Chapter Twenty-Seven
The thing about New York is when you first arrive you are ready to leave. All you notice is how crowded it is and how it smells like cigarette smoke, but after a day or two, you could picture your life there. An artistic vibe flowed through the streets. I so badly wanted to take my laptop to the park or a café and absorb it. Use it to my full advantage. Write beautiful words with it.
But the city that never sleeps had other plans for me, like making sure I too had no sleep for the next few days as I was ushered from interview to interview, appointment to appointment, store to store shopping for a new wardrobe. Apparently, my thrift store boho look was fine for Delanie, but not Autumn. To add insult to injury, I had to buy an evening gown for the Sweet and Sexy Ball. My entire life, I had gone without wearing such nonsense, and within a week I was shoved into more ball and evening gowns than the Queen of England owned. I decided if had to dress up, I was going to do it my way. I was going to look more like the queen of the dead than the queen of romance. Joan called the long, snug black trumpet gown vampy. That worked for me.
What didn’t work for me, besides being dressed up, were answering the same questions repeatedly. Added into the mix now was my scandalous past as a high school newspaper editor. It was sad how many people wanted it to be true that I was an exhibitionist and how disappointed they were when they couldn’t find footage of my escapade. Perhaps because it never happened. No one wanted to hear that, or how Peter’s superiors in Phoenix wished us all the happiness in the world. That was glossed over in every interview. No. They were more interested in that awful teacher who made fun of the girl with unmatched shoes. She was happy to dish about us and how it was apparent there was something going on between us. Yes, there was. We were falling in love with each other, but that was a beautiful thing. And we loved each other so much that we did the right thing by unselfishly not acting on it. Couldn’t anyone see that?
A bright spot did come in the form of a podcast. The hostess was extremely laid back and interested in me as a person. She didn’t ask me one thing about Peter. She wanted to know which writers inspired me and was intrigued to learn they weren’t romance writers. I was a Roald Dahl, Stephen King, Leo Tolstoy kind of woman. Sure, I loved Austen and the Brontë sisters, but it had more to do with their wit and commentary on life than the romance. She even read some excerpts of my book and praised them for having poetic beauty. After the week I’d had, I was going to crown her my best friend.
All I wanted to do was be home with Peter and my laptop, mostly Peter, though; he was warmer and kissed a lot better. I hoped he was planning on showering me in kisses when I got home. I wondered, though, since our phone calls hadn’t been the normal flirty I can’t wait until I’m home so I can make all your fantasies come true kind of calls. The kind we used to have every day. Now they were more like support helpline chats and breaking development announcements.
The latest twist in this ever-evolving new way of life was that Sarah was coming into the office every day to help answer phones and do some of the accounting in Sam’s absence. I guess she used to do the books when Joseph, I meant Dad, was just starting his business. I was still getting used to that one. I took more pleasure in saying Dad than was probably normal, but it was a tiny ray of light in the looming clouds that followed me right now. And it made Peter happy too, so that was a bonus. But what wasn’t making him happy, besides the obvious, was having his mother in the office every day, which meant Mimsy had to come too. No one could trust her to be on her own. Who knew who she would talk to, or if she might try and contact Giovanni, aka Jerry the felon.
Peter was still furious with his mother and grandmother for bringing this all upon us, and according to Avery, was not his normal forgiving self around them. He was being short with them and Sarah wasn’t fighting back, so much so, Avery mentioned being worried about her. She was even more worried about Dad and Sarah’s relationship. They weren’t talking at all unless they had to. But feisty Mimsy was her usual self. She wasn’t making any apologies for her behavior and had the gall to ask Peter how much money I made. And sadly, she was pining for Giovanni. I heard about women being taken advantage of like this all the time, but I never thought it would be Mimsy. She was too independent, or so I thought.
Amid the chaos, the company was trying to hire more employees or contract with smaller companies for the interim to help with all the new business they were getting and to cover Peter while he toured the country with me. All the new business seemed to make James happy, as he was to inherit the company when Dad retired. I supposed that was another silver lining. James was no longer brooding for the time being. From the sounds of it, he found this all rather comical. The bad news was his brother had picked up brooding right where he left off.
