the talking-to-teenagers stuff, so Mom has a lot more time off.
And remember I told you that Savannah said I could be in the room when she had her new baby? It happened two days ago. Zoro didn’t want to go in there, but I did, and I got to help Mom. It was so gross and cool! I think I want to be a midwife when I grow up. Or maybe a doctor. Or a forest ranger. I do not want to be an artist like Dad. Painting doesn’t make my heart sing the way he says his heart does when he finishes a new canvas or mural or one of his big light installations.
I can’t tell him this other thing because it might make him worry, but I kind of wish he wasn’t so famous. Like when we go to New York, sometimes people ask me what it’s like to be his daughter, which is super embarrassing. He’s just my dad.
Another thing that’s getting annoying . . . You know how Mom and Dad like to talk to me about Bianca, my birth mother, so I don’t forget her. They’re always saying how much she wanted me, and how artistic she was, and all that kind of stuff, blah blah blah. But I’m not stupid, and I can sort of tell she might have been kind of a loser, too. Maybe you could find out more about that next time you’re here. Still, I definitely hope I look like her someday!
What else do I want to tell you? Me and Zoro and John are going to hike up to Eli’s today. He said he’d help us look for salamanders, but I had to promise him I’d stop asking so many questions about the time he kidnapped me. Even though he’s a teenager, it gets him upset. But I like to hear the details. It’s kind of cool how brave he was.
Heather invited just me for a sleepover tomorrow night. We always do fun crafts and yoga stuff together, but I have to be careful when I eat dinner there because you never know what she’s going to feed you.
Phish is going on dates with this lady Miss Kelly introduced him to, but she doesn’t like The Dead so much, so nobody thinks it’ll last.
Miss Kelly opened a bigger office in Knoxville, but she still comes home to Tempest almost every weekend to stay with Mr. Brad. People at the Broken Chimney are always talking about how they’re married but not really married, so I asked Ava about it the last time she was home from Atlanta, and she said her dad is crazy in love with her mom, but her mom likes her independence. That kind of worried me, so I talked to my mom about it last night, like why she doesn’t want her independence like Miss Kelly does, and she said because Dad makes her heart sing. Dad heard her say that, and he lifted her right off her feet and started kissing her, and the twins started running around them, and Snuffles started barking, and then Mom flipped on the music, and you’ve been here when that happens, so you know exactly what we had to do next. Even though it was raining! We all had to run outside and start dancing.
Bye, now. I can’t wait till you get back.
Oh, one more thing. I hope nobody ever sees us dancing like that because it’s super embarrassing.
Letter From the Author
Dear Readers,
I appreciate you in more ways than you can imagine for your willingness to accompany me on my creative journeys—whether to Texas for the Wynette books, to Chicago where our Chicago Stars take the football field, or—as in Dance Away with Me and the rest of my stand-alone books—to the newest place, with the most recent characters who have captured my imagination. I’ve been able to get to know so many of you personally through Facebook and Instagram, and I treasure the relationships we’ve developed.
I couldn’t have written Dance Away with Me without the invaluable input of my personal team of medical advisors. No babies in an NICU unit could have more dedicated nurses than my niece, Lisa Barrera Phillips, and her delightful co-worker Rachel Russell. Thank you both. Thanks also to Dr. Claire Smith and Dr. Neil Smith, neither of whom saw the final manuscript, so please don’t tell them if you come across any mistakes I made.
My editor extraordinaire, Carrie Feron, and my uber-agent, Steven Axelrod, have been with me forever, and I could not have two more decent people in both my personal and professional lives. I have the most amazing publishing team behind me at William Morrow and Avon Books: Superhero Liate Stehlik and my dear friend Pamela Spengler-Jaffee, along with Jennifer Hart, Tavia Kowalchuk, Kaitlin Harri, and the saintly Asanté Simons. Thanks to the wise and enthusiastic digital, audio, sales, marketing, and production teams: Angela Craft, Caitlin Garing, Kathy Gordon, Brian Grogan, Andy LeCount, Rachel Levenberg, Andrea Molitor, Jessica Rozler, Carla Parker, Dale Schmidt, and Donna Waitkus. The entire art department is filled with so many creatives, and I cheer you all on. I love Virginia Stanley’s hugs, and Shelly Perron, I promise I’ll get better with all those compound and “un-compound” words. As for mega-assistant Sharon Mitchell . . . The books simply don’t get written without you.
My international team of publishers, editors, and agents have given me a great gift—a sense of belonging to your countries. I’ve grown especially close to my friends at Blanvalet in Munich—Nicola Bartels, Berit Bohm, Anna-Lisa Hollerbach, and my beloved “voice,” Angela Spizig. Herzlichen Dank. A long overdue thank you to Lori Antonson and Camilla Ferrier for making these relationships possible.
Every writer needs a tribe. Mine includes some of the smartest, kindest, most perceptive women in the world: Nicki Anderson, Robyn Carr, Christina Dodd, Kristin Hannah, Kristan Higgins, Vicky Joseph, Jayne Ann Krentz, Margaret Watson, Dawn Struxness, and Suzette Vandewiele. Then there’s Lindsay Longford, who throws me a lifeline when I need it most.
Family is everything to me: Mr. Bill, Lil Sis, my three sons, my three daughters-in-law, my four amazing grandchildren. And my favorite next-door neighbors!
And, finally, to any pregnant women reading this book: an amniotic fluid embolism is extremely rare, so please don’t stress about it. I hope you’re able to labor in whatever way makes you most comfortable and that all of your beautiful babies grow into passionate readers.
With my deepest affection,
Susan Elizabeth Phillips