Magic Hour

by Kristin Hannah

It was Magic Hour, the moment in time when every leaf and blade of grass seemed separate, when sunlight, burnished by the rain and softened by the coming night, gave the world an impossibly beautiful glow.

Don’t take peace for granted, he’d said to her often. It can shatter like glass.

Rain Valley newcomers pretty much fell into two groups: people running away from something, and people running away from everything.

The woods. Julia remembered the Olympic National Forest. Hundreds of thousands of acres of mossy darkness; much of it was still unexplored. It was the realm of myth and legend, where signs and wonders existed. Land of the Sasquatch.

some hurts were like a once-broken bone. In the right weather, they could ache for a lifetime. The

“Now,” Ellie said, leaning forward. “Tell me about your daughter.” Grief stared back at her, stark as blood on snow.

“A story is only sad if there’s no happy ending. I guess I always believe in that ending.”

Alice lifted her face to the night sky and let out a howl that undulated on the air. It was a noise so sad and lonely that you wanted to cry, or howl along with her. It made you think of all that you’d ever loved, all that you’d lost, and all the love you’d never known.

“We’re pushing forty, but you still act like you’re the homecoming queen, waiting to be swept off her feet by the football captain. It’s not like that. Love rips the shit out of you and puts you back together like a broken toy, with all kinds of cracks and jagged edges. It’s not about the falling in love. It’s about the landing, the staying where you said you’d be and working to keep the love strong.

The sound she made—more whimper now than howl—was the physical embodiment of loss. Too much feeling and too few words.

She didn’t know much about Max, but she knew this: he recognized heartache, understood its taste and feel and texture. And he saw it now on her face.