The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

“I love you,” I say, in a rush of breath. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I love you so much, Rosie,” she whispers. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

I wonder if she hears it, before she hangs up, when I press the phone to my chest and hold it there—the rustle of fabric, the sound of those choked almost-sobs. I see the seconds keep ticking on my phone for a full beat before the call ends, so I think she heard it. I’m okay with that.

I keep holding it there. I take a breath. And I let it go.

JANUARY 1, NOW

LISTEN: IT HAS been two hours, twenty-five minutes, and thirty-eight seconds since you said your goodbyes and left Lotus Valley behind you.

You are long past the California border, and in the distance, you see city lights. This is where you will pull onto the shoulder and switch on your hazards. This is where you will climb out of the car and wander a little down the road, far enough that those city lights disappear into the edge of your periphery. Just far enough that you move past the path of your headlights and into black, reaching distance.

Even here, outside your car, outside the cities, with only the stars for light, you should be able to make out glimpses of the desert through the dark. But what you are looking at is not desert.

It looks infinite from here, this ocean of recorded time.

“Not much farther now,” you whisper. It’s anyone’s guess whether this wine-dark sea can hear you. But you don’t go through what the two of you did without sharing a language. You both know that, if nothing else.

It’s so quiet now. You have to hold very, very still, and breathe very, very gently to hear that little cry from the churning water. Rose, are you there? Rose, are you there? That same sentence: looping, calling, unanswered forever.

But listen: Today it is as far away as it has ever been. It is an echo, a receding footstep, the last syllable of a dying sound. It is an alarm defending a still and empty house, long after the intruder has gone.

Keep listening. It gets quieter and quieter every day.

Resources

Post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, affects about eight million people in the United States alone.

In the media and pop culture, PTSD is most commonly connected to first responders and military veterans. But PTSD can affect anyone after any kind of traumatic event. If you relate to any of Rose’s symptoms, or if you are otherwise struggling in the wake of a traumatic experience, you don’t have to struggle alone.

The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) has a comprehensive overview of PTSD symptoms and treatments, which you can access here: nami.org/About-Mental-Illness/Mental-Health-Conditions/Posttraumatic-Stress-Disorder/Overview. For information, referrals, and support, you can call 800-950-NAMI, or for crisis counseling, you can text HOME to 741741 if you are in the US or Canada. Text options for the UK and Ireland may be found at crisistextline.org.

If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please consider reaching out to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255, or accessing their live chat at suicidepreventionlifeline.org. You can also find a directory of international suicide prevention hotlines here: suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html.

Sharing your experiences with PTSD can be intimidating. You may worry that your trauma is “not bad enough” to justify your struggles. Please don’t forget: Your pain is real. You deserve support. And you deserve to be heard.

Acknowledgments

Thank you, first and foremost, to my incomparable agent, Hannah Fergesen, without whom this book would not exist in its current form. I am grateful every day for your humor, patience, honesty, and editorial brilliance. I’m so lucky to have you in my corner and I’m so lucky to know you.

I am equally lucky to know Alex Sanchez, editor extraordinaire, who has been a champion for this book beyond anything I could have imagined. Thank you for your insight, your creativity, your trust, and your always impeccable style—it is such a joy to work with you and this story is so much richer for it. Thank you as well to the wonderful Razorbill team, including publisher Casey McIntyre, copyeditors Marinda Valenti and Jody Corbett, proofreaders Krista Ahlberg and Maddy Newquist, cover artist Matt Saunders, cover designer Maggie Edkins, and everyone who put their time, energy, and enthusiasm into making this book so beautiful. Thank you as well to Dr. Jennifer L. Hartstein for her careful read-through and advice.

Thank you to the Writers Room of Boston, where I wrote and revised the majority of this book, and to Debka, Alexander, and the fantastic community there. Thank you as well to the crew at Futurescapes for your invaluable feedback on the first chapter, for showing me the desert sky, and for all of your I-15 fact-checking.

The Valley and the Flood could not have been written without the brilliant, hilarious, boundlessly talented communities surrounding me. There are so many people who have given me advice, support, and hope over the years, and it would be impossible to name them all, but I’m going to try anyway. Thank you to the writers of the Mr. Crepe group (with thanks to Rachel for bringing us together), the Kidlit Alliance, and the Roaring Twenties, and thank you to my friends of the 198 (with special thanks to Kendra for being my first ARC reader), the Bridge Podcast crew, and the Forest of Mutual Pining. Thank you especially to my fellow KT Literary clients, especially my fellow Hannah clients. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

I especially want to thank: Susan and Kate, two of the kindest and most generous people on this planet and the best writing crew I could ask for; Christine, my fabulous Salt Friend, whose words and excellent company sustain me in equal measure; Shannon, the funniest person I know and the best dinner companion I could ask for; the