Chapter Eighteen
One Year Ago
“Are you sitting down?” Deborah asked the moment Maggie picked up the phone.
It was two days before Christmas, but Deborah was a workaholic and Hanukkah was already over and she always said she liked
the quiet of a nearly deserted office.
Maggie understood the appeal. She’d woken to the sound of Emily and Colin arguing about where to put the ice sculpture for
their annual party. Maggie hadn’t wanted an ice sculpture. Or a party. Or the big, fancy house the party was going to be held
in—not far from where Colin’s parents used to live, back before they ran out of money.
Maggie hadn’t wanted any of it, but Maggie had been outvoted. So she’d retreated to a café to try to get two thousand words
written because it’s easy to zone out in a chaotic coffee shop but not in your own chaotic house and Maggie didn’t even try
to understand the difference.
“Please tell me you’re sitting down,” Deborah told her.
“Why?”
“Because this might be the phone call that changes your life.”
It wasn’t like Deborah to be hyperbolic, so Maggie was almost scared when she asked, “Change my life how ?”
“You’re a finalist”—Deborah gave a dramatic pause—“for Betty’s Book Club.”
“Betty’s...”
“There’s a fifty-fifty chance that you will be the Betty’s Book Club pick for January. It’s down to you and one other author,
but... You know what this means, right?”
It meant millions of copies. It meant movie options. It meant that when strangers asked Oh, have you written anything I might have heard of? from that point forward the answer might actually be yes .
“Maggie? Did you hear me? This is big, but it’s not a done deal yet, so don’t tell anyone .” Maggie swore she wouldn’t and then she crammed her laptop in her bag and raced home to tell someone.
“Emily!” she’d called when she opened the door. “Colin!”
The house was full of flowers and chafing dishes and stacks of tables and chairs.
“Where are you two?” Maggie yelled, ignoring the ridiculous ice sculpture that someone had left dripping on the hardwood floor.
Then she heard the voices, hushed words, and frantic sounds from Maggie’s bedroom. They were moving furniture, her tired brain
thought as she threw open the door.
And...
And...
And...
Deborah was right, of course. That phone call had changed her life after all.