay and Liza Bennigson; and my grandmother, the lovely Lorraine Ward.

Laurie Duncan and Clay Smith, you’re wonderful. Michelle Tessler is the best agent anyone could hope for in these confusing times. Thank you, Jennifer Hershey, for your razor-sharp insights, cognac chicken, and an encouraging card in the mail when I most needed one.

Tip Meckel, thank you for your kindness, your brilliance, your margaritas, and the best office in the world. I love you, and I can’t wait to see your “Amanda” tattoo.

My favorite moment every day is bringing my boys home. THM and WAM, you fill our house with noise and my heart with joy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A
MANDA
E
YRE
W
ARD
is a graduate of Williams College and the University of Montana. She is the author of the novels
Sleep Toward Heaven, How to Be Lost, Forgive Me
, and the short-story collection
Love Stories in This Town
. Amanda lives with her family in Austin, Texas.