Chapter 28 #2
Ms. Kate nodded. “Regina understands that the same way you did. Her mother would have explained it.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, but the Gullah are practical and pass that down to their children.”
“Hmm,” I said. “I would have loved a place like this when I was a kid. I probably would’ve walked onto a college campus with
a notebook and called myself a writer without even hesitating.”
Ms. Kate just looked at me. “You took the road you were supposed to. You will write a book that’s about life and resilience
one day.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Growing up with challenges. Overcoming them is a testimony. I think something is rising in you.”
I was perplexed by that statement. I couldn’t imagine anything I’d said or done to make her believe that. “People struggle
every day. There’s nothing exceptional about that.”
“Perhaps, but you have the gift to write. You can put your story on paper in ways that the others can’t.”
“Sounds like a memoir, and those are for celebrities.” I slid the papers I planned to look at over the break into my bag.
“You say that, but you also say you think people will want to read about Regina’s childhood.”
“Yes, but that’s because she’s Gullah. Gullah Geechee stories are always interesting.”
For the first time since I’d met her, Ms. Kate was speechless. Her glare was odd, like she had something to say but caught
herself.
“Ms. Kate,” I said, wanting to be sure she was okay.
“You’re on a journey, Alex. You’ll soon find your voice in it.” Ms. Kate pressed her lips together and stood. That was abrupt for her, but maybe she was tired.
“Thanks for the coffee.” I took another sip.
“I have a suggestion for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“Stop looking here for the transportation solution.”
I didn’t know how we got back to this conversation, and I didn’t understand. “But I want to help the students.”
Ms. Kate’s mouth bunched up the way it always did when she was thinking hard. “The problems are not the center’s alone to
solve. Regina belongs to a community. Involve them.”
Ms. Kate’s phone rang, and she answered it, said a few words, and stuck it back in her pocket. “I have to get my work done.
My great-nieces soon come.”
“Greats. What a joy they must be.”
“They are.” She smiled a smile of pure joy. Rare for her. “We are going to the ocean to look for shells.”
“You should leave. I’ll wipe the tables. The floor doesn’t need vacuuming.”
Ms. Kate looked around and shrugged. “You’re right. I can’t expect you to listen to me if I won’t listen to you.” She walked
to the door, turned, and said, “Think on what I say about the community.”
“I will,” I replied. I finished packing my things, did the cleaning I promised, and headed home.
Once there, I shut myself in. I couldn’t let go of the idea of the romance novelist falling for the bookstore manager. It
spoke to me because my life was speaking to me. I could write that story. I was sure of it.
Gabe came home on the morning of the Fourth.
I had almost fifty pages already, so I spent the weekend with him.
We went to a Gullah festival and a barbecue at Noah’s house.
The contrast between the two gatherings was sharp.
One was modest and grounded, the other extravagant to the point of excess.
The difference mattered. Contrast feeds conflict, and I needed all the conflict I could get on the page.
The Bloom party stocked my imagination in ways I didn’t see coming.
I ear-hustled some new hip words I’d been missing.
Thanks to some actual celebrities from The Real Housewives franchise who were at the party, I was able to add a bit of bedazzle to the story.
Trish was right—my refusal to “get outside”
had affected my writing in a negative way. Storytellers had to be in the world and around people to write for them.
By the end of my week off, I had a hundred and fifteen polished pages and a great outline. It was the best work I’d done in
years—full of breath instead of strain and hitting all the beats a romance should. I dashed emails off to Dana, Trish, and
Beck. Beck was at work, so she wouldn’t be able to read it until tonight, but I heard from Trish so fast that I wondered if
she’d even read the whole thing.
“I love it,” Trish said. She hyped up all the parts I wanted her to confirm were correct and then said, “You’re back!”
Hearing her praise warmed me in a place that had been cold for too long.
I barely had time to absorb her enthusiasm when the phone rang with a call from Dana.
“This is it,” Dana said, breathless. Her voice was filled with excitement, finally about me.
We talked through a few tweaks but nothing major. Nothing soul-crushing. Not like my last submission.
By early evening, Beck was on FaceTime sharing the same excitement.
“Oh, honey, I love it. I need more. I need the end.”
“I only need to send a hundred pages. I won’t write the end without a contract,” I reminded her.
