The Trouble With Drowning

The following is an excerpt from The Trouble With Drowning, by Heather Hach, available now from Greenleaf Book Group.

PROLOGUE

Two Years Ago

FUCK ME SHE’S BEAUTIFUL.

Kat nearly laughed at her thought, it was so positively lecherous. For a splitsecond she wondered if this meant she was, in fact, a lesbian after all. Never mind that she’d never had such a thought before in her entire life.

“That’s me,” the woman beamed, pointing to the sign in Kat’s hands. Kat held up a flimsy handmade placard reading EDEN HART. The sign was so amateurish it was embarrassing.

“I’m Kat. I’ll be your driver today. Your own Uber extraordinaire,” she cracked, and instantly regretted the line — it was something an aunt would say to prove to her niece she was, in fact, pretty darn cool. Thankfully, Eden laughed, her smile so white it practically twinkled with a little star. Meanwhile, Kat was just glad she’d woken up in time to brush her teeth at all. “Alright then!” Eden said cheerfully. “So do you work at Antigone Books?”

“I do, yeah. I’m an assistant manager, actually. I started working there a few years ago when I moved to the area.”

“Well, I’m excited to check out Tucson. I’ve heard great things.”

“I would temper those expectations.”Eden grinned and pushed voluminous waves out of her face — it was so much hair to contend with, an absolute beast of honeyed magic. Self-consciously, Kat brushed her own locks behind her ears. She had deep, dark hair that was cut simple and practical — let’s be honest, it was practically Amish — but Kat wasn’t really in a position to invest in monthly salon treatments. Now she desperately wished her hair skills transcended the ponytail. She liked to think she was above such trivialities, but looking at Eden Hart, Kat realized most decisively she was not.

“Do you have luggage?”Eden pointed to her light blue Away carry-on.

“I pack lightly.”

“Even for a book reading?”

“It’s just two days, and it is Tucson. Bulky sweaters need not apply.” Kat smiled and started for the airport exit; Eden followed.

“I have to apologize now for my car. It’s not exactly a luxury town car.”

“Thank god. I actually sort of hate being driven in them. Like I’m a Kardashian or something terrible like that.”

“Oh, you’ll be ‘one of the normal people’ with me, alright.” They walked outside into the unforgiving sunlight and punishing heat.

“Whoa! Hello, Tucson!” Eden fumbled for her sunglasses tucked into her Chloé purse. They were oversized, almost clunky, and a weird lime green color but still somehow endlessly fashionable.

“You get used to the heat.”

“I find that hard to believe. But . . . it’s sort of nice, actually. The never-ending chill and rain in Seattle don’t exactly do wonders for someone on anti-anxiety meds.” Kat stopped. This dewy fawn needed medication? Noting her pause, Eden explained, “Look, I believe in transparency. I assume you’ve read my book? I mean, it is called Blue.”

Kat’s face turned crimson, and her brow furrowed in self-doubt. “I did! And I loved it! Loved. I mean, I’m not a, you know, usual children’s book . . . aficionado. But yours . . . was amazing. And the illustrations. Just . . . wow. It’s no wonder you won the Caldecott.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry. About your fiancé, I mean.” Kat popped the trunk of her stupid Honda with its dumb dings and scrapes. Eden set the luggage inside and closed the trunk.

“Thanks. It hasn’t been easy. Which is putting it mildly. But art helps.” “Always.”

Eden crawled into the front seat, recoiling from the molten, sticky heat. “Please tell me you have A/C,” she pleaded.

“I’m not a monster.”

Eden let out a robust chuckle and flashed another blinding smile, but this time Kat wasn’t thinking about her own flaws. Instead, she was flattered and basked in Eden’s brief attention.

As they exited the airport and pulled onto the freeway, Eden looked out the window. Kat forced herself not to stare at her profile. That nose! It was the sort of nose that you’d take a picture of into the plastic surgeon’s office and say, “I want to look like that.” Without thinking, Kat touched her nose, feeling the slight bump across the bridge. For a moment, she considered asking Eden if she’d had work done.

“What brought you to Tucson?” Eden asked, thankfully preventing Kat from making an even bigger embarrassment of herself.

“Oh, well, I’m a writer, too. Yeah. I just got my MFA from U. of A. on scholarship.”

“Nice. Good for you! Great writing program, right?”

“One of the best. I’m also working on my memoir now.”

Eden nodded, her face tilted once more toward the window, watching the desert pass by. “I see why people find it inspiring here. It’s so . . . stark. And beautiful at the same time.”

“I like it. Tucson is its own little strange creature of a town. And you’re just gonna love Hotel Congress. It’s super cool. Vintage and charming, good music scene, and a fun bar.”