I didn’t blame my husband. Maybe it was easier for me because my writing had been criticized online by various perpetrators for the last four years. Grace had just written another scathing piece about me since I’d been shoved out of the closet, or attic as it may be. The gist of her post was that I was a laughingstock and no better than a politician who never answered the question asked in interviews because I either couldn’t or didn’t want the embarrassing truth to come out. Which she couldn’t understand since I was an obvious embarrassment. Joan was now on the warpath and vowed to take Grace down. I halfheartedly told her not to waste her time, but deep down, well not even that deep down, more like every cell of my body wanted to see Grace get a taste of Joan.
All I wanted was a taste of my husband and to fly home. It’s why I was catching a red-eye Friday night even though I was exhausted, and Joan had asked me to stay for a girl’s weekend. I think she wanted an excuse not to see Lucas. I never thought Joan would be afraid of anything or anybody, but I stood corrected. Lucas terrified her. She wouldn’t admit to it and told me where I could go when I gave her my opinion. All I knew was she was out getting drinks late almost every night I was there, and she was wearing a turtle neck today even though it was seventy-five degrees out. And she was happy to report negotiations for my new contract were going very well. I bet they were. At this rate I would own half the stock in the company, or maybe Joan would if they decided to merge.
Joan was good enough to drive me to the airport at midnight and do her best to try and kill me one more time in her Porsche. She really needed to lay off the caffeine . . . and the car horn.
Before I exited the vehicle to retrieve my luggage that had multiplied during my week-long visit, she grabbed my hand and gave it a good crush. “Do not, I repeat, do not get sucked into googling yourself and scouring the web to see what’s being said about you. Let Fiona and me be your filters. If anything comes up you should be worried about, we will let you know.”
I nodded, knowing that would be easier said than done.
“And,” her lips curled up in a sinister grin, “that witch Grace just happens to be an author.”
“What?”
“All those horrible books she gives glowing reviews to are her own under different pen names.”
“Nooo.”
“Oh yes, and I may or may not have called her out on it, not only on her site, but every popular public forum I could think of. All anonymously, of course. My paralegals have been busy.”
I shook my head at her with a big grin. “I love you more than my Eminem collection.”
“I know, darling, and you’re going to love me more when you see that wench take down her site, and when you see your new contract.”
I would love to see Grace’s site die. I had no respect for other authors, especially women authors, not supporting each other. There was room for everybody at the table. Not so sure about the contract though.
“You know I might not sign that new contract.” Peter and I had plenty of money, and I would make money off the Hunter Black series for years to come, hopefully. All this attention had me wanting to ride off into the sunset never to be heard from again. And my fears about living up to Hunter Black’s success were almost paralyzing, if I was being honest.
Joan rolled her eyes. “I know you’re scared, but you’re too talented to walk away from this. And whether you want to admit it or not, at your core you are a writer, and writers must write. It’s like breathing for you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how twitchy you’ve been this week not being able to write or all the notes you’ve jotted down. That isn’t going away.”
She was right, but . . . “You know I don’t have to get paid for it.” I’d written most of my life without getting paid or paid very little for it.
“Yes, but think of all the good you can do with the money you’ll make.”
“Like paying you?” I teased.
“Among other things.” She was not teasing.
“I better go.” I had too many things to think about right now other than facing that particular fear.
“Think about it, kid.” She wagged her eyebrows. “I hope you have a firework filled reunion with the hubs.”
“Thank you,” my reply oozed with sarcasm. Believe me, I was hoping for the same, but didn’t feel the need to discuss it with her. I hugged her and whispered, “Thank you for everything and maybe I’m not the only one who is scared.”
“Ugh,” she scoffed before pushing me away. “I don’t do second chances.”
I opened the car door, securely holding onto the bag with Peter’s T-shirt in it. I hoped to be wearing it for him soon. “That’s too bad. I think Lucas knows exactly what he’s been missing out on and would make sure to do whatever he could not to lose you again.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Del.”
I laughed at her. “I’m not too worried, being your cash cow and all.”
“You’re much cuter than a cow. Now go home.” I started to shut the door, but she got in, “And finish that first draft!”
I didn’t need the reminder. Hunter and Laine had been screaming at me all week, along with Chad.
One advantage of flying so late was the airport wasn’t as crowded and people were too sleepy to chase after me. There were some stares and some pictures snapped with phones, but after the week I’d had, it was mild in comparison and I was too tired to care.
My seatmate on the way home was better too. A sweet grandma who loved all my books, and if this wasn’t fate, I don’t know what was. She was married to a man who had been a priest. She told me all about how they had been childhood friends and she’d loved him for all her life, but he kept her in the friend zone. It was his family’s wish for him to become a priest, so he did. She married another man, but he died in an industrial accident. By chance, her old friend was assigned to her parish and he could no longer fight his feelings for her.
