On Mystic Lake Part 34

Slowly, he pulled her into his arms. He held her close, knowing he'd carry this image in his heart for as long as he lived. "I guess it's really over," he whispered into her sweet-smelling hair. After a long moment, he heard her answer, a quiet, shuddering little "Yes."

Natalie's dorm room was cluttered with memorabilia from London. Pictures of new friends dotted her desk, mingled with family photos and piles of homework. The metal-framed twin bed was heaped with expensive Laura Ashley bedding, and at the center was the pink pillow Annie had embroidered a lifetime ago, the one that read: A PRINCESS SLEEPS HERE.

Natalie sat cross-legged on the bed, her long, unbound hair flowing around her shoulders. Already she looked nervous and worried-a normal teenage response to both both parents flying up to see you at college. parents flying up to see you at college.

Annie wished there were some way to break the news of their divorce without words, a way to silently communicate the sad and wrenching truth.

Blake stood in the corner of the room. He looked calm and at ease-his courtroom face-but Annie could see nervousness in the jittery way he kept glancing at his watch.

Annie knew this was up to her; there was no use putting it off any longer. She went to the bed and sat down beside Natalie. Blake took a few hesitant steps toward them and then stopped in the middle of the room.

Natalie looked at Annie. "What is it, Mom?"

"Your dad and I have something to tell you." She took Natalie's hand in hers, stared down at the slender fingers, at the tiny red birthstone ring they'd given her on her sixteenth birthday. It took an effort to sit straight-backed and still. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Your dad and I are getting a divorce."

Natalie went very still. "I guess I'm not surprised." Her voice was tender, and in it, Annie heard the echo of both the child Natalie had once been and the woman she was becoming.

Annie stroked her daughter's hair, untangling it with her fingers like she used to when Natalie was little. "I'm sorry, honey."

When Natalie looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "Are you okay, Mom?"

Annie felt a warm rush of pride for her daughter. "I'm fine, and I don't want you to worry about anything. We haven't worked out all the details yet. We don't know where we'll each be living. Things like addresses and vacations and holidays are all up in the air. But I know one thing. We'll always be a family-just a different kind. I guess now you'll have two places in the world where you belong, instead of only one."

Natalie nodded slowly, then turned to her father. Blake moved closer, kneeling in front of Natalie. For once, he didn't look like a three-hundred-fifty-dollar-an-hour lawyer. He looked like a scared, vulnerable man. "I've made some mistakes. . . ." He glanced at Annie and gave her a hesitant smile, then turned back to Natalie. "With your mom and with you. I'm sorry, Sweet Pea." He touched her cheek.

Tears leaked from Natalie's eyes. "You haven't called me that since I fell off the jungle gym in third grade."

"There are a lot of things I haven't said-or done-in years. But I want to make up for lost time. I want to do things together-if that's okay with you."

"Phantom of the Opera is coming to town in May. Maybe we could go?" is coming to town in May. Maybe we could go?"

He smiled. "I'd love to."

"You mean it this time? I should buy two tickets?"

"I mean it," he said, and the way he said it, Annie believed him. Of course, she always believed him.

Slowly, Blake got to his feet and drew back.

"We're still going to be a family," Annie said, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind Natalie's ear. "We'll always be a family." She looked at Blake and smiled.

It was true. Blake would always be a part of her, always be her youth. They'd grown up together, fallen in love and built a family together; nothing would ever erase that connection. A piece of paper and a court of law couldn't take it all away-it could only take what they were willing to give up, and Annie was going to hold on to all of it, the good, the bad, the in-between. It was part of them. It made them who they were.

She reached out. He took her hand in his, and together they drew around Natalie, enfolding her in their arms. When Natalie was little, they'd called this a "family hug," and Annie couldn't help wondering why they'd ever stopped.

She heard the soft, m.u.f.fled sound of her daughter's crying and knew it was one of the regrets that would be with her always.

It was like going back in time. Once again, Annie and Blake were strolling through the Stanford campus. Of course, this time Annie was forty years old and as much of her life lay behind her as lay ahead . . . and she was pushing a stroller.

"It's weird to be back here," Blake said.

"Yeah," she said softly.

