Stepdog (33 page)

F
or general assistance, advice, guidance, and love, I am joyfully indebted to:

Kathy Cain, for early enthusiasm and the unforgettable reassurance that “the Irish use the word ‘fuck' as if it were a comma.” My favorite official Irishman, Billy Meleady, without whom this book would not be possible—or necessary! The Gorgeous Group—Kate Feiffer, Laura Roosevelt, Cathy Walthers, Melissa Hackney, and Jamie Stringfellow—for responding at all the right spots in all the right ways, when this was still in utero. Brian Caspe, Eowyn Mader, and my ever-wonderful attorney Marc H. Glick for being my hearty “early readers.” My fantastic agent, Liz Darhansoff, and equally fantastic editor, Jennifer Brehl, for their continued faith in me, especially in supporting and standing by as I shifted gears. In an age obsessed with “branding” you have chosen to let me un-brand myself and that's a biggie.

For the “radical hospitality” of providing me a space and opportunity to create during an otherwise very chaotic time,
Hedgebrook Retreat is the nonpareil of writing residencies. If I wrote their name seventeen times here, it would not be enough to express my gratitude. But they are not the only ones who opened a door and provided a desk to work at. For that I must also warmly thank Deb Dobkin & Tim Bernett, Lynne Adams & George Fifield, Dick Davenport & Derry Woodhouse, and Louisa Williams & Chris Brooks. Much of the best work done on this book was done in your guest rooms, porches, and at your kitchen tables.

A shout-out to the “real” Alex Craggs, a British writer who participated in an auction for Authors for Philippines, Red Cross Typhoon Haiyan Appeal . . . and won the right to have a character named after him. (I believe he thought he would get to be a feudal lord; he was a great sport about the change of genre.) Douglas Finn, in exchange for holding my Luddite hand through the terror of computer work, is similarly responsible for naming Dougie Martin.

For individuals generously offering their time and expertise (I take full responsibility for all errors):

“Podunk Plenipotentiary” Mark Judson; my cousin Johannes Jerez Van Osten; Masters of the Industry Chris Parnell at Sony, Steve Breimer, Rich Green, and of course Marc H. Glick again; Mim Douglas, the ethical housecleaner; fight choreographer Scott Barrow; fiddler Jay Ansill; Dr. Michelle Jasny, veterinarian; Cindy Kane and Wayne Ranney, who know the Grand Canyon far better than I do; and Beverly Conklin and Linda Apple at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

A special thanks, I suppose, to the USCIS and Department of
Homeland Security for our (relatively mild) matriculation into the immigration process.

And finally, to Anna Yukevich, who innocently prompted my newly minted husband to protest for the first time ever: “She's not my dog, she's my wife's dog.” I suspected right away there was a book in that.

NICOLE GALLAND'S
five previous novels are
The Fool's Tale; Revenge of the Rose
;
Crossed
;
I, Iago
; and
Godiva.
She writes a cheeky etiquette column for the
Martha's Vineyard Times
. She is married to actor Billy Meleady and owns Leuco, a dog of splendid qualities.

www.nicolegalland.com

Friend her on Facebook: /nicolegalland

Follow her on Twitter: @nicolegalland

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

M
Y HISTORICAL FICTION
is autobiographical in a very private, metaphorical way that only I can see (at least I hope so).
Stepdog
is obviously different. I've never worked at a museum, but I really did marry an Irish actor-friend right after falling in love, because he really did need a green card for a work opportunity. It was my idea—we didn't tell anyone until we had to—we didn't even live together at first and when we did, my dog on the bed really was the first moment of tension between us.

So all of that's true, as are sundry other items. But most of it is fiction, because when you write a novel, you're not only allowed to make things up, you are, in fact,
expected
to. The middle bit is all invented. (For starters, my dog was never kidnapped.)

Then there's the road trip across America, from eastern Massachusetts to Los Angeles. In real life, we took the trip that Rory and Sara (well, mostly Sara) planned but could not execute. One MINI Cooper, two adult humans, one fifty-pound dog, lots of stuff. I did not know then that I would write this book (although I had a feeling it was on its way), but I knew a good research opportunity when I saw it. Billy—bless him!—did almost all of the driving . . . as I sat in the passenger seat, laptop open, staring out the window and touch-typing what I saw, hours on end, for the better part of two weeks.

“Near Quantico, cascades of wild wisteria over a period of about a mile, riotously, joyously strangling the trees they grow up, distracting us from their destructive powers by being both exotic and dainty at the same time.”

“Wild dogwoods here and there in the woods, pretty little exclamation marks in the green calligraphy of the woods.”

“Rain sprays up from the pavement, the windshield wipers make a high-toned sigh, like they have coal-miners lung.”

“Chattanooga feels like a Berkshire city with its corsets loosened.”

The eighty pages of notes are often stream-of-consciousness, sometimes maddeningly vague, sometimes absurdly specific. I went on and on about the degree to which different species of trees had leafed out in which states. I obsessed on the color of the clover on the side of the road, the color of the soil, the color of the pavement, the colors used for traffic-hazard signs in different states. I transcribed evangelical radio shows, diligently tracked the temperature and humidity, marked how the road dividers were spaced and what the license plates of each state looked like. (I also noted, in rather ridiculous detail,
everything
about my dog's behavior in the car.) I did not know how I would ever use this information, but I was sure it would be useful somewhere.

And lo, it came to pass.

