Chapter Ten
BLESSED WINTER – Chapter Three
Page 32, word count = 7933
“Of course, I’ll stay with you,” Brock said.
Pandora didn’t like relying on people at the best of times. Being in someone’s debt was super uncomfortable to her. It struck her, however, that Brock probably didn’t have anywhere to go at… She glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove. Four-o-four in the morning, Christmas or not.
He was basically stuck here. He probably wanted to go back to sleep, maybe get an early start back to L.A. He didn’t want to spend Christmas with her when—
“Oh my gosh!” she gasped as she saw what was under the tree. “Where on earth did those come from?”
“Hmm? Oh, uh.” He rubbed his jaw, making a sandpapery sound against the stubble that was a long way from a white beard, but he still said, “Santa.”
She rose and moved closer for a better look. Six new gifts sat there, three properly wrapped and addressed to him from Santa in writing that smacked of a mom’s. The other three were wrapped in Christmas flyers and tied with some of the yarn Pandora left in her kitchen drawer for the odd time when she needed a length of string.
“He couldn’t find tape,” he said.
“How…” Her throat closed up so tight she couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. She was going to cry. How embarrassing.
She hurried to the kitchen and her box of tissues.
“Did I upset you?” He leapt up from the sofa. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course, I’m not upset. That’s so kind and generous and I don’t even know how you did it.” Her voice went up, up, up, disappearing like a helium balloon until it was no longer discernible. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked, and blew her nose, fighting a sob that was trying to break like a bubble against the inside of her ribcage.
“Don’t apologize.” He was suddenly really close, taking her arms to try to meet her eyes, chuckling with something that sounded tender and affectionate and then drawing her into his near-naked body. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I wanted you to like it, that’s all. It’s noth—”
“Please don’t say it’s nothing,” she cut in. She let her arms go around him, hugging him while her wet cheek pressed against his strong heartbeat, body angled so the side of her belly was against his groin. His skin was warm and rough with silky hair and she wanted to turn her lips against it. “It means the world to me. I haven’t had a real, wake-up-to-presents Christmas since—” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
He rubbed her back. “Do you want me to make you some tea? See if you can get some more sleep?”
“No! I want to open my presents.” She laugh-cried into her crushed tissue. “Can I? Pleeeze?”
He chuckled again, opening one arm to invite her back to the couch. “Of course.”
“But I will make some tea. I bought a special blend that smells like cloves and nutmeg. Do you want to try it?” She was trying not to act like a silly kid, but she was suddenly, insanely excited. It was Christmas.
“Sure.” He sounded bemused. “Let’s put on some music and do it right. If only you had a fireplace.”
“The TV should be set to the hearth channel. It’ll have carols. Turn it on if you like.”
He did, then stepped into some sweatpants from his bag, not bothering with a shirt. “How are you feeling? Any pains?”
She had forgotten all about that. She looked to the ceiling, mentally doing an assessment, but all she found was a fizz in her system like her blood had been replaced with champagne. “Nope. Totally fine.”
She set the kettle, then fetched her robe, settling onto the sofa with their tea a few minutes later. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you.”
“Last I checked, Santa gets cookies.” He pointed at the tin.
“He does.” She rose and he quickly waved her to sit.
“I’m Santa. I’ve got this.” He handed her a gift and opened the tin of cookies, biting into something covered in white chocolate with a green tree imprinted on its top.
She opened the first gift, which was a plush panda about the size of a kitten. She rubbed the fur against her cheek. “I’m either going to have to pinch myself, because this is the craziest dream, or you’ll have to tell me how you did this.”
He hesitated, then admitted, “I was going to have a belated Christmas with my family. I bought that for my nephew.”
“I can’t steal it from him!”
“He’s three months old. He won’t know the difference. And they’re not back until the twenty-ninth. I’ll pick up something else before then.”
She pressed her mouth between the panda’s ears. “I should probably feel more guilty, but I’m so happy.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “I thought it was silly to buy the baby anything when it’s not even here to open it, let alone old enough to care, but I’m so touched, Brock. You have no idea.”
He got up and fetched the box of tissues, bringing them back and using one to wipe her cheeks. He was laughing at her, but with affection. “This is so worth it to me. You have no idea how much fun I’m having right now. Want another one?”
“I want to savor this.” She set the panda in her lap and sighed, admiring the tree and sipping her tea, blinking wet eyes.
“Can I ask why you haven’t celebrated for so long?”