They'd spent the whole day with Natalie, being more of a family in one afternoon than they'd been in many of the previous years, but now it was time to go their separate ways. Annie had driven the Cadillac up here, and Blake had flown in, renting a car to get to the campus.

At Annie's car, they stopped. Annie bent down and unstrapped Katie from the stroller.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

Annie paused. It was the same question he'd asked her when Natalie had left home last spring. Then, it had terrified her. Now, these many months later, the same words opened a door, through which Annie glimpsed a world of possibilities. "I don't know. I still have tons to do at the house. Twenty years has to be sorted and catalogued and packed away. I know I want to sell the house. It's not . . . me anymore." She straightened, looking at him. "Unless you want it?"

"Without you? No."

Annie glanced around, a little uncertain as to what to say. This was the fork in the road of their lives; after all these years, he would go one way and she another. She had no idea when she would see him again. Probably at the lawyer's office, where they'd become a cliche-a cordial, once-married couple coming in as separate individuals to sign papers. . . .

Blake stared down at her. There was a faraway sadness in his eyes that made her move closer to him. In a soft voice, he asked, "What will you tell Katie about me?"

Annie heard the pain in his voice, and it moved her to touch his cheek. "I don't know. The old me would have fabricated an elaborate fiction to avoid hurting her feelings." She laughed. "Maybe I'd have told her you were a spy for the government and contacting us would endanger your life. But now . . . I don't know. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But I won't lie to her."

He turned his head and looked away. She wondered what he was thinking, whether it was about lying, and how much it had cost him over the years. Or if it was about the daughter he had lived with for eighteen years and didn't know, or the daughter he'd hardly lived with at all, and now would never know. Or if it was the future, all the days that lay ahead for a man alone, the quiet of a life that included no child's laughter. She wondered if he'd realized yet that when he was an old, old man, when his hair had turned white and his eyes had grown coated with cataracts, that he would have no grandchildren to bounce on his knee, no daughter to kneel in the gra.s.s beside his wheelchair and reminisce about the time-worn antics of the past. Unless he reached out now, in the days that mattered, he would learn that some roads could not be refound and that true love took time and effort . . . that a life lived in the glare of summer sunlight never produced a rainbow.

"Will you miss me?" he asked, finally looking at her again.

Annie gave him a sad smile. "I'll miss who we used to be-I already do. And I'll miss who we could have been."

His eyes filled slowly with tears. "I love you, Annie."

"I'll always love the boy I fell in love with, Blake. Always . . ."

She moved toward him, pressing up on her toes to kiss him. It was the kind of kiss they hadn't shared in years; slow, and tender, and heartfelt. There was no undercurrent of s.e.xuality in it. It was everything a kiss was supposed to be, an expression of pure emotion-and they had let it go so easily in their life together. She couldn't remember when kisses had become something perfunctory and meaningless. Maybe if they had kissed this way every day, they wouldn't be here now, standing together in the middle of the Stanford campus, saying good-bye to a commitment that had been designed to last forever.

When Blake drew back, he looked sad and tired. "I guess I screwed up pretty badly."

"You'll get another chance, Blake. Men like you always do. You're handsome and rich; women will stand in line to give you another chance. What you do with that chance is up to you."

He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "h.e.l.l, Annie. We both know I'll screw that up, too."

She laughed. "Probably."

They stared at each other for a long minute, and in that time, Annie saw the arc of their love; the bright and shining beginning of it, all those years ago, and the way it had eroded, one lonely night at a time for years.

Finally, Blake checked his watch. "I have to go. My plane leaves at six o'clock." He bent down to the stroller and gave Katie a last, fleeting kiss. When he drew back up, he gave Annie a weak smile. "This is hard. . . ."

She hugged him, one last time, then slowly she drew back. "Have a safe flight."

He nodded and turned away from her. He got into his rented car and drove away.

She stood there watching him until the car disappeared. She had expected to feel weighed down by sadness at this moment, but instead she felt almost buoyant. Last week she had done what she'd never thought she could do: she'd traveled alone. Just for fun. She'd given Katie to Terri for the day-complete with two sheets of instructions and a shelf full of expressed milk-and then Annie had just started to drive. Before she'd even realized where she was going, she'd arrived at the Mexican border. A flash of fear had almost stopped her as the rickety red bus pulled up to the curb, but she hadn't let it own her. She'd boarded the bus with all the other tourists and ridden into Mexico. All by herself.

