Chapter 8
Knock, knock.”
I looked up from my computer to see Rebecca leaning on the doorframe. After receiving a promotion in January to account supervisor, along with a healthy pay raise, I was now the proud occupant of an office with a door, situated roughly six steps from Rebecca’s corner office.
“Question,” she said. “You didn’t happen to write a romance novel that you didn’t tell me about, did you?”
Uh-oh. My flaming-hot cheeks answered Rebecca’s question before I could summon a verbal response. “Um, yeah, guilty as charged?” My voice trembled. “But, I mean, how did you hear about it?”
“How did I hear? That’s what you’re worried about?” Rebecca scoffed. “Michelle Thomas sent a congratulatory text with a link to that Refinery29 article to my entire pickleball group!”
“What article? Can I see it?” Biting the corner of my lower lip, I privately chastised the publicist assigned to my book at the publishing house for not sending me the link.
Rebecca passed her phone across the desk and I scanned the headline: The 20 Hottest Romance Titles for Your Beach Bag this Summer. I scrolled down to discover that number five on the list was indeed Love You to Mars and Back by Thea Packer.
Rebecca’s expression was filled with the sense of betrayal I had to admit she was entitled to.
I’d wanted to tell them about the book for months.
But given Rebecca’s negative reaction to the notion of me writing again, back when I’d floated it over a year ago, I feared they wouldn’t understand why I needed to do this.
Now it appeared I’d been outed by the Brentwood Busybodies, which only added to my troubles because, by procrastinating, I’d managed to embarrass Rebecca on top of everything else.
“Ugh, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I had no idea there was going to be press,” I said, handing back her phone. “I was told there’s almost no publicity budget for my book.”
“Can we focus on the fact that you wrote an entire book and sold it to a publisher without mentioning it to us?”
I could feel a bead of sweat dribbling down between my shoulder blades. “I wanted to tell you, but the longer I waited, the harder it got.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I have an advance copy if you’d like—”
“Yes, of course I want to see it,” she said, cutting me off.
I reached into the beautiful black leather tote Rebecca had given me the day I was promoted and retrieved a copy, which Rebecca snatched out of my hands. But rather than leave my office, she slid on her reading glasses and proceeded to read the entire back cover copy, out loud.
“On the same day he learns his beloved wife, Tallulah, is pregnant, astronaut Zach Jenkins is tapped to be a crew member on the first human mission to Mars. Faced with an impossible choice, the newlywed couple decide that Zach should accept the assignment, but two days into the mission communication is lost and the astronauts are presumed dead. Bestselling author Tallulah, racked with grief, is left to raise their beautiful daughter on her own. Five years later, Zach walks through the front door, having miraculously survived. As the weeks pass, the magic of being reunited gradually gives way to conflict as the immense chasm of time and space between them becomes clear. With Zach’s survival and their perfect daughter, have they already hit their lifetime allotment of miracles?
Or can they meet-cute a second time to find their way back to each other—and the happy family of their long-ago dreams? ”
Her enunciation had become more pronounced with each successive sentence, and by the time she finished, every single hair on the back of my neck bristled.
Rebecca removed her reading glasses and looked up.
“Thea, it seems like you’ve written a book imagining Sam coming back.
You absolutely can’t publish this. What will people think?
” Her eyes widened, and she started pacing.
“And, oh my gosh, with everything that happened after the last book, how could you risk putting our family through that again?”
“But this won’t be anything like last time,” I said. “This is a romance with a happy ending. What’s the worst that could happen? Sam comes back to me?” I was trying to hit a facetious note but I obviously bombed, because Rebecca was now staring at me with alarm.
“Do you truly believe that could happen?”
I glanced out the window before answering. “Believe? No, of course not. But dream?” I gave a sheepish shrug, hoping she didn’t think I was completely untethered from reality.
“What about Lucy?” Rebecca asked.
“She’s not exactly the target audience,” I kidded, refusing to even acknowledge her insinuation that publishing this book somehow made me a bad mother.
“Don’t be cute,” Rebecca snapped. “The mothers at preschool most certainly are the target audience. As are all of my friends. They’ll all read it because you wrote it.
And so will a whole lot of other people because of all the speculation after Sam died.
” She slumped into my guest chair. “What happened to writing under a pseudonym?”
“I thought about it, but you were the one who pointed out that even pseudonyms have a way of leaking, so what did it matter if I used my married name? Besides, it’s been five years.
The only people who will make the connection are the ones who already know that T.
J. Newhouse and Thea Packer are the same person.
They’re our friends, our community. They know I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s not like I have some big, shameful secret to hide.
But to be safe, I had my agent insert a clause in my publishing contract that every effort would be made to avoid publicity, interviews, or public statements that refer to my previous work, my maiden name, or Sam’s death.
As far as the public is concerned, this is Thea Packer’s debut novel.
Believe me, I don’t want to dredge up the past any more than you. It’ll be fine, I promise.”
“We can only hope—” Rebecca started.
“Hey, ladies, how’s it hanging?” William interrupted, poking his head in the door with a jovial grin.
Rebecca thrust my book at him. “Thea wrote another book. It’s about Sam.”
William cast a quizzical glance my way before putting on his glasses and skimming the back cover. “It’s not about Sam. It’s about an astronaut.”
“Don’t be so literal.” Rebecca rolled her eyes.
“This book is about a writer who finds out she’s pregnant before her husband leaves for five years only to return to meet his daughter who was born while he was away.
That plot doesn’t ring a bell?” Before William could respond, Rebecca continued, “She did this right under our noses. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why she let you take Lucy every afternoon for all those months last year. So she could write.”
“Yeah, and it was awesome. Thea, you should write more books,” William said, not getting why his wife was so upset.
He put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Thea’s a terrific mom.
Good for her that she’s written another book.
It’s obviously fiction,” he said, holding it up.
“Maybe you’re taking this too seriously? ”
I held my breath to see how Rebecca would react, hoping beyond hope for absolution.
At last, she spoke. “We’re a family and we love you, Thea.
But I have to say this out loud. I’m a little worried about you.
Believing your writing was responsible for Sam’s death in the first place?
And now even entertaining the possibility that this book could bring Sam back? ”
“I can see why you might worry, but please hear me out,” I said, holding up a hand.
“This is hard to explain, but the reason I wrote this book was less about Sam and more about testing the crippling fear that what I publish comes true. Call me superstitious, but I haven’t been able to shake that fear ever since that awful meeting with your lawyer friend.
You always say we need to experience life in drive, not reverse, but I’ve been stuck in neutral for so long.
This was the only way I could think of to get closure about the eerie coincidences of Sam’s death and begin to move forward. ”
Rebecca nodded slowly. “Well, what’s done is done, I suppose. All that matters now,” she said, her eyes glistening, “is you and Lucy. And I pray for all our sakes that this doesn’t spiral back on us.”
On that one final point, we were absolutely aligned.