I don’t know how much time has passed when Amelia Mae’s voice startles me back to consciousness. “There you are! I thought you’d nap all day, Harry.”
I look at her with wide eyes to make it clear that I’m awake. Wide-awake now, and ready to make the most of our time together before they go back to Chicago.
“I wanted to check in on the dog, but I also thought I’d tell you how moved I was,” Fiona’s saying to Miguel.
“That’s an understatement,” Amelia Mae whispers to me. To Miguel, she adds more loudly, “She just readYou Were Here.She cried her face off.”
He’s visibly confused. “Wait—”
“John Williams is next on my list, butYou Were Herewas the only one of Amelia’s novels I hadn’t read, and it felt like the right time,” says Fiona, glancing away. She seems to be considering something as she slowly turns her face back to him. “I picked it up from Lakeside yesterday afternoon. Natalie was very helpful. She found it for me right away.”
“You read my Amelia’s novels?” he blurts, still wearing thatwhat just happenedexpression.
“Of course. Just like thousands of other people,” says Fiona, but if anyone’s asking me—which, sadly, they aren’t—she sounds awfully careful in her response. “I saw one at the library back in the late nineties and did a double take because of her name. Naturally, I borrowed it immediately and loved it. I ended up reading through her entire backlist over the next few years. She was a true talent.”
“You—your shelves—” Miguel’s mouth and brain stillaren’t working in tandem. “I thought you liked David Foster Wallace and…”
Fiona looks baffled, but now she’s amused, too. “Remember the other day at the bookstore when I said I like love stories? I meant that; it’s just that we’ve only discussed the type of books you and I both enjoy. Your Amelia’s novels—well, they’re wonderful.Low Tideis my personal favorite.”
“So, I’ve been reading your brother’s books, and you’ve been reading my partner’s books…” Miguel looks like he’s on the verge of overheating. “Sorry, I know it’s a good problem to have. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“No problems detected,” says Amelia Mae, glancing back and forth between them. “Right, Harry?”
I wish I could agree, but I cannot. Not when Miguel has lowered his gaze and is staring at the door with the sort of concentration he normally reserves for his spreadsheets.
“You read her books, too…didn’t you?” Fiona asks cautiously.
He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
She tilts her head. “Can I ask why not? I’m sure loads of people told you how fantastic they are.”
“They did, and to be honest, I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t like them. Or maybe I’m just a snob. Either way, I regret it every day. And now it’s too late.”
She places her hand on his forearm. “There’s still time to read them.”
He shakes his head sadly, and though I wish I didn’t, I understand. The bookshelves in our living room hold a copy of every single one of Amelia’s novels. But there’s simply nopoint in him trying to right this wrong when she’ll never know that he did.
“I guess,” he says vaguely. “Maybe one day. But it wouldn’t change anything.”
Fiona’s voice still sounds like flowing water, but there’s something different about her now, even if I can’t quite put my nose on it. “Well, when you do, I’d love to hear what you think. Speaking of books, there’s something I wanted to tell you…”
“I’m listening,” says Miguel.
Fiona’s gaze has just landed on Amelia Mae, who’s squatting beside me. And perhaps my senses have gone dull, but her face seems to change; the natural smile she had a second ago looks pasted on now, and behind her glasses, her eyes aren’t crinkled at the corners. She reaches into her canvas bag, which is slung across her shoulder. “It’s just that I brought you something.”
Beside me, a dark cloud has passed over Amelia Mae’s smile, too, but Fiona doesn’t notice. She passes Miguel a stack of papers held together with a thick clip. “These are hot off the press from Jonathan—sent at my request. I’ll tell you more once you’ve had a chance to read them.”
“Really?” asks Miguel with an excitement I haven’t heard since Jonathan’s assistant, whom we now know to be Fiona, called to see if he could do an event at Lakeside. Okay, that’s not true—since he shook Fiona’s hand for the first time.
“Really,” she says. “I told you I’d get him to come around, and he did. He’s been working on this short story for eons, and although it took some doing, I’ve convinced him to sell it online, and maybe even in print if we can figure out distribution, and donate the profits to Lakeside Books.”
Miguel is staring at the pages. “What a privilege. Are you positive?”
“It’s not just my decision, but yes,” she assures him. “I can’t wait to hear what you think.”
“How soon are you heading back to Chicago?” he asks.
Amelia Mae rolls her eyes. “We can stay until you’re done reading. I’m not going to make it to drama camp today either way.”
