The Push(75)

No, she will not think about any of that. She has worked too hard to let it go.

I am capable of moving beyond my mistakes.

I am able to heal from the hurt and pain I have caused.

She will say these affirmations aloud and she will put her hands to her chest, and then she will flick her hands, she will release it all.

When it is time for dinner, she closes her laptop and she chops herself a salad. She allows herself to put on some music, just three songs—some of her joys are still measured. But tonight she’ll move her shoulders ever so slightly, she will tap her foot. She is trying, and trying has become easier.

After dinner, as she does every night, she turns on the light at the front of the house. She does this in case her daughter decides it is finally time to see her.

Upstairs, she hums a verse she had listened to in the kitchen. She undresses. The bath fills with hot water and the mirror steams. She is leaning over the counter, wiping the glass, wanting to examine her bare face, to pat the loose skin under her eyes, when the phone rings.

She is startled and clutches a towel to her breasts like there is an intruder in the next room. The phone glows from the end of her bed. My daughter, she thinks. It could be my daughter, and she floats in that hope for a moment.

She slides her finger on the screen and lifts it to her ear.

The woman is hysterical. The woman is desperately searching for words it seems she will never find. She walks to the other end of her bedroom and then to the corner, as though she’s looking for better reception, as though this will help the woman to speak. She hushes into the phone and as she does this, she realizes who it is she is soothing. She closes her eyes. It is Gemma.

“Blythe,” she finally whispers. “Something happened to Jet.”





Acknowledgments


To Madeleine Milburn, thank you for being an exceptional agent and human being, and for your passion, vision, warmth, and thoughtfulness. You are a life changer.

To the very special team at the Madeleine Milburn Literary, TV & Film Agency, especially Anna Hogarty, Georgia McVeigh, Giles Milburn, Sophie Pélissier, Georgina Simmonds, Liane-Louise Smith, Hayley Steed, and Rachel Yeoh, thank you for all that you do.

To Pamela Dorman, thank you for believing in this novel and in me. Learning from you has been an honor and a pleasure, and I feel incredibly fortunate to be one of your authors. Thank you to Brian Tart and the team at Viking Penguin, whose hands I’m so lucky to have this novel in: Bel Banta, Jane Cavolina, Tricia Conley, Andy Dudley, Tess Espinoza, Matt Giarratano, Rebecca Marsh, Randee Marullo, Nick Michal, Marie Michels, Lauren Monaco, Jeramie Orton, Lindsay Prevette, Jason Ramirez, Andrea Schulz, Roseanne Serra, Kate Stark, Mary Stone, and Claire Vaccaro.

To Maxine Hitchcock, fellow Oscar-mum, thank you for your certitude, for your thoughtful hand in making this novel better, and for being such a delight in this process. Thank you to Louise Moore and the wonderful group at Michael Joseph for your support from the beginning: Clare Bowren, Claire Bush, Zana Chaka, Anna Curvis, Christina Ellicott, Rebecca Hilsdon, Rebecca Jones, Nick Lowndes, Laura Nicol, Clare Parker, Vicky Photiou, Elizabeth Smith, and Lauren Wakefield.

To Nicole Winstanley, thank you for the pivotal guidance you’ve given me, as a publisher and as a mother, and for your generous confidence in me along the way. Your belief in this book means the world to me. To Kristin Cochrane and the fantastic team at Penguin Canada and Penguin Random House Canada, thank you for championing this book so strongly and for making this former publicist’s dreams come true, especially: Beth Cockeram, Anthony de Ridder, Dan French, Charidy Johnston, Bonnie Maitland, Meredith Pal, and David Ross.

To Beth Lockley, whose brilliance is matchless and whose friendship I have cherished dearly for over a decade, thank you for encouraging this book since it was a seed of an idea, and for the kind of genuine support I wish every woman could have in her life.

To the international publishers who came on board with such keenness, thank you.

To Linda Preussen, thank you for helping me learn how to write a better story, and to Amy Jones, thank you for the meaningful vote of confidence.

To Dr. Kristine Laderoute, thank you for so willingly lending your psychological expertise.

To Ashley Bennion, the treasured other half of our writing group of two, thank you for reading countless drafts, for the hundreds of email exchanges, and for your years of support on and off the page.

I’m lucky to have wonderful friendships with some truly remarkable women. Thank you to each of you for your support, and for always asking, “How’s the writing going?” even though the answer is usually avoidant! In particular, thank you to Jenny (Gleed) Leroux, Jenny Emery, and Ashley Thomson. And to Jessica Berry, for your insightful help with this story, and for your incredible enthusiasm that has made this whole journey even better—thank you.

To the Fizzell family, thank you for your love and support.

To Jackelyne Napilan, thank you for your loyal and loving care.

To Sara Audrain and Samantha Audrain, thank you for being so thrilled, and for making slow summer days with a book our status quo. To Cathy Audrain, who ensured we were a family of voracious readers, thank you for your incomparable love and devotion. To Mark Audrain, thank you for the writer’s gene, for your unwavering belief in me, and for being so very proud, always. It is a gift to have been raised by parents like mine, and I am grateful for them every day.