Chapter 56
“Come on, sis. Get up.”
Sarah groaned at the sound of her brother’s voice and rolled away from the direction it was coming.
“Ow!”
He’d jabbed her in the ribs. She slapped a hand over the spot and bolted upright.
Upon spotting Mark’s unrepentant expression, she aimed her best glare at him, “What are you doing here?”
“Ames told me what happened.”
Sarah frowned, “Oh.”
Her brother settled himself at the edge of her bed and wrapped her in a comforting hug, “I’m here to make sure you get out of bed, and your pajamas, today. Ames said you were bordering on gross yesterday.”
Sarah grinned despite herself. “Remind me to thank her later.”
Mark gave her a final squeeze then released her, “Get up. We’re going out.”
“Where?”
He wagged his eyebrows, “Somewhere you won’t have a chance to think about Charles Morgan.”
She smiled, liking the sound of that.
***
Two days. Two days had passed without Sarah Woodward in his life. It felt like it had been months. He missed her. An ache in his gut confirmed the thought. He cursed the sensation. She’d betrayed him, like Maxine. Like Linda. Why had he let himself believe Sarah could be different? He’d let his heart, and libido, take control, when he should have kept his brain in charge.
Foolish.
“Darling?”
His mother’s voice distracted him.
He faced her and forced a smile he didn’t feel, “Mm?”
“How’s the writing going?”
He glanced at her computer, where he was sitting, “Slow.”
She gave him a pat on the shoulder, “Need some help?”
He hesitated, “You feel up to it?”
She nodded, “Of course.”
“All right.”
Why not? He wasn’t being productive anyway. Unless one three-word sentence in four hours was considered productive nowadays. He heard his mother slide a chair toward him and watched her take a seat at his side.
She focused on the computer screen, “What are you up to?”
He read the sentence he’d written aloud. All three words.
He noted a faint, amused, curl to his mother’s lips as she said, “Darling, you need to add more emotion to that. Remember what I’ve always told you: if in doubt, add emotion.”
He nodded, “I know, but . . .”
She finished his sentence when he trailed off, “You’re not really feeling the emotion today?”
“Exactly.”
She placed a hand to his cheek, “You’ll make up, darling.”
He laughed, with no humor in it. “I doubt it.”
She didn’t know what Sarah thought of him. Or what he thought of her.
She aimed a knowing smirk at him, “Trust me on this. I’m a romance writer.”
He rolled his eyes, “If you say so, Mom.”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but you’ll see, and then I can say ‘I told you so.’”
He laughed, “I look forward to it.”
“Good. Now . . .” She turned her attention back to the computer and stretched her linked fingers out in front of her. “Let me show you how to add emotion even when you don’t feel it . . .”
***
Mark had been right. Volunteering with him at the local homeless shelter that morning had kept her occupied on something other than Charles Morgan. The work had been steady, but also interesting, as well as humbling, and even a little fun. But now she was home. Alone. And thinking about Charles Morgan.
“Ugh.” How could she get this man out of her head?
She saw the computer from the corner of her eye.
Writing made everything better.
She plopped herself into the office chair, reached for the notebook she’d been using in her sessions with Joan, and flipped it open. The first thing she spotted was the slip of paper Charles had used to write the welcome note to her at the cottage.
She frowned as a question flashed.
Should she call Joan about the sessions? She shook her head. What was the point? Charles would already have spoken against her and convinced Joan to cancel the sessions. He’d done the same to Linda, hadn’t he? And Joan’s agent.
With a resigned sigh, she lowered the note to its former place, narrowed her gaze on the computer, and made herself forget about the Morgans.
***
He had to admit his mother’s trick had worked. The basic sentence had morphed into two paragraphs and was now crammed with emotion. In most cases where writing was concerned, less was more. But, in this case, more was better.
He faced Joan, “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled back, “Anything for you, darling.”
He turned back to the computer.
Beside him, he heard his mother stand, “I’m going to make some notes for the final chapters of my book. I’ll be here on the sofa if you need me.”
He nodded, “All right.”
His mind lingered on what she’d said. Anything for you, darling. It was true. She’d always done anything he wanted, even when it hadn’t been in her best interest. He’d taken advantage in his younger years. Now was the time to pay back some of that sacrifice she’d made. That’s why he was doing this: dealing with lack of sleep, giving up his social life––he’d lost every friend since this began––and taking on the extra responsibility.
It was all for his mother.
Rage boiled in his belly. Sarah had accused him of bullying and controlling his mother. Like his father had done. Couldn’t she believe he was doing this for his mother’s benefit?
He faltered on that question.
Another angle occurred to him. Maybe he wasn’t doing this for his mother at all? Maybe he’d grown tired of the sacrifices? Maybe the real reason he had her sign the papers was to get rid of the problem? Maybe he’d tasted some freedom with Sarah and wanted more of it?
The rage settled. Was Sarah right about him?
***
Sarah pulled out the copy of the manuscript she’d entered into the mentorship, the one Joan had given her at their first meeting. She eyed one of the blue-inked notes in the margin. Something stirred in her subconscious as she read them. There was something off about them. But what?
She bit her lip and silently begged for the answer to come.
Unexpectedly, it did.
She gasped, “It can’t be.”
She shuffled through the items she had around her on the computer desk and found it. The notepaper Charles had left for her at the cottage. She inspected it against the manuscript.
“Oh my God.”
She was right. The notes in the margin of the manuscript matched Charles’s handwriting on the note. He’d written both.
She frowned. This didn’t make sense. Why would Charles be writing the notes Joan was supposed to have made on her manuscript? Was this another example of the level of control he exerted over her mentor’s life? Why was Joan letting him get away with it? What was she missing?
She felt her shoulders tense. None of it mattered anymore did it? She needed to forget about Charles Morgan. And the mentorship. Sooner rather than later.
With an agitated heart, she shoved the paper manuscript into the top drawer of her desk then renewed her focus on the copy of the manuscript on her computer screen. After a few minutes of typing, she felt her tension fall away.
Yes. Writing made everything better.
The thought was interrupted by her cell ringing. She glanced at it and saw her mother’s name flash up on the screen. She answered.
“How are you feeling today, baby girl?”
“Better.”
It was sort of true. She didn’t feel the need to stay curled up in bed anymore. That had to be an improvement, right?
“Do you need me to come over? Make you some dinner?”
Sarah shook her head, “Thanks, but I just want to be alone and get some writing done.”
“Okay, but make sure you eat something.”
“I will.”
“And stay hydrated.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Ending the call, Sarah turned back to the computer screen.