Chapter 16
If I was the one writing this story, I’d choose a different twist. Definitely not the ex-wife returning. Not that it matters.
“Are you getting back together?” I ask.
He laughs. “No. There’s zero chance.”
My heart feels like a pulsing vein, centered right on my forehead. I like this answer more than I should. This has nothing to do with me nor should I care, but apparently my heart isn’t getting the message.
“I can’t believe you’d ever speak to her again. She…she sent in something you wrote for her. It wasn’t for public consumption.”
“No one else understands it the way a writer does. But look what happened. It led to a big payoff for me when I’ve barely made a living as a writer until now. Should I be upset?”
“Of course! Just because the outcome is good, that doesn’t mean the original intent was honorable.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, but you’d be crazy to try again with someone who betrayed your trust.”
“I would be, and don’t worry, I’m not crazy.”
“Worry? Well, yeah, I’m just concerned about you, Ryan.”
“Clearly.” He rolls his eyes.
On the way back, I notice Ryan is throwing concerned looks in my direction as we once again traverse the Santa Cruz mountains on Highway 17.
I might be going a little slow again but I’ve got this.
It could be he’s noticed my hands are trembling and that I’m pretty much white-knuckling it, but I’m perfectly fine and I’m glad I took this drive.
I can’t even recall how long it’s been. As a rule, the entire Santana family as a unit chose never to drive Highway 17 again.
There are other ways to get to the beach even if they take longer.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Did something happen to you on this road?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did your car break down here and you have bad memories? It would be a difficult place for a car to break down. No real shoulder to pull over as you go up and down the mountain.”
“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry.”
“Consider it dropped. I just sense you’re terrified.”
“Hmm. Maybe I should assign you a higher rate on the emotional IQ than previously.”
“Excuse me? You don’t think I rate high on the scale? I will blow that scale. I’ll have you know I’m off the charts.”
“Hmm. Let’s start with your greeting. You answer the phone with, ‘what?’ Did you ever think people might have their feelings hurt by your attitude? It gives ‘why are you bothering me?’ vibes. How about ‘hello.’”
“They are interrupting me, and if I say hello I’m encouraging them,” he says with a slightly offended tone.
“Listen, after reading the book, I see you’re an emotional guy but—”
“But nothing. As a writer, I use emotion. And I put it on paper where it belongs.”
I wonder if that’s true. I wonder if Ryan purposely revised the book to be what the publisher wanted: more of a romance, more of a love story. Pulling on the heart strings. Slaying the emotion. Maybe he wasn’t as heartbroken as I imagined. Maybe it’s just…fiction.
“Okay, I’m finally going to ask. Why didn’t you just write her a poem instead of a short story?”
“I can’t write poetry.” He sighs. “But if I’m any good at expressing my feelings, it’s always on paper.
I think that’s why Kate encouraged me to write a romance.
I’d love to be able to express the way I feel out loud, but I’m not built like that.
It’s just not in me. When we were having problems, I ignored them.
I retreated to my work. So, she had an affair. ”
I can’t help but gasp. “Oh, Ryan.”
“I didn’t know this when I wrote to her, of course, or we wouldn’t even be in this position. But the truth is, I saw how I’d failed in many ways. I made a commitment to her, and if I agree with anything my parents taught me, it’s to honor those. So that’s why I put my feelings down on paper.”
“Did you learn anything from the experience?”
“I learned that a person could fool themselves into thinking they love someone when all they really love is an idea.”
“Hey, that’s a line in the book, but it’s Lula who says it to Grayson.”
“You do realize I’m Grayson, Lula, and the other guy.” He snorts.
I love the way he won’t even name his faux rival.
“But the ‘other guy’ is a brute. He’s mean and obnoxious.”
In the business, we refer to that hero as an alpha-hole.
Sexy in a dominating and obnoxious way. He’s the arrogant male main character who realizes he’s handsome and is prepared for women to fall at his feet as they so often do.
He’s good with his hands, he’s tall and fit, and has a big you-know-what.
I can’t believe Lula fell for someone so… obvious.
