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336 pages, Hardcover
First published May 17, 2016


"Don't you know what instruments do?" the woman asked. "They suck people in and continue to echo them out forever once they're gone. Didn't you ever wonder why some dusty old violin has so much power?"
A puddle. Somehow in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming, a puddles has formed around Tish. Stay in the puddle, she was safe. But the thing about puddles was that they could dry up, or come undammed, and there would be nothing to protect her anymore. Or Tish.
"Everyone wants something. That doesn't make her special." An owl called from far away, a distant Who cooks for you all.
She pulled him, ignoring the words, thinking instead about the feel of his palm on hers. The air around the dancers smelled of bodies, of smoke, of earth and dust and snow. She put Dill's hand on her hip, ignoring everything but what she could feel, the solidity of his back under her touch, the quick breath he took when he rested her head against his shoulder, when she leaned close. The music within him, like bagpiped over hills, calling, searching.
No. It didn't matter if you had an address, a name, anything. You didn't need anything but another person to feel love.