“I love a fun bar,” Eden said, catching sight of herself in the side-view mirror and then frowning. “Speaking of bars — ha ha! — do you know of a nearby Dry Bar?” Kat shook her head slowly from side to side, uncertain. God, how she wished she knew what a Dry Bar even was.

“You know, a hair salon? Just for a blowout. It’s sort of indulgent and stupid — I mean, I doubt Joan Didion required this — but I try to get one before each reading.”

“Of course! Duh! Well . . . I’m not sure, actually. Concierge will be able to help, though.” Kat watched Eden loft her billowing blonde hair atop her head and nearly swooned.

“But . . . your hair looks so nice. You know. Now.”

Eden released her hands, her hair tumbling like a Disney princess, spilling onto her shoulders. “No, it’s too much. Frizzy and crazy.”

“It’s beautiful!” Kat took a shallow breath, realizing the admission was too eager. She gripped the spongy steering wheel tight.

“You know how it goes, Kat,” Eden said, digging into her purse for a tin of mints, pulling one out and closing the box with precision.

“People always want what they can’t have.” She popped the tiny mint into her perfect mouth and stared out the window once more.

Antigone Books had no formal decorations for Eden’s reading. There wasn’t bottled water or wine, no table with platters of cheese and crackers.

Then again, Kat doubted they would have been necessary — no one was here for the light apps, they were here for the person behind this impressive debut. Kat had researched Eden Hart when she was assigned to pick her up at the airport. Two articles later, Kat was hooked. Eden had been a successful children’s book illustrator in her own right — Kat recognized her work — but Blue had been Eden’s first foray into writing herself. A piece in the Seattle Times chronicled how Eden transformed her experience of losing her fiancé to cancer into the bestselling story, which didn’t seem like the most obvious inspiration for a new children’s classic. But Eden handled the subject with honesty and skill, with both a light touch and a somber acknowledgment of pain. Kat agreed Eden’s work skated the line of grief and madness, hope and despair. The book was embraced as a welcome addition in a parched field, and her work assumed kids could not only handle the truth but would welcome being treated with such respect.

The advance praise and shining reviews for Blue had generated quite a bit of buzz in the days leading up to Eden’s signing. Hours before the event was scheduled to begin, there was an overspill of people out onto the sidewalk. Eager fans, young and old alike, clutched copies of her book, hoping for a few words with Eden, studying her with adoring eyes.

Kat watched Eden along with the others, similarly mesmerized, as she made her way to the dais and collected herself with practiced poise. It was obvious from Eden’s shiny, blow-dried hair that she had, indeed, found a Dry Bar after all. After dropping off Eden at Hotel Congress — and Eden had cooed appropriately, charmed by the landmark hotel — Kat had gone straight to Creations Boutique on 4th Street and bought a sleek jumpsuit for the reading. It was chic and flattering, and she didn’t want to look down at her stupid linen culottes with the tiny holes when Eden spoke. Kat had assumed the purchase would make her feel fabulous; mostly it made her just not feel terrible.

Eden read her entire children’s book to the teeming room, her voice assured and lyrical, grief-stricken but melodic. Neither Kat nor the others would know that this was Eden’s largest event to date, and she was, in fact, overwhelmed with nerves. The audience was particularly attentive, drinking in her words as if they were an exotic nectar. The laughs were appropriate; there were also distinct sniffles and muffled tears toward the end. Eden held them in the palm of her hand.

For the Q & A, hands shot into the air, waving with the mania of a hundred valedictorians. Eden happily called on her pupils, delighted by their thoughtful questions, noticeably basking in their perhaps-too-generous praise. She was very good at humble. She was almost convincing.

One by one, Eden answered each question, addressed each comment. Some people spoke about their own experiences with grief, others thanked her for “getting them through it.” She listened to each one of them, keeping sincere eye contact and casting sympathetic gazes. She was an entity unto herself.

As Eden’s hypnotic voice reverberated around the store, Kat momentarily forgot that she was at work. She should have been double-checking the signing table and making sure there were enough copies of the book. Instead, Kat was transfixed by Eden’s voice, the personal depth she was sharing, and the adoration from the audience. Kat wondered what this all must feel like — to not only have a literary hit on your hands but also experience this praise in person. Eden had a following, and her readers genuinely loved her. There must be a special kind of pleasure and satisfaction in that kind of success, to have that kind of impact on others.

Kat reminded herself Eden had lost her fiancé. Life wasn’t only green lights and rainbows for her. Eden had been through her own hell. Kat was embarrassed to admit it, but if she were being honest, now that she’d glimpsed what literary success felt like — it’s all she wanted for her own memoir.

Kat would gladly suffer any loss if that’s what it took. Anything.