The weeks after Daisy's visit went the way the weeks had been going — slowly, the way water goes, the house and the lake and the work turning over each other. The frost hardened. The trees stood bare against the pale sky. Sophie's press sent the email on a Tuesday morning, and she read it twice at the kitchen table before she said anything.
"They want a second printing," she said. "The review did that."
"That's not nothing."
"No." She set the phone down, and the thing that was always open in her face was open wider. "I keep thinking about the woman in Portland. One sentence, and the whole book gets another life."
"That's how it works," Aaron said. "One sentence at a time. One reader at a time."