She stroked the soft fur of the panda with her thumb, not wanting to tarnish such a perfect morning. What would he think of her?
“I’ve been on my own a long time. I usually help out at a soup kitchen on Christmas day. It’s kind of, um, giving back.” She bit her lip, watching him, but he only looked concerned. “I used to eat at one.”
He grew alert with concern. “What happened?”
“My mom is kind of in a cult.” Not kind of. Totally. Pandora had since looked up the definition and her mother’s ‘religion’ ticked all the boxes.
“Like, a real one? That’s why you’re estranged from her? Do you see her at all?”
“The odd phone call when I try to get her to bust over the wall and she refuses and tries to pull me back in.”
He gave her the look she’d seen on the faces of the few other people she’d told. Cautious yet morbidly curious. “Which one is it?”
“Nothing you would have heard of. I’m not even sure how she got sucked in. It was after my dad died. I was ten—old enough to know things were different. Wrong. But not old enough to do anything about her choices. She dragged me around to all these weird rituals and we had to make vows to give up stuff. We couldn’t have a TV or eat meat. Slave labor is a huge part of it. All of my schoolwork was about Gary and his ‘truth.’ He’s the guy who created it. He has three wives and wanted to make me his fourth. I was sixteen and knew I didn’t want that so I ran away. That was six years ago.”
“You were on the streets at sixteen? Where did you go?” He was appalled, which was how most people reacted. Girls that age were lucky to survive, let alone push through without a string of sexual assaults or a drug habit or both.
Fortunately, all of her sexual encounters had been consenting, if underwhelming.
Until Brock.
A pang of yearning went through her as she thought about how perfect their weekend last spring had seemed. She’d been physically infatuated for the first time, but she had also fallen for the dream he represented. For a couple of days, she had felt like she was ‘normal.’ Like she could live the mainstream life. Her desire to be part of regular society had been the biggest reason she had left the cult.
“We used to drive by this guy who begged on a street corner. He was all toothless and scary, but I just went up to him and asked if I could beg with him. He was super nice and told me how to find the soup kitchen. The people there were really generous and gave me a bed. They were Christians, totally normal and not pushy at all about it, but I was soured on religion. I moved on as soon as I got a job and a room.” In a fleabag motel.
The first months of being on her own had been terrifying and difficult, but she shrugged it off. The compound had been worse and all her struggles to get out were worth it.
“Mom caught up to me and tried to make me come back. I was dating the fry cook at my new job by then. Actually, we had only gone to one movie, but he wanted to drive to Texas. I went with him more to get distance from Mom than to be with him. I was honestly scared she would kidnap me back into it. My second boyfriend promised to get us both jobs in the movie industry in California. Turns out they weren’t the kind of movies I wanted to work on. Or in.” She made a face while he swore under his breath. “Moving here was boyfriend number three, but I’ve learned my lesson. No more moving for a man.”
*
Glory had the perfect excuse to take half the day off, hide out at Suzanne’s, and write. She had to leave her car with Jimmy across the street again, this time to get her brakes done. After picking up a cordless drill her father had seen on sale in the Haven Hardware Store’s flyer, she dropped her car, then kicked back with her laptop.
Now it was the lunch rush, which broke her concentration, making her self-conscious. She was at her second-favorite table, where no one could sneak up and see what she was writing, but she switched to her mother’s fan page, liking and commenting on posts.
She had the sense she was being observed, however, and lifted her gaze.
Bam. Rolf was looking right at her. He flicked his gaze away and moved up his place in line.
She flashed her own gaze back to her screen. Her pulse did a little trip and stumble of alarm while her whole body went hot. It was so silly. He wasn’t going to kill her and eat her, but any sideways look from him had the power to bruise her these days.
It was this inconvenient lust that continued to accost her, but how could she help herself? He was built like a god. She wanted to plunge a butter knife into his neck, he was such a self-involved jerk, but she couldn’t help surreptitiously taking him in, now that he wasn’t looking at her. His pale green, long-sleeved shirt hugged the biceps he worked in the lodge’s fitness room. He had pushed his sleeves back to expose his tanned forearms and hooked a thumb in the back pocket of his jeans. His head was bent forward as he scrolled through his phone with his other hand. He was due for a haircut. It almost touched his collar at the back.
