The Unsinkable Greta James(85)
It’s navy blue with tiny white whales all over it.
She traces a finger over the title: Moby-Dick.
Even as she unfolds the note that’s attached, Greta is thinking that she doesn’t need to, not really; she already knows what this means.
Still, her heart wobbles at the sight of Ben’s now-familiar handwriting.
Time to turn the page, it says, and she tucks it back inside the book with a smile.
A few days later, it begins to snow, so thick and fast it almost looks like a time-lapse, like the world outside has been sped up. Inside, everything is hushed and still. There’s only Greta at the window, a mug in hand. She’s been writing all day, and her fingers are streaked with ink.
Outside, the wind sends the snow whistling up the street in ribbons of white. Tomorrow, everything will be gray and slushy. But tonight, it’s perfect, and she stays there like that for a long time, mesmerized by the way the flakes hover like static. Her window faces north, and she pictures Central Park, fifty blocks away: the trees cloaked in white, the drifts piling up, the lampposts with their dreamlike glow. And somewhere in the middle of it all—perhaps—another silent figure, slow-moving and bundled and equally full of wonder.
Her boots are under a bench in the entryway. She walks over and stares at them, weighing something, before slipping her feet inside. Then she grabs her coat and scarf, and a pair of mittens too.
By the time she gets outside, it’s snowing even harder, and everything feels surreal and a little dizzying. For a moment, she just stands there, peering up at the twinkling streetlights and the velvety sky, her boots sunk deep in the snow.
And then she begins to walk.
For Susan Kamil, who believed in this book
long before I’d ever written a word
Acknowledgments
A great big thank-you to my brilliant and formidable agent, Jennifer Joel. This is our tenth novel together, and with each one, I feel even luckier to be working with you.
To my friend and editor, Kara Cesare, for embracing this book from the start and continuing to be its greatest cheerleader.
To everyone at Ballantine, it’s been such a joy to work with you again. I’m especially grateful to Gina Centrello for the early enthusiasm, to Jennifer Hershey for always being so encouraging, to Kara Welsh for the vote of confidence, and to Kim Hovey for making it all happen. I also owe a great deal of thanks to Jesse Shuman, Allyson Pearl, Susan Corcoran, Quinne Rogers, Jen Garza, Karen Fink, Taylor Noel, Loren Noveck, Paolo Pepe, and Elena Giavaldi.
To Cassie Browne and Kat Burdon and everyone else at Quercus for being such wonderful partners in the UK, and for taking such great care of this story. And to Stephanie Thwaites, Jake Smith-Bosanquet, Roxane Edouard, Isobel Gahan, Savanna Wicks, and Tanja Goossens at Curtis Brown for finding homes for this book all over the world.
To Binky Urban, Josie Freedman, John DeLaney, and Tia Ikemoto at ICM for everything they’ve done for me over the years.
To Kelly Mitchell, my favorite sounding board.
To Marisa Dabice and Elena Awbrey for their musical expertise.
To Morgan Matson for the title, and Gretchen Rubin for the epigraph.
To Jenny Han, Adele Griffin, Sarah Mlynowski, Julie Buxbaum, Siobhan Vivian, and Morgan Matson for their early reads and invaluable advice. And to Anna Carey, Jenni Henaux, Lauren Graham, Rebecca Serle, Courtney Sheinmel, Elizabeth Eulberg, Robin Wasserman, Ryan Doherty, Mark Tavani, Andy Barzvi, Kari Stuart, Jocelyn Heyward, Allison Lynk, Hillary Phelps, and Summer Walker for the company and conversations while writing this.
To my readers, the ones who followed me here and the ones who are new. None of this would be possible without you.
And, of course, to my family—Dad, Mom, Kelly, Errol, Andrew, and Jack—for all the love and support.
Finally, this book wouldn’t exist without the late Susan Kamil, who spent years lovingly badgering me into writing it. I remain so grateful for her unwavering belief and encouragement. I only wish she’d had a chance to read it; she would’ve made it infinitely better. This is for her.