“It sounds like you’re getting out and about.”
“Yup, starting to.” After working on three books together, I consider Casey a friend as well as a colleague. At forty-two, she’s only three years older than me and she’s always got my back, but I’ve been cautious about divulging too much to her about my situation. I’ve confessed that I’m in a bit of a slump. What I’ve never uttered to her is the phrase Dr. G used: acute stress reaction. Or maybe worse for Casey to hear: hopeless writer’s block.
“Well, I bet a summer away will be great for you. The publisher asked for a meeting to discuss the paperback launch, but I told them they’ll have to do everything by phone for a while. You’re not planning to be back in the city, are you?”
“No, not until September . . . By the way, do you know if they finally hired a replacement for Paul yet?”
There’s a beat before she answers.
“Uh, I heard they promoted the guy who’s been filling in,” she says.
“Oh, good to know. He seems strong. . . . Here’s the reason I called actually. I’ve been thinking of contacting Paul’s widow, Stephanie, and just wanted a second opinion on the idea. I’ve always felt so bad that I wasn’t able to attend the funeral.”
Maybe because of the dreams, Stephanie—who I’ve never met—has been on my mind even more these days. I keep thinking that a conversation could be beneficial for both of us, possibly help me from feeling so stuck.
“You mean write her a letter? I thought you did that three months ago, after the accident.”
“Yes, but I was thinking of having a talk with her.”
There is total silence on the other end. I glance at the screen to make sure the call hasn’t failed.
“I don’t know,” Casey says at last. “I heard she’s still reeling. Maybe now’s not the right time.”
“Okay.” Her answer actually surprises me, but I trust Casey’s instincts.
“Before I let you go,” she says, “do you mind if I nudge a little?”
Oh God, I should have realized this would happen if I answered her call.
“Sure.”
“They’re getting restless about the proposal. I’ve put them off a few times, and they’ve been understanding so far, but you’re under contract for another book and their patience is going to start to wear thin. You’ve made them a ton of money and they’re hungry for even more.”
“Casey, there’s no way I can turn in a proposal any time soon. I . . . I haven’t even really started.”
“Do you have an idea at least? A working title?”
“How’s ‘Self-Help Author Fails to Help Self Write?’”
“You really don’t have anything?”
She’s surely wondering why the woman who wrote the bestseller about choices can’t make a decision herself.
“I have a germ, maybe.”
“Okay, that’s really all you need to bide your time with. I know you like your proposals to be fairly fleshed out, but they’d be more than happy with five pages. It would reassure them. And it might even help kick things in gear for you.”
“Um, that seems doable.” In truth the idea makes my heart start to race so fast I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. “Can you give me two weeks?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
After we’ve said our good-byes, I rest my head on the desk, one cheek against the cool surface. How will I ever summon the energy for five pages? I don’t even know if I can stand the idea I’ve drummed up.
Finally I force myself out of my office and prepare dinner, just a simple sauté for the chicken, along with the green beans. I put one plate in the fridge for Guy and take mine out onto the screened-in porch, along with a glass of wine.
The porch is my favorite room of the house, with its antique iron daybed and the black wicker couch and armchairs, their cushions done in faded floral. Living in Manhattan, I almost forgot that places as serene as this still existed.
As the daylight finally fades, I don’t bother to switch on a lamp right away. I just sit in the darkness, listening to the voices of children calling to each other in a nearby yard. Do kids still play capture the flag? I wonder.
It was a game that I was bewitched by from the moment a neighborhood kid returned from a weekend at a cousin’s house and taught a bunch of us how to play it. While other twelve-year-old girls I knew were already boy crazy, this was my personal obsession. I loved the rush that came from darting through the darkness, eluding capture again and again, setting people free from jail, and, best of all, grabbing the other team’s flag and racing to home base.
In a certain respect it was the model for how I came to approach every challenge in life: assess, plunge ahead fearlessly, and savor every second.