Smith shifted a little, laid his entire forearm along the length of my thigh. He didn't open his eyes, and he didn't answer my question. I thought of Jerry, the way he used to put my braids between his thumb and his forefinger, run his fingers up and down them, declare his love for them, for me. He did the same thing with loose chicken feathers when he listened to the radio. Jerry said repetitive actions helped him get in touch with himself. I felt the steady beat of Smith's life where his skin warmed mine, and I breathed again, deep and regular, trying to match my pulse to his, trying to get in touch with myself. I was not afraid to act in my own best interest, but I could no longer discern the correct action. My instincts had lost clarity, cut to static. I imagined murderer's prison, chicken-keeper's prison. I saw my fields parched, my coop empty, my nation as confused and chaotic as my own silly girl heart—aching for freedom that seeps ever away, watching liberty puddle outside itself. Like tears. Like blood.

Acknowledgments

I am lucky to be part of a giant extended family with a history of shenanigans and a collective gift for storytelling. I learned from the masters, and I am grateful to every last one of you. For the stories in this book, I want to thank especially my Granny Ruth, my Grandma Aunt Mano, Father Al, and my aunts Marcia, Sue, and Cathy (the original three sisters). Also, my uncle Don, my aunts Barb, Kate, and Lisa, and my cousins Eva and Sally, who have always made space in their lives for art and science and family and love all at once, which is how I learned it was possible.

My parents, Dave and MaryAnne, taught me to hold on to joy no matter what else I have to carry, and to try to be patient, which is to say that they taught me how to be a writer and a human.

My brother, Zac, is a master of balancing serious drama with lighthearted good humor, in writing and in real life. Our friendship is a centering force and I would not be whole without it.

My sister, Maggie, is the most caring and competent of any of us and has never once been afraid to call out my bullshit, which I will admit (just this once, in this space only) has made me a better person.

Thank you to Dick and Bonnie and every member of the extended Boyles family for accepting me into the fold and introducing me to the delights of a beach house vacation.

Kate Garrick, my agent, made all of this happen while being delightfully funny and supportive, even as the world took a turn, so I'm certain that she is a magical human. I am also grateful to Cathy Jaque and everyone at the Karpfinger Agency.