Chapter 47
Dominic
Cecily wakes me at four in the morning.
"I can't sleep," she whispers.
"What's wrong?" I ask, reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand. Cecily scoots aside so I can sit up and take a drink.
"Nothing." She falters. "Other than my grandma is dying, and every day I spend with her makes that reality come into sharper focus."
I recap the water bottle and set it aside.
This whole thing, from accidentally marrying me in Vegas to facing her grandmother's imminent death, must be a mindfuck for her.
I can't think of anything to say to make her feel better.
Is feeling better the point? Maybe she just needs somebody to sit with her in the mess.
I place my hand on Cecily's knee, not for any reason other than to let her know I'm here for her. I'm listening.
Cecily looks outside, a swath of moonlight cutting across her face. We'd opted to open the blinds after turning off the lights at bedtime, readying ourselves for a spectacular Arizona sunrise. But now the moon glow on Cecily's features is giving the sunrise a run for its money.
"I was looking outside while you were sleeping and thinking about how pretty it is here, and how Sky Island is the perfect name for this place because it's like the sky goes on forever out there, nothing to halt the view.
Then I thought about how Grandma brought us all on this road trip, planned it carefully and thoughtfully.
We've been making an effort to get along to make her happy, and obviously that's great, but I think what would make her happiest is if we'd figure ourselves out.
" Cecily fingers the edge of the blanket.
"She has been our common thread for so long.
Once she's gone, what will keep us together? "
Cecily tucks her knees into herself and places her chin on her knees.
Her dark hair spills down her back. "When I left Olive Township, I knew I was breaking ties with my family, but I still had my grandma.
She was that connection to them, keeping me from truly being no contact.
A passive string remained. Without her, it's going to take more effort on my part.
And theirs, too. Do they even want that?
" Her tone shrinks. "I hate that I have to wonder.
It seems wrong for a person to ask themselves if their parents will want to put in the work to repair a relationship. "
I move closer to her on the bed, pressing my lips to her shoulder. "It's wrong that so much has been broken."
Cecily's head turns toward me, her profile backlit by the cool light of the moon. My heart twists at her beauty. At the pain that tugs at her cheeks.
She shrugs. "All families are some degree dysfunctional."
"Just because it's normal, doesn't make it right."
I picture my therapist sitting across from me, saying those exact words. At the start of my sessions, I defaulted to defending my parents, even when I was in the middle of talking about what they had done.
"Did you learn that in therapy?"
I nod. "One of my biggest strides in therapy was learning how to let myself feel love for them while also feeling negative emotions."
"I think that's something I could stand to learn."
"If not for them, at least for you."
"Yeah." She snuggles down into the covers, and I follow, tucking her into my chest. "I wonder if there will be a time I help you with your parents. Or will it always be me needing your coaching?"
"If I need an ear when it comes to my parents, it'll mean my dad has been up to his old tricks."
"I want to meet them."
"Sure," I say, but the thought causes panic to rise in my throat. "We'll make it happen sometime."
Cecily drifts off to sleep, and I'm not too far behind her.
Early morning sun soaks our room, soft and warm and fuzzy. Cecily sleeps soundly, even breaths setting a rhythm in the rise and fall of her chest.
A midmorning meeting on the East Coast is early here in Arizona, so I roll out of bed carefully, keeping my footfalls light. In the bathroom, I change into the clothes I hung from the towel rack last night while Cecily roasted s'mores with her siblings.
There isn't Wi-Fi in the suites, but it's available at the main lodge. Early morning dew gathers on my shoes, darkening the tan leather as I make my way through the grass.
In the lodge, an employee sets up grab-and-go breakfast items for the guests. I help myself to a mason jar with a label that reads apple pie overnight oats and pour myself a cup of coffee from the steel canteen.
"Thank you," I tell her, passing her on my way to the small room marked business center.
In it I find two separate workspaces, which are really just two desks, and two chairs. A framed piece of paper on the wall provides the Wi-Fi name and password.
I take a couple bites of the oats, wash it down with a big slug of coffee, and log into the meeting. The faces of my colleagues appear, looking no different than they did ten days ago when I left the office to pack and head for the airport.
"Nice of you to join us, Dominic." Sally greets me first, drawing attention to the fact I am two minutes late. Of course she could not allow me to quietly appear on an all-agents call.
I say nothing, addressing Sally's mother, also known as my boss. "Hello, Dee. Apologies for being tardy."
Dee's face gets too close to the screen. She squints. "Where are you? That looks like an office."