The day had been wonderful, magical. She'd walked down the dingy, overcrowded streets, eating churros churros from the stands along the way. At lunchtime, she'd found a seat at a restaurant and eaten unrecognizable food and loved every bite, and as night had begun to fall and the neon sputtered to life, she'd understood why she'd always been afraid of traveling alone. It changed a person somehow- wasn't that the point, after all? To go to a wildly different place and learn that you could negotiate for a silly trinket in a foreign language, and then to hold that item a little closer to your heart because it represented something of your self. Each peso she'd saved had somehow become an expression of how far she'd come. And when she finally had returned home that night, dragging her tired body up the stairs, snuggling up with her cranky daughter in her big king-size bed, she'd known that finally, at forty years of age, she had begun. from the stands along the way. At lunchtime, she'd found a seat at a restaurant and eaten unrecognizable food and loved every bite, and as night had begun to fall and the neon sputtered to life, she'd understood why she'd always been afraid of traveling alone. It changed a person somehow- wasn't that the point, after all? To go to a wildly different place and learn that you could negotiate for a silly trinket in a foreign language, and then to hold that item a little closer to your heart because it represented something of your self. Each peso she'd saved had somehow become an expression of how far she'd come. And when she finally had returned home that night, dragging her tired body up the stairs, snuggling up with her cranky daughter in her big king-size bed, she'd known that finally, at forty years of age, she had begun.

"Come on, Katie Sarah. Let's go." She picked up her almost-sleeping daughter and strapped her into the car seat in the back of the Cadillac. Then, throwing her clunky diaper bag onto the pa.s.senger seat, she climbed into the car and started the engine. Before she even pulled out, she flicked on the radio and found a station she liked. Humming along with Mick Jagger, she maneuvered onto the highway and nudged the engine to seventy miles per hour.

What will you do now?

She still had months of responsibilities in Southern California. Closing and selling the house, packing everything up, deciding where she wanted to live and what she wanted to do. She didn't have to work, of course, but she didn't want to fall into that life-of-leisure trap again. She needed needed to work. to work.

She thought again about the bookstore in Mystic. She certainly had the capital to give it a try-and that Victorian house on Main Street had plenty of room for living upstairs. She and Katie could be very comfortable up there, just the two of them.

Mystic.

Nick. Izzy.

The love she felt for them was as sharp as broken gla.s.s. Sometimes, when she woke in the middle of the night, she reached out for Nick-only he wasn't there, and in those quiet moments the missing of him was an actual pain in her chest.

She knew she would go to him again when her life was in order; she had planned it endlessly in the past few weeks.

She would buy herself a convertible and drive up Highway 101 along the wild beaches, with her hair whipping about her face. She would play show tunes and sing at the top of her lungs, free at last to do as she pleased. She would drive when the sun was high in the sky and keep going as the stars began to shimmer overhead. She would show up without warning and hope it was not too late.

It would be springtime when she went to him, in that magical week when change was in the air, when everything smelled fresh and new.

She would show up on his porch one day, wearing a bright yellow rain slicker that covered most of her face. It would take her a minute to reach for the doorbell; the memories would be so strong, she'd want to wallow in them. In her arms would be Katie, almost crawling by now, wearing a fuzzy blue snowsuit-one they'd bought just for Mystic.

And when he opened the door, she would tell him that in all the long months they'd been apart, she'd found herself falling, and falling, and there'd been no one there to catch her. . . .

Ahead, the road merged onto the interstate. Two green highway signs slashed against the steel-gray sky. There were two choices: I-5 South. I-5 North.

No.

It was crazy, what she was thinking. She wasn't ready. She had oceans of commitments in California, and not even a toothbrush in her diaper bag. It was winter in Mystic, cold and gray and wet, and she was wearing silk. . . .

South was Los Angeles-and a beautiful white house by the sea that held the stale leftovers of her old life.

North was Mystic-and in Mystic was a man and a child who loved her. Once, she had taken love for granted. Never again. Love was the sun and the moon and the stars in a world that was otherwise cold and dark.

