Ghost writer, p.34
Ghost Writer, page 34
Jonathan frowned. “Nellie, you knew he retired. He wasn’t going to be writing any more anyway.”
“Yes,” she said with heaviness, “but I had counted on him at least doing some final book tours. Some signings. We were thinking of selling the last three Bart Callahan novels as a set and sending him to Europe to promote them.” Her hand swiped her nose. “The house is in real trouble unless we find a new bankable author. And quickly.”
Jonathan sighed and bit his lower lip. “Nellie, I don’t know what to—”
She held up her hands. “We’ll be okay for a few months if this ‘coming out of retirement’ novel is as good as you say it is. We can send it out early with the spring catalog and hope his death is our best marketing bet.” She covered her mouth. “I’m a hideous monster, aren’t I?”
Jonathan smiled and turned her toward the outside door. “You’re fine, Nellie, but let’s not get caught discussing how we can make money off of Clyde’s death at his funeral.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Monday’s meeting is vital. You’ll have the proposal ready?”
“Proposals,” Jonathan reminded her. “I’ve got Zippy’s, too.”
She shot him a questionable look, then gathered herself into a tall posture and walked toward the doors, where her assistant, Mark, greeted her. Jonathan looked around the room to find Kathy, but the room was now empty, except for Clyde’s coffin. He guessed he had missed her while talking to Nellie and decided to find her at the reception. But something wouldn’t let him leave. Something drew him to Clyde’s coffin.
His shoes tapped lightly against the shiny tile floor of the small chapel as he approached the coffin. A small stained-glass window that faced east spilled a gloriously colorful light onto the top of it, and the strong fragrance of over a hundred yellow roses ignited all of his senses. He was thankful they had decided to keep the coffin closed, but he ran his fingers along its dark, ornate wood.
“Why, Clyde?” he whispered softly, though even a whisper echoed off the marble walls and repeated itself in his ear. “Why did you leave me with so many questions? What could you have possibly been thinking, sending me pages like that?”
The echo was the only answer that came back, and his lip trembled at the silence that held so much mystery.
“He was quite a man, wasn’t he?”
Jonathan whipped around and stumbled back, his hip bumping up against the coffin. Pastor Avery stood solemnly, his hands clasped in front of his black robe. The pastor joined him at the coffin and touched a yellow rose with an old, shaky hand. After a moment Jonathan said, “You and Clyde were close, weren’t you?”
Pastor Avery nodded and smiled. “Clyde was my hero. Did you know that?”
Jonathan’s surprise expressed itself through raised eyebrows. “Your hero? How is that?”
“I’m his pastor, but he was my shepherd. Whenever I would lose faith, or grow tired and weary, or be fed up with life in general, Clyde was always the one who steadied me and pointed me in the right direction.” The pastor glanced over at him. “I presume he did the same for you.”
Jonathan could only manage a weak smile.
“He talked of you often, you know.” The pastor paused in thought. “He worried about you. Worried he was working you too hard.”
Jonathan couldn’t help but let a laugh slip out.
“His delight was those three beautiful daughters of yours.”
“They loved him, too,” Jonathan said to carry his part of the conversation.
The room was quiet, and after a while the silence had become more of an intrusion. “Well,” Jonathan said, offering a gracious hand, “the service was just what Clyde would’ve wanted. Thank you.”
The pastor’s handshake was firm and gentle all at once. As Jonathan stepped around him toward the door, the pastor said, “Did he get a chance to write that book for you?”
Jonathan turned around. “Pardon me?”
“Well, Clyde rarely discussed anything he was working on, but he did mention he was working on something that he hoped would help you long after he was gone.”
Jonathan swallowed air and took a step toward Pastor Avery. “You knew about that?”
He shrugged. “Only in complete confidence,” he said quietly. “He said he was frustrated that he couldn’t get you the pages faster.” The pastor touched the large cross that hung from his neck. “He knew it would be a mystery to you at first, but he hoped it would all make sense to you in the end.”
Jonathan could barely find words to start talking, start questioning. “But . . . but it’s still a mystery.” He looked the pastor square in the face. “Why would Clyde do something like that? Why would he write those things down?”
The pastor’s face glowed with sincerity. “The decision was made through a lot of prayer. That you can count on. You know Clyde wasn’t a man who took anything lightly. You know the type of man he was.”
Jonathan tried to hide his frustration and anxiety. “I thought I did. Maybe I didn’t.”
The pastor smiled. “He lived a quiet faith indeed.”
Jonathan shook his head and asked, “But . . . but how did he . . . did he let you read it?”
“No. I never asked to. It wasn’t for me, though I must admit I was quite curious.”
Jonathan swallowed. “Did he tell you how he knew? How he knew all that about me?” Jonathan blinked hard to keep the emotions that were swelling inside of him down where they belonged.
The pastor’s eyes found the stained-glass window at the top of the chapel. “Clyde always had a way of seeing things differently than the rest of us.” His eyes found Jonathan again. “He always seemed to know things. Didn’t you ever get that feeling?”
