“Tamara, I didn’t know your father for very long, but I know that he loved you very much. You can see it in the sketches, his love for you. And I know he always wanted to do the right thing. I know… he would have loved to have his life with you. I really wish he could have. Everything would have been different.” Everything. Pilgrim’s life. Ben’s life.
Tamara closed the book, folded her fingers around it. She seemed too stunned to smile or cry. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ben said to them both and walked away, out of the shadow of the pines, into the bright sunlight, into his beginning.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Ben Sevier, Brian Tart, Lisa Johnson, Erika Imranyi, and everyone at Dutton; David Shelley, Ursula Mackenzie, Jenny Fry, Thalia Proctor, Nathalie Morse, and everyone at Little, Brown UK; Kara Welsh, Kristen Weber, and everyone at NAL; Peter Ginsberg, Shirley Stewart, Holly Frederick, Dave Barbor, and Nathan Bransford; Joyce and Al Preisser; Madeira James; Phil Hunt, M.D., and Charlyne Cooper.
Special thanks to Christine Wiltz, a wonderful writer and guide to New Orleans, and to my mother, Elizabeth Norrid, my guide to the Dallas suburbs.
And always, heartfelt thanks to Leslie, Charles, and William.
