David stood up and came toward me. "Better than all right. He wrote a few sentences by hand yesterday."

"That's great," I said, as David put his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder.

"And he says that having my dad help me study for the GED is making a big difference."

"I knew it would," I said, burying my face in his hair.

One week after the memorial bench ceremony, we'd had the headstone unveiling at the cemetery. It was just Nana and David and me, by choice. The three of us sharing two umbrellas in the rain, as the rabbi spoke. We didn't say a thing until after we'd placed three rocks on each stone. One for each of them, one for each of us. n.o.body spoke until after we got back in the car, and Nana took off her hat and said, "Let's go have wine with lunch."

By that time, David and Masher were living in an apartment two towns over, where David had a job specializing in sound equipment at a music store. He drove to the Palisades Oaks twice a week. Which was maybe half as much as he was coming to our house.

Once Nana figured things out about us, she forbade David from sleeping here at night, even on the couch. He wasn't allowed over if she wasn't home, and if we were in my room the door had to remain open. But she loved having him stay for dinner or asking him to do odd jobs. She accidentally called him by my father's name once.

David was going to be looking in on the house while Nana and I were gone, stopping by, hanging out. I had a feeling the couch was going to get a lot of use at night. And once I was settled in at school, outside of my grandmother's jurisdiction, he would be visiting me there. Overnight. The possibilities of it were too scary and wonderful to think about at that moment.

Now David pulled away and looked at me, a hand on either side of my face. "So are you ready?"

"Will everyone please stop asking me that?"

"Okay. Are you not unready?"

I laughed. "Yes. Yes, I am not unready."

"Then let's go. We have a long drive ahead of us."

He took my hand and led me through the house to the front door. Masher followed us, and when we got to the foyer I turned and squatted down in front of him, burying my hands in the ruff around his neck.

"See you later, boy. Be good. David and Nana will be back tomorrow night, but Meg will come to feed you. Make sure David doesn't forget to feed the cats once Nana's out of town."

Masher licked my face once, neatly, then turned and headed into the den, as if to say, Yeah, yeah, get the h.e.l.l out of here already.

Fortunately, I'd already said good-bye to Selina and Elliot that morning, because I knew they'd be hiding when it was time to leave. "Bye, kitties!" I yelled into the house, loud enough so they could hear me from whatever corner they were holed up in. "I love you!"

I put my sungla.s.ses back on as I stepped out the front door. David closed it and locked it with his key.

We climbed into the car, David at the wheel and Nana in the front, me in the back next to my new laptop.

As we pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car down the hill, I looked at the house one more time. A wide, swallowing look, like I could take one more gulp and I'd have everything I needed to take with me.

Then I closed my eyes.

That was it. That was Before. Now here we go into After.

Acknowledgments.

I'VE RECEIVED SO MUCH from so many people on this long, strange, marvelous trip.

My agent, the supersmart, generally spectacular Jamie Weiss Chilton, gifted me with her special brand of insight and pa.s.sion. I thank higher powers every day that she fell in love with this book, and believe me, it loves her right back. My wonderful editor, Rosemary Brosnan, pushed me in her gracious yet fierce and brilliant way to make Laurel's story better and better. Rosemary and the talented team at HarperCollins Children's Books have made the whole publishing-a-first-novel thing a truly joyous and educational process.

My experience at the Big Sur Writing Workshop was instrumental in shaping the ma.n.u.script at an early stage, slapping me gently upside the brain and sending me back down the Pacific Coast Highway with fresh focus. I'm grateful to Susan Merson and the members of the Los Angeles Writers Bloc, as well as the literary ladies of the Write On, Mama critique group, for their intelligent reading and comments. My dear friends Cindy Frigard, Kim Purcell, and Robyn Castellani were also early readers and key feedback-givers. Josephine Schiff and Elizabeth C. contributed their expertise on school counseling and grief therapy, respectively. And I have to say thank you to Peggy Sweeney, for all of her Meg-ness.

I'm lucky to have the family I do-the Castles, Locascios, Springs, and Minardis-who gave me so much enthusiasm, support, and childcare even though they had no idea what my book was about or whether it was any good. My parents, Jay and Sue, have always provided a constant, unquestioning faith that's helped me be a writer in one way or another my entire life.

And finally, thank you to Bill, for sharing his creative and generous spirit with me every day, and to Sadie and Clea . . . my two favorite Afters.

About the Author.

JENNIFER CASTLE graduated from Brown University and worked as a celebrity publicist's a.s.sistant, an advertising copywriter, and a struggling screenwriter (yes, that's an actual job) before falling into a niche producing websites for kids and teens. the beginning of after is her first novel. She lives with her husband and two young daughters in New York's Hudson Valley, and hopes you'll pay her a visit online at www.jennifercastle.com.

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