“Who called?” he asks groggily.
“It was Peter,” I say, and that rouses him. I tell him what Peter has said, watch the way his face lights up when I mention the beach, like a homesick little boy.
“What do you think?” he asks. I know he’s stayed away for me. I know he wants, more than anything, to go back.
I think about the house. I think about Mary Rose and the other children we’ll someday have, running through the wet grass of the side yard in their bare feet, blooming in the salty air. I see myself sitting on the porch with Nate on a summer night, listening to their distant laughter.
It’s an image, I’m guessing, that my grandfather once had too.
Nate waits for my answer, his trust and his loyalty absolute. I look at the little girl in his arms who reminds me so much of him, and his mother. We’ve created something my family can’t take away, no matter how hard they try.
I press my lips to my daughter’s downy little head, and then to Nate’s own. And then I tell him it’s time for us to be the people my grandfather hoped we’d be. It’s time for us to go home.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth O’Roark lives in Washington, DC with her 3 children. Undertow is her first novel. For a chapter of Undertow from Nate’s perspective, or to sign up for the mailing list, visit her at www.elizabethoroark.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would still be a sad little document sitting on my laptop shaming me were it not for the unfailing support of my family and friends.
Thanks to my mom for never once appearing to doubt that I could pull this off, and to my kids for putting up with my somewhat obsessive devotion to getting it done.
Thanks to my wonderful beta readers: Katie Meyer (sometimes a Coldplay concert and too many margaritas are a good thing, since I’d never have admitted to writing a book otherwise), Carol Ann Garner and Kate French. Your suggestions made this a much better book than it was when I first sent it out.
Last, but not least, a million thanks to the members of the Capital Grille Club: Sallye Clark, Diane Dematatis and Deanna Heaven. I can’t imagine surviving the past year without you. The next round of prison-style spa treatments is on me.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40: Five Years Later
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS