True Colors (53 page)
Dallas came up beside her, sliding a hand possessively around her waist. The movement was like a release switch. They all came together at once, crying and hugging. And when it was over, Vivi Ann found herself standing in the grass of Water’s Edge, holding her husband’s hand, staring through tears at this family of hers—the Greys—and the land that defined them. From here, she could see the mighty evergreens shooting up behind the cabin, their roots driven deep into the fertile soil, and the rolling green fields, dormant now in this cold autumn month, but ready to grow again when the spring sunlight returned. Below the barn lay the house where she had grown up, a girl among girls, knowing always how it felt to belong. It was something she would pass on, not just to her son, but to her husband, who didn’t yet understand that he belonged here, on this land, in this place. It would be their gift to him, the thing this generation of Greys passed on to the next: the knowledge that it wasn’t property lines or markers on a man’s land that outlined the boundaries of a home. It was who you were that mattered, how you stayed together in hard times, the people you held in your heart.
You probably don’t even know how you saved me with your stupid questions, Mrs. I
.
Who am I? That was the one that got me. I didn’t know in ninth grade who I was or who I wanted to be and I sure as hell didn’t want to ask. But now I do
.
When my dad came home, everything changed. Almost as soon as we got to Water’s Edge, people started showing up. First, it was Myrtle and Cissy Michaelian and her dad
.
We all just stood there for a minute. It was like some weird, quiet game of Red Rover, Red Rover, with them by the truck and us by the arena. Then Myrtle walked up to my dad and said: I was wrong, I guess
.
It’s okay, he said real quiet
.
I saw what it meant to Cissy’s grandmother, his forgiving her, and for the first time in my life I knew how it felt to be proud of my dad
.
Then he went over to Cissy and said, So you’re the girl my boy loves
.
And Cissy nodded and started to cry and said, I hope I am
.
You started it all, dad said. Thank you
.
After that, Cissy came over to me and kissed me and it was like it all hadn’t happened, only it had, and I was glad because right then, with all of that going on, I thought: this is who I am
.
I’m a Grey and a Raintree and this land I never cared about is where I belong, and this town isn’t what I thought. Oh, some people don’t believe in my dad or me—and maybe they never will, but that’s okay. Because we believe, and we’re here together. And lots of people came over to tell my dad welcome home. Except grandpa of course. That really pissed me off, but when I said something to dad, he just smiled kinda and said, I get it. Cut the old man some slack. So I’ll try
.
And that night, when everyone had gone, and it was just mom and dad and me in our house, I looked out the window, and I saw Renegade staring up at us. Dad came up beside me and put his arm around me and said, I thought about you every night, Noah. Every night
.
That’s when mom came up and stood beside us and said, What are my boys doing over here by themselves?
And I said the only thing I could think of: waiting for you
.
That’s done now, my mom said. This family’s waited long enough. Who wants to play cards?
And my dad said, Yeah. It’s about time I taught my son to play poker
.
His son
.
That was when I had my answer, when I finally knew who I was
.
Again, to Kany Levine, for his help in legal matters, large and small.
To Holly Bruhn, thanks for answering all my quirky horse-related questions, and for reading so closely for mistakes. I owe you one.
To Andrea Cirillo and the phenomenal team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency. How could I get through all of this without your support and encouragement?
To the amazing team at St. Martin’s Press: Thank you for everything.
And to the various Innocence Projects around the country, who fight for justice one case at a time. I salute you.
by Kristin Hannah
•
A Conversation with the Author
An Original Essay by Kristin Hannah
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ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFIN
In Her Own WordsA Conversation with the Author
Last year, my novel
Firefly Lane
was published in trade paperback, and book clubs around the country embraced it. Fortunately for me, many of those clubs requested a phone book club visit through my Web site, and I have spoken to literally hundreds of women in the past year. We have fun, informative, casual conversations about books, life, family, friends, and what it means to be a woman today. As always, with each new conversation, I am reminded of how connected we women are, how closely our lives align, regardless of where in the world we live. These are some of the questions I am asked most often about
True Colors. . . .
“This is a story that is very firmly rooted in time and place.”
What was the seed that started this story? What made you want to write it in the first place?
This story came from a most unexpected place: my love of the law. It’s been years since I was a practicing attorney and, to be honest, I was glad to leave that career in my rearview mirror when I began writing. In the twenty years that I’ve been writing novels, I have touched on the justice system only rarely. I didn’t think I had anything of real importance to say about it. And then the DNA testing revolution began. Like so many people, I watched the news and was fascinated—and horrified—to learn about the innocent people who had been wrongly convicted, and I cheered when those convictions were overturned due to DNA testing. With a little more research into the topic, I began to realize how difficult the system makes it for convicts to have these tests run. Obviously, no one wants to set guilty people free, but the idea that innocent people are sitting behind bars, having lost all hope, is intolerable.
That was all it took and I was hooked. Instantly I was at the “what if” stage of writing. What if a man was convicted based on eyewitness testimony in a small town—a place where the witness was trusted and the man on trial was not? What if he was your husband? How long would you wait for him? How long could you? What would your life like look like while he was in prison? What if you couldn’t afford the very best defense team to help you navigate through the criminal justice system? And lastly, what would you say to your child about his father?
Once those pieces were in place—the backbone of the plot—I looked to populate my story, and I knew immediately that I wanted the book to be about much more than a fractured legal system. I wanted it to be about a family.
Sisters and the law. That’s how this story came together for me, became a novel about sisters and small-town injustice and the price we all pay for prejudice.
Your books all seem to be intensely personal. Where are “you” in
True Colors?
My books are often personal. I tend to derive inspiration from my own life, as well as the lives of my friends and family. In
True Colors
the element that is most personal is the setting. First, there’s the physical landscape. This novel is set in a secret, practically unknown corner of Washington State. Honestly, a lot of the locals don’t even know about it. The warm waters of Hood Canal really form the foundation of the novel. It’s a majestic, astounding vista—the blue water, the gray sandbanks, the snowcapped peaks on the opposite shore. It’s one of the very rare places in the state where you can swim in seawater. It really is commonplace to see a pod of orca whales swimming past on their way back out to sea.
In my opinion, this is a story that is very firmly rooted in time and place. In addition to the physical location, there’s the “horsey” setting. As I talk about in another section of this reader guide, I was a horse girl as a kid. You know the kind—dressed in faded Levi jeans, with a pair of ragged braids, a dusty white cowboy hat. I spent most of my free time trail riding or training my horse or working to buy a new bridle. Now, there are “horse people” all over the world, and each of these locations has its own special culture. For the cowboys and cowgirls in western Washington, it’s not about sprawling ranches or tricked-out barns or expensive horses. It’s about a sense of community and a love of rodeos. It’s about 4-H and Independence Day parades and barn dances. I hope this novel gives readers a glimpse into this unique world.