Chapter Eighteen
Ciara
I don’t see Sam for the rest of the weekend, and when I rock up to the beach on Monday things feel almost back to normal. Whatever normal looks like to me right now.
I offered to make him up a bed, but he insisted he was fine with the couch, and when I woke the next day it was to find him gone, with a note left in his place.
He has very adult handwriting. Adult like my parents’ generation. The ones who didn’t all stop using a pen and paper when they were ten and start typing instead. It’s neat and elegant, and I found myself admiring it for a good five seconds before reading the words.
Thank you for the birthday present. Get to the end of chapter ten by Monday.
He might as well have written or else, but I still smiled like an idiot.
I didn’t realize how miserable I was at the thought of him shutting me out before he let me back in.
And now that that door’s open again, I intend to keep it that way.
After all, communication between an author and their editor is good. Healthy and normal and important.
Especially if he’s going to be moving in with me.
If that’s still happening.
He hasn’t said it isn’t.
Last night, we’d casually agreed that he’d bring over his stuff this evening, but he hasn’t double-confirmed since, and I haven’t brought it up because I’m a coward, so what’s a girl to do? Overthink it?
Me?
My laptop screen goes black due to my not typing anything or doing any work whatsoever, and I try to do what I’ve been doing for the past few hours and push Sam to the back of my mind as I focus on my book. Or at least I do for five seconds, before Maddie sticks her head out the door again.
“How it’s going?”
“Fine,” I say. “Just like it was fine ten minutes ago when you asked me then.”
“Sorry for caring,” she says, not even looking at me as she peers over the cars.
I didn’t want my laptop to melt in the sun, so I’m sitting in the shade behind Maddie’s truck, hunched in a fold-up chair with my laptop balanced on my knees and a fan directed at my face.
There’s more space now that Shane’s truck isn’t parked directly beside hers.
He’s moved, as requested, to the other end of the car park, which is far enough away that I can’t even see him anymore unless I squint hard.
The way Maddie’s doing right now.
Beyond a few choice words about the guy who bailed on her, she didn’t have much to say about Friday night.
About being stood up or the drinking or any of it.
But I didn’t push her. She’s been working even harder since the schools got out, and I know she’s hanging on by a thread.
I offered to help out, but she promptly shut me down and told me I had enough to be getting on with.
She isn’t wrong.
I drain the last of my smoothie as I stare down at my laptop. I’ve been working on the same scene for over an hour, and at the rate I’m going it will be another five before I’m finished.
I’ve tried to shake it up by alternating between the screen and some pages I printed this morning, but my brain doesn’t fall for the trick. All words are bad to it right now.
Maddie disappears back inside as I minimize the document, weighing up my need to pee with the effort of getting up and using the public toilets, when a notification appears in the corner of my screen.
An instant message from Sam.
Why do you hate love?
I stare at the question. At the little words that I have no idea how to respond to. Hate love?
I don’t hate love, I type back. Then I throw in a few ???? for good measure.
His reply is instant.
Then why aren’t they kissing in the library?
Finn and Maeve?
He’s talking about the pages I sent him last night. The ones that definitely had kissing in them. I check the email I sent him, worried I might have attached the wrong file. It takes me only a few seconds to find the scene. Finn holds her close as he…
They are kissing!!
That’s not a kiss scene. That’s barely anything. They need to have sex in this book.
I know they do, and I’m describing it here.
You’re not. You’ve written a prolonged hug. They have SEX in this book. Please tell me you’ve planned a sex scene.
Stop saying sex.
Start writing sex.
“You okay?”
My head snaps up as Maddie swaps my empty cup for a fresh one, using it as a paperweight on top of the printouts beside me.
“I’m working. This is my working face.”
“Whatever.” She sighs and leaves me alone again.
I glance back at the screen to find another message from Sam.
***
I haven’t thought about it. Besides, they’re busy. I don’t know if you noticed that they are LITERALLY AT WAR.
Something that never leads to heightened emotions.
You’re distracting me.
I’m editing you. And then his words come rapid-fire, the messages popping up before I can even begin to think of a response.
Readers read for different reasons. And a lot of his readers are reading for this moment.
The one that Frank was building up to for two books and that you are now glossing over. You’ve got to give them this.
I type three variations of I will before I stop.
I’m lying to him. Lying to him because I won’t.
I haven’t considered a sex scene. I haven’t even considered the kissing scene.
Finn is about to get stabbed by his supposed friend in the council meeting three pages later, so forgive me if my mind is more focused on that.
But even as I rage artistically, I know he’s right.
My dad never shied away from the romantic side of things. It was why his readership base was so big. The way he balanced emotions with the politics and war of his world was what made the books so different. He always had something for everyone.
I reread the scene, trying to view it from different eyes. And okay, I guess we could go a little steamier. His hand on her waist or something. And hers on his…arm?
I sit back, trying to picture it as I hold an imaginary mini-Finn on my lap. Where do I put my hands when I’m kissing someone? Where do I even—
Well? Sam asks. I tell the truth.
I’ve never written anything romantic before.
So practice.
With you?
I type the words without thinking, trying to infuse as much snark as possible into them before realizing what I just sent.
“Oh…shit.”
“You okay?” Maddie calls.
“I’m fine!”
What do I do? What do I do what do I do what do I do? Throw in a classic lol? It’s never let me down before, but I don’t think even that could save me now.
My fingers hover above the keyboard, frozen as I stare at the screen. Maybe if I look hard enough, the words will simply disappear.
There’s no point in deleting it because he’s already seen it. It says it right there under the message. Seen.
