seen him. It’s not like I would know what to say if I did. Ettie starts the motor and we pull out onto Main Street. We don’t make it very far—a couple feet. It’s packed and we immediately sit idling in traffic.
“We could have just sat in the parking spot,” I say.
“Hey!” Claudia says, pointing at my necklace. “Yours is bluer than mine.”
“No, yours is bluer than mine!” I say with a laugh.
“Mine is the bluest!” Ettie cries. She reaches behind her neck to unclasp her necklace, but the car rolls forward. We break into hysterics. We’ll be waiting a while for the many tourists to figure out how to go through the rotary at the top of Main Street.
“Let’s swap,” Claudia says, and her black hair shines in the sunset that fills Main Street. All three of us laugh, unhook the clasps, and swap to the person to our right. We hold our hair up and admire our rightful necklaces.
“Much better!” Claudia says with a smile.
“I love this song!” Ettie cries and leans forward to turn up the volume. She turns the music up so loud that everyone on the street looks in our direction. We don’t care; we sing at the top of our lungs.
And that’s when I see him.
I stop singing, my lips part.
Andrew’s been watching me from the doorway of the Bird’s Nest Diner. He is wearing the same baseball hat from that last day on the docks. Our eyes lock. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months.
Then the strangest thing happens . . . I’m thinking, suddenly, about the Zuckermans’ boulder on their lawn. For years I believed it was a piece of the moon. Last summer, the summer with Andrew, my life was like that. A little piece of the stars—a little piece of something I could never touch.
I wait for Andrew to turn away, to grimace, and to remind me of all that I did to hurt him.
The traffic inches forward, it’s now or never—we’ll pull away.
We’re moving ahead, I have to turn my head to keep eye contact. Just as the tires roll past, just as I expect him to scowl or look away . . .
He breaks into the smallest smile.
And it’s a smile just for me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
THANK YOU TO JOCELYN DAVIES. THERE IS NO ONE I would rather hash out story lines and character with! Working with you has made this book even better than I could have envisioned. Thank you for your collaboration, respect, and for showing me just how lucky a writer can be.
Thank you Margaret Riley King at WME for loving this book and understanding just how much Bean’s story needed to be told. And, of course, to Chelsea Drake for your patience and support!
To Jacqueline McCleary, Brown University astrophysicist, for your unparalleled wisdom. You know it’s not fair to be that smart and that pretty, right? Bean’s story is stronger because of you.
To Bryant Grigsby, SETI scientist, for multiple annoying phone calls in which you had to explain way too complicated science to me. I attempted to keep up while you gave me your valuable expertise and time.
Thank you to Kate Madin and Hovey Clifford, WHOI staff. You are generous and without your expertise my story would have suffered.
To A.M. Jenkins and the power of “feeling it”—your mentorship means more to me than I could express.
To Franny Billingsley—you changed my understanding of character for not just Bean but Penny too (but more on her later)! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thank you to An Na, who read an early version of this book and pointed me in the right direction.
Thank you to Sarah Ellis—who reminded me that the hard stuff is the least sentimental and who taught me about the power of subtlety and subtext. I am trying to give up ellipses . . . I swear.
To the VCFA community, especially the faculty—you are magic.
Of course—to the CCWs: Rebecca DeMetrick, Linda Melino, Mariellen Langworthy, Claire Nicogossian, Maggie Hayes, Tracy Hart, Laura Backman, Hannah Moderow, Kristin Sandoval, and Matt Hudson.
And, for my sister, Jennie—for all the tamago, “head things,” and trips to the Cape we can stand.
Thank you to Mom and Dad, who brought me to the Cape for our wonderful vacations. You showed Jennie and me the best place on Earth and always encouraged us to reach for the stars, no matter how high.
I discovered Jim Morrison and The Doors on the Fourth of July, the year of my thirtieth birthday. I heard Moonlight Drive on the beach and within weeks had sped through the entire catalogue of albums and read four biographies. The poetry, the music, and the sheer passion that The Doors embodied weaved itself into the fabric of my life. I got to see Ray Manzarek and Robbie Krieger play live in 2011, just two years before Ray passed away. It has been my honor, even in some small way, to continue the legacy of The Doors through Bean’s story.
For me, this quote is the heartbeat of Between Us and the Moon:
“I tell you this. No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.”—Jim Morrison
Thank you: Jim, Ray, Robbie, and John—for all of it.