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256 pages, Hardcover
First published April 5, 2022
It is important to establish, before this begins, that I never thought of myself as an animal person. And since I do not come from a pet family, I never thought the family we were raising needed any more life running through it. Especially not a scurrying kind of life, with its claws tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood floors.
I don’t know, but sometimes when he closes in on me like that and I’m gazing down into those circles inside of circles inside of circles, I lose my way, and I feel like I am falling through an alien solar system of lost orbits rotating around a collapsing, burning sun.
She wouldn’t have felt a thing. They kept coming back to that. Once in every call, someone would say the words and the person on the other end would have to agree. She wouldn’t have felt a thing. She wouldn’t have felt a thing. It was the chorus, the refrain of the first six hours.
A good bag is a miracle, intimate and distant at the same time; completely mine and completely not mine. When everything is in order, a good bag stolen from the LAX at precisely this time of year shows me a way out, a way through.
Me and my sister. My sister and I. My sister and me. It has never been good between us. Never. We are eleven months apart and we have the same parents — the same mom, right there, on a blanket at the beach, reading her book, and the same dad, wherever he is now. But we have always had this gap, too. Eleven months is too close, and at the same time, it is too far away.
He felt sure that even the MC was not impressed. She seemed to be rolling her eyes at the vocalists especially, but he could not disagree. When they sang, the kids closed their eyes and circled their hands in the air, aiming for notes they could not possibly hit. Around him, people visibly winced, and when it was over, they applauded the quiet and not what had come before.
I saw a light shining out of the house from the second floor. Allan was there, perfectly framed behind the glass of his bedroom window. He was staring up and over, not down, and his hardened hair was still perfectly parted and everything behind him was illuminated. You know how it is when the light gets like that. Sometimes the person looking out can’t see anything, only the dark, but for the person looking in, every detail is magnified and clear.
Amy remembered the closet by the door, and all the hollow shirts and pants stuffed into the Tip Top Tailor bag, a few decades of bad ties. She thought about the afterlife of objects. All the things that were still here and the people who were not.
When the news story came out, pictures of the motel were everywhere. Police cars and flashing lights, caution tape and pylons, men in hazmat suits entering and leaving the mobile forensic unit. It was what you’d expect.