“I’m sorry.” I started walking again. “Are you okay? Is there stuff you can’t do?”
He joined me. I moved to his right and caught his small smile. “I’m fine. I feel vulnerable at times, especially driving, but I passed the tests and I look around a lot before changing lanes. It’s never been a problem. I think it’s actually helped me.”
“How?”
“I notice more. I focus more intently on what’s in front of me. I think it’s a large part of why I pursued writing. I found that details mattered more after the accident.”
“I can see that.”
Alex quirked an eyebrow at me.
“That came out awkward,” I laughed. “Tell me more stuff that folks don’t typically notice.”
Alex obliged me and rattled off a random and hilarious description of himself: He likes at least two meats on every pizza; drinks only root beer if forced to drink soda; runs four days a week, unless it’s raining; plays poker monthly with some hoity-toity NY elites; loves funny movies, classics like Chevy Chase’sFletchandVacationare his favorites; can ride a unicycle; writes only five hours a day, then spends the rest reading and researching; loves eating out. And he is less than forthcoming about his current love life.
Did you hear that detail in the middle? Alex runs. He mentioned it back in Barnes and Noble last fall, but I never expected to see him again so I didn’t pursue it. But now I want to know. I already crossed the line into seriously obnoxious, so I quit with my questions.
But I did have one thought: If he’s anything like me, his barriers drop during runs. Run him hard enough and he might get more forthcoming about his love life. I know, that is really bad and manipulative. Still . . .
Off to plot my attack,
Sam
JUNE 18
Dear Mr. Knightley,
I’ve been at work four days now and I love it. It’s hard—McDermott’s tough, but fair, not too far from Johnson. I edited a piece of his yesterday and he wasn’t pleased.
“Moore, you changed the tone. You check my facts, you check my grammar, you can add fluff if you want, I don’t care. But do not mess with the integrity of my tone. Ever. It’s gone from declarative to inquisitive. Read your verbs. Fix this.”
He was right. I made his work sound tentative, robbing its authority. Of course, that’s the tone to which I naturally gravitate. Do you think that’s my issue with Johnson? He’s never said it; it would be my job to notice it. And the timidity is there, in all my work—except for the pieces about children. Those are more confident. My voice is stronger and more declarative. Maybe McDermott will let me develop some of my ideas along those lines. They feel natural for me and I come up with new angles each evening. Yes, Alex’s “sleepy suburb” quip was accurate, and thinking up articles is the most excitement I see.
Josh is back in town, but he works late most nights and I don’t want to wait downtown in hopes that he might have dinner with me. Lately I feel he only calls when he’s bored. I’d like to mean more to him than that.
Alex hasn’t called or come up to the house either. At first I thought I hurt his feelings with my careless comments and questions. And I may have. But I also don’t think Alex would visit a young woman alone. Is twenty-four very young? (Yes, birthday a couple weeks ago. Fairly unmemorable.) I’m not sure, and there’s something so “old school” about Alex. I do know he wasn’t pleased to find the Muirs gone. I thought he was going to decamp the front steps that first night without getting past hello. He’s a lot like his hero, Cole, I think. Both could exist quite comfortably in a Jane Austen novel—except for the violence.
“Why, Emma, Mr. Weston has been stabbed in the stables and trussed up like a goose.”
“Goodness, Father. Do lock the windows tonight. Prowlers are about.”
“You are right, my dear. Oh . . . Goodness, Mr. Knightley, it is much too dangerous for you to walk home this evening. You may catch a chill—or yourdeath.”
Hey, it’s no worse thanPride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Good night . . .
Sam
JUNE 23
Dear Mr. Knightley,
As of today, I can say with confidence that I did not scare Alex away. He texted me this morning.
Lunch? 12:30. Billy Goat Tavern?
I giggled. Actually giggled. And immediately I replied.
