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256 pages, Hardcover
First published March 9, 2017
I do. I do dream of Charleston. For many years, it was the same dream. The house was on fire and everyone was rushing around like ants. There was such confusion, such...chaos. But lately it's different. We're all gone. I can see deep rooms. The bricks are freshly whitewashed. The windows are open. The floorboards are bare and striped with sunlight. Each room is empty – of furniture, books, paintings – and dust is streaming, everywhere there's dust, but – how can I explain it? – it's golden. Endless. And we're gone: me, you, all the beloved ghosts, all of us. ~ all the beloved ghosts
Voices. Such noise, such terrifying noise. Clifton stumbles to his feet. He looks around the carriage, wild-eyed. Everyone is a stranger. “Stop!” he cries out, “please stop!” as the train pulls into St. Paul's, and Edgar, music in hand, leaps from the train to the platform, where James the conductor lifts his arm, and the voice of the first soloist rises. The notes soar, like Lionel's hope as he sprints away, palm pressed to his pocket; like the wave of love that lifts Sister Kate, at last, there in the ugly light of carriage three, where Tanisha takes Clifton tenderly by the hand, and the voices swell and the harmonies surge, rising above the astonished crowd.
At the window, the thin curtain lifted – although there was no breeze at all. Guy drew Anna close, and they stared into the night. The sea was black. The sky was black. All the lights on the Pier had gone out. Even the full moon had been extinguished from the fictive sky.