Nick had known that. It was one of the last things he'd said to her: You're wrong, Annie. Love matters. Maybe it's You're wrong, Annie. Love matters. Maybe it's the only thing that does. the only thing that does.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at her daughter, who was almost asleep. "Listen to me, Kathleen Sarah. I'm going to give you lesson number one in the Annalise Bourne Colwater book of life. I may not know everything, but I'm forty years old and I know plenty, so pay attention. Sometimes you have to do everything right and follow the rules. You have to wait until all your ducks are in a row before you make a move." She grinned. "And other times . . . like now . . . you have to say 'what the h.e.l.l' and go for it."

Laughing out loud, Annie flicked on her turn signal, changed lanes- And headed north.

ON MYSTIC LAKE.

A Reader's Guide KRISTIN HANNAH.

A CONVERSATION WITH KRISTIN HANNAH.

Jennifer Morgan Gray is a writer and editor who lives in New York City. is a writer and editor who lives in New York City.

Jennifer Morgan Gray: Did you begin Did you begin On Mystic Lake On Mystic Lake with a particular image or idea-the t.i.tle, perhaps-in mind? Was there a particular character that propelled the story forward? with a particular image or idea-the t.i.tle, perhaps-in mind? Was there a particular character that propelled the story forward?

Kristin Hannah: Oftentimes the beginning of a book is an amorphous and easily forgotten thing, but in this case, I can remember distinctly how it all began. I saw a little girl who thought she was disappearing. Although Oftentimes the beginning of a book is an amorphous and easily forgotten thing, but in this case, I can remember distinctly how it all began. I saw a little girl who thought she was disappearing. Although Mystic Mystic did not ultimately turn out to be her story, I still feel that she's the heart of everything; the catalyst that forces the other characters to change and grow. For me, the challenge was putting the little girl in context, wrapping a story around her, finding out why she thought she was vanishing slowly. did not ultimately turn out to be her story, I still feel that she's the heart of everything; the catalyst that forces the other characters to change and grow. For me, the challenge was putting the little girl in context, wrapping a story around her, finding out why she thought she was vanishing slowly.

JMG: The pa.s.sages from Izzy's perspective are so vivid. How were you able to get inside the mind of this young, mixed-up girl? Was it difficult for you to achieve and sustain that distinct voice throughout the novel? The pa.s.sages from Izzy's perspective are so vivid. How were you able to get inside the mind of this young, mixed-up girl? Was it difficult for you to achieve and sustain that distinct voice throughout the novel?

KH: Writing in a child's voice is a special challenge. You begin with somewhat rigid constraints and disciples about acceptable word choices and syntax and descriptive capabilities. Ultimately, everything must be accurate for the child's age and life experience. Then you have to find a way to fly within that framework, to be imaginative and almost other-worldly, to see everything and everyone through new and innocent eyes. I loved becoming a child again, and hopefully that pa.s.sion found its way into Izzy's voice. Writing in a child's voice is a special challenge. You begin with somewhat rigid constraints and disciples about acceptable word choices and syntax and descriptive capabilities. Ultimately, everything must be accurate for the child's age and life experience. Then you have to find a way to fly within that framework, to be imaginative and almost other-worldly, to see everything and everyone through new and innocent eyes. I loved becoming a child again, and hopefully that pa.s.sion found its way into Izzy's voice.

JMG: Annie's a reflection of many women in that she buries her own creative impulses-and her basic emotional needs-for the sake of her family. Was she based on anyone you knew? When writing this book, did you hope that a few people in the same boat as she, might pick up a pen, a paintbrush, or just make some time for themselves? Is writing that creative outlet for you, especially since you began writing after you became a stay-at-home mom? Annie's a reflection of many women in that she buries her own creative impulses-and her basic emotional needs-for the sake of her family. Was she based on anyone you knew? When writing this book, did you hope that a few people in the same boat as she, might pick up a pen, a paintbrush, or just make some time for themselves? Is writing that creative outlet for you, especially since you began writing after you became a stay-at-home mom?

