And then night fell. It pressed the last of dusk’s light below the windshield and the scent of spring into the cab. Gasoline, cut grass, fresh asphalt, and a daffodil. Henry swallowed, smiled, and was whole. Complete. Finally had it all figured out. With such a wealth of certainty, there wasn’t a single question left, because all that mattered was this little boy. All that mattered were his heart and mind and health, all his potential and tomorrows. Everything right here and so, so easy. All Henry had to do was keep his promise, with his hands steady on the wheel and eyes on the road, because it was his job to keep looking forward, to keep looking up.

Acknowledgments

This book wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the support of those in my life. To retrace so many acts of compassion and generosity throughout the years absolutely floors me, and so—from right here, down on my knees—I extend my most humbled and heartfelt thanks to:

¢ My parents, Mi Wikström & Gib Pellet and Nilo & Zoe Guanzon, who taught me a dollar is measured by sacrifice, as well as how to sift love from life’s rubble.

¢ Chris Clemans, whose grit and vision found this vagabond story the finest home imaginable.

¢ Steve Woodward & Fiona McCrae, for their unparalleled artistry and guidance.

¢ Katie Dublinski and the Graywolf crew, for all their hard work and astounding care.

¢ Pia Wikström & Nilabja Bhattacharya, who first gave me shelter in this city, and keep me warm and fed to this day.

¢ The earliest readers of this book, for their incisive notes and nourishing friendship:

¢ Miguel Alonso-Lubell

¢ Ellie Anderson

¢ Simon Guanzon

¢ Tate Halverson

¢ Mina Hamedi

¢ Cat Powell

¢ Anthony Ray

¢ Sarah Timmer Harvey

¢ The faculty, staff, and students at Columbia University’s MFA Writing Program, whose patience with me is beyond compensation, not to mention comprehension. A special thanks to my four workshop professors:

¢ Elissa Schappell, who trained my crosshairs on the jugular

¢ Ben Marcus, whose lessons on form helped inspire this book’s budget-chapter conceit

¢ Mark Doten, who gave me the green light to write weird

¢ Ben Metcalf, who taught me (among many, many things) how to read

¢ The sociology and English departments at Hamline University, in particular Professors Kristina Deffenbacher, Veena Deo, Martin Markowitz, Navid Mohseni, and Sharon Preves, who were the first to suggest to me that a story like Henry’s could matter.

¢ Jacob Thomas Kelly, who always pushed me to the furthest limits of my abilities, whether at a job site or on the page.

¢ Aliza Lalani, whose benevolence I strive to one day match, and thereby earn.

¢ Mi familia madrileña, por aguantar todas mis tonterías y su amor sin fronteras.

¢ Anchorage, for life.

¢ WU LYF, for telling fire to the mountain.

¢ A.C., for you can guess what.

¢ Debbie Petschl and the crew of Twin City Landscape, who instilled the work ethic that keeps me digging to this day.