Everyone shifted forward again. She tried not to look, but come on. That ass. She wasn’t an ogler for men’s butts as a rule, but his was round and meaty, but tight, like hand-sculpted marble. His thighs looked equally well-crafted and hard. Purely as a research exercise, she imagined what it would feel like to run her hands over that ass and feel those hard thighs flexing outward between her own.
A flood of heat went into her loins.
“Your bread bowl is ready, Glory,” Suzanne said from behind the counter. “But I can’t remember if you like the cheese browned on top?”
Rolf turned to glance at her.
Flustered with traces of lust, thanks.
“Just sprinkled like that is fine, thanks.” Glory forced a smile as she closed her laptop and rose to fetch it.
“Oh, Candy could have brought it,” Suzanne protested.
“You’re all busy.”
Candy was running the cash and packaging pastries from behind the counter while the blue-haired Eden manned the coffee station and Suzanne prepared the meals. They worked like a well-oiled clock, but Suzanne looked tired. Glory was trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed. That she wasn’t worried for her. Scared.
“Hasn’t been like this since the girls were in high school,” Suzanne said as she reached the dish over to Glory. “We owe our thanks to you, Rolf.” She sent a warm smile to him. “Oh, you need a spoon,” she muttered, forcing Glory to continue standing there.
“Mmm, thanks, Rolf,” Eden said, making a face at him, completely unintimidated, telling her sister in an aside, “His usual.”
Candy nodded and rang Rolf’s latte through while Eden finished it off. “Let us know if you want some hours,” Eden said to Glory. “Heard you’re pretty good at this yourself.” She set Rolf’s coffee in front of him.
Glory accepted the cutlery Suzanne handed her and glanced at the heart Eden had drawn on Rolf’s latte. It was a fancy one inset with three paler ones, so it looked like it was beating. Four smaller hearts danced in a border on either side. That was a fucking Valentine.
“I can’t top that.” Glory stared right into Rolf’s face. “Not even if I tried.”
He met her gaze, blinked once without a hint of remorse, then gave Eden a curt nod. “Thanks.” He left a few bills, screwed the lid onto his cup, and walked out.
*
Ergh. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get back into her story. Stupid Rolf, scrambling her brain.
She pushed her dirty lunch plate aside and drummed her fingers on the edge of her laptop. Pandora had spilled her guts about her mom. Now what? Open more presents? What had Brock bought for his sister-in-law that he might have put under the tree for Pandora? A breast pump?
Gah. So not romantic. A guy wouldn’t think of that anyway.
Hmm. Romance. Maybe Brock knew Amber liked reading romance and had picked up a hardcover for her? All of Glory’s mom’s heroines read romance. It was kind of her mom’s thing that she often name-dropped an author friend into her own stories.
Pandora unwrapped the latest Kathleen Cormer…
Glory released a heavy sigh that was very nearly a sob. Was that what this was?
“Sorry,” Eden said, dusting her hands on her butt. She had just dumped a handful of painted canvases onto the chair near Glory’s.
“Pardon? Oh, that wasn’t for you. I was thinking of something else,” Glory said.
“Oh. Good. I’ll carry on then, if you don’t mind.” She disappeared and came back with a hammer and nails.
“Tape measure? Level?” Candy suggested as she cleared and wiped a table nearby.
“I’m an artist. I can do it by eye.”
Candy snorted.
“Are these yours?” Glory asked, looking at the painting Eden held up to the wall.
“Uh-huh.” Eden bit the corner of her lip and rejected it for another. She was so cute. Not very tall, slender, green and gold shadow giving her eyes a fey effect. Glory half expected pointy ears, Eden was so elfin-looking.
She caught Glory staring.
“I like the first one,” Glory said.
They were landscapes rendered in bright, almost discordant colors. A stand of trees was painted in pinks and purples. A mountain stood neon orange and turquoise over a livid red lake. Fall leaves in primary colors were the next onto the wall.
They were a study in moods, her talent with form obvious while her view of the world was quirky and fresh.
“Do you paint people?”
“With face paint.” She spun to point at Glory. “Remember that for opening day at the lodge. I’m good, fast, and cheap.”
“All the boys in high school said so,” Candy quipped in a drive-by.
“I tried paying them to make her feel better about herself, but…” Eden shrugged.
Glory grinned, envious of the chirpy relationship. Her mother hadn’t wanted more kids. Having one had derailed her aspirations enough. That’s what she had felt when Glory was little. Twenty years later, when faced with stage-four cancer, she had wished she’d given Glory a sibling.