KH: Annie could be based on so many of the women in my life-friends, neighbors, relatives. As I get older, I see so many Annies around me. Women who chose to get married and have children and loved every minute of it, but then somewhere along the way realized that they'd lost some essential part of themselves. Those of us who are caretakers-and I definitely put myself in this category- often put everyone else's needs first. While this is understandable and even admirable, it can also be a blueprint for disaster. We need to take care of ourselves and our marriages, too. I think that's the lesson Annie needed to learn. I hope that Annie could be based on so many of the women in my life-friends, neighbors, relatives. As I get older, I see so many Annies around me. Women who chose to get married and have children and loved every minute of it, but then somewhere along the way realized that they'd lost some essential part of themselves. Those of us who are caretakers-and I definitely put myself in this category- often put everyone else's needs first. While this is understandable and even admirable, it can also be a blueprint for disaster. We need to take care of ourselves and our marriages, too. I think that's the lesson Annie needed to learn. I hope that Mystic Mystic resonates with women who know how easy it is to lose sight of one's own reflection. And yes, writing is the outlet for my innermost self. When I sit down at my computer, I'm the girl I remember and the woman I want to be. I can close the door on my "real" life and become, for a few precious moments, just me. resonates with women who know how easy it is to lose sight of one's own reflection. And yes, writing is the outlet for my innermost self. When I sit down at my computer, I'm the girl I remember and the woman I want to be. I can close the door on my "real" life and become, for a few precious moments, just me.

JMG: The shifting conception of what a family is plays a large part in the novel. Why does Annie have such a hard time tearing herself away from a traditional family framework? What does her "perfect life" initially represent to her? As a writer, what draws you to tell these stories of motherhood and family? The shifting conception of what a family is plays a large part in the novel. Why does Annie have such a hard time tearing herself away from a traditional family framework? What does her "perfect life" initially represent to her? As a writer, what draws you to tell these stories of motherhood and family?

KH: Annie grew up motherless. That's really the cornerstone of her personality. As a child, she was left to imagine her mother and, therefore, to guide herself into womanhood. Her father, although he loved her, was a man trapped by his own upbringing. He taught her what he knew of a woman's place in the world. Because of that, Annie grew up believing that she could succeed in life only by being the perfect wife and mother. No one ever taught her that she should strive also for her best self, that she deserved a happiness of her own. Thus, when her marriage shatters and her child leaves home, she is utterly lost. It is then, when she is alone and confused and heartbroken, that she must finally come of age and choose the woman she will become. Annie grew up motherless. That's really the cornerstone of her personality. As a child, she was left to imagine her mother and, therefore, to guide herself into womanhood. Her father, although he loved her, was a man trapped by his own upbringing. He taught her what he knew of a woman's place in the world. Because of that, Annie grew up believing that she could succeed in life only by being the perfect wife and mother. No one ever taught her that she should strive also for her best self, that she deserved a happiness of her own. Thus, when her marriage shatters and her child leaves home, she is utterly lost. It is then, when she is alone and confused and heartbroken, that she must finally come of age and choose the woman she will become.

Now, Why do I write so often about motherhood? you ask. The easy answer is that it's the cornerstone of my life. Writing is what I do; a mother is what I am. I write about women who are various incarnations and versions of me. Annie, perhaps, is the me who never had the courage to begin writing that first novel all those years ago . . . or the me who grew up without a mother who believed I could achieve anything.

JMG: Annie characterizes herself as a "good little girl who never cried." As a child and later as an adult, why does she m.u.f.fle her sadness and grief? What other characters also bury their emotions, to detrimental effect? Annie characterizes herself as a "good little girl who never cried." As a child and later as an adult, why does she m.u.f.fle her sadness and grief? What other characters also bury their emotions, to detrimental effect?

KH: Annie has spent her whole life trying to be perfect for those whom she loved. First it was as a daughter. Her grieving father couldn't stand her tears, so she learned to swallow them and keep smiling. Later, she tried to be a flawless wife and mother. An impossible quest as we all know, one that leads all too often to madness, medication, or denial. Annie has chosen denial as her coping mechanism. Over the years, she's suppressed all her emotions to a greater or lesser extent-grief, loss, disappointment. She's afraid that the expression of these dark emotions would lead to ruin, but in that suppression, she's rendered herself mute. Annie has spent her whole life trying to be perfect for those whom she loved. First it was as a daughter. Her grieving father couldn't stand her tears, so she learned to swallow them and keep smiling. Later, she tried to be a flawless wife and mother. An impossible quest as we all know, one that leads all too often to madness, medication, or denial. Annie has chosen denial as her coping mechanism. Over the years, she's suppressed all her emotions to a greater or lesser extent-grief, loss, disappointment. She's afraid that the expression of these dark emotions would lead to ruin, but in that suppression, she's rendered herself mute.

