Here Lies Olive, page 27
The locket. My heart warms as I take the chain from the headstone. It’s warm, as though it’s been tucked against someone’s chest or clutched tight in someone’s palm. I run my fingers over the secret hinge and squeeze, letting it pop open. Jay’s face gazes up at me from the faded picture on one side of the locket. On the other, a scrap of paper is tucked under the clip that once held his mother’s mourning brooch.
Maren peers over my shoulder, her breath warm and steadying on the back of my neck. I unfold the paper and we read it together:
Olive—I told you I would find a way to let you know.
I catch my breath as my heart swells. I can feel it expanding in my chest, stretching and aching until it fills my rib cage. Growing pains. The sweet kind of ache that feels so good it hurts.
Maren brushes the hair off the back of my neck and slips the chain over my head. The locket settles just above my breasts like it’s meant to be there.
“Perfect,” she says.
I take her hand in mine, fitting our fingers together. I can count the faint freckles on her cheeks and smell her clean scent, like sunshine and a spring breeze. Her thumb traces circles on my palm, sending a spray of shivers up my arm, as she looks up at me with eyes half-closed and lips parted.
I lean closer without thinking about it, press my lips to hers, and it’s like everything I’ve been looking for these last two years is wrapped up in this kiss. I close my eyes, but instead of darkness, I see lights dancing across the insides of my eyelids, sparks leaping from Maren to me as our lips move together.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
Maren and I break apart as music spills out of city hall and echoes through the cemetery. I recognize this song, the rhythmic guitar riff and the raw sound of the strings. This is another Saves the Day song. Maren must have slipped it in among the midcentury rock ’n’ and swing.
I turn toward the grave with Maren’s hand in mine. It still hurts to see the finality of Mrs. H’s name etched in stone, but now it feels like a message from beyond the grave. A reminder of her love. At the ragged edge of despair is something soft and soothing, velvety blue like the sky. Wrapped up in all of the sorrow are good memories that I wouldn’t have if I didn’t let myself feel the pain.
“I should have come earlier,” I say to Mrs. H, chagrined that it took me so long. “When you died, it felt like I fell into a pit of despair and I didn’t know how to dig myself out. I thought coming here would make it worse. But whatever I saw when I almost died—whatever the Nothing was—I don’t think that’s where you are.”
Maren squeezes my hand, sending a jolt racing through my body to my chest where it jump-starts my heart.
“I think you made it through to the light,” I say to Mrs. H. “I think you’re with your mother and you’re getting to know your brother.” Tears prick my eyes as I smile. “And I think someday I’ll be there with you, too. I’ll see you on the other side.”
I turn away from Mrs. H’s grave and toward Maren. I’m ready to walk into the dance hand in hand. I’m ready to give her my heart to fill or burst. I’m ready to creep out of the shadow that’s consumed me for the past two years.
I’m ready to be alive again.
After my brush with death, everyone asked me if I saw a light at the end of a tunnel. And the fact that I didn’t scared me so much that I almost convinced myself nothing mattered. But I guess I didn’t think about what that expression really means.
To get to the light, you have to go through the darkness.
So I feel the pain, and then I feel the joy.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book sometimes feels like a very solitary endeavor because of the amount of time you spend in your own head, creating worlds and characters that no one else will see unless you can find a way to get them down on paper. But the truth is, dozens of people contributed to this book. There are so many people who had a part in creating Olive, and I’m grateful for each one.
Olive would not exist without my sister, critique partner, and friend, Kelsey Down. Literally, because I wrote the first 5000 words while babysitting your daughter. But also because no one has encouraged me, supported me, or listened to me complain as faithfully as you. I can always count on you to be just as excited about a new project as I am, even when it’s nothing more than a vague idea and a mood board. Thank you for all the conversations that start out with me asking you to brainstorm and turn into you listening to me ramble for forty minutes before abruptly saying I figured it out and hanging up. Writing with you in coffee shops is my favorite. Love you!
I’m grateful for my friend and mentor, A. J. Sass, who worked with me on a still unpublished MG project in 2019 and has been stuck with me ever since. Thank you for always being a wealth of support and advice!
Thank you to the early readers of Olive: Shannon, Jenny, Molly, and Sarah, who told me I should kill someone (in the book). Your advice and patience in reading countless drafts has been invaluable. I love all the work we’ve shared with each other over the years—I couldn’t ask for better critique partners!
My book club, Overbooked, has been a great source of friendship and support over the years. I’m so grateful for the wonderful books we’ve read together (and the pins we’ve earned!).
Thank you to my agent, Sharon Belcastro, who jumped into this project full of enthusiasm and has been a wonderful advocate. I’m so glad you’re on this journey with me!
My editor, Ashtyn Stann, and Meg Gaertner and the rest of the team at Flux have made this debut experience so wonderful. Thank you for loving Olive as much as I do, encouraging me, and pushing me to make this the best book it could be. Ashtyn, thank you for plucking me from the slush pile and making my dreams come true. I still can’t quite believe it’s happening.
Big thanks to Raluca Burcă for creating a gorgeous cover that captures all of the vibes I imagined before I had even written a word.
I’m grateful to my friend Maddy Smith, who was my Navajo cultural and sensitivity reader. I appreciate your insights so much! Thank you to Black Sheep Cafe in Provo, Utah, which inspired the food at Poppy’s, and made my mouth water every time I wrote about it. If you’re ever in Utah, Black Sheep is an Indigenous-owned Navajo fusion restaurant that is an absolute must try.
I also want to acknowledge the Navajo people, the original inhabitants of the land in the Four Corners region, where this story is set. White Haven and its history are fictional, but the experiences of the Navajo people and other Indigenous peoples is all too true. Navajostrong.org is a non-profit that was created to aid the Navajo people during the Covid-19 pandemic and has grown to support cultural, business, and farming endeavors. If you’re interested in supporting the Navajo community, please give them a look.
Lastly, I am so grateful for my huge, close-knit family. Thank you to my parents, Kevin and Lisa, for your love and support and for giving me the best childhood I could ever imagine. Same goes to my in-laws, Canyon and Jan, on behalf of my husband. Thank you to my siblings and siblings-in-law—all twenty of you—for being my closest friends and loving my children like your own. I’m so grateful I can count on you!
Special thanks to the Allan siblings, who contributed every single pun found in this book, because they are punny and I am not.
And finally, thank you to my husband and four children: Jason, Tempe, Helena, Juno, and Pearl. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for believing in me and celebrating with me and filling my life with so much love. You make it all worth it.
About the Author
Kate Anderson lives in Utah with her husband and four children. When she’s not writing, she’s embroidering her favorite book covers, exploring the mountains, or planning road trips to places that are off the beaten path—the weirder, the better. Here Lies Olive is her first book. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @kateanderwrites.
Kate Anderson, Here Lies Olive
