“It’s only for a couple of days,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be happy to stop in after work each evening and check on him. And I doubt he’d classify himself as lonely. When I called your apartment last week, he told me all about the people he’s met out on his walks with his dog Grover.”
Charlotte had me there. Dad loved going out for daily walks, and with a big friendly golden lab at his side, he’d turned plenty of strangers into friends.
It kind of drove me crazy to think of my blind father out on the busy sidewalks alone, a perfect target for muggers and pickpockets. But he insisted he was just fine and wouldn’t be kept “prisoner” in a small apartment all day. A former military man, Dad was independent and brave to a fault.
“That’s true…” I was running out of excuses. “I just…”
“Wait—don’t tell me. You’re having an indoorpoolinstalled next week.”
Charlotte leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes. “No one is more qualified to do this interview than you. I know you’ve read all his books—several times. You could probably teach a class on them. No one would do a better job on this than you. And you’ve interviewed plenty of authors. So what’s the problem?”
For a moment I stayed silent. Charlotte had been good to me. She’d given me this job, and now she was offering me a huge opportunity to advance my career. Every other writer in this building would be foaming at the mouth to get a chance like this. I owed her the truth.
I let out a long exhale. “It’s embarrassing.”
One perfectly groomed brown eyebrow lifted. “Oh. This should be interesting. Go on.”
“Well… you see… I’ve met him. I mean, not in the normal, social kind of way. I met him at a signing for his last book. As you said, I’ve met plenty of authors. I was always fine. I did my job, acted like a normal person, spoke intelligible English.”
A smile curved Charlotte’s lips. “I’m starting to get the picture. A little starstruck were we?”
“That doesn’t even begin to describe it. I knew I’d be nervous. I mean, he’s my favorite author of all time,” I said. “I practically know all his books by heart. But when I got to the table, and he was there in front of me, close enough to touch, close enough to see his eye color, I went completely blank.”
Those turquoise eyes. I’d never seen another pair like them before or since. Those extraordinary eyes were the only fragment of good memory I retained from that horrifying day, though they might have been at least partially responsible for my mental meltdown.
“That’s not so bad,” Charlotte said.
“I wasn’t finished yet.”
She laughed. “Oh boy.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Being struck dumb would have been a dream come true compared to what happened next. It was like the floodgates broke. All the admiration, and respect, and idolization that had built up over the years came pouring out. I babbled. I told him he was a genius, that Ilovedhim. I still can’t believe I said that. I’ve never even said it to aboyfriendbefore.”
Cringing, I continued. “And then I cried. Not some delicate little tear glistening in my eye as I choked up. Ibawledright there in the bookstore.”
My eyes closed, and my head dropped in defeat at the memory of the disgraceful moment. “I was like a tween fangirling over her favorite boy band member—only less dignified. Oh—and I spilled my drink all over the signing table and his lap. Imighthave... wounded him in a very sensitive area.”
“Oh my.” Charlotte’s hands covered her mouth as her own eyes filled with tears of mirth.
“He was horrified, of course. He yelled and jumped back right into the promotional banner behind him. I’m sure he was picturing that scary woman fromMiseryand expecting me to produce an axe at any moment. Either that or he was afraid I’d try to steal a DNA sample and clone him. I left without even getting the signed book. It remains, to this day, the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
When Charlotte stopped laughing, she said, “That story will be a great ice breaker when you get to his house in Eastport Bay.”
“It’s at his house?” I blurted.
My heart lurched with longing. To be able to see where Jack wrote, to take in the view he stared at when he was searching for just the right word. It practically made my mouth water.
“Yep. You’ll get to look around, take a few pictures,redeemyourself.”
Though I was shaking my head no, Charlotte kept talking. “That was two years ago, Bonnie. You’ve matured, grown as a writer and as a person. You wouldn’t be meeting him as an adoring fan this time—you’d be more like a colleague. You’d be approaching him as a professional, and I’ve never known you to be anythingbutprofessional.”
Never in my life had I been so conflicted. I wanted to accept the offer. Iwantedto better my chances at the promotion. But I had to be honest. “I’m afraid I can’t be professional withhim.”
Charlotte sighed. “Well, okay, if you’re sure…”
Rising from my chair, I started moving toward the door. “I am. I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”
Charlotte nodded and watched me go. When I was almost to the door, she said, “Bonnie.”
