A Thousand Miles to Graceland

Table of Contents
 
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Dedication
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Epilogue
 Loralynn and Grace’s Road Trip to Graceland
 Acknowledgments
 Discover More
 Reading Group Guide
 
 Discussion Questions
 A Behind-the-Scenes Look at Writing A Thousand Miles to Graceland
 
 About the Author
 
 
 Navigation
 
 
 
 
 
 Table of Contents
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
 Copyright © 2023 by Kristen Mei Chase
 Reading group guide copyright © 2023 by Kristen Mei Chase and Hachette Book Group, Inc.
 Cover design and illustration by Sarah Horgan. Cover copyright © 2023 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
 Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
 The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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 First Edition: January 2023
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 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
 Names: Chase, Kristen M., author.
 Title: A thousand miles to Graceland / Kristen Mei Chase.
 Description: First edition. | New York : Forever, 2023. | Summary: “Accountant Grace Johnson can’t escape the feeling that her life is on autopilot-until her husband announces he’s done with their marriage. Grace has a choice: wallow in humiliation… or grant her mother’s seventieth birthday wish with a road trip Graceland. Buckle up, Elvis. We’re on our way. Now outlandish mother and reluctant daughter are hightailing it from El Paso to Memphis, leaving a trail of sequins, false eyelashes, and painful memories in their wake. Between spontaneous roadside stops to psychics, wig mishaps, and familiar passive-aggressive zingers, Grace is starting to better understand her Elvis-obsessed mama and their own fragile connection. Apparently the King really does work in mysterious ways. But after all these years, will it ever be possible for them to heal the hurts of the past?”—Provided by publisher.
 Identifiers: LCCN 2022037056 | ISBN 9781538710463 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781538710180 (ebook)
 Subjects: LCGFT: Domestic fiction. | Humorous fiction. | Novels.
 Classification: LCC PS3603.H3793645 T48 2023 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20220805
 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022037056
 ISBNs: 9781538710463 (trade paperback), 9781538710180 (ebook)
 E3-20221216-DA-PC-ORI
 
 
 
 
 
 
 To my mom, Audrey
 You may not know this, but you are always on my mind
 
 
 
 
 
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 Chapter 1
 
 How do you get your eyeliner to stay on like that?” Jane Choi, our summer accounting intern from Syracuse, peeked through the door that I thought I had closed all the way. She waved her hand over her eyelids. “Mine always looks like shit.” She whispered “shit” as if I were her mother, which did exactly what I’m pretty sure she intended: it made me feel like it. “That part, you know, in here. How do you…” She gestured to the inner corner of her eye.
 “Epicanthic fold.” I cut her off, then went back to typing. Jane was notorious for asking questions about what conditioner I used or where I got that sweater, all of which would devolve rather quickly into some sort of gossipy conversation about so-and-so doing you-know-what. My new tack was looking busy.
 “Oh my god, it has, like, an official name? You do know everything, Grace!” She gave me a shrug and a wide smile before scurrying off to her cubicle.
 I examined my client’s quarterly calculations on my laptop screen, surrounded by framed degrees and a photo of me with Mama from my high school graduation more than two decades ago, which made me feel oddly self-conscious. It was the only picture I had of Mama and me where she looked semi-normal; none of the cheap wigs or bejeweled bell bottoms and platforms that made every other photo look like I was taking a picture with a Vegas showgirl. I had begged her to dress like all the other moms, so she went with “Priscilla Presley in mourning,” which involved black from head to toe. I didn’t care if she had to pretend she was at a funeral instead of my graduation; it was the most subtle outfit I had ever seen her in. Between our rigid poses and the wall-to-wall Elvis collectibles behind us, we looked like a page out of Awkward Family Photos. She knew exactly when she got each and every one of the ceramic figurines, which she organized chronologically by Elvis’s career. And anytime anyone made the mistake of asking about one of them, she’d tell its entire backstory: where she was, who sold it to her, and how much she paid.
 It had been so long since I’d done more than glance at the photo that I’d forgotten our faces, me grinning as if someone had put a gun to my head and told me to smile. And her face, like someone about to say goodbye to her best friend.
 
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