So, he continued his chats with Tyler and paced the cabin… a lot.
Are you coming to the talent show again?Tyler wrote.
Wouldn't miss it.
Good. I want to see you in person again... I forgot what you look like.
The electronic banter went on like this for the better part of a week—playful flirting one
second, reaffirming life-philosophy the next. Alec learned that Tyler was a renaissance man of some sort—part-time mechanic, AAA driver, horse ranch owner, and country musician. He liked to cook
and watched very little television. Alec countered that he wrote and read a lot, couldn't cook, and watched way too much television.
When Monday came around, Alec had completely outlined his book. He hated it. If he was lucky
it would read every bit as interesting as a high-school textbook. He told Tyler that he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff and that the project was a massive anchor shackled to his ankle and pulling him over.
You have a flair for drama, don't you?Tyler wrote.
So I'm told… and no longer by Demarco only.
Sometimes you just have to let it go, Alec. No skin off anyone's back, least of all your own.
He thanked Tyler for his visceral, somewhat profound words, and said goodnight. Maybe he
was right. The only people that knew about the project he was laboring over could be counted on one hand. Why should he care what people thought about a book that didn't yet exist? Maybe heshould just scrap the whole thing, start with something fresh. But what? He had no idea. At least he could cleave to his misery—thatwas substantial.
As he was brushing his teeth he heard the incoming chime on his laptop and walked back into
the kitchen, toothbrush still in hand. He needed another e-mail from Tyler like a fix, something light-hearted and more flirty than the last one, something that would alleviate his stress and help him sleep.
He had become addicted and much like Pavlov's dogs in regards to Tyler's correspondence—so much
so that when he clicked on the file it barely registered that this particular e-mail was not from Tyler. It was from Mac… no body, just a subject line:
I miss you.
15
"I'm reading the new Robert Ludlum right now. He writes a great book," said Buddy.
Alec didn't have the heart to tell him that Robert Ludlum had been dead for almost twenty years.
"Of course, it's written by one of them ghostwriters—" Buddy continued, "—imitating him and all. But he does a good job with the characters… andfeel. It'slikereading a Ludlum book."
Alec raised his eyebrows. "And you don't mind that the publisher is selling you a knock-off…
something created just to generate money?"
Buddy shrugged. "Isn't everything?"
"I'm sorry," Alec said, worried that he might have offended the kind proprietor. "I didn't mean to sound snobbish or upset you."
"You don't and I'm not," Buddy said with a wink. "It takes an avalanche to ruffle my feathers.
Ask Marge."
"I'm just curious. It's always irritated me how authors seem to keep publishing after their death.
