Chapter Thirty-Five #2
“You brought my back to myself, Whit. You saw me when I couldn’t, and I’ve loved you all along.”
She pulled him toward her. Their bodies pressed together, his hands spread across her back, and they fell into a long kiss
that felt like hope.
Later, as they sat by the crackling fireplace, drinking tea out of mugs that said “World’s Best Librarian” and “I Read Banned Books,” Merritt broke the companionable silence.
“I have to tell you something.”
“What?” Whit asked, looking at her like whatever she said could only bring comfort and peace.
She set down her empty mug.
“It’s big.”
He shrugged, as if it would be impossible to move him out of his current harmonious state.
Merritt leaned toward him, took a breath, and said, “I convinced Helen’s editor to read the manuscript.”
Whit’s jaw fell open.
“You what?”
Merritt raised her hands semi-triumphantly.
“I got some information about the publishing house from Willa—”
“Willa knew?”
Merritt nodded.
“And édouard came with me—”
“What?” Whit said again.
“Well, I called Evie, and they let me stay over, and then the three of us sort of strategized. édouard insisted that he would
come along and tell them he represented both of us.”
He let out a little gasp. “Deception!”
“I know.”
She looked at him, as if asking for permission for this thing she had already done, and he nodded so that she’d go on.
“And anyway, édouard got us into the building—”
“It’s those eyes.”
“Or the extreme confidence. Anyway, they let us meet with Shreya—”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Shreya, and this awful lawyer man, and then I told them who I was and what we had done. I slid a copy of the manuscript across the table like I was a businessperson making an offer in a movie, and I reminded them of Helen’s rabid fan base, and I suggested that to take this project away from her husband in direct violation of her wishes was pretty bad optics.
I remembered you mentioning in passing that the will put you in control of her social media accounts, so I threw that in as a threat. ”
Whit nodded, clearly impressed and maybe a little bit awed.
“And then I told them that I had Ian Hoult from The Atlantic ready to write a piece if they didn’t listen—”
“Sorry, you what?”
Whit froze. Merritt grinned.
“That’s a pretty huge bluff, Merritt.”
“It wasn’t a bluff. Ian told me he’d do it.”
Whit’s hand flew to the top of his head.
“How did you get him to—”
“I gave him an interview. About Graydon and his book, but I made him promise to help me with this if I needed it. The article
hasn’t run yet, but it will.”
Whit dragged his hand down his face, as if trying to wake himself up.
“You did all that—for me?”
Merritt laughed.
“No, Whit. I did it for both of us. And just for me, too, if that makes sense. I gave Ian the interview in the first place
because I realized I didn’t want to let Graydon be the only one telling my story. And anyway, the truth is pretty damning
for him. But I made it a condition of my cooperation that Ian let me drop his name as one of my intimidation tactics, and
anyway, Whit, what I’m trying to say is that it worked. I scared them, and they have agreed to read your version. Our version.”
“Oh, Merritt,” Whit said, looking into the fire. A stab of doubt hit her chest.
“I hope that’s okay,” she said quickly. “Maybe it was overstepping, but I couldn’t bear the thought of our work meaning nothing
and of them giving it all away to some random person. That’s not what Helen wanted, and—”
Whit reached out to place a hand on her elbow. A log split in the fireplace as a charge crackled up her arm.
“No, Merritt,” he said. “That’s not what I meant. I mean . . . thank you. You’re right. We have made a wonderful thing together, and they will love it. They will publish it.”
The sharpness in Merritt’s chest and stomach dissolved.
“You really think so?”
“I know it.” He shrugged and let his fingers travel the length of her arm before taking her hand in both of his. “I get the
books now. I get them in a way I never did before. All anyone wants from this story is to see how far the characters will
go for each other. It’s all about the things we do for the people we love, and we figured that out. It took me a while, but
I figured it out, too. Really, what else can you ask for?”
“I can’t believe you thought I moved to New York,” Merritt said as they walked in Kathleen’s neighborhood. After they both
agreed that Merritt’s mother could not possibly stay at Peggy’s house past 10:30 and that they’d rather not be home when she
returned, Merritt had found Whit a knit cap and one of her dad’s old coats.
Now they walked the slick streets, and Whit kept one bare hand in his coat pocket, and one wrapped around Merritt’s gloved
fingers.
“I thought it was a possibility. I was not existing in a rational state at the time—”
“And you flew to see me at the drop of a hat—”
“And to see my sister.”
Merritt scoffed.
“Okay, for you,” Whit admitted.
“Just very dramatic of you, is all I’m saying.”
Whit sighed and out came a misty puff of mock agitation.
“You love me,” she reminded him, and he nodded. “Also, I have to ask, were you going to Riverside Park because of—”
“You’ve Got Mail, yes. I thought you might be there. It’s a lot less romantic in January, just so you know.”
“Well,” Merritt said, bobbing her head a bit, “that’s still pretty romantic. And a pretty good guess. But to fly all the way
to New York on so little information . . .”
“I went to the bookshop looking for you first, and your coworker was very unhelpful—”
“Huong,” Merritt said affectionately.
“Yes. But you weren’t working, so I decided you must be subbing, and I interrupted your mom while she was reading—”
“I bet she hated that.”
“You bet correctly. And she told me you were gone.” He paused to consider. “She probably could’ve been clearer about what
that meant if she wanted to.”
“She absolutely could have,” Merritt agreed with a laugh.
“Anyway, I bought a plane ticket immediately, but then I had a flat tire, and so I got a ride with Noel Pendergrass, but I
had to—”
“Stop,” Merritt said, rounding on him. “You rode from Whelk Harbor to Boston with Noel Pendergrass? For me?”
Whit smirked.
“I did. And I cannot overstate how awful it was. And also, I had to agree to help with carpool duty.”
Merritt beamed.
“You did that for me?”
“I did. And I will do almost anything else for you, too, but not that, not ever again.”
“That’s fair,” Merritt said, dropping her head to his shoulder as they continued their late-night stroll. “That’s very, very
fair.”
They walked on into town, passing the village green, the bistro, the bookstore, until eventually they got too cold, and together
they headed back home.