Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [1]
To Carrie Randolph, who knew about this novel when it was a baby, and whose enthusiasm gave me the courage to keep typing. You’ve traveled so many roads with me; your friendship has been a generous gift. To Shelley Easterling Gay whose lesson-sharing saved me during my writing marathons and whose feedback I respected. You and Carrie put the brain in my storm. To Melissa Strata-Burger and Carole Jordan for readings on demand. To the GNO group for monthly sanity dinners and girl-talk.
Dennis and Rhonda Stelly and Linda Moffett: for harboring us after Hurricane Katrina.
To my Barbe High School students, for encouraging my dream. To my Fontainebleau High School extended family, for nurturing and celebrating it, and to Lakeshore High School's staff and students, for being a part of its arrival.
Thanks to: Cheryl Wyatt, my constant cheerleader when I first dared to write. Lisa Samson, whose critique of this novel in its early stages pushed me forward. Jessica Ferguson for insisting I attend an ACFW Conference, and to Mary DeMuth for reaching out and giving me hope.
A venti-sized thanks to Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary, my dynamic and industrious agent, who “got” Leah. Your phone call changed my life. You walk me off ledges, steer me back to writing, and teach me how to be a professional in this business.
To Barbara Scott, my fearless and tireless editor at Abingdon Press, who championed this novel: I admire your faith, appreciate your tenacity, and enjoy your friendship. You believed in Leah, and I will be forever grateful. Thank you for your expertise in bringing her story to life.
To Peggy Shearon, Fiction Publicist, and all those at Abingdon: thank you for all you do to bring our novels to readers.
To my husband, Ken: You played more golf, cooked more meals, and watched more movies so you could disappear during deadlines and I could focus on writing. Your confidence in me gave me courage. Your goofy jokes made me laugh when I wanted to cry. And when I didn’t believe in myself, you did, and you let me lean on you until my belief could stand on its own. I’m so grateful for the ways you’ve blessed my life.
And to everyone who reads this novel, thank you for turning these pages.
Patient Discharge Statement
If I had known children break on the inside and the cracks don’t surface until years later, I would have been more careful with my words.
If I had known some parents don’t live to watch grandchildren grow, I would have taken more pictures and been more careful with my words.
If I had known couples can be fragile and want what they are unprepared to give or unwilling to take, I would have been more careful with my words.
If I had known teaching lasts a lifetime and students don’t speak of their tragic lives, I would have been more careful with my words.
If I had known my muscles and organs and bones and skin are not lifetime guarantees, that when broken, snagged, unstitched, or unseemly, cannot be replaced, I would have been kinder to the shell that prevents my soul from leaking out.
If I had known I would live over half my life and have to look at photographs to remember my mother adjusting my birthday party hat so that my father could take the picture that sliced the moment out of time—if I had known, if I had known—I would have been more careful with my life.
Leah T.
August 4
1
Cruising the sparkling aisles of Catalano's Supermarket, I lost my sanity buying frozen apple juice.
Okay, so maybe it started several aisles before the refrigerated cases. Somewhere between the canned vegetables and cleaning supplies. I needed to kill the taste of that soy milk in my iced vanilla latte. Darn my friend Molly, the dairy Nazi. I blamed her for my detour to the liquor aisle. Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. What to pour in my Starbucks cup? Amaretto? Kahlua? Vodka? And the winner was … Amaretto. Perfect