Chapter 10 #2
“Please let me do this . . . I . . .” For some reason, my eyes began to water. “I want to do this for Winston.”
Alden reversed a step, his face furrowed. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I gave Winston a big hug, feeling a newfound kinship with him. “See you later, big boy.”
Making it back home, I rummaged through my room for a bathing suit so I could get my assignment from Gilbert out of the way.
In the dresser’s bottom drawer, I found a floral halter-top bikini I hadn’t worn since high school and tried it on.
A little snug, but it would do. I plucked my dog-haired shirt off the floor, gave it a shake, and added it to my canvas bag.
After dousing myself in some Banana Boat SPF 50 that was out-of-date but better than nothing and putting Arlo’s hat back on, I grabbed a bottle of water and a beach towel and tossed both in the bag on my way out the back door.
Crossing the gentle incline of my small yard until meeting up with the shore, I settled onto the warm sand and looped my arms around my knees.
It felt so wrong to indulge in the beauty of the beach.
My daughter should be here, building sandcastles and frolicking in the surf.
Thinking of Fernie and unable to sit still, I began collecting seashells and tried figuring out something I could make with them for her.
Perhaps a seashell mobile to hang over her bed. Would that be safe?
Just off to my right, a group of middle-aged women let loose a chorus of laughter.
One lady with a straw hat poured what appeared to be red fruit punch into plastic cups, another friend helped her pass the cups out.
The sweet, overly ripe scent of booze wafted through the breeze, making my mouth water.
Sometimes, like now, the cravings came out of nowhere, so fierce it made not just my knees weak but my entire body.
Swallowing with difficultly, I pinched my eyes shut and tried to come up with a distraction. Fast. Before I did something stupid, like joining the group and asking for a cup of fun too.
A few drinks would go a long way to help me forget the significance of the day.
“No it wouldn’t,” I mumbled to myself. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
Spinning around, I opened my eyes and noticed Henry on his back patio. He looked like a good-enough distraction, so I grabbed my belongings and hightailed it away from the women and their tempting beverages.
I walked around the sparkling pool and stopped in front of his table. “Hi, Henry.”
He looked up and waved with his spoon, then used the back of his hand to adjust his glasses. “Hi.” A confetti of Fruity Pebbles decorated the front of his shirt. Did an entire spoonful miss his mouth?
“Got a little on your shirt.” I pointed.
Chin tucked, Henry surveyed his shirt. He collected a rainbow of cereal and popped it into his mouth. “You want some?”
I shook my head. “No thanks. Not much of a fan of Fruity Pebbles.”
Henry dropped his spoon and gasped in absolute seriousness. “You’re joking? What would Fred think?”
“Yabba Dabba Do?” I lifted my shoulders. “I’m more of a Raisin Bran kinda girl.”
“Ohhh.” Henry picked up his spoon and used his shirttail to wipe it off. “Boring then.”
I didn’t dare tell him my grandmother got me hooked on it due to its being high in fiber. Seriously, that was just a joke waiting to happen.
“Is this another challenge from Gilbert the Life Coach?” Henry shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.
“No.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “Today’s challenge was for me to enjoy the beach.” Which I failed. “But I stopped by here out of concern for your poor laptop.”
He glanced at his laptop. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
I crossed my arms but dropped them after remembering my attire. “I fear for its safety.”
“I assure you it’s tough enough to handle me.”
“What is it you’re doing this summer that requires regular keyboard attacks?” I remembered him saying he was a math professor, but that didn’t seem like a job that needed so much typing.
Henry’s face grew from nicely bronze to red in a flash. He looked off to the side, avoiding my eyes. “I’m a . . . uh . . . I write books in the summer when I’m not teaching.”
I helped myself to the seat across from him and placed my bag beside it. The shells jingled inside as if to remind me I had better things to be doing than being a nosy neighbor. “Ohhh . . . like math textbooks?”
He stared into the bowl of cereal. “Not exactly. I, uh . . .”
“Sorry. It’s none of my business.” I started to rise from the chair, but Henry shook a hand to stop me.
“It’s nothing weird. Just something I keep to myself.” He flipped through the stack of papers, notepads, and books beside his laptop until selecting a hardback with a familiar cover. “I write fiction.”
I took the book he offered. “Oh, okay. Like H. M. Rossi. I love his work!”
His face scrunched. “You do?”
“Yeah.” I flipped open the book and was blinded by bright-yellow highlighted sections and lots of scribbled notes in the margins.
“But you said you didn’t like Too Far Gone.”
“I never said that. I only said it wasn’t his best.”
Henry stood and went inside.
Thinking I’d offended him somehow, I gathered my bag to leave but he returned with an armful of books. At closer inspection, I realized they were all H. M. Rossi books. “Are you like obsessed with this writer?” I asked as he piled them all onto the table in front of me.
Sitting down, he turned the laptop so I could glimpse the screen and pointed to the header at the top of the Word document. Gone Too Far by H. M. Rossi.
I gawked at the screen, not believing what was right there before me. “No. Way!”
“I agreed with your critique on part one. Not enough romance. And it needed better pacing. This is my attempt at redeeming the story.”
I blinked at the screen, taking in the words of the master storyteller, then looked at the man himself. “No. Way.” I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “You’re a math professor who writes bestselling romance novels?”
“Romantic suspense.” He adjusted his glasses, evidently serious about the suspense part.
I tilted my head and absently licked the now-healed part of my bottom lip. “That math ain’t mathin’.”
“It’s the perfect cover.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything that day on your porch. Why were you reading your own book anyway?”
“I had an interview and wanted to refresh my memory on a key scene.”
I remembered my flippant comment. “Oh my gosh! I . . . I didn’t mean to insult your work!”
His lips twitched. “You were being honest and, as I’ve already stated, I agree with you.” His face grew somber. “I was going through a difficult time while I was writing that story.”
“What happened?” I asked before thinking it through. “Wait. You don’t have to answer that.”
“I lost my father while in the middle of writing Too Far Gone. And well . . . it’s hard to create a romantic story when your real world is anything but romantic.”
“I’m really sorry, Henry.”
“You didn’t know. It’s okay.” His tone was flat, like the line he’d just spewed had been one he’d said on repeat lately. “As cliché as it sounds, life does go on and that’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Yeah . . .” I frowned. “Why don’t you have your photograph on the back of your books? That could have saved me from putting my foot in my mouth.”
“It’s in my contract that they don’t use my photo.”
“Why?”
“I’m selling a work of fiction. Not my face.”
I didn’t have a comeback for that, nothing I’d say out loud anyway.
This man had a face that would sell just about anything.
Blushing from that thought, I averted my eyes and refocused on his computer screen without thinking.
He quickly turned it away, but not before I noticed an orange square of paper. “What’s that Post-it note for?”
“Oh.” Henry plucked it off of the side of the keyboard.
“It’s the day and time I sat down to write.
I tend to lose track when I’m writing and if I don’t do this .
. .” He studied the piece of paper. “I won’t know how long it’s been since I left reality.
” Then his gaze shifted to the screen and I knew he was slipping away.
Starstruck and struggling not to fangirl, I collected my bag. “Welp, I guess I’ll let you get back to your other world.”
Henry mumbled a goodbye, his fingers already pounding away.
This scoop was too juicy not to share. I mean, seriously, a famous author was living right underneath Sullivan’s Island’s nose!
I closed the front door and pulled up the contacts list on my phone.
Five. I had five contacts. Mom, Dad, Cy, Lana, and Gilbert.
Feeling right pathetic, I exited the contacts and figured it was probably best to keep Henry’s secret to myself.