I will supervise the boys as they don their matching pajamas and climb into their matching beds. Michael will ask if he can sleep with the coins, and I will tell him no. He will scream, and Lars will have to come in and comfort him. We will compromise by letting him have the empty coin jar in his bed all night, the coins dumped into a bowl that I take into our bedroom and place on a high shelf in the closet. That way, I know Michael won’t be able to get to them without waking Lars or me up.
Once the children are settled in bed, Lars and I will come downstairs, and he’ll fix us a drink. We will catch each other up on our days. I will tell him about going to see Frieda, and he will be surprised that I did it, but not surprised at the things she said. Lars will hold me and comfort me as I choke up.
I will not tell him all the details; Frieda’s sentiments are not mine to share with anyone, even Lars.
After we finish our drinks, we will move on to separate tasks—Lars to his office to catch up on paperwork; I to the bedroom to tidy up, then perhaps back to the living room to read. I will seek excuses to walk down the hallway. I will stare at the photograph of my parents and me. I will go out of my way throughout the evening to pass by and glance at it once, twice, again and again. When Lars catches me at this, he will put his arms around me from the back and hold me tight, looking at the picture over my shoulder.
At ten o’clock in the evening, we will retire. We will climb quietly into bed, and we will make love affectionately, openly—but slowly, as always, to protect his heart. Afterward, I will rest beside him as he gently rubs my back.
And then I will sleep.
I know all of this. I am as sure of it as I’ve ever been of anything.
I am as sure of it as I am of everything in the world where I was Kitty.
The other world, I know now, has faded. I am here. I am where I belong.
I open the car door, blow warm air into my hands, and rub my cheeks. And then I walk up the sidewalk to the school, pausing a few feet from the doorway. I am waiting to embrace my children.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Claire Wachtel, my amazing editor at Harper, for her sharp insight, enthusiasm, and great stories. Hannah Wood deftly and gracefully kept the process on track. Miranda Ottewell’s keen eye caught the smallest details and made the manuscript all the better for it. Susanna Einstein is an incredible agent who loved this book from the first time she read it. For her professionalism and friendship, I am grateful. To the staff at Einstein Thompson Agency, thank you for your passion and dedication.
To Shana Kelly, who pointed me in the right direction, and in the process became not only a mentor but also a friend, I offer thanks. To everyone at Lighthouse Writers Workshop, thank you for providing inspiration, thought-provoking workshops and conferences, and an outstanding writers’ community. Gary Schanbacher and Rose Fredrick contributed literary discourse, coffee, and handouts. Susan Wright, Mary Elliott, and Jocelyn Scheirer read early drafts and gave me both suggestions and cheerleading; I am fortunate to call them sister and virtual sisters. I am blessed to have Mary Hauser and Sandra Theunick in my life; to both of them, I am grateful. To my “friends who live in my computer”—thank you and M4L. The Book Club That Changed the World has done more than that—its members have changed my life, always for the better and always with my gratitude.
The staff of the Western History Department at the Denver Public Library provided maps, old newspapers and phone books, and friendly assistance. Phil Goodstein’s volumes on the history of South Denver supplied considerable background and historical data. Joyce Meskis, owner of the Tattered Cover Bookstore, and Sonya Ellingboe, former owner of the Book House, provided marvelous details about working in and owning a small bookshop in the 1960s. Many clinical volumes about autism offered context on the condition, but Michael Blastland’s heartfelt memoir The Only Boy in the World: A Father Explores the Mysteries of Autism helped me truly appreciate the challenges faced by parents of an autistic child. The First Universalist Church of Denver Women’s Book Club shared their memories to help me visualize life as a young woman in the early 1960s; to them, I am grateful.
A note on historical accuracy: although many newspapers in the 1950s published “lonely hearts” advertisements in their classifieds sections, the Denver Post was not one of them. I hope readers will grant me poetic license in creating a fictional personals section in the 1954 Denver Post.
This book would not have come to fruition if not for the encouragement and devotion of four remarkable people. Thank you, Charlie, Dennis, and Jane, for being my inspiration and the loves of my life. And to Sammy, for absolutely everything; I am so, so glad we met.
About the Author
CYNTHIA SWANSON is a writer and a designer of the midcentury modern style. She has published short fiction in 13th Moon, Kalliope, Sojourner, and other periodicals; her story in 13th Moon was a Pushcart Prize nominee. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband and three children. The Bookseller is her first novel.
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