M Y FORMER MENTOR, Michael Miller, once told me that no one writes a book alone, and in my case at least, that has always been true. I’d like to mention here some people whose names do not appear on the cover but who made contributions, small and large, to this novel.
First thanks, as always, to Amanda for her good faith, spirit of adventure, and steady love.
My gratitude also to: Alexandra and Juliana for the gift of their presence; everyone at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, especially Dr. Preston Campbell III and Allison Tobin; Dr. Mark Pian, Dr. Geoffrey Kurland, Dr. James Yankaskas, Dr. Ronald Kahn, and Dr. Marlyn Woo, all of whom generously offered their time and expertise and helped me get the medical details right (any errors here are my own and not theirs); Dr. Janice Abbott, Ph.D., for help with the psychosocial aspects of cystic fibrosis; Dr. Robert Gerstle, Dr. Francis Duda, Dr. Anabel Quizon, and everyone at the Springfield, Massachusetts, CF center for their excellent care; Joe Merullo for his optimism and encouragement, and for suggesting I write a love story; Eileen Keaffer and Senator Stanley Rosenberg for their assistance with the physical details of the Massachusetts State House; my friend, the fine painter John Recco, and Sara Brigham for information about painting techniques and equipment; Maria Recco for help with Greek culture; Avery Rome for two wonderful assignments; Matthew Joyce and his family, David Manglos, and Fred Phillips for their courage and time-while this is not their story, they were surely an inspiration for it; a thoughtful and helpful group of readers: Amanda Merullo, Craig Nova, Peter Grudin, Dean Crawford, Barbara Cheney, Lisa Ahlstrom, Sydne Didier, Katherine Weinstein, Melissa Preston, and the person who taught me to read and to love books, Eileen Merullo; Cynthia Cannell for placing this novel and for years of support; my editor and friend Shaye Areheart; Jenny Frost, Cindy Berman, Julie Will, Darlene Faster, Tara Gilbride, Debbie Natoli, Kira Stevens, Tina DeGraff, and everyone at Shaye Areheart Books for their tireless efforts; Jeff Foltz, Patrolman Rick Camillo of the Boston University Police, and Coach David Sanderson of the Boston University varsity men’s crew for refreshing my memory about the school and the sport; Darra Goldstein for menu advice; Edward Steriti for the way he lives; and Officer Wise of the Dover, Massachusetts, Police Department.
Last, I would like to express my gratitude to and admiration for all the CF patients, doctors, nurses, and family members I have spoken with or interviewed over the past four years. May every blessing come to you.
F IVE MILES BELOW I dreamt the blue Pacific, scalloped with whitecaps and looking like it had been frozen in time. In my lap the sleeping black-haired bundle of life stirred and sighed and curled closer against my shirt. I cupped one hand gently against the back of his small head. When he was quiet I turned to the window again and saw four atolls gliding under us, an impossible cluster, four specks of cream-edged green on the immense watery background. I wondered about painting them.
Strange how the demons do their work. With that fragile life sleeping against me, and two more dark-haired creatures close beside, and riding a run of good luck like I’d never known, my mind traveled along the ridges of its flying-fear, bumped and tilted, flipped upside down, and crashed into Brian. It occurred to me for the first time that he might have done some great heroic thing in the last minutes of his life, to make up for the not-so-great things he’d done before that. Alright, a voice in me said, let it go now. Let it be true. Let it go.
The atolls coasted along in their dreamy, improbable stillness. Beside me I thought I heard a cough. I turned-too quickly-and her dark eyes held an expression that no one could paint. Don’t worry, they said. Just an ordinary breath, a good ordinary puff of life, part mine and part yours and part someone else’s. Be happy while we can.