Landline(90)
“It’s dead. For good.” Georgie reached her hands under Neal’s coat, looking for his pockets. “Where’s your phone?”
He squirmed and dropped his arms. “Inside. Dead. I was letting Alice play Tetris—sorry.”
Georgie turned to go inside, stomping the snow off her borrowed Ugg boots. “It’s okay. I’ll just use the landline.”
“Just borrow my mom’s phone,” he said. “She got rid of the landline.”
Georgie stopped and looked back at him. “She did?”
“Yeah. Years ago. After my dad died.”
“Oh . . .”
Neal pulled his jacket tighter around her. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine, Neal.”
“Good, let’s go be fine where it’s warm.”
“I just . . .” She reached up and touched his face again. “I almost . . .”
He whispered: “Enough, Georgie. You’re here now. Be here now.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If I had a magic phone that called into the past, the first person I’d call would be my dear friend Sue Moon. . . .
And I’d tell her everything I didn’t know I needed to tell her until she was gone.
I’d say thank you, mostly. For helping me break out of myself—and for showing me that there’s no true solace in fear. Every time I finish a book, I remember that Sue promised I would.
Thank you to the many people who help me write books:
My editor, Sara Goodman, who always knows what I’m trying to say. And who understands the power of “Leather and Lace.”
And the team at St. Martin’s Press, especially Olga Grlic, Jessica Preeg, Stephanie Davis, and Eileen Rothschild—who are so smart and sharp and compassionate that I kind of wish there was a legal way to make sure they never leave me.
Nicola Barr, who writes the best “I just finished your book” letters.
Lynn Safranek, Bethany Gronberg, Lance Koenig and Margaret Willison, my safe houses.
Christopher Schelling, who knows when to demand some sort of pug emergency.
And Rosey and Laddie, whom I love so much it hurts. Literally.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rainbow Rowell is a newspaper columnist in Omaha, Nebraska, where she lives with her husband and two sons.