Beck’s smiled morphed into a chortle. “Maybe you need to consider writing the end so you can have something to aspire to.”
The light in my mother’s eyes flickered across the screen, a familiar glow I’d trusted my whole life. This was who we were
to each other—with each other. We’d always been a team. But there was distance now. Distrust on my part. Not because of the
manuscript. Because of everything else. Because the story she’d told me my entire life no longer made sense.
I wondered, not for the first time, whether I owed Beck another chance to explain. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was wrong.
Confronting her now could be an act of mercy. I had proof. I could push. I could say there was no John Miller at her high
school. But the staff would be back next week. I could have my answers. I owed it to myself to see this through . . . my way.
In the way Beck had forced me to figure it out.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Beck asked. “You look troubled.”
I swallowed the truth, stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. “Nothing, Mom. I just . . . miss you, is all.”
And that was real. I did miss her, the version of her I’d known that now was a combination of what I knew and didn’t know.
Beck’s expression changed again. This time the flicker in her eyes showed a range of emotions—guilt, maybe fear. Something
had crossed her mind. Perhaps she was wrestling with her demons too, but then I watched her do what she had done my whole
life, breathe in emotion, then bury it. I could almost see the moment she pushed it down.
“You should come home. I’m going to an art festival in Beaufort this weekend, but I’ll be back Sunday night.”
“I can’t. I actually have a few things to do here at the center, and I’m still writing.”
“You have to give yourself a break.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I need to keep going while I have momentum. I don’t want to lose daylight hours.”
Beck smiled and finished my words, her words, the Bible’s words. “No one can work when night comes.”
I nodded. “Have fun at the festival.”
When we ended the call, the guilt pressed at me again. But I pushed it back. I had the notes Dana emailed. I made the changes
and sent the revised pages back to her. By Sunday she and I had gone a few rounds, and the proposal was finally sitting in
my editor’s inbox, waiting for Monday morning.
Usually I was optimistic about my submissions. But after Sally’s last email, I was struggling to keep the faith. I believed in the story, but I was still in new territory.
I needed a distraction.
Resolving the center’s transportation problem was it. After I told Gabe about my proposal’s loving send-off, I decided to
talk to him about the transportation issue.
“Any ideas?” I asked.
Gabe’s face filled the screen of my iPad. His event in New Mexico was in the books. He was now in Arizona for a massive book
festival where he was once again giving a keynote. This man was literally important.
“The van is a good idea. There’s enough money from donations to get a used one and maintain it, but the bigger problem is
drivers. Even if we changed the bylaws, you’ll lose volunteers if that becomes a part of the job description.” He shifted,
and his background came into view. It included gorgeous artwork.
“You are booked at the best hotels,” I said.
He winked at me and said, “I’d rather be with you.”
Words of affirmation were my love language. Either he’d figured it out or he’d lucked into it. All I knew was he was love-languaging
himself right into my soul.
Focus, Alex.
“No one seemed too excited about the idea of driving the van. In truth, I’m not. For them you’re talking about adding two
hours a day in travel to their commitment.”
“And expecting volunteers to be able to drive a fifteen-passenger van.” He shook his head. “Not happening. We’d need to fill
a part-time position for that. With other grant money evaporating, I don’t think we can swing it.”
Covering my eyes, I sighed before groaning. “Ugh.”
“Babe, don’t stress. If you believe this is a real problem to be solved, you’ll solve it.”
“I guess. I was hoping you had an idea.”
“I’m sorry, love, my brain is filled with my new characters, and you are technically the writer in residence in that camp.”
I smirked. “You’re still the director.”
“A director who delegates well. You’ll figure it out . . . eventually.”
“I want to figure it out today, Gabe. Regina is a talented writer. I can’t stop thinking about her potential. I don’t want
to see her fall through the cracks.”
“You won’t let her.” His voice, warm and reassuring, coaxed me to calm down.
Gabe propped his elbow on the desk and dropped his chin on his fist. “What are you doing while you wait to hear from Dana?”
Through pursed lips, I said, “I’m working on another idea. You never know, they could reject me. Again.”
He shook his head. “And if they do make the mistake of rejecting you, Dana said she can sell it to someone else. Change could be good.”
I shrugged. “I’ve got my backlist to think about. If I move . . . it’s a big thing.” I couldn’t bear to think about what a