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Back When the Stars Go Dark Save as PDF
Chapters (83)
  1. Epigraph
  2. Maps
  3. (prologue)
  4. Part 1: Signs and Vapors
  5. (one)
  6. (two)
  7. (three)
  8. (four)
  9. (five)
  10. (six)
  11. (seven)
  12. (eight)
  13. (nine)
  14. (ten)
  15. (eleven)
  16. (twelve)
  17. Part 2: Secret Things
  18. (thirteen)
  19. (fourteen)
  20. (fifteen)
  21. (sixteen)
  22. (seventeen)
  23. (eighteen)
  24. (nineteen)
  25. (twenty)
  26. (twenty-one)
  27. (twenty-two)
  28. (twenty-three)
  29. (twenty-four)
  30. (twenty-five)
  31. (twenty-six)
  32. (twenty-seven)
  33. (twenty-eight)
  34. (twenty-nine)
  35. (thirty)
  36. (thirty-one)
  37. (thirty-two)
  38. (thirty-three)
  39. (thirty-four)
  40. (thirty-five)
  41. (thirty-six)
  42. (thirty-seven)
  43. (thirty-eight)
  44. (thirty-nine)
  45. Part 3: Time and the Maiden
  46. (forty)
  47. (forty-one)
  48. (forty-two)
  49. (forty-three)
  50. (forty-four)
  51. (forty-five)
  52. (forty-six)
  53. (forty-seven)
  54. (forty-eight)
  55. (forty-nine)
  56. (fifty)
  57. (fifty-one)
  58. (fifty-two)
  59. (fifty-three)
  60. Part 4: The Bent Grove
  61. (fifty-four)
  62. (fifty-five)
  63. (fifty-six)
  64. (fifty-seven)
  65. (fifty-eight)
  66. (fifty-nine)
  67. (sixty)
  68. (sixty-one)
  69. (sixty-two)
  70. (sixty-three)
  71. (sixty-four)
  72. (sixty-five)
  73. (sixty-six)
  74. (sixty-seven)
  75. (sixty-eight)
  76. (sixty-nine)
  77. (seventy)
  78. Dedication
  79. (acknowledgments)
  80. (author’s note)
  81. BY PAULA MCLAIN
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

For decades I’ve been drawn to the carving without knowing why. But just now, all I can see is the weeping maiden with her head bowed, and how like Jenny she is. Jenny on the beach, singing “Goodnight, California,” her long hair blowing in front of her eyes. I see Shannan in the maiden, too, wearing her rabbit-fur jacket, her soul too heavy to carry. I see Cameron in the grove, and then Cameron as she is now, taking herself back, climbing off of the plinth and out of the puzzle. I see Amy with her white-blond hair in her mouth, sobbing the day she was taken out of our home, out of my arms. Finally, I see the girl I was on my first day in Mendocino, guarded and wounded, watching a simple sunset. The green flash of luck, Eden called it. But really it was the first moment I saw what love might still do to save me, if I had the courage to let it in.

—

For the longest time I stand on Lansing Street, thinking about beauty and terror. Evil. Grace. Suffering. Joy. How they’re all here every day, everywhere. Teaching us how to keep stepping forward into our lives, our purpose.

Long ago Corolla told me that it’s not what happens to us that matters most, but how we can learn to carry it. I’m starting to understand the difference, and how maybe the only way we can survive what’s here, and what we are, is together.

I turn my back on the carving and begin to walk toward my Bronco, and as I do so, something flutters and knocks from behind me. The raven taking flight. Moving on. I smile a little, and then call for Cricket. She stands up in the back seat and tips her ears forward, eager to be on the road. Ready or not, it’s time to go home.

Dedication

For Lori Keene, there from the beginning as I dreamed this dream

(acknowledgments)

In the three years I spent writing this novel I’ve leaned on far too many books, editors, colleagues, and friends to adequately thank, but the following deserve special acknowledgment.

My brilliant agent, Julie Barer, believed in this book and encouraged me to write it from the very first spark, over a long, wine-tinged lunch at Soho House in downtown Manhattan, as I remember. For her intelligence, unerring intuition, and huge, brave heart, I thank the universe for her now and always.

I’m ever grateful to my editor, Susanna Porter, for her excellence on the page, and complete investment in me and the worlds I’m trying to build; and to Kara Welsh and Kim Hovey for publishing my work with incredible integrity, thought, and care.