“I mean Grandma’s nap time,” Bree told him, and he smiled his sunny smile and grabbed her face in his small, fat hands, ramming his forehead hard into her nose as he went to kiss her.

“Oof! Careful, baby,” she said, laughing, touching her nose. “Ouch!”

“Gentle hands on Mommy,” Marshall told his son.

Robbie stood on Bree’s thighs, his sturdy legs braced, and patted softly at her cheeks. “Gemple hands on Mommy,” he agreed.

All three girls were back on their own floats. Peace had been restored. They lay in a leg-locked chain, Peyton in the center, now singing loud and tunelessly along. They were asking again if the world was grand, and fun, and great. And good.

Watching Robbie pat his mother’s face, so soft, Marshall thought that it was as good as the world could be. Considering the world.

“You’re sweet,” Bree told her son, kissing his sweaty cheek. “You are so sweet!”

He would be, Marshall thought. They would work to make it so. And yet under her fond tone, he heard something else. Not sorrow. That had faded again. Something reverent, as if the words were more than an endearment. As if they were a tiny prayer.

Acknowledgments

I am profoundly grateful to all you readers, librarians, and booksellers who read, buy, and stock my books and who recommend them both in person and online. You gift me a career that is an absolute joy. Thank you! These words are inadequate. But, thank you! I’ll keep writing as long as you keep reading.

I share my main character’s deep love for Atlanta’s innovative, eclectic theatre scene; Scott and I regularly see shows at places like Alliance Theatre, Horizon, 7 Stages, Dad’s Garage, and Shakespeare Tavern. I actually saw Caryl Churchill’s Traps at our favorite local theatre, Actor’s Express, in their inaugural season. Bree did not play Syl.

My editor, Emily Krump, is smart and subtle and a mighty champion of my work. I so appreciate the way she and everyone at William Morrow have given me a publishing home where I can grow and change. Huge thanks to Liate Stehlik, Jennifer Hart, Tavia Kowalchuk, Kelly Rudolph, Maureen Cole, Christine Edwards, Andy LeCount, Mary Beth Thomas, Ashley Mihlebach, Carla Parker, Rachel Levenberg, Virginia Stanley, Eric Svenson, Ploy Siripant, Mary Ann Petyak, Shelby Peak, Julia Elliott, and Maureen Sugden (who spots the word I am currently overusing to a criminal degree, every book).

Thank you to my onetime editor and current agent, Caryn Karmatz Rudy. Mother May I is dedicated to her, and it’s about time. Her influence is shot through all my published work, which is infinitely better for it. My gratitude and deep, fond regard for my first agent, Jacques de Spoelberch, is eternal.