“Do you do book covers?” Glory wasn’t sure why she asked. Her mother’s covers were carefully branded and Glory had already started looking for appropriate images for Brock and Pandora.
“I haven’t, but that sounds fun. You’re a writer?”
“My mom was. You’re really good.” She habitually deflected from her own work. “How many do you have?”
“About thirty.”
The lodge had seventy rooms and a lot of public space with empty walls. At some point Devon would be finished stripping, repairing, re-plumbing, repainting, and re-carpeting. Window covers were on order; furniture was still being decided. They hadn’t given any thought to the finishing touches on the décor beyond choosing colors.
“Are they all nature?”
“Some cityscapes. Frisco and San Antonio. I’ve been traveling for a few years.”
“What’s your website? Do you have a card? I’ll check it out.”
“I should have both, but I don’t. Not yet. The paintings are across the street, though, if you have time right now. I’m going over for another load. Would this be for you personally, or…?”
“I don’t know. Just seeing these makes me realize we should showcase local artists when we’re open. I’ll talk with my dad about it.”
“You always say this town doesn’t offer any opportunities,” Suzanne chided as she came to take Glory’s dishes.
“Yeah, she’s going to buy five year’s worth of my paintings,” Eden scoffed, then gave Glory a sharp look. “Are you?”
“I don’t know. Lemme see what you have.” She wasn’t getting any fresh words and still had to wait for her car. She started to pack up.
“Oh, leave that here,” Suzanne said. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”
Glory was mildly psychotic about protecting her laptop, but Eden was already holding the door.
“It’ll be fine,” Eden assured her as Glory looked back on her way out the door. “The last crime spree to hit this town was about five years ago, right before I left, which was a huge coincidence. Mostly drunk and disorderly, also a coincidence.” She made a face of false innocence, eyeballs rolling skyward.
“Your dad is the police chief, isn’t he?”
“It’s like being the preacher’s daughter. Candy toed the line and I pole-vaulted it. Every. Single. Time.”
Glory was really starting to like Eden.
They climbed the stairs to her flat over the mechanic’s. Glory shamelessly took mental notes. These steps would have to be swept in the middle of winter. The building was dated, the apartment cluttered because Eden had only just moved in. Were the frayed couch and beat-up wooden table and chairs hers? The coffee table held a sprig of dandelions in a mason jar, no doubt thanks to her niece. One corner of the living room was taken up with guitars and amps along with some framed concert posters.
“You play guitar?” That’s what Brock might ask.
“The acoustic ones are mine.”
“Did I hear your boyfriend manages a band?” Could she mine Eden for research on colorful backstage stories? “Do you go on the road with him?”
“He wanted me to.” She made a pained face. “He books gigs for a bunch of bands, but I prefer to paint. We’re not actually together. I only wound up sharing an apartment with him because we were both renting off a mutual friend. He’s kind of a prick, actually, which I didn’t realize until I was in a relationship with him. I was hoping that moving back here would be the final—” She made a snip of scissors with her two fingers. “But our friend sold the place we were in and with Pryce being on the road, I had to bring his stuff with me. He’s really pissed and I’m like, I could have left it on the curb in the rain, fuck-stick. But whatever.” She rolled her eyes.
Glory wanted to ask why Eden and Candy had moved back to Haven, suspecting something was going on with Suzanne’s health, but she didn’t want to pry. Frankly, she wasn’t ready to hear it. She really, really liked Suzanne.
“The paintings are in here.”
Glory followed into the bedroom where stacks of paintings stood on the floor, propped against the wall, four and five deep. They flicked through them, Eden pulling out a handful here and there to show a triptych or some that formed a theme around a color or location. They talked about her openness to painting local landmarks or building around seasons or particular colors.
“Are you kidding? If I could make a living painting, I’d be in heaven.”
Glory was really excited as they walked downstairs. “I know not everyone in town is thrilled with the ski hill coming back online, but if we’re supporting locals as much as possible, that counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“Speaking of locals that you’re supporting,” Eden drawled as they came to the bottom of the stairs and found Jimmy, the mechanic, waiting for them. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “Don’t fleece her. She’s my new BFF. Friends and family discount, hear me?” She poked the nametag on his coveralls.
“You have too many friends.”
“It’s my sparkling personality.” She beamed and headed back to the café.
“My car ready?” Glory assumed.
“Nope. The calipers snapped.”
“What does that mean? You broke my car while fixing it?”
“They were rusted through and need to be replaced. Better now, while I’ve got it adrift. I can have the parts here in a few days, job finished in a week or so.” He told her the amount.
