Stay (ARC) PDF
Preview Stay (ARC)
ADVANCE READER’S COPY — UNCORRECTED PROOF STAY A L S O B Y C A T H E R I N E R Y A N H Y D E Have You Seen Luis Velez? Just After Midnight Heaven Adjacent The Wake Up Allie and Bea Say Goodbye for Now Leaving Blythe River Ask Him Why Worthy The Language of Hoofbeats Pay It Forward: Young Readers Edition Take Me with You Paw It Forward 365 Days of Gratitude: Photos from a Beautiful World Where We Belong Subway Dancer and Other Stories Walk Me Home Always Chloe and Other Stories The Long, Steep Path: Everyday Inspiration from the Author of Pay It Forward How to Be a Writer in the E-Age: A Self-Help Guide When You Were Older Don’t Let Me Go Jumpstart the World Second Hand Heart When I Found You Diary of a Witness The Day I Killed James Chasing Windmills The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance Love in the Present Tense Becoming Chloe Walter’s Purple Heart Electric God/The Hardest Part of Love Pay It Forward Earthquake Weather and Other Stories Funerals for Horses STAY A Novel CATHERINE RYAN HYDE This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2019 by Catherine Ryan Hyde All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542042406 (hardcover) ISBN-10: 1542042402 (hardcover) ISBN-13: 9781542042383 (paperback) ISBN-10: 1542042380 (paperback) Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant Printed in the United States of America First edition PART ONE: THEN SUMMER 1969 CHAPTER ONE The Tipping Day Is it just me, or does everybody have a day in their life like the one I’m about to retell? I’m talking about those days that act like a fulcrum between everything that came before and your brand-new life after. It feels a little something like this: When I was a kid, I used to like to bust a move on the playground. Boy stuff, I suppose. I’d run up to the teeter-totter and jump on the “down” seat. The one that was resting in the dirt. Then I’d trot up to the middle—the part that sits safely on the bar. And then, when I kept going, I’d hit the spot where my weight would tip the thing. You know it’s there, you anticipate it. You slow your step just a little bit, knowing it’s soon and you’re about to find it. There’s a delicious little moment of fear in there, but it’s manageable. Next thing you know, you’re being dropped safely back to the dirt, but on the other side. This day was something like that. It was the summer of 1969. I was fourteen. * * * The day started with a letter from my brother Roy. I was always first to the mailbox, and for just that reason. 3 Catherine Ryan Hyde As soon as I saw that airmail envelope with the APO return address—his name scribbled above it: PFC Leroy Painter—I felt like there was open space in my chest, a lightness for a change. It was always that way. I carried it into the house. My parents were fighting again. Except, really … I don’t even know why I say “again.” It was almost more like a “still.” That’s not to say they literally fought twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. My dad went to work on the weekdays, and, let’s face it, everybody has to sleep. But it was Saturday morning. They were home, and they were awake, so they were fighting. I carried the letter upstairs to my room and tried to read it. It started the way Roy always started his letters to me: “Hey buddy.” He’d called me Luke all my life, ever since I was born. But the previous summer I’d decided I was Lucas. I was going to go by Lucas, always, and I insisted. I guess it was meant to be a signal to the world that I’d grown up and I wanted to be recognized for it. I think it was a hard change for Roy to make. I’m not saying he didn’t want to call me what I wanted to be called—he wasn’t that kind of brother. I just think it didn’t roll off his tongue yet. So … buddy. Then I tried to read the rest. I’d gotten letters from him before with censor marks. Or whatever you call them. Standing here now I’d call them redactions, but I didn’t know that word at the time. Once or twice I’d gotten letters from him with heavy black bars over a line or two, like somebody had taken a black marker and wiped out a few of my brother’s precious 4
The list of books you might like
