Hallowed

Текст добавлен: 7 октября 2016, 11:39

Текст книги "Hallowed"

Автор книги: Cynthia Hand

Жанр:

Любовно-фантастические романы

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

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“How much will we need for admission into the park?” Dad asks.

“I’ve got it, Dad. I have a season pass.”

Dad looks pleased, like he’s proud to have produced a kid with a respectful appreciation of nature. We come around a long, curving corner, and suddenly the mountains open up in front of us, washed in red and gold. The sun has just gone down behind them. Soon it will be dark.

“Right here,” he instructs as we approach a scenic turnout. “Pull over.”

Obediently I turn in and park. We get out of the car. I follow Dad as he takes a few steps past the paved part of the road, into the tall grass. He stares off at the mountains.

“Beautiful,” he says. “I’ve never seen them from this angle before. It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty, Dad.” But I’m confused. Why would he want to come here?

He turns to me with an arched eyebrow. “Patience is not your strong suit, is it?”

Heat rushes to my face. “I guess not. Sorry. I just thought you had plans, or somewhere you wanted me to see. I’ve kind of seen this before.”

“You haven’t seen this,” he says. “We’re not there yet.”

Before I have time to process this, he puts a hand on my back, right below the nape of my neck. Something shifts around us, like a quick change in air pressure. My ears pop. I get the sudden sensation of lifting, the kind you feel when an elevator starts to rise, followed by a rush of light-headedness. Then I notice that there’s something different about the color of the grass; it’s greener than it was a second ago. I look up at the mountains, and I notice a difference there too, in the light, where before it was fading, night falling on the land, shadows starting across the plains that stretch to the foothills, now the shadows are receding. The air is growing brighter.

It’s almost like a perpetual daybreak. The sun didn’t just go down. It’s coming up.

I sway dizzily, almost fall, like I just stepped off a merry-go-round. I clutch at Dad’s arm.

“Are you all right?” he asks. “It might be better if you hang on to me until you regain your equilibrium.”

I take a deep breath. The air is almost heavy in its sweetness, like green grass and clover, a hint of something I recognize as the smell of clouds. To say it’s beautiful here, wonderfully, impossibly beautiful, wouldn’t do it justice. I turn to Dad.

“This is heaven,” I say. No question; I know. Maybe the angel part of me recognizes it. I can’t help the giddy feeling that floods me. Heaven.

“The edge of it, yes,” Dad says.

No longer dizzy, I let go of his arm. I try to take a few steps away from him, but there’s something strange about the grass under my feet. It’s too hard. My feet don’t sink into it or crush it down. I stumble and look back at Dad.

“What’s wrong with the grass?”

“It’s not the grass,” he says. “It’s you. You’re not meant to be here yet. You’re still not solid enough for this plain, but if you were to walk in that direction”—he nods toward the growing light in what, on earth, was due west but here seems a different direction entirely– “you’d grow more solid with every step, until you reached the mountains.”

“What would happen when I reached the mountains?”

“Well, that’s for you to find out when the time comes,” he says mysteriously.

“You mean when I die.”

He doesn’t reply. He looks off toward those mountains and lifts a hand to point. “I brought you here to see.”

I squint toward the light, shielding my eyes with my hand, and then my breath catches. I can make out the figure of a person out there. A woman in a white, calf-length, sleeveless dress. It looks like the eyelet sundress I wore under my gown at graduation yesterday. She has her back turned to us, walking, almost running, it seems, toward the mountains. Her long auburn hair is flowing free down her back.

“Mom,” I breathe. “Mommy!”

I try to run toward her, but I can’t handle my feet on this stony grass. It hurts, like picking your way across a gravel road with bare feet. I only make it a few more steps before I give up, panting.

“Mom!” I call again, but it’s clear she doesn’t hear me.

Dad comes up beside me. “You can’t reach her, sweetheart, not now. I brought you here because I thought it would do you good to see her. But that’s all.”

