Fourteen thousand six hundred days, I thought.

“I was just wondering . . .” I said. “Do you want to come with me? To see Colonel Armstrong, I mean. I think you’d like him.”

There was an aura of calm around her now. It radiated like heat on a sidewalk, blurring everything in the background.

She reached over and rested her hand on top of mine, and I could feel the electricity in her fingertips, prickling through my skin, digging down for my truth.

Her eyes were wide and sharp, her breath long and steady, and she titled her head slightly to the right, examining me as if she were in her studio, in front of a canvas, contemplating the next brushstroke.

We were inside of this. Both of us. A work in progress. A living exhibit. The ultimate art project, for which there was no ending. And I wasn’t certain if it was my vision or hers.

“Yes,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to thank my agent, Albert Zuckerman. The wisdom and love with which he guided and championed this book is one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me, and I am forever in his debt.

Everyone at Woodhall Press, especially Colin Hosten, for believing in this story, and for being willing to take a chance on it; Matthew Winkler, for his thoughtful editorial notes; and Paulette Baker for her precise attention to detail.

I am full of gratitude to Genevieve Gagne-Hawes for her insightful notes on early drafts of this manuscript.

Much thanks and love to my incomparable guitar consultants, Kyle Nicolaides and Don Miggs, and to my trusted construction authority, Jeff Jungsten. And a special shout-out to Tad Buchanan, for introducing me to a beautiful book about redwoods that inadvertently unlocked secrets to this story and its characters.

Big love and thanks to Tim Sandlin, for being a cherished reader, writer, and friend.

Lots of love and thanks to my extraordinary assistant Cielle Taaffe-Spurgeon, for her boundless creativity and support.

This book would quite literally not exist without the friendship and encouragement of Tarryn Fisher and Colleen Hoover. I love you both to bits.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the work of artist Marina Abramovic as an inspiration to Sorrow: This is Art.

Extra special indebted gratitude goes to The National, a band whose music planted seeds in my head and heart that grew like a redwood into this novel.

And while we’re on the subject of music, a heartfelt thank you, as always, to U2. Decades ago, their music opened a door for me, leading me into a world where love never ends, and where sonic landscapes are the portals to that love. Forty years later those landscapes still live inside of me and continue to inspire so much of my work.

Unconditional and eternal love to my family: Candy, Eddie, Lisa, Nikki, Asher, Milo, Jasper, Don and Chad. I’d do anything for you people.