Chapter 14 #2
“He’s kidding!” I shout, forcing a laugh to soften it. “He always does this when he isn’t ready to order. Can you give us another minute or two?”
The server nods and heads to another table.
“What was that about?” Nate asks once the server is out of earshot.
“Brody doesn’t eat red meat while filming.
” I wait for the pieces to click together, but I’m not seeing a light of recognition flick on.
“You need to keep up the Brody facade when we’re in public in case people recognize you.
Like the honeymooners this morning. The woman recognized you right away, and she isn’t even an avid fan. ”
“You mean recognize Brody.”
“Same thing.”
“Not really.” There’s a coolness to Nate’s voice, an echo of an underlying tone I heard after jet skiing yesterday but couldn’t make sense of.
I force a smile. “Same thing, given the current circumstances. People sometimes recognize Brody, even people you wouldn’t expect. We need to be extra careful if we don’t want the plan exposed.”
There’s a long pause while Nate stares at the menu. “You’re saying I can’t eat red meat this trip? That seems unhealthy, given it’s not my normal diet and I’m doing increased activity for the show.”
“You can,” I say, and Nate looks more confused than before. “Not in public, though. You can order more room service, or we can get food to take back to the room or something. Just maintain appearances.”
Nate refocuses on the menu, his face a little softer this time. “Appearances are everything, I guess.”
“On this trip, it’s all about appearances.”
Nate looks up, his face unreadable as he studies me. Then, his expression shifts. “What’s his stance on fish?”
After a nice dinner, we stroll the winding paths of the resort with the rest of our frozen drinks in tow. The charcoal skies bring some relief from the day’s heat, and I count stars, wishing Vegas had an expansive skyline like this. It’s impressive and peaceful at the same time.
At least it would be if Nate’s phone didn’t ding every five minutes. He ignored the notifications during dinner, but now he plucks the phone from the back pocket of his khaki shorts.
Upon looking at the phone’s screen, his frown deepens. “It’s my agent. Again.”
“Maybe you should try replying.”
“I would,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “but there are only so many ways to lie about being almost done.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Debatable.” Nate takes a sip of his drink. “My draft is overdue. I got an extension, but the publishers are getting antsy. That’s why she’s reaching out so much.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Why haven’t you finished? Writer’s block?”
“Something like that. I hoped Brody was right when he said Fiji might help me finish, but inspiration hasn’t struck yet.”
“You were writing earlier.”
“I was, but it’s a new book.”
“When you haven’t finished the other one?”
He shrugs. “When things get difficult, there’s an allure to start over with something else instead.”
“Like real life.”
“A bit, yeah.”
As a silence embraces us, I’m mesmerized by the way the stars twinkle brightly in the night sky, but their reflections—other versions of them—are duller in the dark lagoon waters.
“What’s this new book about?” I ask.
“I’m still figuring it out. All I know is it’s not the novel my publishers have been waiting on.” He sighs. “They think they’re getting the next best-selling suspense novel. While this book is thrilling, it’s not what they’re expecting.”
“You’re writing, though. That’ll make your agent happy.”
“I don’t know that she’ll like this new side to Nate Bannam.”
“Don’t oversell it! All sides of you are barely tolerable at best.”
A laugh escapes Nate. “Thanks. It’s good to keep the ego in check. Makes for better writing with all the self-doubt.”
Self-doubt is something I understand perfectly. Some days, all I do is doubt myself. Not that I’m letting the conversation with Nate travel there. “What’s it like to be a novelist?”
“Insanity,” Nate says with a fond smile.
“One minute you’re talking to made up people in your head and the next you’re up at three in the morning on your third energy drink because it’s too early for coffee but too late for the stronger stuff and you have a deadline to hit so you’re vomiting words onto the page hoping your brain and your hands know what they’re doing better than you do. It’s a real elegant art.”
“Quite the picture.”
“Plus, you never—and I mean never—look back until the end.” He must see the question on my face because he explains, “If you’re writing, just write. You can’t be editing and second-guessing as you go. That’s a surefire way to bring out your inner critic at full force.”
We are our own worst enemies. I’d heard the saying many times, but it’s never struck me quite like it does now. This trip has challenged me in ways I never thought possible, pushing me beyond my comfort zone and making me stay there for days at a time. With a camera crew to capture every moment.
I don’t intend to confess any of this, but it’s pouring out all the same. “Fiji has all been so outside my comfort zone. I don’t run around Vegas hoping to discover the next great thrill.”
“Good.” In the moonlight, the corners of Nate’s eyes crinkle. “Then you’d probably have a severe gambling problem.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I just mean these excursions we’re doing…I don’t do this kind of stuff normally, and I don’t think I would have ever come here if I thought this was on the table. It’s not me; I’m not that brave. Not in real life, anyway.”
“Quitting your job without another one lined up sounds brave to me.”
“Not really, given the circumstances. Plus, I had Brody and this opportunity lined up.” I swing my glass-free arm out to gesture to Fiji, illustrating the opportunity, though all I’m doing is drawing our attention to the dark lagoon waters dancing in the moonlight.
“No one said bravery required doing something completely stupid.”
I fight the beginning of a smile. “Just a little stupid?”
Nate grins back at me. “Just a little.” He waits a beat, then adds softly, “You were brave today when I wasn’t.”
I shrug. “I had to be. It was my turn, or whatever.”
“Well, it meant a lot to me.”
I consider telling Nate that Brody found him brave during the treehouse incident. That he’s been braver than he realized all along.
But Nate continues talking before I have the chance. “No one is brave all the time, you know.”
“Brody is.” Possibly Nate, at least more than he realizes. Sarah was too. I keep that to myself, though. It requires too much explanation, and some things are too raw and ugly for other people to understand.
Nate scoffs. “Brody is not brave all the time.” As if sensing my disagreement, he continues, “We moved in the middle of the fourth grade and started at a new school. Brody was terrified of making new friends mid-year when everyone already had their chosen friendships. I had to drag him through the door. Same thing when we started middle school, but at least then he solved his own problem by getting a girlfriend who knew everyone. Smooth sailing from there.”
“That was so long ago, and he was a kid.”
“Okayyyy.” Nate thinks, a second example coming to mind quickly.
“There was another time junior year of high school. Our school had a fall fair the weekend before homecoming, where a fortune teller told Brody he’d stumble during the big homecoming game and we’d lose.
He was so afraid of letting the team down he feigned sick and sat the game out.
To this day, I’m convinced it was a clever ploy by the Hawks to secure a win. ”
“That hardly counts. He was looking out for the best interests of the team!”
Nate tilts his head and shoots me a knowing look. “We still lost. By a lot more than we would’ve with him in the game. The point is, he wasn’t, and still isn’t, always brave. No one is; we’re all human.”
Maybe Nate is right. Even Sarah, with her center-of-attention personality, may not have been as brave as I thought. Bright and bold, definitely. Braver than the average human? Perhaps that’s just how I remember her, or want to, at least.
Though as Nate and I cross onto the pier and head toward our bungalow, I wonder if I ever understood what bravery is.