Excerpt from Whidbey by T Kira Madden, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

So you're hiding? he asked. Why now?

Now people know about it, I said. So he's back.

I don't know about it.

Other people know, I said, trust me. I thought of the book. The photo on the cover. The New York Times Bestseller stickers glinting from her cheeks on the wall display at the airport. Trace had pulled my hand to keep walking. I was supposed to spend the summer on Whidbey to reset and recalibrate unplugged, to find that safety bubble, at last. These were other peoples' words, but I knew how to use them.

What does this guy say he wants? Rich said.

He says all kinds of stuff. Says he wants to apologize.

Does he, apologize?

Depends.

On what?

On how you see it. How you think of apologies.

So what's your issue? he asked.

A woman pushed inside from the deck, and the wind fluttered Rich's hair before the door snapped closed. She was yelling into her phone to someone named Joey, and she said his name a lot: Joey, I said what I said. Listen, Joey, I'm not coming to Ballard, Joey, don't be so stupid.

The issue, I said, is he finds me. He doesn't go away. He's out now, and he writes me—

Words aren't violence, Rich said. He shook his head.

This is a violent person.

Well, Rich said. You say he's a pedophile. Why would he care about you now?

I didn't like somebody else talking about Calvin like he knew him, coolly calling him a pedophile. It was unnerving to hear it so casually with no bulk to it; his tone ground my deliberateness and my fear to dust, the life I'd lived leading to that word of who Calvin was, and the thorned acceptance of what that made me.

You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, I said. I looked him in the eyes.

Oh, there it is, Rich said. He smiled again. There, that's where it lives.

I looked down at my fingers as if something were stuck there, something to be addressed. My fingertips, frayed from picking. Blood dried in horseshoes around the nail beds. I tried to focus it, the swell, the heat rising inside, a crimp in the gullet. Not the crying kind—but the other feeling. There it is. I looked back up at Rich.

It's 'cause you're too nice, Rich said. Guys fuck with girls like you because you let them.

I'd kill him, if I could, I said. I'd shoot him in the dick.

That's how you'd do it?

The dick, then the head.

Nah, you wouldn't, he said. Let me guess, you sleep with a gun, right? What kind?

I said nothing. Rich leaned closer. A focused crouch, hands ready, as if dribbling a ball.

Tell me. Smith and Wesson, 38 Special? You sleep with a big boyfriend, too?

I'm a dyke, actually.

Hey, girl, I'm cool with that, he said. Then, a thought behind his face. Slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he said it: You'd let him do it again, before shooting him. You don't have that in you. Guarantee.

You have no idea, I said, and we sat there for a moment, the fluorescent ticking overhead. The boat slowed. I didn't go to Stanford, I said.

The woman screamed at Joey some more from a nearby bench. She plugged one ear as she listened to what he had to say. I thought Joey had been a boy, but now it sounded as if he had been a lousy lover and owed her money. She hung up and threw the phone into her big purse, said, Unbelievable, to the rest of us.

Where's the bad guy live? Rich said.

Florida.

Florida Man.

Don't shit on Florida, that's a boring thing to do, I said.

You still live there?

No.

Exactly. So where's he in Florida?

Do you know what a pervert park is? I said, trying to prove a lax knowledge of my own life. That's what they call them in Florida. Where he lives. It's called Gateway to Grace.

I work East Coast a lot—cargo ships, cruise lines, Rich said. I'm down there next week, staying through summer. I got friends in Opa-locka.

Excerpted from Whidbey by T Kira Madden. Copyright © 2026 by T Kira Madden. Excerpted by permission of Mariner Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.