Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,82

on the patio, hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo shorts. I am not sure what to expect, given the last thing I said to him was to go to hell, but…

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m really going to miss them,” I admit.

“They’re pretty cute.”

“I think Iz thinks you’re pretty cute,” I joke without thinking.

“What? Shut up,” he says, giving me a playful push. Then his shoulders stiffen and he shoves his hands back into his pockets. “I’ve gotta get to work. But I wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

It feels weird and stilted, and I’m not sure if our friendship will ever be the same. But he’s here. He asked if I was okay. That means something.

Later, Granddad and I stand with Gracie and Iz around Rick’s black SUV to say our good-byes. The afternoon sun beats down on the crown of my head and the pavement is hot beneath my feet. It reminds me of the afternoon the girls showed up in my life. Now they’re leaving, and it feels like the house will be too quiet without them.

Gracie wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me tight. “Thank you for saving me.” She looks up at her dad. “Did Granddad tell you what happened, Daddy? I fell in the water and almost drowned, but Ivy jumped in and saved me. She’s like a superhero!”

“She is a hero,” Rick agrees, mouthing thank you at me over her shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” Gracie says fiercely.

“Me too. But we can video-chat.”

“And you can come visit us in DC whenever you want. You’re family,” Rick says, and I think my heart grows three sizes. Even Isobel gives me a quick, awkward hug.

As they drive down the lane, Granddad and I are both a little sniffly. He clears his throat. “Allergies.”

Liar. He doesn’t have any allergies. I put my arm around his waist, leaning into his shoulder. “You’ve still got me.”

Granddad smiles down at me. “Thank God for that. You were a huge help with the girls. I know you’ve only had a week or so, but you’re a good big sister. I’m proud of you.”

I start sniffling again. “Really?”

“Absolutely. You know, after you left Java Jim’s last night, I had a talk with Connor.”

“Really? Um, what did you talk about?” I bite my lip.

“He thought that you ran out because I was putting undue pressure on you. That maybe you don’t understand how proud I am of you.” Granddad looks down at me. “Maybe I don’t say it often enough, but you are the light of my life, Ivy. If I push you too hard sometimes, it’s only because you’re so bright, so curious, and I want you to know that you can do or be whatever you want.”

“But I can’t do and be everything,” I say. “Sometimes I’m not sure I can do anything. I don’t have a gift like Dorothea or Grandmother or Erica. I’m so—mediocre.”

“Mediocre?” Granddad roars. “Bullshit. No granddaughter of mine is mediocre.”

I laugh through my tears. “Language, Granddad.”

“You are a remarkably capable girl, Ivy. Women twice your age—hell, women my age—would have fallen apart with everything you’ve been through these last two weeks. And instead you kept this family together. You called people out on things when they needed it, myself included. And you seem to have found yourself a good young man.”

I blush. “You kind of found him for me.”

My phone chimes with a text. “Speak of the devil,” I say.

Are you okay? Connor asks.

We’ve been texting all day. He didn’t tell me that he talked to Granddad, but I think that’s one secret I can forgive.

Not yet, I text back. But I will be.

And I stand there in the driveway with Granddad, and I think it might be true.

Acknowledgments

Every book is a journey, but this book has changed an awful lot since the first pages I scribbled back in fall 2013, inspired by the poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay and by April Genevieve Tucholke’s Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. I set out to write my own book about family ghosts and poetry and the ocean, and while there’s no longer a ghost in Wild Swans, this draft couldn’t have existed without that one. Thank you to Sara Sargent for her tremendously helpful thoughts on that early draft.

Thank you to my agent, Jim McCarthy, who told me that it was more than okay to try something new and urged me to follow my heart on this book. Thank you to Annette Pollert-Morgan for an edit letter full of inspiring character-driven questions; to Elizabeth Boyer and Diane Dannenfeldt for their copyedits; to Brittany Vibbert for a gorgeous cover design that is everything I dreamed of; to Jillian Rahn for the lovely interior design; to Alex Yeadon for connecting my book with readers; and to everyone else at Sourcebooks who has championed Wild Swans.

Thank you to the wonderful staff at One More Page and Politics and Prose bookstores for being so supportive; to the Highlights Foundation for their magical Unworkshops; and to the staff at Peregrine for keeping me supplied with iced black tea while I wrote and edited this book.

Thank you to Tiffany for being an amazing cheerleader and friend; to Lauren for brainstorming walks at Highlights; to Lindsay for encouraging line edits; and to Anna-Marie for insightful notes on Ella’s scenes. To Caroline and Robin for five-plus years of flailmails. To Miranda for answering my newbie “how do I write contemporary” questions. To Andrea, Marie, and Beth for always inspiring me to dream a little bigger.

Connor’s heartbreak over his grams was inspired by the slow decline of my Papaw to Alzheimer’s and by my bookish Memaw, who would be thrilled to pieces that I am now a librarian and an author. I miss them both more than I can convey.

Special thanks to my mom, who is much more of a Luisa (baking delicious cookies, growing beautiful flowers, and making me laugh) than an Erica. Thank you to all my wonderfully supportive family and friends, especially to my BFFs Jenn and Jill, who are just as smart and funny and loyal as Claire and Abby. I couldn’t let Ivy have any less.

Most especially, thank you to my husband, who has thoroughly convinced me that bookish boys with tattoos are the best.