It’s not enough, I think, but it’s all I have. It’s a gift that he’s giving me, the best kind of present there is. Proof of my mother, that she is somewhere safe, and warm, and bright. That she still exists out there.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Dad holds out his hand, and I take it. Then together we stand and watch her, this ethereal figure who is my mother, making her way toward those high countries. She’s walking away from me for now, but she’s walking into the glory. Into the light.

Acknowledgments

This book was like riding a bucking bronco to write, and I couldn’t have held on without the help of so many good people.

My first shout-out goes to Katherine Fausset. I am so fortunate to call you my agent, my cheerleader, my mental bodyguard, my expert on all things writerly, and my dear friend. Thank you for reminding me that the book moved you to tears (I will forever carry around the image of you sobbing on the couch and freaking out your husband), and that you believed in me, especially during those times when I was having a hard time believing in myself. You are the best. Seriously. The best.

Big thanks to Farrin Jacobs, my editor, who pushed me past “good enough” into something I can truly be proud of and kept such a keen eye on how many times I used the word “just” (only one in this entire acknowledgment—aren’t you proud?). I also owe high fives to Catherine Wallace, for all your hard work and smart ideas, to my publicist, Marisa Russell, for taking such good care of me schedule-wise, and to the entire awesome team at HarperCollins, including Kate Jackson, Susan Katz, Melinda Weigel, Susan Jeffers, and Sasha Illingworth, who created another gorgeous shiny cover to match my first gorgeous shiny cover.

Thank you to the students and staff at Jackson Hole High School, especially Principal Scott Crisp, Julie Stayner, and Lori Clark-Erickson, for welcoming me back to the school for round two of research and interviews. I appreciate how graceful and enthusiastic you were about this project from the beginning. Clara’s world truly came alive for me in the halls of JHHS.

Thanks to my friends: Amy Yowell, Melissa Stockham, Kristin Naca, Robin Marushia, Joan Kremer, Wendy Johnston, and Lindsey Terrell, for being my biggest fans and supporters, each in your own way. Y’all make me feel so loved.

Thanks to Shannon Fields (and Emily!), for taking such good care of my son and for so often being the real-person, adult conversation I had at the end of the day. I needed that.

Thanks to my family:

My dad, Rodney Hand, for listening to all my problems and then gently reminding me that I had problems other people would kill for. And for taking Will on long tractor rides so I could work.

Julie Hand, for being so eager to read the latest drafts and giving me such insightful, honest feedback, even though you worried that I’d be furious.

Carol Ware, my mom, for being my Idaho publicist and for always being there when I needed you. I don’t know how I would have survived this year without your help. Maggie is a great mother, but she ain’t got nothing on you!

Jack Ware, for being my mom’s knight in shining armor, the epitome, in my mind, of a good husband and a good man. Thanks for all the support, the sound tax advice, and always being so eager to help on any level you could.

My own husband, John Struloeff. I said it all last time, but I have to say it again. You are one amazing, talented man, and I’d be lost without you. I’m so glad that you assigned yourself to me all those years ago, my partner and my friend.

Will, my little man, for enduring so many movies so Mommy could work, for always making me laugh, and for reminding me of what’s important in life.

And last but not least, Maddie. My sweet girl. Who was with me every moment I was writing this book, growing as it grew, through tears and edits and Braxton-Hicks contractions. Thank you for being a mellow baby who slept like a rock through all those signings and readings.

About the Author

CYNTHIA HAND divides her time between Southern California, where she lives with her husband and son, and southeast Idaho near the Teton Mountains. She teaches creative writing at Pepperdine University. You can visit her online at www.cynthiahand.blogspot.com.

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Hallowed

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hand, Cynthia, 1978–

Hallowed / by Cynthia Hand. – 1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: Torn between her love for her boyfriend Tucker and her complicated feelings about the role she seems destined to play, sixteen-year-old part-angel Clara Gardner races to decipher a new vision that could signify the end for someone close to her.

ISBN 978-0-06-199618-4

[1. Angels—Fiction. 2. Visions—Fiction. 3. Supernatural– Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Jackson (Wyo.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.H1917Hal 2012

[Fic]—dc23

2011030444

11 12 13 14 15 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

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