ONE
SAWYER
“I thoughtI might find you here,” said a familiar voice. I turned and smiled at my former professor.
“Uncanny. Especially because you messaged me asking me to be here at this time today. I think Eugene and Joe are wearing off on you.”
Charles Thurston was married to a former student named Joe, but they were both in a relationship with a man named Eugene. I’d never be able to wrap my head around how that worked, so I just left it alone. They were happy, and I was happy for them.
As another one of Thurston’s former students, we’d struck up a sort of a friendship after I graduated. Thurston had been a source of support since my early college days when the pressure my family put on me threatened to make me crumble into dust. It was Thurston who was there for me as a guide and an inspiration. He’d believed in me even when I hadn’t believed inmyself. It was the reason I’d readily agreed when he called the night before and asked me to meet him in the park near campus.
It had been too long since I’d visited this place. In the warmer weather, it was a popular place for students to come who wanted a quiet place to study. Full of thick-trunked trees, the leaves offered plenty of shade from the sun in the summer. In a few months, this place would be crawling with students. For now, it was quiet. The early spring trees had yet to bud, and the grass was far too wet to think of sitting on.
Being back here brought me a sense of peace, and I motioned to Thurston. “Let’s walk.”
He fell into step next to me, and for a few minutes we silently enjoyed each other’s company.
“And how are the husbands?” I asked.
There was a special gleam in Thurston’s eye when he answered. “Beautiful and bratty. Just how I like them. And how are you, Sawyer? I see the book is still selling exceedingly well.”
“It is. Thank you. I’m good. I’m okay. Everything is… well, it’s… fine.”
Thurston tossed me some serious side-eye. He clearly saw through my flimsy bullshit. I wasn’t fine. My debut book had been a massive success; that much was true. But it hadn’t mattered to my family, who barely acknowledged my existence as it was. And the success of the first book had given me some sort of task paralysis when it came to the second. What if it wasn’t as good? What if I only had one book in me? A million doubts had climbed into my skin and made themselves at home in my bones.
I pulled my hand from the pocket of my peacoat and ran it through my hair. I tried not to do that. I’d spent far too long in the mirror every day trying to get my short blond strands to fall just the right way.
“Recently, I was approached by a friend of Eugene’s interested in having someone write his autobiography for him. I think he’d wanted me to do it, and he seemed a bit disappointed when I told him that I already had my hands full with teaching. But then he asked if I knew anyone who might want the job.” Thurston cut his gaze over to me. “And I said I might.”
“An autobiography?” I felt my forehead crease. “I hate to sound like an asshole, but most people aren’t interesting enough for other people to want to read about their lives.”
Thurston’s dry chuckle made me feel better about my statement. “Normally, I wouldn’t disagree, but he’s been a friend of Eugene’s for a few years now, and while I don’t know his whole story, I know enough. I think the project would be good for you.”
“What does this friend do?”
“Currently, he directs. But he used to be an actor.”
There was something shifty in his tone, like he was leaving something out.
“He’s not done anything illegal, has he? I don’t want to start writing this and discover he’s committed fourteen felonies.”
Thurston slung an arm over my shoulder and gave me a side hug. “I’d never steer you into anything I thought you might regret or that might get you in trouble.”
When his arm fell away, I immediately missed it. I lived a pretty solitary life, especially since graduating college and leaving dorm life behind.
“I understand if you’re busy. It would be a big disruption in your schedule. You’d have to meet with him and talk about his life and discuss the book. It’s not a small task.”
“I’ll do it. Meet with him, I mean.” The idea of saying no and going home and committing myself to an endless stretch of solitude was too much for me to bear.
“Are you sure?” Thurston seemed surprised by my acceptance. “I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured.”
“You didn’t.” I gave him my best, brightest, hopefully least fake smile I could. “I think it will be good for me. Something different. I’ve never written any biographical content before. It’ll be a challenge.”
“I’ll pass along your contact info then, and he’ll be in touch. The name he uses for professional purposes is Lukas Knight.”
“And you’d tell me his real name, but then you’d have to kill me, right?”
Thurston’s smile was wry. “That’s a Eugene comment if I ever heard one. I think he’s influencing you.”