I now see exactly what Kate saw in Grayson. It’s the same thing I do. I might not like the book, or the ending, but I loved the hero. Grayson is a classic cinnamon roll hero, the antithesis of toxic masculinity. He’s emotionally available. He’s vulnerable.
“I’m also all of those other things. Mean. Obnoxious.”
“No, you’re not. You’re grumpy, sure, and distracted, but not like Der— um, the other dude.”
“Chalk it up to hyperbole, a writer’s toolbox.”
This makes me laugh because I’ve been accused of relying on this one tool far too often. But I write romantic fantasy.
“It happened to me, too,” I say.
I think of Nadia, a dark beauty, so elusive and mysterious the few times I saw her at the coffee shop. Then I wonder how many times they met together in private, while I was home pulling the strands of my hair out one by one, trying to write my book.
“That was his mistake,” Ryan says.
A warm blush rolls over me. “We were supposed to get married and I had to cancel the wedding venue and pay for the penalties.”
“Damn.”
“At least he didn’t leave me at the altar. That’s…that’s why I live in a shed. The rent on our condo was too much for me alone. Wait. Forget I said that. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
If this was a text message, I could edit. Delete, delete, delete. But it’s too late. It’s out there. “It’s not like I want you to feel sorry for me. I have a wonderful family, you’ve met them, and I could live in the main house but it’s small and crowded. And this is just temporary.”
“You should have said something. I’ll have a check for you on Monday.”
That’s not why I’m laying my heart bare right now, and I wish I hadn’t mentioned money. It’s never been important to me or I wouldn’t be a writer.
“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine. I’m letting you know I understand what you went through. Being abandoned is tough. The thing of it is, once someone leaves you, if they come back, I think it’s impossible to believe they won’t leave you again. And they usually do.”
“Is that another warning about giving my ex another chance? Because that’s not happening.”
I’m actually thinking of my mother because even now I’m wondering how much longer it will be before she takes off.
I saw her rental car this morning, parked on the curb.
Abuelita is not going to ask her to leave and Eddie will follow her lead.
My mother will be here as long as she wants to be.
Historically, it hasn’t been more than a week.
I’m tired of seeing her walk out the door but it’s what I’ve come to expect.
“You deserve better.”
“Would you take your ex back? What if he grovels the way Grayson did?”
“No. I’d have to take my own advice, or I’d be a hypocrite. The same issues would still be there. I thought Chris was different but he’s an entitled…jerk!”
“Tell me what you really think.”
“I was actually editorializing what I really think. Want to know what I think? Chris joined the Peace Corps to break off our engagement because he didn’t have the courage to do it any other way.”
“And maybe he didn’t want to hurt you. Speaking for my species, men, we’re a little stupid sometimes. We don’t want to confront our feelings because they could lead to discomfort. We’re creatures of comfort.”
“Don’t defend him.” I’m irked by how close he hit the mark with Chris, who doesn’t even like to get caught in the rain without an umbrella.
“Sorry, just being devil’s advocate. I’m trying to understand how any red-blooded male would ever choose anyone but you.”
There’s silence for a beat as I absorb the words. They send a new thrill running through me but I remind myself Ryan is trying to cheer me up. He’s being nice to the woman who’s literally saving his career.
Nothing more.
That evening, I settle in to write. This time, it’s my book. I pull it up again and I imagine even the file looks tired and worn. It’s been through so many edits, revisions, and changes I’m not sure it’s my book anymore. Maybe I’ve lost the heart.
It’s my opus, a romantic fantasy set in a world where time doesn’t exist. Two people from different positions of power love each other beyond and across time.
I don’t think it’s ready but hey, as Nora Roberts famously said, “you can’t edit a blank page.
” I’m not sure what she’d say about someone who keeps editing the same pages over and over.
I suppose that’s what happens when you don’t have a contract, or a deadline, and you’ve collected dozens of rejections along the way.
As I read, I find the good parts I can’t believe I wrote, and then the cringy scenes. Something is missing but I don’t know what it is. There’s a reason dozens of agents have turned me away, many of them saying, “Love the premise, but I couldn’t connect with these characters.”
