I don’t understand why a loss of equilibrium should make someone happy. I don’t like dizziness. But maybe if your world is changing beyond recognition, seeing it upside down helps. Maybe being upside down does something beneficial to your heart. I asked Simon.

“Not really,” he said. “The baroreceptor system notes changes in arterial blood pressure and tells the brain to adapt, compensating for forces exerted outside the body. But I don’t want to bore you with physiology. Or physics.”

The mention of physiology and physics made me think of herpetology, the science of amphibians and reptiles, which made me think of metamorphosis, of little tadpoles changing into frogs, learning to live upon the earth, which led to birds chirping in my head, and bunnies cavorting in meadows, signs that I’d reached the border of my brain’s tolerance for math and science and philosophy and all things cerebral. “Well, anyway,” I said. “You know what Feynman said.”

Simon looked at me, hands in his pockets. He smiled. “What did he say?”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. His eyes, blue enough to swim in, widened in surprise.

I stood on tiptoe to tell him. “Kiss her, you fool.”

acknowledgments

So many people shared with me their time, imagination, kindness, and expertise. Among them: Dr. Barry Fisher and his staff at the Sheriff’s Department Crime Lab; Gary P. Chasteen and Lori N. Schumann at the Scientific Services Bureau of LASD; the Lost Hills Sheriff Station; Tony Hernandez and Craig Harvey at the Department of Coroner; Special Agent Jose Martinez of the DEA; and the LAPD, West Valley Division and Harbor Division. You are the good guys. Thanks to Jay Renfroe, David Garfinkle, Greg Normart, and the Blind Date Green Team-Joel, Lance, Ron, Sean, and Greg-guerrilla shooting at its finest; to Steve “no relation” Shelley; to Dan Rifkin; to EurAuPair, which, unlike its fictitious counterpart, always answers its phone; to Natasha Gervorkyan, for the ducks, the drums, and the horses; to Janalee P. Caldwell; to Sebastien Baumann, for giving up your lunch hour to a total stranger; to Dr. Joel Batzofin and Dr. Victoria Paterno and the pharmacist at Gelson’s; to Fabrice at LaCachette; to Mike Milligan, tree person, Sarah Priest, plant person, Heike Knorz, party girl, and the Meano Man; to Karen Joy Fowler and Carolyn Clark Shoemaker; to Patty and Robert Flournoy, for friendship and love of math; to Dan Reinehr; to Judi Sadowsky; to Stefanie Pinneo, Catrina Boca, Julie Renick, Earlene Fowler, Nelly Valladares, Chuck Lascheid, and Arie Kapteyn; to Shent Nee; to Michael States; to Juli Gottlieb-Juteau; to AJ Draven, Alan Predolin, Brent Wilkening, Jesse Shelley, Dave Famili, John Whitman, Kevin Bass, Marcus Kowal, Marni Levine, Romeo Portillo, Wade Allen, Sam Sade, and especially Vivian Cannon, the nicest bunch of people you’d never want to meet in a dark alley; to Carol Topping, Webgirl extraordinaire; to Cousin Beth; to Claire Carmichael and Gregg Hurwitz, who know everything and never tire of explaining it to me; to the Wednesday Night Group: Bob Shayne, Roger Angle, Linda Burrows, John Shepphird, Jonathan Beggs, and Nick Gillott, who shared my concern over each comma and every dead body; to Agatha and Rugi, Leah, Alessandra, Lisa and Batt, Rob and Jenny, Aunt Sandy and Uncle Jim; to Wendy and Gary Tigerman; to my sisters, Mary, Ann, Dory, and Joanie, and my brothers, Andrew, Joe, and Pete. Some year, huh? To Malibu Dan, and to Mrs. Malibu, for those hours he spent reading when he could have been rubbing your feet; to Joy Johannessen: No livnar det i lundar; to Stacy Creamer and Tracy Zupancis, my editors, and Rachel Pace and Meredith McGinnis, who go the extra ten miles, and to Joe Blades; to Amy Schiffman; to Renee Zuckerbrot, my amazing agent; to Uli Buchta and Anja Kubertschak, alle meine Entchen, who spent a year in our house and will spend a lifetime in our hearts; and to Greg, Audrey, Louie, and Gia, my ongoing happy ending.

Harley Jane Kozak