Still fighting.
Still determined to be remembered—if only by a few.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It’s late fall again when Dad’s health takes a turn for the worst. I’m in the kitchen with Mom when the hospice nurse arrives for his first day of work, a job that will only end when Dad is no longer here.
I don’t know how they do it, how they come into a job that will end in death every single time.
Mom keeps herself busy, filling the tea kettle and scrubbing the same spot on the counter. With his old nurse, there were things she could help with. Food she could prepare. Now, we’re just waiting for the end. Keeping him comfortable, though it’s likely he’s no longer aware of any comfort.
Mom comes back to the table and places my mug of hibiscus tea in front of me. “How’s the article coming?”
I close out of the article I’m reading about signs of death and return to the article she actually means. The one I’m meant to be writing.
“Oh. I’m…” I stare at the blinking cursor. My new job, working as a staff writer for an online newspaper, has been the thing to bring me back from the depths. But right now, working isn’t possible. I can’t even think.
Mom nods, seeming to understand my silence for an answer. “Me too.”
I reach across the table and take her hand, squeezing it gently, then return my focus to my screen. The article I’m supposed to be writing is about a corrupt CEO, one who has been taking advantage of his employees for years. It’s similar to the last four months of reporting I’ve done, taking down one horrible person after the next. It’s not a bestselling novel, but it’s something to keep my thirst for justice at bay. Either way, today it’ll have to wait.
My phone buzzes on the tabletop, interrupting my thoughts, and I reach out to grab it. There’s a notification from the website, which is still going strong, still being used to bring people to justice—though, admittedly, it’s also the target of the occasional spam post that my team and I have to monitor.
Below it, there’s an email I must’ve missed.
From Black Elm Press.
The subject line blazes like a beacon:
Publishing Proposal —CTRL+C: A Life of Academic Deceit.
My heart races as I open the email, reading over the message from an editor at the publishing imprint. She asks for my number so she can give me a call.
“What is it?” Mom asks, moving around to see what I’m looking at without waiting.
She reads the email over my shoulder, and when I look up, I can’t read the expression on her face. I haven’t worked on anything literary since I left Havenport. This isn’t a proposal I ever submitted.
I’m trembling when the call comes in twenty minutes later.
“Hello, Lila? I’ve got Claire Cade for you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
A warm, confident voice fills the line seconds later. “Lila, hi! I’m Claire Cade, senior editor at Black Elm Press. How are you?”
“I’m…well. Thank you. How are you?”
“Doing well. Look, the reason I’m calling is that we’ve been following your journey the past year. The websites, the stories. The podcasts. And now your journalism career. I love your voice. And the reason behind it. So, I’ve just got to be honest with you. If you’re at all interested, I would love to publish your memoir.”
I stare across the table at my mom, the phone on speaker. I’m not sure I heard her correctly.“I…I don’t have a memoir.”
“Well, we need to fix that, don’t we? Your voice is exactly what the world needs right now. Raw. Unfiltered. Real. We want to help you tell the truth—whatever that truth is. And we want to make sure the world hears it. You’ve done an excellent job of spreading your story, but I think we can help take it further.” She talks more about shaking up the academic world, about giving survivors the platform they deserve. At least, I think that’s what she says. At some point, my brain sort of short-circuits, and it mostly sounds like white noise. Either way, her passion feels genuine. Almost disarming.
Mom’s scribbling something on a notepad I didn’t notice her grabbing. She turns it around to me.
Ask for time
I nod, my thoughts returning to my head. “Wow. Thank you so much. This is…really unexpected.”