—Nicole Galland

I
HAVE A TENDENCY
to ascribe songs to people, and I've been asked to do the same for the places on my road trip. So I said I'd give it a little go. Not even pretending this is comprehensive (or proportional), so don't start chucking things at me please. Thanks.

—Rory O'Connor

“America” (Neil Diamond)
—Obviously I had to get my arse to America before I could travel across it. This song chokes me up, and in fairness, the man has a unique voice, one of a kind.

“New England” (Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers)
—The whole region is so small, it can be summed up in one song. This is that song. I always smile and chuckle when I hear it, and I'm always happy to be in this part of the country.

“New York City” (T. Rex)
—Bet you thought I was going to say Sinatra or Billy Joel. In Ireland, Marc Bolan's band was huge. Died too young, poor fella. He wrote some classics.

“Jersey Girl” (Tom Waits)
—My girl is not a Jersey Girl, but she's all I could think about when I was in Jersey.

“Delaware” (Perry Como)
—As soon as I hear or read the name, this song pops into my head. And I am a sucker for bad puns. And I remember my aunties and
uncles singing and dancing to it when I was growing up in Dublin.

“What's New in Baltimore?” (Frank Zappa)
—Perfectly captures my fractured, agitated mood as I was driving through Maryland. No offense, Maryland, it's not your fault I was in the state I was in. So to speak.

“The Lees of Old Virginia” (
1776
)
— I was in a production of 1776, and this song is an earworm. Corny as hell but so very catchy.

“Adagio of Sonata #1 in D Major” (Corelli)
—This was Thomas Jefferson's favorite piece, and seeing as how I associate it with Jefferson, and Jefferson with Virginia, this piece = Virginia.

“Tempie Roll Down Your Bangs” (Tommy Jarrell)
—Nothing says North Carolina like some kick-ass Appalachian music.

“Oh Carolina” (the Shaggy version)
—It's not about the state, but it's great crack!

“The Tennessee Waltz” (The Chieftains featuring Tom Jones)
—Lovely song. Plus the lyrics boil down to: “Someone I trusted stole my female companion right out from under my nose.” Enough said.

“Chattanooga Choo Choo” (Glenn Miller Orchestra)
—You can't see the
word
Chattanooga
without this song getting stuck in your head.

“Head's in Georgia” (J. J. Cale and Eric Clapton)
—Because my head was in Georgia while my feet
were
California-bound.

“Georgia on My Mind” (Ray Charles)
—It was right there on the “Welcome” sign!

“Alabama” (Neil Young) and “Sweet Home Alabama” (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
—Work it out, lads. I'm staying out of it.

“M.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i.” (Ella Fitzgerald)
—How could I pass up a chance to include Ella on a playlist?

“That's How I Got to Memphis” (Tom T. Hall)
—That is pretty much exactly how I got to Memphis.

“Arkansas Traveler” (the Pine Tree String Band version)
—It's about being in Arkansas, and traveling, and playing the fiddle, and rain bucketing down, so it's a bit of a shoo-in.

“A Little Past Little Rock” (Lee Ann Womack)
—She's driving in the wrong direction, but she knows how to describe an unhappy road trip. And what a voice.

“Oklahoma!” (Rodgers & Hammerstein)
—I starred in the show, I played Curly.

“Pretty Boy Floyd” (Woody Guthrie)
—He was the Robin Hood of Oklahoma. I always had a soft spot for rebels.

“Rollin' By” (Lyle Lovett)
—If you've ever driven through Texas, you know why this is
the
song about driving through Texas.

“Breaking Bad Main Title Theme” (Dave Porter)
—This perfectly captures what it feels like to drive through New Mexico.

“Willin'” (Little Feat)
—Classic rock song about somebody driving through Arizona. Although, he had drugs, and I didn't.

“Take It Easy” (Eagles)
—It's a good song for Arizona.
“Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.”
Need I say more?

“Home” (Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes)
—Because it's true, home is wherever I'm with her.

Scan the below QR code to be linked to the
Stepdog
Road Trip playlist on Spotify!

Rory nicked this recipe from Nicole Cabot.
^*

Serves 4 hungry adults

Ingredients

2 Tbsp. coconut oil

8 boneless skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1½-inch cubes

1 large yellow onion, diced

1 Tbsp. olive oil

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 Tbsp. fresh ginger, minced

2 Tbsp. Garam Masala

1 tsp. turmeric powder

½ tsp. ground cardamom

1 tsp. cumin

1 Tbsp. sweet paprika

2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. ground black pepper

¼ tsp. cayenne pepper, or to taste

1 small can tomato paste

1½ cups whole milk plain yogurt plus extra ½ cup for garnish

2 bay leaves

1 cup full-fat coconut milk (or cream)

Juice of half a lemon

Chopped cilantro for garnish

Directions:

1. Heat the coconut oil in large cast iron or other heavy skillet until
shimmering. Add chicken in batches to brown. Set aside.

2. Add onion and olive oil to the skillet and cook on low heat 3–4 minutes until softened. Add garlic and ginger. Cook for 1 minute. Add all ground spices and cook 30 seconds on medium heat. Turn off heat.

3. Return chicken to pan. Coat with spices. Add tomato paste and yogurt and coat the chicken. Pour everything into a heavy, covered baking dish or Crock-Pot. Add bay leaves. Cook in a crock pot for 3 hours on low, or in oven at 300°F for 1 hour and 30 minutes. Check that temperature of chicken reaches 165°F.

4. Stir in the coconut milk or cream and lemon juice until warmed through. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Serve with basmati rice, naan bread, extra yogurt and chopped cilantro.