“Rashid has really blossomed,” she said. “His leg healed and he’s running again, better than before. He’s been working with a tutor, and he seems happier. His grades are quite good. As, Bs—not as good in Latin. I think he has a C average. But he decided to keep taking it. He likes it, really.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“A little. I thought he might drop Latin … after what happened.”

“He’s tough.”

“Yes.” My heart twisted in my chest. I wiped my sweaty hands on my shirt. “Jana, if I could tell you … I’m sorry That’s all. I’m sorry.”

She gave me a long, measuring look. “I know you are. I’m sorry, too.” In that moment, her eyes so green, my heart was broken. I could have loved her. I could have kept her, had I only been the man I claimed to be. I know it. She took my hand. “You take care of yourself, Jerome.” She smiled a little. “I like that T-shirt.” Then she reached up on her toes and kissed my cheek gently, like a mother, like my mother never did. She crossed the street to her friend. I turned to go my own way and was seized by the sudden unreasonable fear that I would never get home, that I would somehow disappear forever in the suburban maze of look-alike streets. I know what it is to be lost. It is the bitterest thing there is.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As these kinds of pages always note, a book is written in solitude but it’s not written alone. A few people and places I’d like to thank (in no particular order):

The MacDowell Colony, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and the Writers Room in New York City, for being places of peace where I was free to write.

The Dalton Gang, Cliff Thompson and Jane Kelley, for encouragement and good advice in the early stages of this work.

David Petersen, for telling me I could do it (and that novels are worth it) at times when I wasn’t so sure.

My loving and thoughtful readers and friends, Anne Rumsey, Rosemarie Robotham, and Sarah Jacobus, for their enthusiasm and advice (and thanks for that title, Rosie!).

My friends Amy Peck and Simone Leigh for their support in this project and in the project of raising our various children.

Jan Clausen for being the superb writing teacher and editor that she is.

Bryan Goluboff and Nell Mermin for good advice at crunch time.

Danielle Claro for stepping up to the plate when I hardly knew her.

My agent, Geri Thoma, for always treating me like a million bucks.

My editor, Jane Rosenman, for her skilled eye and for taking a chance on a relative novice.

Ethan Friedman for being a bastion of calm for an antsy new author.

Jake Morrissey for handling the closing act with uncommon grace.