Inspired by Ryan, I too decide to write something different. Sometimes this gets the juices flowing. Ryan wrote a romance. I can certainly write a short thriller portraying Chris as a serial killer I must murder to protect the world.
Picture, if you will, Stephen King’s Misery meets Katherine Center’s The Bodyguard.
A weird mix and not my usual fare. But my idea/brainchild centers around a woman (Millie) who steals her husband’s manuscript and tries to pass it off as her own.
She gets a significant deal, then needs to hire a bodyguard (I cast Ryan) to protect her from her murderous ex (Chris.) But the bodyguard, who seduces her, is a friend of the ex, and they both conspire to kill her.
Meh, it’s a work in progress.
And yes, I am feeling maybe a tad homicidal toward Ryan’s ex-wife. If Chris had sent anything I’d written to an agent without my approval I’d be devastated. Humiliated.
Ryan is such a good guy. He didn’t press me on the driving thing even though he understood something must have happened on that road.
He deserves to know. Today was the first time I’ve opened up to him and I know far more about him than he knows about me.
The thing is, I don’t talk about the accident anymore, not even with Sofia.
With anyone. It was so long ago now that it feels like it happened to another person.
But whenever my mind lands on that event, that excruciating part of my life, an agonizing pain pierces my chest.
Some of my friends have told me it might help to talk about it since my family refuses to discuss it. And as much as I’ve refused therapy or anything else that might lead me to talk about the event, tonight I want to talk about it. With Ryan.
I pick up my cell and dial his number. Ryan might like to write his emotions, and maybe that’s why he’s a great author. But for me, some things need to be said.
Ryan picks up, sounding distracted as usual. “What.”
Now I know this is his way of saying hello and don’t take it personally.
“It’s me. Luci.”
“I know. Hello, Luci.”
Oh, a hello! He’s encouraging me. I can almost hear the smile in his voice and I smile back.
“Hey there. I’m calling because I have something…something I want to tell you. I want to explain.”
There’s silence and I realize Ryan is simply waiting. No prompts, like “yes?” Most people would wonder what I want to ask but that’s not Ryan’s way. It’s as if he’s a character in a book who doesn’t put in a word of dialogue unless it advances the plot.
“See, there was an accident on Highway 17. A bad one. But it was nighttime, and raining, and someone wasn’t driving safely. Someone was speeding.”
Ryan is quiet, but I can feel him…waiting. “We don’t have to talk about this. It’s okay.”
In this moment I sense a strange kind of permission. Not from him but from myself.
“It wasn’t me. My father was in an accident on that highway and…that’s how he died.” I swallow the sob in my throat and a tear comes rolling down my cheek instead. I brush it away.
Ryan lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay, after reading your book, you might be the only one who can understand.”
Ryan knows about grief, or he couldn’t have written about it so convincingly in his book.
Yes, maybe it was just his incredible research, or maybe just writing about the end of a marriage, but he understands.
He knows what it’s like to have someone ripped away from your life.
It might be better, somehow, if you’re prepared.
But when you’re not expecting it, it comes straight to your soul like a slap, tearing into you, leaving pieces of your heart tossed everywhere.
“I understand more than you know,” he says.
Ryan’s voice is so sweet, so calm, so endearing. It feels like a hug.
Oh God, this block isn’t working!
“That was the first time I’d ever driven that road,” I say, biting my lower lip to keep it from quivering.
“I wouldn’t have let you if I’d known that.”
“I know. That’s just the point. Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s not up to you. Sometimes, I’m learning, you have to face your fears.”
“You’re a far braver person than I am.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“Write about it. Put all that pain on the page. It’s the only way.”
He’s not wrong. I need to stop holding back so much because it hurts.
“Ryan? I’m going to hang up and write now.”
Afterward, my new words come easily, fingers flying across the keyboard. It’s taken me all this time, but I finally know what’s missing from my book.
My heart.
I think of true love like my parents had once. He was the love of her life until he was taken away. I need more of that emotion to drive me.
And then I write with my heart cracked and bleeding all over the pages.