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Part One

Before

What is passion? It is surely the beco of a personIn passion, the body and the spirit seek expressionThe more extreme and the more expressed that passion is, the more unbearable does life seem without it It reminds us that if passion dies or is denied, we are partly dead and that soon, come what may, ill be wholly so

—JOHN BOORMAN, FILM DIRECTOR

Prologue

1979

Fifteen-year-old Winona Grey stared out at the waterfront ranch that had been in her fa that had changed Loss like theirs should leave a one suddenly brown, dark clouds that refused to lift, a tree split by lightning So

Froe At the property’s back boundary, giant cedar trees stood clustered together, their lacy boughs draped doard; in the rolling green pastures, horses rass into muddy submission Up on the hill, tucked into the deep woods, was the srandfather had built when he homesteaded this land

It all looked ordinary, but Winona knew better A few years ago, a child had died in the cold waters along the Washington coast not far froedy was all anyone could talk about Moers, undercurrents that could drown you even in shalloater, but now she knew there were other threats lurking beneath the surface of everyday life

Turning away from the view, she went downstairs, into a house that felt too big and quiet since yesterday Her sister Aurora sat curled up on the blue and yellow plaid sofa, reading Pencil-thin and bony at fourteen, Aurora was in that aard stage that was neither quite childhood nor maturity She had a s and straight from a center part

“You’re up early, Sprout,” Winona said

Aurora looked up “Couldn’t sleep”

“Yeah Me, either”

“Vivi Ann’s in the kitchen I heard her crying a few ed her skinny shoulders “I don’t knohat to say”

Winona kne much Aurora needed life to be steady; she was the peace over and ile No pretty words could soothe theo,” Winona said

She found her twelve-year-old sister hunched over the yellow For a picture

“Hey, Bean,” Winona said, ruffling her sister’s hair

“Hey, Pea”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Drawing a picture of us girls” She stopped drawing and tilted her head to look up Her long wheat-blond hair was a bird’s nest of tangles and her green eyes were bloodshot fro, and still she was beautiful: a perfect Dresden doll “Mom will be able to see it from Heaven, won’t she?”