Barf.
She wished she could blame him, but that poor beast had more than two hundred thousand miles on it. “Do you have a courtesy car?”
“Nope.”
“What do people usually do when they have to leave their car here?”
“Walk home. Call a friend.” He shrugged.
She would have to call her father. He might not be able to leave right away and Suzanne’s was only open another hour or so. Time to check out the local library?
As she looked across to the café, trying to decide where to go after collecting her things, Rolf’s truck rolled down the road in front of her. He turned his head to give her a hard stare as he passed.
She was so shocked, she did nothing, just stared right back.
Then he was past her and accelerating, heading out of town.
Back to the lodge.
Shit.
Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck.
She hurried to take out her phone, not sure whether she was praying he would pick up or would refuse to answer her call.
*
When Rolf’s phone rang through the console, his brain was still taking apart the mechanic who’d clearly been ogling Glory’s chest as Rolf had driven past them.
He’d known it was her from two blocks away. He’d already seen her in that long, blue skirt and a top that was nondescript, but had a neckline low enough to reveal a hint of breast swell and cleavage. It was sexy in a less-is-more way.
He’d been clocking her and the way the wind whipped her skirt, revealing her pale calves in a flirty peekaboo. Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, making her lift a hand to scrape it out of her eyes as she turned her head and looked right at him.
She busted him gawking and he busted the mechanic, who hadn’t looked up from Glory’s tits to see Rolf was pulling the trigger on a kill shot.
Fucker. He hit the green button on his steering wheel to accept the call. Why did he even care?
“Rolf,” he barked.
A brief pause, then, “It’s Glory.”
He lifted his foot off the accelerator and talked over whatever she was saying. “What’s wrong?” Something had to be wrong. Why else would she call him?
Another pause where he realized she had just told him. She told him again.
“My car has to stay in the shop. Are you—” She cleared her throat. “Are you heading back to the lodge?”
“You need a lift?” He pulled over in case he lost service.
“Yeah.” She sounded like she would rather walk naked into a biker bar. “Do you mind?”
He bet if he could see back around that last bend, she would be holding a thumb out, hoping for an alternative.
“You still at the mechanic’s?” He pulled a U-turn. “I’ll be right there.”
“Suzanne’s. I have to get my stuff.”
A few minutes later, he parked and was about to go inside when she came out, her laptop bag over her shoulder.
“Were you eating? I can wait.”
“No, I’m done.” She climbed into his truck with a tight expression and stiff movements. She resented this so much, it would have been funny if it wasn’t damn near tragic.
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Everything.” She settled her bags at her feet, but kept her phone in her hand. “Age. Calipers,” she expounded when he lifted inquiring brows.
“Anything else you need before we leave?”
“No.”
He probably shouldn’t find this so tremendously satisfying. He sent the mechanic a mental flip of the bird as he pulled away from the curb, even though the guy was long gone.
Glory wasn’t finding anything about it pleasing. He could feel the waves of discontent rolling off her tense posture.
The drive took about an hour when the weather was good, but roadwork outside of town held them up. It was warm enough he opened a window and turned off the engine to wait their turn. She checked her phone, but they were beyond service.
She drew a breath. He thought she was going to say something, but she let it out in a sigh.
Apparently, they were playing The Quiet Game. Well, sister, he won that one all the time.
They were flagged through the construction area. He picked up speed on the other side. Fifteen minutes later, they turned up the valley toward Whiskey Jack. A chunk of the access road was still gravel, where the old washout had been. It was growing potholed from traffic, the last of the snowmelt, and rain.
As he slowed to pick his way through it, he was about to close his window to keep the dust out when he spotted a bear on the hillside. A mother with two cubs. He let the truck roll to a stop and cut the engine.
Glory snapped a look at him.
He nodded and she followed his line of sight to the cinnamon coats against the hillside that was greening up with the arrival of spring.
“Oh,” she breathed, expression softening.
He’d already seen two bears this season. That one was on the smaller side and rather pretty with her burnt-red coat. The color wasn’t unlike Glory’s hair, he realized as she hitched closer, extending her phone toward his open window.
Rolf covered her hand and pressed it away from him.
Hurt and offense flashed in her eyes as she snatched her phone into her chest, jerking back into her seat, chin setting with belligerence. He leaned into her space, making her recoil against her door as he bent to reach under her legs, to the floor of the passenger seat.
