Heather Wright is always all right. That's what people say. But if she's always all right, then why is life so hard? Heather starts cutting as a way to deal with the difficult emotions she locks inside. But what starts out as casual cutting turns into a dangerous addiction. When Heather goes away to summer theater camp, she meets Josie. Josie is a tough, sassy diva who is more than just a cutter, but a cutting advocate online. Heather looks up to Josie until the darkness of Josie's inner world threatens to spill out over the side and drown both of them. Until Josie does the unthinkable.

My body starts heaving. Exhaustion encases everything I do, even washing the kids' cereal bowls. It feels as though layers of thick gauze have wrapped themselves around the faces of my three children. A hardened grayness taking over the spaces between everything. Sealing the tissue between my ribs. Filling in the distance between the kitchen window and the soccer ball in the backyard. One doctor thinks I am still caught in the fist of the mononucleosis I contracted in college; another tells me that giving birth to three children is enough to swell anyone's glands and break open these rivers of mucous. Infection after infection keeps me from my kids' tennis matches and class trips to Canyonlands in Utah. The fatigue gathers in my chest, leaving my arms heavy and my fingers numb. Daily headaches send me back to bed after breakfast. The words "chronic illness" move into my house, wandering the rooms, trying to steal parts of my body. My thin, bare feet slide down the hall to wake up the children for school. I have no idea what is happening.

Overwhelmed after her intense years as an AIDS worker in San Francisco, Jan Zita Grover prescribes a "geographic cure" for herself. When moving to Minnesota, what she didn't expect was the devastated landscape of the north woods--massive cut-overs, and land that has been used beyond loveliness.