Lauren Groff: Delicate Edible Birds: And Other Stories

At long last, the door of the cottage opened, and Bern emerged. She had lost a great deal of weight in the last few days, and her clothing hung on her; she moved as if sore, and her lip seemed torn and bleeding, as if she had bitten through it. She climbed up beside Parnell, who glanced sideways at her, his eyes liquid and fearful. Viktor turned on the engine, and looked at Bern in the mirror, willing her to look back; Lucci, tentatively, put his hand on her cheek. Her skin was icy and white as wax. The world seemed to slow for a moment — there was the moon like a half-closed eye — the wind had died and so everything seemed to hold its breath. But Bern would not look at Viktor and grabbed Lucci’s hand and threw it back at him.

Don’t, she said, very softly. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. Go.

But they didn’t, at first. A hawk over the trees darted down. There was the wail of a distant plane. When it passed, they were able to hear the silence of the woods, as if it had gathered itself in and was waiting for the conflict to end. At last, Bern said, Go, again, and Viktor started up the jeep. Frank cleared his throat and turned his face toward the sky; Parnell sighed. The engine throbbed and the jeep pulled away from the cottage, into the trees. And for hours they drove like this, in silence, southwest, toward a certain kind of safety.

I OWE MY GRATITUDE TO MANY PEOPLE AND ORGANIZATIONS, chief among them:

Everyone at Hyperion and Voice, especially my editor, Barbara Jones, who dove in like a champion and made this collection (wildly) better, Ellen Archer, Sarah Landis, and Allison McGeehon, all of whom believed; and Pam Dorman, at Viking now, but not forgotten.

The faculty and my fellow students of the MFA program at the University of Wisconsin, where half of these stories were written, especially Lorrie Moore, Jesse Lee Kercheval, Judith Claire Mitchell, and Ron Kuka.

The editors who selected some of these stories for their journals and anthologies: C. Michael Curtis, Heidi Pitlor, Stephen King, Natalie Danford, Richard Bausch, Susan Burmeister-Brown, Linda Swanson-Davies, Don Lee, and Bill Henderson.

The Corporation of Yaddo; the Vermont Studio Center; and Anne Axton and the University of Louisville’s Creative Writing Department for the Axton Fellowship.

My agent, Bill Clegg, an honest and true friend of my work.

My brilliant posse of readers: Steph Bedford, Kevin A. González, and Sarah Groff.

My family and beloved (though neglected) friends.

The brave and beautiful women whose stories inspired this collection.

And, mostly, to Clay, my first reader, who was there at the birth of each of these stories and whose constant love made them come alive.

Lauren Groffwas born in Cooperstown, New York, and grew up one block from the Baseball Hall of Fame. She has a BA from Amherst College and an MFA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her short stories have appeared in several literary publications, including The Atlantic Monthly and Ploughshares , as well as in the anthologies Best American Short Stories 2007, Pushcart Prize XXXII , and Best New American Voices 2008 . She was awarded the Axton Fellowship in Fiction at the University of Louisville, and has had residencies and fellowships at Yaddo and the Vermont Studio Center.