Each of the characters in the novel is grappling with the power and pain of big emotions and most are avoiding them in one way or another. Nick is numbing his grief with alcohol and swimming in his own guilt; Blake is using anonymous s.e.x to bolster his flailing ego.

JMG: I love the way you parallel Izzy's belief that she's disappearing with Annie's own realization that her personality and life have vanished. How does Izzy's "disappearance" enable her to grapple with grief and connect with her mother? What compels Annie to figuratively "disappear"? How do both characters become fully formed again? I love the way you parallel Izzy's belief that she's disappearing with Annie's own realization that her personality and life have vanished. How does Izzy's "disappearance" enable her to grapple with grief and connect with her mother? What compels Annie to figuratively "disappear"? How do both characters become fully formed again?

KH: The disappearance of some aspect of oneself is really the central theme of the novel. For Izzy, obviously, this loss of herself lies in the inability to understand her place in a new world, a world in which she is now a motherless child. She knows that in losing her mother, she has lost some essential piece of herself. The physical manifestation of this emotion is the belief that she's disappearing. In her mind, she imagines that if she vanishes completely, she will have access to the heaven or spirit world that her mother now inhabits. It is symbolic that she thinks she has lost her hand first; for, when she finds a way to reach out to Annie and Nick for love, she will see her hand return. The disappearance of some aspect of oneself is really the central theme of the novel. For Izzy, obviously, this loss of herself lies in the inability to understand her place in a new world, a world in which she is now a motherless child. She knows that in losing her mother, she has lost some essential piece of herself. The physical manifestation of this emotion is the belief that she's disappearing. In her mind, she imagines that if she vanishes completely, she will have access to the heaven or spirit world that her mother now inhabits. It is symbolic that she thinks she has lost her hand first; for, when she finds a way to reach out to Annie and Nick for love, she will see her hand return.

For Annie, the slow vanishing is more metaphorical. She is grieving for the loss of her own dreams, for the end of her life as she always imagined it would be. I think this kind of quiet disappearing is common for women of a certain age who have given up too much of themselves in their quest to take care of others. Throughout the novel, Annie's quest is to look past her own youthful expectations of what her life was supposed to be and to find the truth of her self. She must finally-as we all must-step up onto the stage of her life and be the heroine. Each of these characters will ultimately become whole again by accepting life as it truly is and daring to love in spite of all the odds.

JMG: Both Blake and Nick turn to alcohol to numb themselves. Why did you choose to give them a similar outlet for their pain and frustration? Do you think that Blake's issues with alcohol, if unchecked, could grow to the extent of Nick's problem? Do they share other similarities? Both Blake and Nick turn to alcohol to numb themselves. Why did you choose to give them a similar outlet for their pain and frustration? Do you think that Blake's issues with alcohol, if unchecked, could grow to the extent of Nick's problem? Do they share other similarities?

KH: Nick and Blake both turn to the numbing comfort of alcohol because they share an essential weakness: Both want to run away from their problems. It is often true that people who have trouble with intimacy will look to outside sources for comfort. What separates these men and offers Nick hope for a better future is that he learns to change. He admits his problem and searches for an honest solution, even if it isn't the easy one. Blake, on the other hand, sees his failings and elects to stay on the same self-destructive, alienated path. And yes, he is at great risk of becoming an alcoholic. I always saw Blake as a truly tragic character. Because of his inability to love, he would wake up one day and realize that he is utterly alone. Nick and Blake both turn to the numbing comfort of alcohol because they share an essential weakness: Both want to run away from their problems. It is often true that people who have trouble with intimacy will look to outside sources for comfort. What separates these men and offers Nick hope for a better future is that he learns to change. He admits his problem and searches for an honest solution, even if it isn't the easy one. Blake, on the other hand, sees his failings and elects to stay on the same self-destructive, alienated path. And yes, he is at great risk of becoming an alcoholic. I always saw Blake as a truly tragic character. Because of his inability to love, he would wake up one day and realize that he is utterly alone.

