Hallowed

gravel road with bare feet. I only make it a few more steps before I give up, panting.

“Mom!” I call again, but it’s clear she doesn’t hear me.

Dad comes up beside me. “You can’t reach her, sweetheart, not now. I brought you here because I thought it would do you good to see her. But that’s all.” It’s not enough, I think, but it’s all I have. It’s a gift that he’s giving me, the best kind of present there is. Proof of my mother, that she is somewhere safe, and warm, and bright. That she still exists out there.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Dad holds out his hand, and I take it. Then together we stand and watch her, this ethereal figure who is my mother, making her way toward those high countries. She’s walking away from me for now, but she’s walking into the glory. Into the light.

Acknowledgments

This book was like riding a bucking bronco to write, and I couldn’t have held on without the help of so many good people.

My first shout-out goes to Katherine Fausset. I am so fortunate to call you my agent, my cheerleader, my mental bodyguard, my expert on all things writerly, and my dear friend. Thank you for reminding me that the book moved you to tears (I will forever carry around the image of you sobbing on the couch and freaking out your husband), and that you believed in me, especially during those times when I was having a hard time believing in myself. You are the best.

Seriously. The best.

Big thanks to Farrin Jacobs, my editor, who pushed me past “good enough” into something I can truly be proud of and kept such a keen eye on how many times I used the word

“just” (only one in this entire acknowledgment — aren’t you proud?). I also owe high fives to Catherine Wallace, for all your hard work and smart ideas, to my publicist, Marisa Russell, for taking such good care of me schedule-wise, and to the entire awesome team at HarperCollins, including Kate Jackson, Susan Katz, Melinda Weigel, Susan Jeffers, and Sasha Illingworth, who created another gorgeous shiny cover to match my first gorgeous shiny cover.

Thank you to the students and staff at Jackson Hole High School, especially Principal Scott Crisp, Julie Stayner, and Lori Clark-Erickson, for welcoming me back to the school for round two of research and interviews. I appreciate how graceful and enthusiastic you were about this project from the beginning. Clara’s world truly came alive for me in the halls of JHHS.

Thanks to my friends: Amy Yowell, Melissa Stockham, Kristin Naca, Robin Marushia, Joan Kremer, Wendy Johnston, and Lindsey Terrell, for being my biggest fans and supporters, each in your own way. Y’all make me feel so loved.

Thanks to Shannon Fields (and Emily!), for taking such good care of my son and for so often being the real- person, adult conversation I had at the end of the day. I needed that.

Thanks to my family:

My dad, Rodney Hand, for listening to all my problems and then gently reminding me that I had problems other people would kill for. And for taking Will on long tractor rides so I could work.

Julie Hand, for being so eager to read the latest drafts and giving me such insightful, honest feedback, even though you worried that I’d be furious.

Carol Ware, my mom, for being my Idaho publicist and for always being there when I needed you. I don’t know how I would have survived this year without your help. Maggie is a great mother, but she ain’t got nothing on you!

Jack Ware, for being my mom’s knight in shining armor, the epitome, in my mind, of a good husband and a good man. Thanks for all the support, the sound tax advice, and always being so eager to help on any level you could.

My own husband, John Struloeff. I said it all last time, but I have to say it again. You are one amazing, talented man, and I’d be lost without you. I’m so glad that you assigned yourself to me all those years ago, my partner and my friend.

Will, my little man, for enduring so many movies so Mommy could work, for always making me laugh, and for reminding me of what’s important in life.

And last but not least, Maddie. My sweet girl. Who was with me every moment I was writing this book, growing as it grew, through tears and edits and Braxton-Hicks contractions.

Thank you for being a mellow baby who slept like a rock through all those signings and readings.

About the Author

CYNTHIA HAND divides her time between Southern California, where she lives with her husband and son, and southeast Idaho near the Teton Mountains. She teaches creative writing at Pepperdine University. You can visit her online at www.cynthiahand.blogspot.com.