To my father and my brother, Ignacio, for always going ahead of me in literary and cinematic matters and forcing me to follow their path. Which I almost never manage to do. I love you both.
To Ana Hernández and her little eyes, which were the first ones that peeked into the novel.
To Sara Muñoz, who read three different versions with equal passion and attention (here’s hoping I didn’t displease her).
To Oskar Santos, my most faithful friend/reader, curmudgeon and critic.
To Curro Novallas, among other things for taking care of Brigi during my trips to the United States to gather material.
To David Serrano, among other things for accompanying me on several of those trips and for being the first to encourage me to turn this story into a novel.
To Elías León Siminiani, among other things for always showing me other paths, even if I never take them.
To Quim Gutiérrez, among other things for always being by my side to snatch me up if I falter.
To Andrés Torbado, for being my friend first and then my agent. Take care of me, please.
To other crucial names on my island: Antonio, Raúl, Jaf and Joserra.
To Ainhoa Ramírez, Sandra Collantes, Cristina Sutherland and Lola Castejón for helping me file down the rough spots and polish the novel.
To Belén Rueda, Lluvia Rojo and Gail Siegal, for taking me under their wing in New York when I was looking for inspiration.
To my nieces Olivia and Ruby, for lending me their names, their smiles and their expressiveness for my characters.
To Héctor Colomé, for being my example in life. This novel is about a woman who grabs onto a secret and an island to get over the loss of her husband. Like Alice, I grabbed onto the novel like a lifeline; I took refuge in it; Olivia and the island to bear the long and dark illness that took him away. We miss you very much, Héctor.
To my mother, yes, again. Because she is my mother and because she’ll be crying right now after reading the previous paragraph. Don’t worry, Mamá, everything will be fine, you’ll see.