JMG: You studied law before turning to writing-which makes the character of attorney Blake even more interesting. Did your experiences in the field inform your depiction of him? How did you develop him so he was a fleshed-out, multidimensional character, instead of just the cheating-husband caricature? You studied law before turning to writing-which makes the character of attorney Blake even more interesting. Did your experiences in the field inform your depiction of him? How did you develop him so he was a fleshed-out, multidimensional character, instead of just the cheating-husband caricature?

KH: It was critical to me that Blake be more than the cliched stereotype of the cheating husband. One of the ways I humanized him was via his career. A career that I know quite well. He is a powerful, respected attorney-an isolated man in a field where emotions are marginalized and success is all that matters in the end. His focus on his career allowed him to become increasingly selfish and separate from his stay-at-home wife. But the fault is not his alone, and this, too, humanizes him. The way I saw it, there had perhaps been a time, years ago, when Annie could have demanded more of him, of their marriage, but she let that moment pa.s.s in silence. Her silent acceptance was every bit as ruinous to their marriage as his selfishness. Together they created a dynamic that couldn't succeed because it contained no honest intimacy or true parity. They're both at fault, and that's about as human as it gets. It was critical to me that Blake be more than the cliched stereotype of the cheating husband. One of the ways I humanized him was via his career. A career that I know quite well. He is a powerful, respected attorney-an isolated man in a field where emotions are marginalized and success is all that matters in the end. His focus on his career allowed him to become increasingly selfish and separate from his stay-at-home wife. But the fault is not his alone, and this, too, humanizes him. The way I saw it, there had perhaps been a time, years ago, when Annie could have demanded more of him, of their marriage, but she let that moment pa.s.s in silence. Her silent acceptance was every bit as ruinous to their marriage as his selfishness. Together they created a dynamic that couldn't succeed because it contained no honest intimacy or true parity. They're both at fault, and that's about as human as it gets.

JMG: The actual The actual places places in the novel are every bit as colorful as the characters. How did you evoke this feeling, especially in comparing Southern California with Mystic, Washington? What appeals to you about each place, both personally and in your writing? in the novel are every bit as colorful as the characters. How did you evoke this feeling, especially in comparing Southern California with Mystic, Washington? What appeals to you about each place, both personally and in your writing?

KH: The easy answer is that I lived in Southern California during my early childhood and in Washington for all the years since. These are two places that I know well, and, obviously, the contrast between the brown heat of Los Angeles and the majestic quiet of Mystic Lake was a perfect representation of the two choices in Annie's life. The really important thing, I think, is my deep connection to Washington State. My stories lately seem rooted in this damp soil; I love giving readers The easy answer is that I lived in Southern California during my early childhood and in Washington for all the years since. These are two places that I know well, and, obviously, the contrast between the brown heat of Los Angeles and the majestic quiet of Mystic Lake was a perfect representation of the two choices in Annie's life. The really important thing, I think, is my deep connection to Washington State. My stories lately seem rooted in this damp soil; I love giving readers my my Northwest. The Olympic Rainforest, where Northwest. The Olympic Rainforest, where Mystic Mystic is set, is particularly special to me. In that damp and mythical place are some of my most treasured memories of my mother. is set, is particularly special to me. In that damp and mythical place are some of my most treasured memories of my mother.

JMG: Annie doesn't think she's a good role model for Natalie. How is she right, and how is she wrong? How do you imagine the woman that Natalie will grow up to be? Annie doesn't think she's a good role model for Natalie. How is she right, and how is she wrong? How do you imagine the woman that Natalie will grow up to be?

KH: Annie believes that she has failed to show her daughter courage and commitment and individuality. In looking back on her life and marriage, Annie realizes how much of herself she let go without a fight, what a doormat she had become, and it shames her that she showed her daughter such weakness. But what mother doesn't worry that she hasn't done a good enough job, that she has somehow failed her children? What matters in the end, and what Annie comes to understand, is that she taught her daughter that love is worth fighting for, worth sacrificing for, worth risking everything for. Annie believes that she has failed to show her daughter courage and commitment and individuality. In looking back on her life and marriage, Annie realizes how much of herself she let go without a fight, what a doormat she had become, and it shames her that she showed her daughter such weakness. But what mother doesn't worry that she hasn't done a good enough job, that she has somehow failed her children? What matters in the end, and what Annie comes to understand, is that she taught her daughter that love is worth fighting for, worth sacrificing for, worth risking everything for.