When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗
- Author: Delancey Stewart
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One of my books had been optioned a few years back and was actually being produced with recognizable stars and a decent amount of fanfare. It was a good thing for my career, but I’d had a hard time finding the appropriate level of excitement for any of that lately. I’d had trouble even finding the motivation to write. It was very possible I wasn’t going to have a career at all if I didn’t find my way out of the darkness soon.
“I don’t think so,” I told him. “Plus, the cops just told me not to leave town.”
“Oh right. Well, forgive me saying so, but I wonder if those small-town cops actually have the jurisdiction they think they do.” Andrew’s voice was skeptical.
“I’m pretty sure they probably do.” My own voice was flat. I sat in a low lounge chair on my back deck now, staring out over the little meadow behind my property. A blue jay protested my presence loudly from a nearby treetop. “Anyway, LA is not really my scene right now.”
“Oh,” he said, and I heard the shift in tactics in the lowering of his voice. “You’re still thinking about everything that happened.”
“She was my sister, Andrew.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, and I could almost see him waving the thought away, waving away every horrible thing my life had been in the last couple years. He had no way of understanding any of it. And despite his inability to empathize on this particular topic, I still liked the guy. “You need more time,” he said, but I could hear that it was the last thing he wanted to give me.
“I do.”
“You’ll be here for the premiere though, right?”
I took a deep breath, let it back out. The tabloids had latched onto my sister’s illness, speculating wildly about her symptoms, making me into a monster. It was twisted and wrong, and I’d never addressed it directly, but putting myself in any kind of spotlight had become more unpalatable than ever before. “I can probably do that.”
“This is a big deal, Connor. Authors dream about having their books produced, about big stars playing their characters.” I knew Andrew had dreamed about it at least. And really, I had too, but that was all before.
“I’ll do my best.”
“How’s the sequel coming?” he asked.
The fact that it was a sequel was part of the issue. I hadn’t planned a sequel to Twisted Knife, but when it got picked up and produced, Andrew strongly suggested I write one in case the Hollywood folks wanted to pick it up too. Andrew was driven by dollars, and I couldn’t really fault him. His money-focused motivation and strong network had made us both wealthy.
“It’s coming along,” I said, glancing at my abandoned laptop, sitting on the table at the edge of the deck.
“Great. Looking forward to some chapters this week.”
“Right. Chapters.” Chapters would require me having written more than one of them. Which I had not. I sighed. “Talk to you soon, Andrew.”
“Hang in there. This will blow over, man.”
I hung up, looking to where the bright blue sky met the rising trees. No wind up there. Odds of this blowing over? I shook my head. Hard to say. I was a novelist, not a weatherman. And now, if you asked the fine people of Kings Grove at least, I was a stalker.
My stomach lurched as I thought about Maddie Turner hearing about this, and my mind darkened as I considered what she must think of me now.
Adele almost smiled when I came into the diner fifteen minutes early for my shift. Of course, with the drop off in out-of-towners, there were only a few tables full. Miranda was already leaning over the bar working on a crossword puzzle.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
Miranda didn’t bother replying. ‘Everyone’ was back to their lives, done vacationing. “Synonym for ‘outcast,’ six letters.”
“Good morning to you, too.” I leaned in close and whispered. “Pariah.”
Her pencil scratched quickly across the page. Then her head whipped up and she fixed me with those bright eyes. “You’re a genius!”
I didn’t feel like a genius at all. I’d come in early because I was so angry after my latest phone conversation with Jack that I couldn’t sit inside my trailer for five more minutes.
“Annalise and I are getting married.” He’d delivered the news in a soft voice as if it might hurt my feelings.
“The ring she was wearing the day I met her was kind of a tip off. At our pool. In my bathing suit. Your grandmother’s ring, right? Didn’t exactly need a psychic to predict this one.” My voice sounded harsh and bitter but I didn’t care. I didn’t want Jack any more—she could have him. But it still hurt.
He cleared his throat, probably swallowing down the guilt. “Just wanted to let you know officially, is all. Anyway, my lawyer thinks that since you’re doing well there, and since I’m furnishing you with such a nice plump alimony payment each month, you should be capable of reassuming the car payment.”
Shock ran through me. I had few expenses up here, but keeping the trailer running and paying the property tax on the new house was plenty. I couldn’t afford the payments on the Jag. “Jack, I …”
“He also said that you should be able to take back your student loans. The interest rates are really low on those, and they don’t cost much each month.” I could hear him smiling and wanted to reach through the phone to strangle him.
I took a deep breath. “I chose to let you out of our marriage without a fight, Jack. I didn’t ask for much, and I got even less. I ignored my lawyer when she told me how much I could take you for because I wanted to believe that there was something redeemable in our marriage that deserved to be honored.”
“That’s why she’s still digging around that joint account, then?”
I was shaking. “That was the money we were supposed to use to finish the house. You left me in a stupid tin can without a penny!” This was bad. This meant I’d have to call my lawyer again. And that meant I’d owe her more money. If I didn’t get that account, I’d never be able to pay her, let alone cover the Jag and the loans. “This is a new low, Jack. Even for you.”
“Well, the paperwork is already drawn up. Any movement on selling our house?”
“My house. And I told you I’m not selling it.” I was seething now.
“Don’t know that you have a choice, love.” That stupid voice. Sexy and soothing. This was how I became trapped in the first place. “Unless …”
I sighed. “What, Jack? Unless what?”
“That was Connor Charles who came looking at it, wasn’t it? I wrote his name down when he first called, but I didn’t make the connection until I was driving back to San Diego.”
“Yes, so?”
“He’s in a spot of trouble, now, isn’t he?” Jack asked, his voice turning evil.
Some strange protective instinct flared in me. “I don’t know. Some stupid tabloid stuff maybe. Why do you care?”
“Well, I was just thinking. You still taking your pictures?”
The use of the word “your” indicated that Jack still had no respect for what had once felt like my calling. “I am,” I sighed.
“Why not take a couple of your beleaguered neighbor, then?”
“What for?”
Jack chuckled. “You’re a looker, Maddie, but you aren’t always that quick.”
I nearly hung up. “I’m not legally required to take crap from you anymore, Jack. See you later.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He apologized quickly. “Old habits. Look. You need money. And I’ve got a friend in Los Angeles—a guy I sold a vacation house to out on Coronado last year. He’d pay pretty well for a couple shots of your local stalker.”
“No. No way.” I cringed even thinking about it.
“There’s no easier money, Maddie. And I’m talking about significant money. Enough to set you free.”
“I am free.” Even as I said it, something was stirring in me, and I didn’t like it. Jack had thrown the tinder of an idea out and he knew I’d think about it, and that it just might catch fire. He probably knew how much I’d hate myself for even considering it, too. I couldn’t do that to Connor. I didn’t know him, but he seemed like a nice enough guy, and at this point I was willing to believe he’d just been cast in a negative light by the tabloids because he’d been an easy target. I wasn’t going to pile on, even if it would give me a clear path out of here. I wasn’t that kind of person, and I wasn’t that desperate. “Go back to your trashy little girlfriend, Jack.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t think you’d know ‘nice’ if it bit you in
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