Jonathan shrugged and turned away a little.
“I remember one time I had been angry with God. I felt cheated and betrayed by a man in my congregation, and I hadn’t understood why things had not worked out how I thought they should. Clyde had approached me after service one Sunday and told me I needed to let it go, so to speak. I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about, but Clyde knew I was holding on to some bitterness that would eventually cause more damage than it already had.”
Jonathan’s fingers stroked his tight lips. “I just don’t see how . . .” He looked over at the pastor’s peaceful face. “I’m just not sure what Clyde wanted me to get out of it. That’s all.”
The pastor smiled and said, “You will, son. Trust me.” He took Jonathan by the shoulder and said, “Shall we go to the reception? I hear they have those little barbecue weenies. Clyde loved those.”
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Jonathan couldn’t even pretend to drink the small glass of punch Kathy had brought him. He watched her fuss over the children’s satin dresses and Sophie’s insistence on licking her plate. In the corner he kept an eye on Pastor Avery, who at present seemed to be hearing some awful confession from Nellie while Mark guarded their privacy.
He felt a hand laid heavily on his back. He turned and found Carl Osburg. “You okay?” Carl asked.
Jonathan shook his hand. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Carl glanced over at Nellie. “Nellie’s not looking too good.”
“Grief management isn’t her strong point, if that’s what you mean.”
Carl and Jonathan exchanged knowing smiles and then were joined by Austin Sable, the new marketing genius hired out from under Random House and paid twice as much as he was worth. Besides being an egomaniac, he was also annoyingly handsome, with dark skin, high cheekbones, and spiky hair that was gelled to perfection. Every woman in the office knew everything about him. He offered his hand to Jonathan, then Carl.
“Austin,” Jonathan said politely, finding an excuse to raise the cup of punch to his lips.
“Jon, man, this must be a real downer for you.”
Jonathan stared him straight in the eyes. “I’d say more than just a downer, Austin.” He glanced at Carl and then said, “What are you? Twenty-seven or so?”
Austin smiled tolerantly. “Thirty-three.”
“Ahh.”
The three men stood in a corner for a while and watched everyone mingle. Soon enough Kathy made her way from the other side of the room to Jonathan.
“Honey, can I get you something else to eat?” Jonathan asked.
She shook her head. “Sophie just spilled an entire plate of some sort of dip onto the front of her dress. Leesol is miserable. And Meg can’t stop crying.” She dusted off her black skirt. “I think I’ll take the girls home since we took separate cars. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Do you need help getting them to the car?”
“No, Meg’s taking care of that right now. You take your time. I’ll see you when you get home.”
Jonathan kissed her on the lips, and Kathy’s hand made its way to his cheek, touching it lightly. She smoothed out his hair, then smiled as she walked away.
Austin shook his head. “Man, I don’t see how you do it. Being tied down like that.”
“It’s worth it. Every moment.” Carl and Austin both looked at Jonathan. “What? I’m in love with my wife.”
Carl raised his punch cup to him. “Good for you. Those gushy feelings left a long time ago for me.”
Austin watched a young female editor from nonfiction walk by. “How long have you been divorced?”
“I’m still married.”
Jonathan laughed and Austin had a disturbed expression on his face. “How can you stay with a woman all that time and not love her?”
Carl crunched the cup in his hand. “It’s called commitment. Most people don’t know what that means these days, right, Jonathan?” Jonathan smiled as he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love my wife. But I have to admit, she’s not the babe I married back in 1968.”
Suddenly from a small table about twenty feet away, a plump woman with her blond hair tied up in a bun, yelled, “Carl! Can you fetch me some more of them weenies?”
Carl’s face blushed the color of a rose garden. “It’s amazing a man in my profession has a wife who still uses the word them incorrectly, isn’t it?” He glanced at Jonathan and Austin and then said, “She’s from Arkansas.”
“Oh,” they both said together, and Jonathan gave her a quick wave.
“Excuse me,” Carl said, making his way back to the long table of food. Austin let out a whooping laugh.
“Man, Jon,” he said, holding his gut, “you’re lucky your wife’s still hot.”
“Careful,” Jonathan said.
“What? I’m just saying, how would you like to be Carl and married to some woman who yells at you across the room to go get you barbecued weenies?” He laughed again, tears filling his youthful green eyes. “I mean, that’s my worst nightmare, you know?”
Jonathan and Austin watched together as Carl dutifully brought his wife a plate, kissed her on the cheek, and joined her at the table.
“Ugh!” Austin gasped.
Jonathan smiled. “You know what, Austin? Marriage has nothing to do with beauty. Those feelings you’re obviously looking for eventually fade. No matter if you marry a supermodel. Carl still loves his wife because of who she is, not what she looks like.”
“I dated one once, you know. A supermodel. Back when I was at Notre Dame. She works in Paris now. Her name is Samantha.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Good for you, Austin. I’m sure you have many trophies.”