“It was quite the scandal,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Eventually, everyone moved on from it and we’ve been married for over forty years. So don’t you listen to the naysayers. For the most part, they are miserable people. You live your life and don’t be ashamed of it for a second,” she encouraged me.
She was exactly who I needed in that moment. Especially since my homecoming wasn’t all I hoped for.
A haggard Peter with messy hair and a few days’ worth of scruff waited for me in the pouring rain under the cover of an awning. However, the Windy City was living up to its name, blowing some of the rain in. I didn’t care if we got soaked. I only wanted to be in his arms.
I got half a tired smile when I approached with two large suitcases, both new purchases, my laptop case across me, and Peter’s gift held tightly to me. He rushed to get my bags and throw them in the trunk of my car while directing me to hurry and get in. There were no hugs, kisses, or I missed yous. Only a frantic husband on a mission.
I did as he asked and got in the car. He wasted not a second taking off as if we were being chased.
I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh. “Is everything all right?”
He kept his focus outside. I could hardly blame him since the rain was coming down in sheets, but he was acting uncharacteristically harried. “I’m fine.” He was obviously lying.
My hand moved from his thigh and through his windblown hair. “Peter, I missed you.”
Those words and my touch made him slow down and take a deep breath. “Baby, I’m happy you’re home. I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve been followed all week and I’m tired of it.”
I continued stroking his hair. “I know, but the good news is I’m home and I don’t want to leave our bed until at least Monday morning, unless you are feeling adventurous and want to make love to me in various other locations in the house.”
The corners of his mouth couldn’t help but tick upward.
“That’s better.” I ran my hand across his rough cheek.
He slowed down more so he could cautiously take my hand and kiss it. “I did miss you.”
My hand landed back on his knee and his went back to steering and keeping us safe in the storm.
“I wondered for a second.”
“You don’t ever have to worry about that.” He took another deep breath.
“For that you still get your cheesy T-shirt, which I will happily try on for you.” I looked out to the mostly deserted highway. “Right now, if you want.”
“I want nothing more,” he groaned, “but you better not. Who knows who could be looking with a lens.”
I suppose he had a point.
“Peter.” I rubbed his tense neck. “I love you and I don’t think it will always be like this.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“As soon as you stop this car I have every intention of showing you just how confidently I love you.”
His smile came easier this time. “That wasn’t the part I was referring to.”
“I wish I could tell you it will all be better soon, but I can’t. It might even get worse before it gets better. I don’t know.”
He gave me a quick glance, disbelief and dread appearing in those green eyes I’d been missing all week. There was nothing I could say to make this go away, so I turned and rested my head against the cold window protecting me from the lashing rain. My vulnerabilities began creeping in, taunting and reminding me that they would always be there. That I couldn’t possibly risk telling him about her now. I stared out the window the rest of the way home. Peter said nothing except to let out a sigh of relief when we reached the gates to our community and there wasn’t a car or camera in sight, other than the security ones.
I found that I didn’t want to move when we pulled into the garage. I don’t know why I expected everything to be magically the way it was before. I guessed I thought he would be as happy as I was to see him and that would override all the outside forces bearing down on us, even if only for a moment.
As soon as the garage door was down, Peter stroked my cheek. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
I was the sorry one, so much so I couldn’t turn to look at him. I had broken my solid rock husband in two.
He unclicked his seatbelt and moved in closer, kissing my cheek this time. “Hey.” He brushed back my hair and kissed my cheek again. “I missed you.” He trailed kisses down my neck.
I couldn’t resist him and turned toward him. He immediately captured my lips. All his angst came crashing through, crushing my mouth. The overwhelming emotion and sensation made me gasp. His tongue not only tasted and prodded, but delved as deep as it could, as if it was making sure it was me and not the woman playing out in everyone’s stories online and in the press.
Peter’s calloused hands did the same as they ran all up and down my body. I wanted to tell him that I was still me and we were still us, but I was drowning in him and couldn’t catch my breath. I feared, though, he had come to his own conclusion about who we were when he unclicked my seatbelt and pulled me as close as he could, trembling and searching with all his senses, madly enveloping me. The question was, what was his conclusion?
My body shook as well, too afraid to ask.