Someday

For most of his long life, Steven has kept things. A gray skipping-stone from a boyhood morning at the slough. A fishing lure a friend once went under the water for and handed up to him to keep. A windowsill’s worth of small objects that, set in their right order, tell the one story he has ever needed to tell, the story of Austal Moorer, the boy he grew up beside, and the love that ran like a low current beneath every year that followed. Now, old enough to say the truest things without flinching, Steven sets that love down on the page. Someday is the account of a life measured against its one fixed point: a meditation on the places that form us, on the distance between the life a person lives and the life he carries folded up inside him, and on what it finally costs, and is worth, to let another soul all the way in. Told in the plainspoken, unhurried voice of the rural South, Cade Morrow’s Someday is a tender and quietly shattering novel about memory, longing, and the long work of becoming who you are.