Acknowledgments

Stories are always gifts.

Most of the time, they arrive simply as offerings from my own imagination. But other times, they are bestowed by others, presented tentatively, wrapped in beautiful paper and tied up with complicated little bows. Bodies of Water was such a gift.

In the summer of 2011, Hurricane Irene devastated much of my home state of Vermont. The deluge carried away old barns, homes, and bridges. We had just left our summer camp on Newark Pond in the Northeast Kingdom, where we spend every August, and were staying with family on our way home. Because I was driving, and because of the storm that was pummeling the entire East Coast, our hosts graciously asked us to stay another night. And something about the storm, something about being trapped inside, hunkered down together for one more night, seemed to open all of us up, and, because I come from a family of storytellers, we started to share stories. But it was this story, this beautiful love story, that kept me awake all night long. As the rain and wind pounded against the windows, I could almost feel the ribbons in my fingers as I slowly began to unwrap this gift.

This novel is absolutely fiction, but the seed of truth planted that night, nurtured by all that wild rain, was where it began. And so first I thank you, Irene, you miserable witch; here is proof that at least one good thing came out of your fury.

Thank you to my cousins (second or once removed or whatever you are), Angela and Carlene Riccelli, who shared and shared and shared. Who trusted and then shared even more. This is for you both.

Thank you to my mother, Cyndy Greenwood, for being there and encouraging me to tell this story. And to my father and sister who, for some reason, continue to be my biggest fans. To Esther Stewart for her early read, as well.

To Patrick for helping when things get rough.

To Mikaela and Esmée for reminding me again and again of why I do what I do.

To Rich Farrell for your honest and meticulous reading every single time.

To Miranda Beverly-Whittemore for your friendship, for the perfect title, and for your crazy talent.

To Henry Dunow for your wild and beautiful enthusiasm. It always comes just when I need it the most.

And to Peter Senftleben (as always) for helping me to part the clouds.