He just hasn’t responded. He’s not even typing. None of those dancing dots that would tell me he’s taking my message in the tone I intended and is about to come back with an equally snarky response.
There is nothing but silence from his end, which would make me think he’s not even there if it weren’t for that little green circle by his name indicating that he is.
The one that promptly flicks red as soon as I look at it.
Offline.
Right. Great. Superb.
“Maddie?” I yell, and a second later, she sticks her head out the door. “I need to change my name and move to Switzerland.”
“Drink your juice” is all she says, and disappears inside again.
Maybe I should add in a haha.
Everyone loves a haha.
I reach for my drink, feeling sick as the fan whirs back my way, and as if this moment couldn’t get any more embarrassing I realize too late just how good a paperweight the smoothie was as my first few chapters go flying, pages scattering around me.
Maybe Australia would be better.
Much further away.
I lurch to my feet, putting the laptop on the remaining pile as I aim for the closest ones first.
“Let me help you with those!” a woman calls on my left, but I barely look up as I grab at a page before it can drift under the truck.
“I’m okay! Thank you.”
I snatch up another few as the stranger does the same.
“Honestly,” I say. “It’s fine.”
She nabs the last one near her and straightens with a friendly smile. She looks to be in her early forties and is dressed in a bathing suit and flip-flops, her soaking blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail.
A dog-eared copy of the fifth Ravian book is in her hands.
Panic courses through me so fast that my body goes into shock, every part of me shutting down as she approaches.
“Think we got them all,” she says cheerfully. “What are you working on?”
“It’s…it’s nothing.”
I hold out my hand for the paper, but she doesn’t even notice me asking for them. She’s staring at me, her gaze assessing as her smile fades.
“You look just like…” She trails off, her mouth falling open. “Are you Frank Sheridan’s daughter?”
“That’s me,” I say, going for extra-casual. It doesn’t work.
“Oh my gosh!” Her free hand flies to her chest, and she laughs as if she can’t believe her luck.
“I’m such a big fan of his,” she gushes.
“It’s why we came here. We’ve been talking about a trip to Ireland for so long and when I found out he died I knew I had to come and pay my respects.
I wanted to be over for the convention, but the kids have camp, and it just wouldn’t have worked out and I’m babbling.
I’m sorry. I’m just…could I get a picture with you? ”
She reaches for her phone at the same time she seems to remember the pages in her hands, and she laughs again, holding them out to me. “Sorry!”
It takes everything within me to accept them from her like a normal person. As soon as I do, I shove them under the laptop with the rest, feeling doubly sick now. If she were to see them…
“Is everything okay here?”
I look over my shoulder to see Mary rounding the truck, eyeing the woman suspiciously.
“Everything’s fine!” I say with enough cheer to make her stop in her tracks. I suppose I’m not usually the merriest of people, but the last thing I need her to do is blow that damn whistle again. “This is…uh…”
“Linda,” the woman supplies.
“Linda. She’s a fan of my dad’s.”
But something in my tone must clue Mary in that I am on edge right now, because she doesn’t leave as Linda pulls me in for a photo.
“Thank you so much,” she says again, and I tell myself to smile as she holds up the phone.
It’s been a while since this happened. Years, in fact.
Only his biggest fans recognized me since I stopped going to events, and even then it was only in places like bookshops or if they were literally peering through my window. I’m out of practice.
“You don’t still live at the house, do you? Only my husband and I were hoping to get a picture of it, seeing as how we’ve come all this way. It’s impossible to find, and everyone keeps giving us different directions!”
Mary doesn’t like that. “That house is private property,” she says, as though she doesn’t show up uninvited every week. “And you shouldn’t be back here. There are generators. It’s dangerous.”
“Oh of course,” Linda says, not bothered by her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to meet you.” She squeezes my hand. “You must miss him so much.”
My smile is so fixed on my face it feels frozen. “Every day.”
Another squeeze, another smile. This one filled with pity. It’s clearly what she wanted to hear, and despite her friendliness my stomach sours as she gives her final goodbye and disappears in the direction of the beach.
“Thanks,” I say to Mary. “I wasn’t expecting…That’s mine.” I straighten as I see the piece of paper clutched in her hand, but she just tsks.
“You spelled apothecary wrong.”
I hold out my hand, fighting the urge to snatch it from her.
“You’re finishing his final book?” Mary asks, ignoring me. “Is this why you disappeared?”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“You didn’t leave that house for months. You stopped coming to the pub. Ronan thought you were smoking drugs.”
“You do drugs, you don’t— He thought what?”
“I knew you weren’t,” she says, examining the page. “You had terrible asthma as a child. I did think maybe a nose job.”
“Mary.”
“But I see you’ve still got that little bump—”
“Mary.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and she finally hands it back to me. “Is it a secret?”
“Yes. So you can’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s what a secret is,” I say, reaching for the very last of my patience. “I’m only just getting into the swing of things and I don’t want people to start harassing me before I at least get something down. I’m barely halfway through yet.”
“But—”
“Mary,” I interrupt, starting to get nervous. “Swear to me you won’t say a word.”
“Of course I won’t,” she says, affronted. “But I think…”
“What?” I ask, glancing behind her to make sure Linda is definitely gone.
“Your father would have loved this,” Mary says. “It’s nice that you’re doing it.”
I stare at her, surprised. So surprised I can’t think of a response. Not that she seems to expect one.
“You look better now,” she says finally. “Not as…” She gestures half-heartedly at my face. “Sickly.”
And any fuzzy feeling I had for her vanishes. “All right, thank you.”
“It’s a compliment,” she says, and gives me one final look before heading back to the beach.