He brought up his own camera, a digital SLR with a zoom lens already attached. He flicked it to video and pointed it out his window.
Glory leaned toward him again, watching as he got the bears in the shot and clicked to record, then zoomed in while keeping all of them still in the frame.
One of the cubs was rooting and pawing at the ground like its mother. The other was being a brat, trying to climb its mother then tackling its twin before charging into its mother again.
Glory chuckled softly. A strand of her hair lifted on the breeze and tickled his cheek, but he didn’t move, just kept filming.
They watched for a solid minute and a half before the sow grew nervous. She looked at them for the third time, stood briefly, then dropped onto all fours and ambled into a hollow beneath a tree, cubs tumbling along behind her and out of sight.
Glory released a sigh that his inner animal felt. In another world, that kind of feminine noise was breathed against his ear after a really satisfying orgasm.
He was becoming obsessive and it was seriously uncomfortable. His groin was aching for adjustment and a compulsion to put his hands all over her gripped him.
She hated his guts.
He turned off the recording and handed the camera to her, then started the truck and put it in gear, rolling up the window as he went.
She played the video, watching the back of the camera. Her chuckle sounded in the middle of it and her sigh rang at the end, making his scalp tingle.
“Can I post this?”
“I’ll send it to you later.”
They were the only words they exchanged for the rest of the drive. Fifteen minutes later, they were at the lodge. He parked, she said, “Thanks,” gathered her things and went inside.
He went to his office and sent the video, then went looking for Trigg and Nate, to relay his talk with the cop. He hadn’t learned much, but a file was open. Hopefully, they would have nothing more to add to it.
That evening, he picked up another email from Glory. It was two words. ‘Thank you,’ in response to forwarding the video. Not even a signature or a ‘G,’ to close.
Purely out of curiosity, he went to her profile to view it.
I saw these cubs with their mom today, while I was catching a lift with my dad’s business associate.
Her father’s associate?
You treat me like I work for you.
He’d consciously been trying not to act like she was his personal assistant, which wasn’t easy because even though she rarely talked to him, she got shit done. That’s why he preferred to go to her, rather than Marvin.
Even if she was still mad at him, it surprised him she didn’t drop his name or the Wikinger connection into her post. Everyone used him that way, given the chance.
Despite not invoking his celebrity, there was a ton of engagement. A surprising amount. Hundreds of likes and hearts and wows. He skimmed through the comment section. Where are you? Where was this?
A veritable clamor for more info. She replied to each one, often with a personal comment, as if she knew them, but the gist was, My dad bought a lodge. More in the next newsletter.
What newsletter? He clicked around, found himself on the fan page for her mother’s books and clicked the button to sign up as one of Kat’s Kittens, whatever the hell that was.
His email pinged and he was offered a free book as a thank you for joining. Huh. He downloaded it. What the hell.
Then he went back to her mother’s fan page to see the video of the bears was there, too. Glory was replying to comments right now, in real time, from across the hall. They were a lot of the same types of comments, many tagging her and asking how she was doing and where she was.
Staying with my dad for now, she replied.
The page clearly stated that Kathleen Cormer had passed away and that this page was maintained by her daughter, but people had still posted things like: I just found your books! Jamie is my new book boyfriend.
Glory replied to every single one. Hi Patty. My mother is no longer with us, but I know she would have loved to hear that you adore Jamie as much as she did…
Rolf clicked to the photo albums, seeing a pretty older woman who gave an indication of how Glory would age—beautifully, it would seem. Kathleen was well-dressed and always beaming, if painfully thin in the final shots. She was pictured under a lot of banners for various romance events, holding awards. There were innumerable selfies, presumably with her fans, since there was a stack of books in front of her in nearly every shot. There were other selfies with Glory, but even more shots where Glory hovered in the background, caught mid-motion taking books from a box or holding a clipboard.
He went back to her mother’s bio. Twenty million books sold? Really?
He went to her website again and scrolled through the covers, trying to see the appeal in the shirtless men—some didn’t even have faces—and the titles full of words like ‘forbidden’ and ‘secret.’
The top twenty or thirty had asterisks beside the titles. He scrolled for the footnote. Scrolled and scrolled past dozens of covers—easily over a hundred, and there, at the very bottom, was a tiny notation that blew his mind.
*During Kathleen’s lengthy battle with cancer, her daughter Gloria helped her revise her earliest works and reissue them. If she did it right, you won’t be able to tell her words from her mother’s.