Chapter 1 #3
Whatever it was, I didn’t want it. I pushed the door and disappeared into the restroom.
From the parking lot, the literacy center appeared to be a stand-alone building.
It was not. It was one of several buildings on a forty-acre stretch of land that included income-generating rentals.
I’d won a week’s stay in one of their cabins.
A week in a luxury cabin? Maybe I was wrong about luck, but all I saw around that place was trees.
I preferred my luxury on the beach, where there were no ticks.
“Alex, you’re stressed. You could use a little getaway.” We were back in the car; paper cups full of meat on toothpicks occupied
the cupholders between us. “It’s probably lovely.”
“Then you stay in it.”
“Why would I stay in it? You’re the one who needs to shake things up.” She reached for a toothpick. “Changing your location
might help your writing muse. Maybe you’ll be inspired to write something different. What about that family saga you started
a few years ago? The one with the five sisters who get called home for their mother’s funeral.”
“You remember that?” I don’t even remember. It was a germ, a thought, not a story.
“It had potential,” Beck replied.
“I get paid to write romance. I can’t just change . . .” I let my words trail off. She thought it was easy to switch genres.
Everyone did. It wasn’t, but she was caught up in Gabriel Scott’s climb to literary stardom.
“It doesn’t have to be easy.”
“I have to be realistic. We have bills. The taxes and homeowner’s insurance are due soon, and you don’t exactly make anything
with your art projects and classes.”
Beck’s lips pressed together tightly before she spoke. “I’m aware of what I make or don’t make. I also know what’s coming
due, but we have some savings.”
“We can’t blow through our savings. It’s all we have.”
Beck released a tired sigh. Her gaze bounced between me and the road. “I’m not saying we should blow through anything. I’m just saying . . . breathe, sweetheart. Spend a little time exploring a passion project.”
“I can’t. I need a new contract.”
She flicked her wrist as if to say, Go on with that. “You are a broken record about that contract.”
“Shrug it off if you want. I can’t play in these people’s faces.” Beck did not understand. If I didn’t get a project approved
soon, I wouldn’t have a publisher.
We rode the rest of the way in silence with only the sound of light traffic and a gentle breeze outside the car’s windows.
Once we reached our street, Beck spoke again. “What did I teach you about time, honey?”
I remembered the lesson well. I’d lived my life making lists and plans because of the words she’d drilled into me. “It’s always
going to keep its promise.”
“And that promise is that it’s going to keep going. It won’t wait for us.” She pulled the car into the carport and cut the
engine. “You’re old enough to know that change happens—good and bad. You never know when it’s going to be too late to do something
you want to do.”
A frown settled into my brows and my heart. “Are you being a fatalist right now?”
“No, but you see what happened to that woman down the street.” Beck wagged a finger between us.
Beck was not good with neighbors’ actual names. She referred to them by what they did: Flower Lady had a yard that looked
right out of House & Garden, Hat was the man who always wore a baseball cap.
Thinking she’d be impressed, he told Beck he had five hundred hats.
She was not. My minimalist mother was turned off.
There was Neighborhood Watch—a pest who needed to find some business of her own—and Pam was the woman down the street.
Beck had previously called her Red Car for obvious reasons but no longer did because it was disrespectful at this point.
Her red car hadn’t moved in months because she’d had a stroke.
Pam was younger than me. Beck was a fatalist.
“I don’t mean to bring that up. It’s not exactly where I was going. Honestly, I’m hopeful that you’ll get married and maybe
have some—”
I cut my eyes at her, and Beck let the word children slide back down her throat. I should have cut her off at marriage. I didn’t even have a boyfriend or a date or anyone looking
at me like he wanted to ask me on a date. I had nothing.
“You won this thing for a reason. You know that, so set yourself up in that cabin and let God give you some fresh wind and
fresh fire.”
We ended the conversation about the topic. Beck wanted to bring it up again. She struggled to keep her comments inside her
mouth, and I was glad, because I’d already decided I wasn’t going to the cabin. That is, until I received an email from my
agent. I clicked on it and read the worst news I’d received since the day they announced Borders Books was closing all its
stores.
Alex,
How are you doing?
Call me. I’d like to talk about Sally’s email. Your other ideas. I need to get you set up as soon as possible. I’ve decided
to retire.
Dana
And right there my mother’s words came back to me. Change—sudden and bad. Time had kept its promise.