Chapter 20
Mitch finished his read-through and ended up with four pages of notes. None of which were really ideas, more like general observations. He had found several threads that could be tied up and one that could possibly be complicated and extended by the death of a minor character. That would buy him a decent number of pages.
What else was going to happen in the book, he had no idea. Nothing solid anyway. He could just trust the process and hope his lizard brain would come up with something unique and interesting. It often did, surprising him as it happened. But what if it didn’t?
What if that part of him that had taken joy in the creative process had died along with Jeanie? She had been the source of so much pleasure in his life. Without her, nothing had any color anymore. His writing included.
He’d never started writing a book without some inkling as to how it opened, something big that would happen during the book, and a solid conclusion with a hint of what could come next. This time? He had none of that.
And it was deeply disturbing.
For the day, however, he was done thinking about it. As much as he could be, anyway. He changed into his running clothes, tied on his sneakers, and headed out, earbuds in, podcast on, although the volume would have to be turned up if it was going to be anything more than background noise.
The sun was sinking, and the temperature was starting to drop, but with dusk approaching, there were plenty of long shadows from the trees to provide shade along his route.
It was a good time to run. Not as good as first thing in the morning, but maybe this would tire him out and help him sleep. He could only hope.
He jogged slowly at first, letting his body warm up and get used to the idea of what lay ahead.
As he ran, his mind drifted back to the book he’d just read. He was pleased at how good the story had been. He was too close to his own work to judge it without bias during the writing process. He usually thought the work in desperate need of edits and layering when he was working.
Once he had some distance, he could see the story as a whole. How good it was. And the last book had been better than he’d remembered. But now he doubted his ability to repeat that kind of page-turner.
It was daunting to be your own competition. To have a former version of yourself be so much better. That’s what he was now. A different version of the Mitch Ripley who’d written that book. One who’d been dropped into an abyss of grief and been left to wonder how anyone moved on from that kind of sorrow.
He really wanted to stop thinking about the books and what came next, but it was nearly impossible. What else was he going to think about? What were his options? To focus on how much he missed Jeanie? How Kyle wouldn’t speak to him? What a miserable existence his life had become?
He rounded the bend that led toward the beachside of the island and saw two women and a dog coming toward him. He recognized one of the women and the dog. His new neighbor. She was in those denim cutoffs again, legs on display. He frowned. There was something else to think about.
Not her legs, but rather why on Earth was that woman in Arlington’s house?
He crossed to the other side of the street, giving them a short nod of acknowledgement but nothing more. Hoping that would be enough to keep them from engaging further.
It wasn’t. The woman he knew nodded back. “Hello, Mitch.”
He said nothing and kept running. Why was she in Arlington’s house? Did Jack and Teddy know there was a strange woman in their father’s place? Maybe he should call them. Mitch didn’t know them nearly as well as he’d known Arlington, but they’d all been out fishing a few times.
They wouldn’t mind hearing from him. He had their numbers. If they were still in service. Maybe he should call. She could be a squatter for all he knew.
Although she had been allowed through the guarded gate. And she had delivered that letter from Arlington. The letter Mitch had yet to read. He shook his head as he ran, the thought of it too much.
He didn’t want to read Arlington’s last words to him. That would make the man’s death real. Mitch had had enough of that in his life. Reality sucked. And yet, there was a part of him that was deeply curious about what was in the letter.
He knew it would make him emotional. Didn’t take much these days. Seemed like he lived in a perpetual state of sensitivity. Grief had left him raw. Anything could set him off. A whiff of Jeanie’s perfume that lingered on the things in her closet. Seeing something she’d bought him. A random memory unbidden.
And because he had no desire to cry anymore, the emotion that usually surfaced was anger.
He ran harder, pushing himself to go faster and concentrate on his stride instead of the chaos in his head. Sweat dripped down his back, and his mouth came open to get more air to his lungs. The soles of his sneakers thudded on the pavement, the rhythm matching his pounding pulse. Thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.
For a few minutes, he lost himself in the running. It was good to get lost like that. To focus on something external. He was a machine, moving and pushing and grinding to go faster. There was nothing else.
He hit the end of Hideaway Bay and followed the road past the guard shack and around, making the turn toward home. The sun was completely behind the tree line now, the sky streaked with brilliant orange and flame red. A real showstopper of a sunset.
The kind of sky Jeanie would have taken a hundred pictures of. He smiled despite the pain the memory caused. Would there ever come a day that he’d be able to think about her without hurting?
He slowed his pace. Joyce would be wrapping things up in the kitchen. Probably gone by the time he got back. He’d shower and eat, then maybe he’d sit on the deck and try to work on an outline for the first few chapters. He didn’t usually do that, but doing something new might help the creative process, such as it was.
Anything was worth a shot.
When the end of the driveway was a few yards away, he decreased to a walk, hands on his hips, letting his body cool down. A hot shower would be just the thing. Then dinner. Protein to fuel the brain. To get his creative juices flowing.
He went inside and jogged up the steps. Joyce was already gone, as he’d suspected. He hesitated in the corridor between his bedroom and the kitchen. He could smell the tenderloin she’d made. It smelled good.
But it was the sunset out the windows that had his attention. Impulsively, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and went to the back deck to take a photo, just like Jeanie would have done.
Across from his property, he could see his neighbor and the other woman both doing the same thing. Taking pictures of the incredible sky. That dog was out there with them.
He moved back a little so they wouldn’t spot him. Why that mattered, he couldn’t say. He took another photo of the sunset then, with an additional burst of impulsiveness, texted it to his son with a short note.
Your mom would have loved tonight’s sky.
He tapped Send. There would be no answer. He knew that. So why bother sending it? Because Jeanie would have?
He took his shower, ate some of the tenderloin, green beans, and roasted red potatoes Joyce had left for him, then went into his office and got a legal pad and pen. He was about to go to the deck to work, but he stopped and opened his top desk drawer.
Arlington’s letter sat there, waiting.
He picked it up. By the weight of it, there was more than one page. What had Arlington had to say to him? He supposed he’d never know unless he actually opened it and read it.
With a deep sigh, he tucked the letter into the legal pad between the last page and the cardboard backing and took it with him out to the deck. He had no plans to read it this evening, but then again, maybe he would.
If he couldn’t come up with any new ideas, the letter might help. He doubted it, but anything was possible.
When he got outside, he settled onto the couch and put his feet up on the small coffee table. A few streaks of color remained in the sky, but they were nothing like what had been there earlier.
He checked his phone. No response from Kyle.
Frowning, Mitch put the phone on the couch cushion, clicked the pen, and faced down the blank page before him.