The Distant Marvels (33 page)

It grows clear to me that something has shifted. The pain, yes. That has radiated outward and tingles my skin, making Beatríz's head on my chest a strange sensation, like ant bites everywhere. But there is something else that has loosened, and I realize it suddenly, that what had been tormenting me has lifted.

“I loved. I have been loved,” I whisper.

“¿Qué?” Susana and Beatríz say in unison.

“And forgiven,” I want to add, but I can't say it again, though I try. I was loved by Lulu and Agustín, in his way, and by Mario and Gilberto, and by my children, even Mayito, who must have imagined the mother he'd had once, and may have guessed that he had been given up unwillingly. He must have held me in his heart, unknown as I was to him. He may even have felt me, so many miles away, whenever I gazed upon his picture, like a benign pressure in his head.

“Amor,” I say, though it sounds more like “no, no.” Beatríz cups my face in her hands. Susana shakes her head.

“Mamá, como te quiero,” my daughter whispers, proving what I already know—that there can be no safe place, no body that does not grow ill at last, no escape from death or absolute shelter from storms. But that love, in its full measure, is a kind of swirling tempest, too, and in its eye, there is stillness and comfort and peace.

I close my eyes and picture the sea, calm like a plate. I imagine floating upon it. There is no wind to churn the waters. There is only the sunlight. There is only a story I try to tell myself to pass the time, about a mermaid, and a girl, and love building upon love over the course of a life.

This book is dedicated to my mother, Marta Quinn, and my grandmother, Maria Asela “Tita” Garcia. But I'd be remiss in not also acknowledging the ways other mothers have shaped my life, including my madrina, Acela Robaina , my “Titi” Aris Con­cepción, and my mother-in-law, Josefa Acevedo. These women make up the strong, beating heart of my family, and they have loved me deeply and honestly always. If the mothers in this novel know how to love, it is because I had incredible models.

I am grateful to Europa Editions, and especially my editor Michael Reynolds, in ways I cannot express. An editor who will come to the heart of Alabama just for a visit with an author is a treasure. Thank you, Michael, and thanks to everyone at Europa for taking such care of this book.

My agent, Stéphanie Abou, arrived in my life at a time when I needed nurturing and encouragement and a champion for this book. She has been all of those things and more. Mil gracias, querida.

Writer friends who have given me their time with close readings of this book when it was still in progress include Hallie Johnston and Emma Bolden. My heartfelt gratitude to you both. Much of this novel was written in the home of Ash Parsons, who let me sit on her couch and write on it so often that I was convinced no other place but her sofa held the “magic” I needed to write. For this, and for her support in so many innumerable ways, thank you, Ash. Thanks, too, go to Rachel Hawkins, for inspiring me to be bold, make the hard choices, and always reminding me of the importance of laughter. To Julianna Baggott, you are incredible in a million ways. Thanks for having my back.

I finished the book shortly after attending Las Dos Brujas, a workshop run by the inimitable, talented, and encouraging Cristina Garcia. It was the final dose of inspiration I needed, and I am grateful to the example Cristina has provided for me and for many Latina writers, laying down pavement again and again.

For their support both financial and collegial, and the space and time to write and teach, I'd like to thank Auburn Univer­sity, the Department of English, the College of Liberal Arts, and the Alabama State Council on the Arts.

Jana Gutierrez, a colleague at Auburn University, translated, in a way far more elegant than I could have, the José Martí epigraph used in the book. Thank you, Jana.

For their love and encouragement, I thank my husband, Orlando Acevedo, and my daughters, Penelope and Mary-Blair. They are my world and I adore them.

Finally, I wish to honor the memory of my mentor and friend, the writer Lester Goran. Were it not for Professor Goran, I am certain that I would not have become a writer of books. He called me a writer before I believed it and I am forever grateful for his guidance and friendship.

Chantel Avevedo, “one of the most versatile and exciting writers of her generation,” says
Pure
trilogy author Julianna Baggott, is the author of
Love and Ghost Letters
, winner of the Latino International Book Award, and more recently,
A Falling Star
, winner of the Doris Bakwin Award. She studied writing at the University of Miami with the late Lester Goran. She is an Associate Professor of English at Auburn University, Alabama, where she founded the Auburn Writers Conference and edits the Southern Humani­ties Review.