Left Drowning

Sabin, Estelle, Eric, James, and Zach cheer as Chris and I start to run the hardest hill. The truck lets out a long, loud honk and they speed along Commonwealth Avenue and head for downtown Boston. I hand Chris the other earbud and we run to the same song that we listened to like this so long ago in his dorm room at Matthews when he first told me to run through the pain.

Heartbreak Hill is indeed a fucking bitch. The steep incline is cruel and unforgiving at this stage of the run. People say that it’s all downhill after this, but it’ll still be a hell of a run. Going downhill takes control.

“Slow and steady, sweet girl,” Chris says. He keeps my slow pace. He is as strong as ever, but he doesn’t make me feel weak. He makes me feel capable despite how I falter in my run.

Chris and I live a quiet life in Bar Harbor. I mean, except for the loud sex. Of which we have plenty. I’m still freelance writing for the magazine, but I’m working on a novel also. This was Chris’s idea. I have no idea if it’ll go anywhere, but I’m enjoying giving it a try. Chris has immersed himself in Acadia National Park, and he’s become quite a good guide, leading us on challenging hikes and day trips. He got a job in the park’s administrative office and has surprised himself by getting involved in all the boring details, like the park’s budget. We’ve met some people who live in the area, and occasionally we have another couple over for di

The winter months there would be considered impossible by some people, but Chris and I don’t mind. His truck can drive over nearly any snowfall, and we have a lot of supplies shipped to us. I’m quite happy not to leave the house for days at a time. Jonah keeps me company while I curl up with a blanket and my laptop and write by the fireplace. Our life is blissfully low-key. Except for when James and all the Shepherd siblings come to stay. Then it’s the best kind of chaos possible. Christmas was absolutely insane. A

For months Chris resisted seeing a counselor. When his father died in the late fall, however, I insisted. He wasn’t sad about his father dying, but he was less relieved than I think he expected. There are pieces of his past that I ca

When we are at the midway point of the hill, he wipes tears from my cheeks as we run. This moment is both incredibly painful and equally freeing. He knows how to read my body, and he knows when I’m about to break.

“I am overwhelmingly in love with you,” Chris says as he matches my steps. “I’ve spent most of my life thinking that my father never gave me anything but pain. But that’s not true. He did give me something. Someone. You. He gave me you. Last summer, you asked me to believe in us. I don’t believe in much, as you know, but I do damn well believe in us. Forever.”

Reaching the peak of Heartbreak Hill is easy now.

“We’ll make it to that finish line, won’t we, Blythe?”

“Always.”

We run through the remnants of our pain, and more importantly, we run for our present and for our future.

Together we kick heartbreak’s ass.

Acknowledgments

While writing may often be a solitary process, the times when it isn’t require a certain strength from those who dare to get involved with a moody, stubborn, exhausted, overcaffeinated author. I owe thanks to so many people.

My asssociate publisher at Amazon Skyscape (US), Tim Ditlow, believed in Left Drowning before knowing what exactly this book would become. An act of faith if ever there was one.

The indescribably talented Kate Chynoweth did the most spectacular editing job any author could dare to hope for, and she brought out the best in me and in this story.

Lots of love to my most tolerant agent, Deborah Schneider, for telling me that I “wowed” her. (I suspect I may have wowed her with chaos, but she’s too nice to say so.)

Another round of thanks to Lori Gondelman for proofreading and all-around handholding during the birth of yet another book. Je

Thank you to Karen Lawson for co

Julia Clark, assistant Chief of the Orland Fire Department, and Michael Ferreira, First lieutenant of the Upper Greenwood Lake Fire Company, both volunteers in Maine, graciously donated their time to walk me through more detail than I knew I would need, but that I demanded anyway. Both of them are amazing, tough, and unspeakably brave. Stay safe, you two.

Andrea DiMella endured emergency phone calls to answer my repeated questions about ru

Carmen Comeaux jumped in at the last minute and did a remarkable job tackling my comma issues. Not only are her grammar skills solid, but she left delightful comments in my manuscript that made me giggle. Who knew that Track Changes could be fu

Damonza created an incredibly beautiful and striking cover (I am once again so grateful to have him as one of my self-publishing resources), and Benjamin Carrancho did a gorgeous job formatting Left Drowning for the ebook and for print.

Mad love and respect to my father, Carter Umbarger, a most brilliant psychotherapist and even more brilliant father. Thank you for helping these characters stay real. I love you, Daddy. And equal adoration to my mother, Susan Conant, who gets both the blame and the credit for getting me into this business. I am very lucky to have such wonderful parents. Not everyone does.

My readers and bloggers gave me the ability to continue writing. I don’t know how to thank them for all the reviews, the enthusiasm, and the humbling love. I lean on them more than they will ever know. Endless gratitude to each of them for sticking with me.

And, oh, my fellow authors. There is no way I could have survived the Left Drowning process without them. Endless love, thanks, and admiration to Michele Scott, for her daily (sometimes hourly) assistance as a friend and talented writer and to Tracey Garvis-Graves for her unfailing and powerful championing during my darkest hours. To Andrew Kaufman, because he never failed to holler, “See? Now they’re listening to Jessica!” when I needed it the most. To Abbi Glines and Tammara Webber, for being rocks of sanity in a chaotic world. To Colleen Hoover, because sometimes you really do just need some damn flowers. And to Jamie McGuire, for also being a rebel with a cause.

To my twenty: I love all of you, and I would have undoubtedly collapsed without your strength. Fight the good fight, girls. Our power together is immeasurable.