Chapter 30 #2
Edith had suggested we temporarily close the bookstore for the last couple weeks of the year while I got my life in order. And while she was still the owner of And Then There Were Books, she was leaving most of the big decisions up to me, including when we would open the doors again.
“A month from today,” I replied, still in disbelief that I would be running the store. I remained unsure of how I would successfully fold the bookstore into my life, but I was absolutely sure that I couldn’t let it shut down forever. There was no way I would let that happen.
“Not much longer,” she sang. “I’ll organize for Sue to bring over some of her baked goodies that day and announce it at the next town meeting tomorrow night.”
“Thank you so much, Edith. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.” I paused, realizing all we’d talked about so far was me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing as well as a little old lady could be doing.” She chuckled. “The doctor is impressed with how well I’m healing from my fall, thank the Lord for that.”
“Oh, Edith, I’m so glad.” Relief swelled in my chest. After years of being out of practice, I’d found myself praying nightly for Edith’s recovery—among other things, like clarity on what would happen to my manuscript and my new relationship, and peace about the decision to return to Avila Falls.
But Edith’s well-being was a recurring theme.
“And with all the extra downtime that no longer running the bookstore has given me, I’ve decided to start a book club,” she chirped.
“Oh?”
“Our first book will be . . . well, it’s a very long name that I always get wrong. Something about potato peels and a society. But it sounded delightful to me,” she continued. We giggled.
“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”
“Will I be seeing you there? They’ll be every other Thursday at my house.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said, meaning every word. After all, just a few weeks ago, I might have lost Edith forever. Any chance to see her was another gift from God.
“Good. And make sure your sweet mother knows she’s invited too.”
I nodded. “I will.” My parents had wanted to do everything together over the last few weeks, and while that might have felt overwhelming to a younger version of myself, I couldn’t see it as anything but endearing these days.
I welcomed the luxury of having my own space again after living with them for the last few weeks, but our nightly dinners and binges of To Serve and Protect had been oddly comforting as everything else in my life was up in the air.
“And who knows, maybe one of these years the club will be reading a book of yours,” Edith said.
“Yeah, maybe so.”
We hung up, and my eyes caught sight of my manuscript sitting on top of an empty box.
I picked it up and ran my fingers across the front page.
A voice that wondered if I should give up altogether scampered across my mind.
Could I really find a way forward to get my novel out into the world without Carmichael’s help?
Was I not ready to have my own book published? Was my novel just not good enough?
Another voice jumped in and debated the last one, stopping it in its destructive tracks.
There was something here, something worth publishing.
Whether or not Carmichael had chosen to be a part of that process, I knew I needed to trust my instinct to push forward, even if that meant self-publishing.
It was time I had a book with my name on it. I couldn’t wait around any longer.
But over the last few weeks of reflection, I’d realized I needed to do some rewriting. Starting with chapter one again.
Painful as it had been, Carmichael passing on my novel was exactly what needed to happen to get me to realize that the novel wasn’t quite ready. That there was another version of it, written by a future me, that would make it truer to the person I found myself becoming.
As if she could hear my thoughts from almost two thousand miles away, an email from Alexandria popped up in my inbox.
I’d thrown myself into finishing Liv’s manuscript over the holidays to distract my anxiety and turned it in way before the deadline.
After having sent in the first draft last week, I’d received word from her that everyone at Carmichael was very happy with my work.
Despite the good news, I’d found myself avoiding Alexandria since then.
I was undecided on what to do about my position at Carmichael, both for emotional and geographic reasons.
I hadn’t quit, but I wasn’t sure that I could continue working for a publisher that had no interest in having me as anything other than a ghostwriter.
And I wasn’t confident they would want me if I were to live across the country . . . which I hadn’t told them about yet.
I opened her message, my palms clammy.
From: alexandria.vanderlinde@
To: itsjanecaldwell@
Hi Jane,
Hope you’re well. Jim was so pleased with your work that he’s mentioned having you work on another project in the coming months.
We’re looking at collaborating with actor Logan Peters; he’s slated to be the next thing, and we’re jumping on getting our offer over to him before other publishers do.
We’d love for you to partner with us on it.
I’ll begin getting an agreement together and send it over to you as soon as possible.
Regards,
Alexandria
My jaw dropped open. Logan, the last horrible date I’d had in New York, would be the next subject of a Carmichael memoir. You’ve got to be kidding me.
At a moment like this, when my own future as a novelist and bookstore owner looked murky and confusing and potentially unlucrative, having a sure paycheck—one that would go much further in Colorado—was tempting.
But could I go back to Carmichael after the way they’d rejected my novel despite years of faithful work?
I technically knew it wasn’t owed to me, but how could I not have gotten my hopes up after hearing time and time again from Alexandria about how much they valued my work?
Did I really want to write a book for someone like Logan Peters?
A knock at my door demanded my attention. I opened the door to reveal Noah, holding a small bag of supplies and two coffees from Jack’s.
I smiled. “How did you know I was in desperate need of coffee?”
“You normally are.” He shrugged, his signature grin emerging. Noah Elliot might have been my boyfriend now, but the twinkle in his eyes still made me feel like a high schooler with a colossal crush from afar. In the best way possible, of course.
He stepped inside and set everything down before taking a step toward me, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and kissing me with gentle lips.
Suddenly, the worries and questions that had been consuming me melted away as I relaxed into his embrace.
Noah had a way of calming my storms. I could get used to this.
“What do I owe you for the supplies?” I asked after we broke apart.
“It’s on the house,” he said. “So, this is the place? How’s it feel?” He took a few strides, surveying my still messy home. Poe jumped off the windowsill and greeted him with a mew.
I thought on Noah’s question for a few moments as I drank in the image—a simple apartment filled with all the things that made me who I was: my books, my memories and keepsakes, my cat, my manuscript . . . and my person.
“It feels . . . right,” I finally said. He looked back at me.
“It does, doesn’t it?” he said in agreement. Maybe it was just the romantic in me, but something about the weight in his voice and the warmth in his ocean eyes made me wonder if he was talking about us.
Before long, Noah set off to the various tasks he’d promised to help me with, starting with that pesky kitchen drawer. I finished unpacking the pieces of my gallery wall, continuing to assemble a life I never thought I would have. Never knew I would want to have.
None of my plans had turned out how I’d expected or wanted them to.
I hadn’t been published by Carmichael, slated to become a New York Times bestseller.
I hadn’t gone back to New York. I hadn’t gotten the life I was chasing.
And even more than that, I had no idea what the next year, or even the next month, would hold.
I didn’t know what would happen with And Then There Were Books or my beloved manuscript, didn’t know what was next for my position at Carmichael or my budding relationship with Noah.
But maybe that was okay right now. Maybe I didn’t need to have every question answered right this very moment to be fulfilled with what I had in front of me.
Maybe I didn’t need to have gotten everything I thought I’d wanted in order to believe that if God was still involved in my life, it could matter.