I swivel my chair and look behind me. I hadn't noticed the single bookshelf, decorated with books that have probably never been read, and a potted faux plant. "I'm in the business center where we're glamping."
Sally snorts. "Glamping. Never thought I would hear that word come out of your mouth."
I say nothing. Again. Sally does not know me, we are not familiar enough with one another to determine what the other might say. What is the nepo baby playing at?
"Glamping," Dee repeats, pulling back from the screen. "That sounds delightfully rugged."
I do my best not to scoff, or tell her otherwise. If I were to explain that last night I had the best halibut of my life, slept on Egyptian cotton, and stargazed from my bed, she might hop on the computer and book herself a stay.
Dee starts the meeting by asking everyone to give a brief summary of the project currently taking up most of their time.
John speaks first. I've never disliked the guy, but I don't like him either.
He used to be a literary snob with strong opinions about commercial fiction, but in the last year he has adjusted his position and rebranded himself a 'man of the people'.
People being anyone young and trendy. "I've just signed a debut author.
" He rubs his hands together, sending a brief glance at Sally before saying, "A western horror titled Last Things First. It's gonna be great. "
The manuscript I discarded? Declined?
I have to say something. "John, if I may—"
"You may not," Sally snaps, crossing her arms. I would never hit a girl, but maybe I could recruit Cecily to slap the haughty look off Sally's face. Given what happened with that woman in the bar in Sierra Grande, Cecily would be up for the task.
I look to Dee, waiting for her to interject, to tell her daughter to pipe down, but she says no such thing.
Ignoring Sally for the third fucking time in this meeting, I say, "I declined Last Things First because the writing is bad, and—"
"That is your opinion," Sally interrupts.
"That would be most people's opinion after reading the first five pages.
" I do not want to argue, I do not want to stoop to this child's level, but how am I supposed to help the company if I don't tell them what they're signing up for?
Who they are signing. Sometimes there are books an agent thinks will be great, but they are duds.
For whatever reason, the market doesn't like the story.
And then there are books that an agent knows will be a dud, and surprise surprise, they publish and flop.
"Sally," I start, doing my best to keep my irritation from seeping into my tone, "signing books you know won't do well as favors to friends harms the reputation of the agency." It's also a great way to make your colleagues find employment elsewhere.
Dee steps in. "Dominic, how about you give us an update from your side?"
"He's too busy glamping," Sally mutters, and finally earns a look of reproach from her mother.
I wish there were a remote control capable of muting Sally.
"I have Klein Madigan working on his second concept to present to his publisher, and Veronica Fisher on second round edits for Dirty Restaurant."
"Dirty Restaurant is going to be good," Dee says, tapping her chin. "Salacious."
"It has tremendous commercial appeal," I start, but Sally raises a hand like she is in a classroom.
Phone in hand, she holds it out triumphantly. "Klein Madigan is your cousin."
I can't see what's on her screen, but it doesn't matter. My eyebrows lift. "So?"
Sally stares me down with wide eyes like she is trying to prove a point. I'm not sure what point that might be.
"I thought signing books as favors to friends harms the reputation of the agency?" She has a gotcha tone, but she's cherry-picked the words I spoke a minute ago.
"I said signing books you know won't do well harms the agency.
" Klein's writing speaks for itself, so there's no need for me to defend my representation of a relative.
But Sally? Her insistence that this pile of horseshit book get published is suspicious.
My attention switches to John, who has officially lost all my respect. "Have you read that manuscript?"
"Of course he's read the manuscript," Sally bulldozes. "He signed the author."
John shifts in his chair. Fidgets with his paper cup of coffee on the desk in front of him.
"Yes." The way he says it makes it sound like an admittance.
John knows the book is terrible, and he knows precisely what he has signed up for.
"I was planning on working with the author.
Developing her." He clears his throat. "Him, I mean. "
"Great," Dee says. "Let's move on."
The other agents take a turn, but I tune them out.
There's something more to Sally and her determination to publish this book, and as much as it piques my curiosity in the same way it would any normal observer, all I want is to be away from it.
For the first time since I started at Whitaker Literary Agency, I picture life beyond it.
What would it look like if I didn't work there anymore?
Someone on the screen drones on, but all I see is Cecily. Sly grins, quirked brows, and a heart that has so much love to give. She's witty, and daring, and stubborn. Intelligent, too, with a smart mouth, and so beautiful it makes me rethink anything I thought of as beautiful before her.
Right then and there it comes to me.
I know what I'm going to do.