Where She Went (24 page)

I sing the song with all I’ve got. Then we get to the chorus:
Hate me. Devastate me. Annihilate me. Re-create me. Re-create me. Won’t you, won’t you, won’t you re-create me
.

On the album, the chorus is repeated over and over, a rasp of fury and loss, and it’s become a thing during shows for me to stop singing and turn the mic out toward the audience and let them take over. So I turn the mic toward the fields, and the crowd just goes insane, singing my song, chanting my plea.

I leave them at it and I take a little walk around the stage. The rest of the band sees what’s going on so they just keep repping the chorus. When I get closer to the side of the stage, I see her there, where she always felt most comfortable, though for the foreseeable future, she’ll be the one out here in the spotlight, and I’ll be the one in the wings, and that feels right, too.

The audience keeps singing, keeps making my case, and I just keep strumming until I get close enough to see her eyes. And then I start singing the chorus. Right to her. And she smiles at me, and it’s like we’re the only two people out here, the only ones who know what’s happening. Which is that this song we’re all singing together is being rewritten. It’s no longer an angry plea shouted to the void. Right here, on this stage, in front of eighty thousand people, it’s becoming something else.

This is our new vow.

It is customary in these types of things for writers to thank their editors and agents separately. But when I think of my writing career, I often imagine myself flanked by my editor, Julie Strauss-Gabel, and my agent, Sarah Burnes. These two fiercely intelligent book warriors are both so integral to the creation and guidance of my work that it’s hard to separate them. Sarah advises, advocates, and helps me keep things in perspective. Julie’s greatest gift is that she gives me the key to unlock my stories. The two of them are my twin pillars.

But, as the saying goes, it takes a village. And in Julie’s case, that village consists of many, many dedicated people at the Penguin Young Readers Group. I will save some trees and not list them all but suffice it to say, there are dozens of people in the sales, marketing, publicity, design, online, and production departments to whom I am deeply—and daily—grateful. Shout-outs must go to Don Weisberg, Lauri Hornik, Lisa Yoskowitz, and Allison Verost, who is equal parts publicist, therapist, and friend.

Sarah’s village at The Gernert Company includes Rebecca Gardner, Logan Garrison, Will Roberts, and the formidable Courtney Gatewood, who, for someone bent on world domination, is remarkably nice.

Thank you to Alisa Weilerstein, for inspiring me, as well as giving up some of her precious free time to help me understand the career trajectory for a young professional cellist. Thank you Lynn Eastes, trauma coordinator at OHSU, for offering insights into what Mia’s recovery and rehabilitation process might look like. Thank you to Sean Smith for an insider’s view into the film industry (and a million other things). Anything I got right in regard to these details is because of these people. Anything I got wrong is because of me.

Thank you to the Edna St. Vincent Millay Society for the generous use of one of my all-time favorite sonnets, “Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink.” Many of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poems are incredibly romantic and yet still kind of edgy all these years later. I only included the second half of this sonnet in the book; you should all go look up the full sonnet.

Thank you to my readers at all stages: Jana Banin, Tamara Glenny, Marjorie Ingall, Tamar Schamhart, and Courtney Sheinmel for just the right mix of encouragement and critique.

Thank you to my other village—my neighborhood community—for pitching in with my kids and generally having my back. Isabel Kyriacou and Gretchen Sonju, I am forever in your debt!

Thank you to the entire Christie Family for their enduring grace and generosity.

Thank you to Greg and Diane Rios for continuing on this journey with us.

Thank you to my family, the Formans, Schamharts, and Tuckers, for your cheerleading and cheer. Extra thanks to my sister for hand-selling my books to half the population of Seattle.

Thank you to my daughters: Denbele, who arrived in our family about midway through the writing of this book, and if she ever thought it was weird that her new mom occasionally seemed to channel an angsty twenty-one-year-old guy, never let that dent her ebullience. And to Willa, who inadvertently supplied me with so many of the book’s fictional band/movie/character names in a way that only a four/five-year-old can. I should probably raise your allowance.

Thank you to my husband, Nick, for your not-so-gentle critiques that always force me to up my game. For your sublime playlists that bring music into my life (and books). For supplying me with all the little band details. And for being the reason I can’t seem to stop writing love stories about guitar players.

And finally, thank you to the booksellers, librarians, teachers, and bloggers. For helping books take flight.