ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“ ‘Thank you’ is the best prayer anyone could say.”

—Alice Walker

Thank you. Simple words, really, but so hard to get right. Especially for someone who trades in words for a living. But I will do my best and I ask that you bear with me for a moment while I extol those who helped make this book a reality.

Literary agents don’t come better than Elisabeth Weed. She is brilliant. Kind. Patient. Funny. And she never makes me feel stupid when I call her with stupid questions. I have worked with her for almost four years and can’t imagine navigating the choppy waters of publishing without her. She has been a friend and life preserver and a constant encouragement. Her assistant, Dana Murphy, is lovely and helpful and I’d steal her away in a skinny minute. Jenny Meyer handles foreign rights and I suspect she moonlights as a superhero. Thank you.

My amazing editor, Melissa Danaczko, is a godsend. Sometimes I think we have the same brain because there’s no other way to explain how she gets me and my stories and my random, guarded writing process. She knows when to give me free rein and when to rein me in. I’ve never met another person who can wield a red pen with such wisdom and precision. I mean it quite sincerely when I say that this book would not exist without her. If not for her redirection, I would have gone with another idea and Flight of Dreams would have never been. Thank you.

Blake Leyers is my first reader and early editor. And for this I apologize because she sees my stories when they bear a greater resemblance to steaming piles of manure than soon-to-be books. Yet she never fails to tell me what I’ve done right and help me see what I’ve done wrong. She was to this novel what guardrails are to a careening vehicle. I’m so grateful she kept it from flying off the edge. Thank you.

Marybeth Whalen is the sort of friend every woman should have. She came into my life seven years ago and made it better with her wit and loyalty and dogged encouragement. She invited me to join her on a wild experiment called She Reads, and I don’t think either of us will ever be the same—nor would we want to be. She celebrates with me. She listens to me bleat. And she texts me ten times a day with things that either make me laugh or cry. Some of them I can’t repeat in public. Thank you.

JT Ellison and Paige Crutcher have been two of the best things about moving back to Nashville. I never expected new friends. Yet these two burst into my world with their laughter and queso and f-bombs, and my life is all the richer for it. I’m so grateful for our lunch dates and yoga sessions and story dissection. I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you.

The publishing wizards at Doubleday never cease to amaze me. I am so incredibly thankful for SuperTodd Doughty (the best publicist I’ve ever known or worked with), Judy Jacoby (marketer extraordinaire), Margo Shickmanter (editorial assistant), John Fontana (cover designer), Bill Thomas (publisher and all-around champion), Nora Reichard (production editor), Maggie Carr (copy editor), and Benjamin Hamilton (German-language proofreader). The Random House sales team (especially Cathy Calvert, Ann Kingman, Stacie Carlini, Emily Bates, Lynn Kovach, Beth Koehler, Beth Meister, James Kimball, Janet Cook, Ruth Liebmann, David Weller, and Jason Gobble) are kinder to me than I deserve. Thank you.

Additional thanks go to Abby Belbeck, Rocko Beezlenut, Dian Belbeck, Jannell Barefoot, Tayler Storrs, Michael Easley, Kaylee Storrs, Emily Allison, Kristee Mays, River Jordan, Joy Jordan-Lake, DeeAnn Blackburn, Shelby Rawson, the She Reads blog network, and the amazing women who teach my children so I can write for six hours a day. For your friendship, your service, your leadership, your love, your mentoring, your truth speaking, your diligence, your encouragement, your presence in my life, thank you.

My husband, Ashley, has known and loved me for sixteen years. He is the green-eyed, dimpled, Texan miracle I behold every day. And if I never experience another miracle for the rest of my life, he will be enough. For listening to me when he’d rather have silence, for making coffee when I can’t wake up, for making lunches and taking the early shift with carpool, for being my best friend, my lover, my safe place, thank you.

The Wild Rumpus (London, Parker, Marshall, and Riggs) is the part of my heart that walks around outside of my body. Seeing them grow and mature and learn and risk is the greatest privilege of my life. For this honor, I thank you.

I once heard that to be a Christian simply means that I am a beggar showing other beggars where to find bread. It is the truest thing I know. I am a beggar. And to the Giver of Bread, I say thank You.

And finally, dear reader, for taking a chance on me and on this novel, I thank you.