Jonathan looked up just in time to see Sydney sliding past a group of people and walking toward them. Jonathan’s heart raced. “Excuse me. I have to go get . . . something.”
But it was too late. She had reached them. “Jonathan,” she said and wrapped her arms around his neck. He patted her lightly on the back. Austin stuck out his hand.
“Austin Sable.”
Sydney smiled. “Oh. Hi. You’re new in marketing, right?”
“Marketing director,” he said confidently. “You’re in fiction?”
“Hoping to be,” she said with a playful glance at Jonathan. Jonathan, though, had found something else to focus on. The last place he wanted to be was in the presence of Sydney Kasdan. “Jonathan, I need to talk to you.”
Jonathan glanced up at Sydney, then Austin, whose curious stare caused Jonathan’s fingers to fidget.
“About the meeting Monday . . .” she added with an urgent, professional tone.
Austin buttoned his suit coat. “Ah, the business of publishing never ceases, not even for death, does it?”
Sydney smiled graciously but not friendly enough to indicate he should stick around.
“I’ll see you at the office, Sydney,” he said and then pretended to spot someone important across the room.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Sydney’s expression grew grim. “Jonathan, I’m so glad I found you.”
“What is it?”
“Jeremy . . . he’s so mad.”
Jonathan guided her away from the crowd and pretended to be interested in the plate of vegetables at the food table. “Sydney, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. You need to get a restraining order if you’re worried about it.”
“I’m not the one who needs it.” Her voice was strained and angry. Jonathan looked up as he was about to stack broccoli on a plate. “You do.”
“Me? What in the world for?”
Sydney’s hands clenched at her side. “What do you mean, ‘what in the world for’?” She looked around. “You know how mad he is at you.”
Jonathan set his plate down. “Are you trying to tell me that your fiancé is so upset with me that I need to get a restraining order on him?”
“He’s not my fiancé, Jonathan,” she said in a forcefully quiet tone. “And yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. He’s a violent man. Have you already forgotten what he did to me?” Her dark eyes teared.
Jonathan hung his head. “Good grief, please tell me you’re kidding.” He looked up at her. “Are you doing this to get my attention?”
She half laughed. “Please! Do I look that desperate?”
Jonathan stood taller and scanned the room for any onlookers. “No. But I want to make it clear once and for all to you that I want nothing to do with you. I know that’s harsh, but it’s the way it has to be.”
Sydney folded her arms and her eyes narrowed to slits. “So you’d rather be killed than have me walk over here in a crowded room and tell you your life’s in danger? Is that it?”
Jonathan closed his eyes and took in a breath. “Look, I’ll take what you said into consideration. I’ll watch my back. But, Sydney, whatever it was that happened between us is over. For good. I’ve made my decision. It’s the right one.”
Huge tears rolled out of her eyes and she started to say something, but then she suddenly turned and disappeared between two large men near the end of the table. Jonathan let out a breath.
“Is everything okay here?”
Kathy appeared on the other side of him but was watching where Sydney had disappeared to. She then carefully studied Jonathan’s face.
“Um . . . honey. I thought you’d left.”
She opened her hand and inside were his keys. “I forgot I had them.”
Jonathan took them and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, guiding her through the crowd and out the door. The cold air relaxed his muscles and bathed his hot skin. He barely noticed the press photographers gathered on the lawn. He focused on Kathy as they walked through the parking lot.
“Kathy, that wasn’t what it looked like. Whatever it looked like. And I know it must look awful to you.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist as they continued walking. “I feel as if I can trust you.”
“I’ve made it clear to Sydney that . . . I’ve just made it clear that I don’t want to be around her.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Jonathan stopped Kathy and tilted her head up to him. “You’re beautiful. You’re the one I love.” Kathy blinked slowly and took it in. “And Austin thinks you’re hot.”
Kathy’s eyes opened. “Who?”
“The frat boy who’s now in charge of major marketing decisions for my department.”
“Him?” Kathy laughed. “Is he out of college?”
“Thirty-something,” Jonathan said, smiling. “Apparently he’s better at marketing than making an impression.”
“He’s got an ego the size of Texas,” Kathy said with disapproval.
“Well, most marketing people do.”
Kathy shrugged. “I’m not worried about him. I’m sure he’ll see that you’re a brilliant editor and you won’t have any problems with him.”
Jonathan walked her a few more rows and then they came to the van. Meg gave him a short wave and he blew her a kiss. “I probably need to go talk to Nellie again. But I’ll be home soon, okay?”
She nodded and kissed him and then got in the van and backed out. Jonathan headed back toward the funeral home. Before he crossed the small street back to the sidewalk that led up to it, he spotted Austin and Sydney sitting on a bench talking and obviously flirting. His stomach turned at the thought of having to cross either one of those two again, so he decided he would just head home. He had a lot of reading to do before Monday, not to mention two proposals to pull together, though he’d done most of the legwork for both of them.
