Outside the Ordinary World (31 page)

“That’s a tough one, Han,” I say as we break from formation, winding toward our winter gardens. “Would you freeze in the woods with those people, or just have to camp for the night?”

“No. You wouldn’t die, but you’d think you were going to.”

I have to laugh, though my arms are shivering violently, knees buckling as we stomp through frozen shrubs.

“And the one waiting at home—does that person know the others will return?” asks Nathan. He hoists Emmie back onto his shoulders, refusing to meet my stare.

“I hadn’t exactly worked it out that far.”

“I wanna be standed inside the house with the lost people,” squeaks Emmie from her wild, windy perch. “We could be standed in our sleeping bags!” She giggles, amazed by her genius.

“It’s
stranded,
Em,” corrects Hannah with a sigh, sweeping aside hemlock branches. “Anyway, I’ve told you—that’s not how the game works!”

“She’ll get it eventually,” I say. “It takes time.”

“You did promise we would stay in the house tonight, Dad,” Hannah reminds as we stumble into the clear. We all stare up at the vast, jeweled sky above us—a stunning respite between weather events. “Do you guys think that plan could maybe still work?”

I glance at her angular profile in the starlight, knowing that this is her way of asking if we will be all right, if we’re going to make it past tomorrow. “We’ll have to see, honey,” I start. The thorn of regret works its way deeper toward my center. “The place is kind of a mess now, and—”

“Let’s give it a try,” says Nathan, coming up beside me. He places the familiar breadth of his hand between my shoulder blades, behind my heart, his other hand gripping Emmie’s thigh. It’s difficult to hold his gaze, so pierced through with sadness, but I do.

Finally emerging from the woods, we tromp single file and freezing across the south meadow, hunched into the wind. At the top of the hill, our house still blazes with the light of our argument, unexpectedly bright against the new storm rolling in from the west.

Because no writing happens in a vacuum, and because I am lucky enough to live in a rich community of writers, I have many people to thank.

First, huge gratitude to my fantastic agent, Jessica Papin, who’s had unwavering faith in this story. Also to my gifted editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, and all the people at MIRA Books who have showered me with enthusiasm and goodwill.

Many thanks to the writers (I can’t name them all) who, through various Writers in Progress workshops, have offered their insights.

For valuable feedback on drafts, I thank the members of the WIP Manuscript Series and the Tuesday night manuscript group (especially Elli Meeropol, Celia Jeffries, Rita Marks and Jacqueline Sheehan), as well as India Nolen, David Lovelace, Linda Seligman, Peter Levitt and the talented Diana Gordon.

Big appreciation to Sarah Browning for her support through the whole process and for permission to use her poem “Something They Never Tell You.”

My friend Julia Mines has bolstered me in the ups and downs, and I couldn’t have steered through revisions without the solidarity and sharp editorial insight of Dix McComas.

And to my family: my mother, who offers boundless and unconditional support; my father, who has always expected good things; and my sister Renee, who shared it all. My husband, David, for his patience, love and deep insights, and my beautiful daughters, Audrey and Amelie, who put up with all my forays into fictional worlds.

For reader discussion questions, please visit Dori Ostermiller’s website, www.doriostermiller.com.