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544 pages, Paperback
First published March 7, 2017


What terrible luck the Finis had. It was like a curse from a fairy tale; it never ended. Suicides and bridges and a child with marble skin. And though Netty never liked to think that anyone had worse luck than she and Henry, the truth was, the Finis did. They had very peculiar stars.
What were they, these thoughts that had made her son's hands tremble? Even his eyes had trembled, like compass needles turning in dread towards some dark and unimpeachable north.
New Jersey was a terrible place, the worst place in the world—and a teenaged Lucy knew that it would only get worse. She could see every part of the Garden State growing fatter and fatter – the people, the buildings, the cars, the hair, until, finally, there was no space between any two things and a mass suffocation ensued. As Lucy stared at her seventeen-year-old self in the window of the butcher shop, it suddenly made sense where the real pain was coming from. It was coming from the future.
Something was wrong with time.
It had been wrong for years; maybe since the day he was born. His life was unfolding too slowly – more like a book when obviously life was a movie. He could see how his grandmother lay at the root of the problem. The way she'd made weeks out of minutes, and years out of days. His mother did it, too – falling into silences that had the bleak ardor of black-and-white photographs. The error with time was something he'd learned from them. And it seemed that today, the saddest day of the boy's life, time might stop completely.
Learning kindness late in life was a kind of torture. The pain often came from the past, from kindnesses withheld. The knife was particularly sharp when those who most deserved your kindness were long gone. And unless you wanted to die of sorrow, you had to give this unspent kindness to those you loved less.